Promise Me Forever

by Lorraine Heath

  Lydia sighed. “All right. Rhys and I will find ways to occupy ourselves while we’re here.”

  “You don’t have to be strangers or avoid us completely. Just don’t send the butler after us if we’re alone.”

  It was after midnight when she finally dared to venture from her room, certain that Lydia, if not asleep, at least wouldn’t be scouring the hallways. The storm had increased in intensity, the claps of thunder echoing with a loudness that sometimes made her jump. She crept down the hallway, down the stairs, and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Smythe snuffing out the candles in the entryway chandelier. It was indeed a late-night house hold.

  Lauren pulled the sash on her robe. She gave him a weak smile and hurried past him to the stairs that led into the other wing.

  “His lordship is in the library,” Smythe said, in a voice that tolled as loudly as Big Ben.

  Lauren spun around and headed the other way.

  She intended to play Tom’s little game in a way that had him reaching for her. She would be the one standing as still as a statue, the one tempting him, the one so close he could smell her scent…

  She’d been squirming in bed with needs unfulfilled, and if he was still awake and in the library, perhaps he’d been doing the same. Only she didn’t know how he could sit still long enough to read.

  So late at night, no footmen were about, thank goodness. She opened the door and stepped into a room that was a black abyss. A shiver went through her. Obviously Tom wasn’t there. She was turning to leave when lightning suddenly illuminated the room, casting everything in silhouette, including the man standing on the second level before the large plate-glass window. She would have recognized his form, his stance anywhere.

  He was staring out on the night, and she didn’t think he’d detected her presence. She padded across the room and quietly climbed the spiral staircase to the landing that marked the beginning of the second tier of bookshelves. The familiar scent of old parchment and aged leather greeted her. She always found something comforting in the fragrance.

  Lightning again filled the sky, giving her a clearer view of Tom. He wore neither jacket nor waistcoat, only shirt and trousers, as he gazed out on the storm. She eased up beside him, wrapped her hand around his arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Just remembering other storms.”

  Looking out the window, she watched the lightning split the darkness. “It’s a magnificent view.”

  “They fought here. In the library,” he said quietly.

  “Who?”

  “My mother and father. I had sneaked up here to read; I liked being with all the books. He was yelling at her. He needed another son. He forced—”

  He stopped, and she could hear the grinding of his teeth.

  “She was his wife, and he gave her no choice.”

  “How old were you?”

  Now that she was closer to him, she could see his silhouette in the shadows, could see him shake his head. “Not very old. I’d only recently learned to read. I don’t think I read a book I didn’t have to after that day.”

  She remembered him saying that he preferred being shown…she wondered if before this night he had any inkling as to the reason he might have an aversion to reading.

  “Why did she come back?” he asked.

  “To protect you. That can be the only explanation. She did love you. I believe that with all my heart.”

  “What if I’m like him, Lauren?”

  “You’re not.”

  “I forced you”—she heard him swallow—“to unbutton your bodice.”

  “You teased me into unbuttoning it. Do you honestly think that I would have carried through on the bargain if I hadn’t wanted to? My God, Tom, I got in a carriage and instructed the driver where to take me. You couldn’t have been more surprised to see me if I’d strode in stark naked.”

  “Why did you come that night?”

  “Because I saw what hitting Whithaven did to you, the remorse and humiliation you felt, the trepidation that you were a reflection of your father.” She touched his hair, forced herself to offer him a slight smile. “And because I wanted to offer you comfort, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate yellow roses.”

  “You said you planned to behave with decorum while you were here.”

  “And you’ve held yourself at bay. How in God’s name can you think you in any way resemble the man who was your father?”

  “His blood runs through me, Lauren.”

  Reaching up, she wound her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his. “His blood may, but his soul doesn’t. You’re your own man, Thomas Warner. Your mother ensured that you would be, and for that, I’m extremely grateful.”

  He kissed her softly, sweetly, as though he continued to hold himself at bay, as though he feared unleashing the hunger that had devoured them both before. She wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t allow these emerging memories to destroy the passion he was capable of exhibiting. He’d never forced her, he never would, because it wasn’t in his nature to be cruel, it wasn’t in his nature to harm without reason. And if it was the last gift she ever gave him, she was going to erase all the doubts from his mind.

  She would be the aggressor. Although she couldn’t deny that she’d taken the initiative the night that she’d shown up at his house. She might have grown timid when faced with the reality of what she wanted, but she’d done nothing that she didn’t want to do.

  She began unbuttoning his shirt. She was aware of his fingers fumbling with her buttons. It gave her a sense of satisfaction, of power, to know that she could make him tremble.

  Her gown slipped off one shoulder. He cupped her breast. With his tongue, he lapped at the tip, causing it to pucker and harden. Closing his mouth over it, he suckled earnestly, then gently. She spread his shirt wide, ran her hands over the firm muscles of his chest, his stomach.

  Lightning flashed, exposing him as though nature approved of the specimen on display. She pressed kisses to his dew-coated throat, his chest.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I can’t wait.”

  Before she realized what he was apologizing for, he had her against a bookshelf with the hem of her nightgown up around her waist, his trousers unbuttoned. Then he was lifting her up with his hands beneath her bottom—

  And plunging into her hot, moist center.

  Only the tiniest bit of her scream sounded before he blanketed her mouth, capturing the rest of it, his tongue swirling and thrusting with as much force and eagerness as his hips.

  Where before he’d been patient, now he was impatient, as impatient as she. To have learned what it was to be with him, then to have been without. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, as he pumped into her.

  The sensations grew like a pebble tossed into a pond, growing, growing, until she was shuddering with her release, shuddering in his arms. He tore his mouth from hers, buried his face in her hair, in the curve of her neck, as his body spasmed and his harsh groan echoed between them.

  His labored breathing surrounded them as he kissed her temple, the corner of her mouth, her chin. “Next time will be slower, darlin’, I promise.”

  She nestled her face against the side of his neck. “Ah, Tom, I’m going to hold you to keeping that promise.”

  With the moonlight spilling in through the window, Tom gazed at Lauren as she lay sleeping, nestled against his side, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her hand curled just below his pounding heart. Keeping his promise, he’d carried her to his bed and made love to her slowly the second time, leisurely removing her clothes, while she’d removed his.

  He skimmed his finger along the swell of her breast. Sighing, she snuggled more closely against him. He thought he’d never tire of hearing the little sighs she made while she slept, the way she rubbed the sole of her foot over his calf until she drifted off to sleep. Like a child needing the repetitive motion of a rocker so it could go to sleep.

  Not that she was a child. Far fro
m it.

  It was a shame that she disliked England so much. She would have made an exemplary countess. She would have been his choice for a wife, a helpmate. But life with him would diminish her smiles, lessen her laughter until they were both miserable. He couldn’t do that to her.

  Her eyes fluttered open and her lips tilted up into a sleepy-looking smile. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.

  “Watching you sleep.”

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “I can sleep later.” When he had nothing but his memories of her to keep him company.

  She yawned. “I should probably go back to my room.”

  “Stay a little longer.”

  She started tapping her finger on his chest. “I told Amy that they didn’t have chaperones in Texas because everyone behaved. They don’t behave, do they?”

  “Depends on your definition of misbehaving I guess.”

  “This here seems like misbehaving to me.”

  She spoke with a slow drawl that had Tom chuckling. “I like it when you don’t talk so proper.”

  “Do you now?”

  “’Course, I like when you talk proper, too. Especially when you’re getting after me. You still rile so easily.”

  “You still do plenty to rile me.”

  He squeezed her breast. “What if I do something guaranteed not to rile you?”

  She stretched languorously against him. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  She laughed lightly. “Reckon not, since I am, too.” She stopped laughing. “Never knew I was until now.”

  “That’s because I’m a very skilled lover.”

  “Lover. I guess you are my lover. That makes all this seem so wicked.”

  “We’re the only ones who’ll know, darlin’.”

  She rolled over onto him, kissed his chest, moved up slightly and flicked her tongue over his nipple. Groaning, he rubbed his hands down her back, over her bare bottom. He glanced toward the window, saw a streak of light, grinned. The storm had moved on, leaving a clear sky in its wake.

  He patted her bottom. “Come here, darlin’.”

  She lifted her head. “I am here.”

  “I meant move off me.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m awake now. I want a little loving.”

  He patted her bottom again. “And I want to give it to you, but let’s get out of bed first.”

  “Are we going to do it against the wall instead of the bookcase this time?”

  “Not exactly. Come on, Lauren.”

  “Tom—”

  “Look at the window.”

  She raised up, twisted her head. “Was that a falling star?”

  “I think so.”

  She scrambled out of bed, took the few steps to the window, and peered out. “Oh, Tom, the sky is so clear that the stars look like diamonds spilled on velvet. Oh, and look, there’s another star falling. Why are there so many out here?”

  He came up behind her. “I don’t know that there are more. It’s just so dark that they’re easier to see.”

  With his hand, he scooped her hair up and over, draping it over her shoulder, so it cascaded along her chest and stomach, leaving her back completely bare. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. She sighed, started to turn—

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “No, keep watching the stars.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Just keep watching the stars.”

  “But I want to touch—”

  “Shh. We may never have a moment like this again.”

  When he laid his hot, open mouth against her neck again, and his hands came around to cradle her breast, Lauren was finished arguing. He was so very skilled at convincing her to try things his way.

  She dropped her head back.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he said.

  “I will…oh, there’s…one.”

  He skimmed his mouth along her spine, his tongue blazing a trail, down, then up, across her shoulders, along her spine again, each swirl of his tongue, each nip of his teeth had her squirming. His hands traveled provocatively over her breasts, her stomach. She stood there, stoically accepting the torture he inflicted, moaning, writhing, wanting to turn around so she could inflict some of her own.

  She could do this to him. Run her hands slowly up and down his legs. Kiss his calves, his thighs, his buttocks. She could skim her hands over his chest, tease his nipples, she could take her hands lower…

  He was working deliciously wonderful wicked magic with his fingers.

  “You’re so wet, so hot,” he rasped. “So ready. Keep your eyes open.”

  She released a tiny moan that she hoped he understood was acceptance of his order. Feeling his thrust, she gripped the edges of the window, when she really wanted to reach back and grab him. Hold him close, as close as he was holding her. Touch him as he was touching her. Ride him as he was riding her.

  She felt the pressure, the plea sure mounting…saw the star streaking…

  “Oh, there! There! Oh, God!”

  He closed his mouth over her shoulder as he bucked against her, she bucked against him, as plea sure shot through her. His final thrust came hard and deep, then he was clutching her close, panting near her ear, and she wasn’t certain how they both remained standing.

  “There were stars in the sky, stars in my body,” she whispered breathlessly. “That wish has got to come true.”

  He chuckled low. “Hope it was a good one.”

  “It was,” she assured him, wondering why before that night she’d never seen a star fall on that side of the world. What other things hadn’t she seen?

  Chapter 16

  She awoke to the sound of an irritating tick, tick, tick. It had still been dark when Tom had returned her to her bedchamber, and she’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Peering out from beneath her pillow, she could see a sliver of sunlight spilling in through the parted draperies. The ticking noise seemed to be coming from there. Throwing back the covers, she scrambled out of bed and padded to the window. She peeked through the window…

  And there was Tom, waiting, with two horses saddled. He looked quite dashing in his riding attire. She waved at him, then hurried to the bed and yanked on the bellpull. She didn’t think it was necessary to be dressed and out of the house before Lydia was up and about. She thought she’d made her position perfectly clear the evening before, but why risk that Lydia hadn’t realized she was incredibly serious?

  Molly arrived and helped Lauren dress in her favorite riding habit.

  “Do you know if the duke and duchess are awake yet?” Lauren asked as she settled her hat into place.

  “They haven’t yet sent for their maid or valet, so I suspect they are still abed.”

  Lauren couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Good.”

  In the hallway, she found only a maid who was already quietly placing fresh flower arrangements on the various tables that lined the hallway. The girl curtsied, Lauren nodded, then proceeded to tiptoe on the thick rug that covered a good bit of the floor. Reaching the stairs, she grimaced at the first audible click of her riding boots hitting the marble. Why carpet the hallway if one wasn’t going to carpet the stairs?

  As lightly and silently as she could, she made her way down the stairs and was out the door, apparently without disturbing Lydia at all. Tom had brought the horses around from the back of the house. He grinned, and this morning it was barely evident that he’d massacred his mustache the night before.

  “Morning, darlin’. How’d you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you very much.” Tugging on her gloves, she marched over to the smaller of the horses. “Help me up, Tom, before my chaperone catches us.”

  His grin broadened as though he anticipated the day having very pleasant consequences. “And what if she does catch us?”

  He delivered a kiss that said he didn’t care if they were caught. Pushing him back slightly, she said,
“If we’re caught, then she’ll start sleeping in my bed and how will I ever get back to yours?”

  “Are you planning to come back to mine?”

  “Most definitely.”

  She’d expected him to provide her with cupped hands into which she could place her foot. Instead he placed those magnificently strong hands at her waist and lifted her onto the saddle. She adjusted her seating while he adjusted her skirt. “Where are we going?”

  “To look over my kingdom.”

  “You don’t really consider this a kingdom do you?” She watched the ease with which he mounted his own horse, appreciating his fluid movements, the subtle ripple of his muscles as he swung his leg over the saddle, controlling his horse with his thighs as easily as she did with the reins.

  “What do you call it when everyone turns to you for the answers?”

  She tapped her riding crop against the horse’s rump, effectively getting it to move forward. “Are there people who need answers today?”

  His laughter seemed harsh as it broke through the hush of early morning. “Someone always needs an answer. This morning, we’re just going to ride the land, let the tenants know I’m back in residence”—the last spoken with the slightest of British accents—“just in case anyone needs a word or has some troubles.”

  “Do you have many tenants?” she asked, as he guided them along the elm-lined dirt path that would lead to the road.

  “Not as many as previous lords had, based on the books they all kept. They used to have a thriving enterprise going, but farming here isn’t what it once was. Only ten families remain.”

  “Have you met them all?”

  He swung his gaze over to her, and because he wasn’t wearing a hat, no shadows hid his heated gaze from her. “I’ve met them all.”

  He’d done more than meet them, Lauren quickly discovered as they visited one farm after the other. He remembered their names, the particulars about their crops, any troubles they might have had in the past. He spoke to them not as though he were the lord of the manor, the man who controlled their fate, but as though they were partners trying to make the most of their destiny. He always dismounted, talked with them eye to eye, walked along beside them, listening intently as they complained about the weather as though he could do something about it, informing them that he would pay for the fixing of broken wagons, leaking roofs, and sick livestock.