Love's Promise

by Cheryl Holt

  Phillip rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, Michael is the perfect gentleman.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “He and the Duke don’t have her welfare at heart.”

  “That’s enough!” She jumped to her feet. “You need to leave.”

  “I’ll leave, all right, but give the Duke this message for me.”

  “What is it?”

  “If he’s hurt her, he’ll answer to me.”

  Anne’s jealousy surged to the fore, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: She loathed Phillip’s obsession with Miss Carrington.

  “Why is everyone so enamored of her?”

  “For your brother, it’s because she’s pretty and available and alone. For your father, I’m guessing it’s all about money.”

  “Money! You’re insane. She doesn’t have any.”

  “But Thomas Wainwright does. He’s inherited a fortune, and if I know the Duke—which I do—he’s not about to share it with Thomas.”

  “That’s not true. Father is happy to have him with us.”

  “You can deceive yourself if you like, but not me. The Duke is too greedy and dictatorial. He would never permit Thomas to benefit from his father’s bequest. Nor can he let Miss Carrington learn of the windfall. She might demand that the Michael actually carry out his duty under John’s will.”

  Could he be correct? Could the Duke be plotting against Thomas? John had named Michael as Thomas’s guardian and trustee. Could the Duke interfere somehow in the arrangement? Was Michael even aware of the possibility?

  “That’s not true,” she loyally repeated.

  He ignored her and added, “As for myself, I simply want to talk to her. I want to ask her about her parents.”

  “What about them? Her father was a country vicar. He and her mother were married for forty years. She grew up in a house next to the church.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “She told me so herself.”

  He shrugged, looking arrogantly male. “If she’s in trouble, she needs advice from someone she can trust. I will assist her. Not the Duke. And most definitely not Michael.”

  “If she’s with Michael, she’s fine,” Anne insisted.

  “He’s my best friend, and I know him better than anyone, so don’t imbue him with character traits he doesn’t deserve.”

  He started out, and his superior attitude enraged her.

  “Phillip!” she cried.

  He whirled around, his furious expression rattling her.

  “What?”

  “I...I...” she stammered.

  “You...what?”

  “Where have you been? It’s been an eternity since you stopped by.”

  Her cheeks flamed bright red. The comment had come out all wrong. She sounded like an aging courtesan, begging for a few scraps of attention from an old lover, but that was precisely how he made her feel.

  “I haven’t stopped by, because after my last visit, I realized that I don’t like you very much.”

  The virulence of his statement surprised her, and she glanced down at the floor, wishing it would open and swallow her up.

  “I see,” she mumbled. “Well then, don’t let me keep you.”

  She whipped away from him, her back stiff, waiting for him to walk away, but he didn’t budge. The awkward moment stretched to infinity, and she wanted to die. The instant he was out the door, she’d instruct the butler never to admit him again, and she didn’t care what Michael said.

  This was her home as much as her brother’s, and Phillip Sinclair would never insult her again!

  “I’m sorry, Anne,” he murmured. “That was cruel of me. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Well, I’m a grown woman. I expect I’ll get over it.”

  Another lengthy, uncomfortable interval passed, both of them frozen in place, then his hand was on her waist. He was directly behind her, though she hadn’t noted him coming closer. If she’d been braver, she could have spun and been cradled in his arms, but she couldn’t make her feet move.

  “Why did you kiss me?” she asked. “The other day...why did you?”

  “Look at me.”

  “No. Just answer my question.”

  “Don’t you know why?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He sighed. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you.”

  “You have not.”

  “I have, and I finally decided to try it.”

  The room seemed very hot, and she couldn’t catch her breath.

  Suddenly, they were treading on some very dangerous ground. He was about to say things she couldn’t bear to hear, about to demand responses she couldn’t give. She couldn’t go where the conversation would lead her.

  “Look at me,” he said again, but she could only shake her head.

  He guided her around, and she stared at his chest, unable to force her gaze upward, afraid of what she might see.

  “Anne...” he whispered, then he bent down and kissed her.

  There was an anger and urgency in it that she couldn’t subdue. His lips devoured hers, and as he drew her tightly against him, every inch of her body was pressed to his in an electrifying fashion.

  She’d been kissed before—many times—as she’d slipped into dark alcoves with various swains. Their embraces had been hasty and sweet and very thrilling, but they’d been nothing like this.

  She felt as if she was drowning, as if they were plummeting together and would never resurface. She felt as if she’d fallen off a cliff, that there was no bottom, and he couldn’t help her or rescue her.

  Who kissed like this? What sort of people scratched and clawed and bit as if they were dying and it was the last thing they would ever do?

  With a sob of despair, she wrenched away, and her heart was hammering so hard that she wondered if it might quit beating. He seemed in no better condition. His color was high, his eyes glittering with emotions she couldn’t name.

  “Come away with me,” he said, the words yanked from his very soul.

  “To where?”

  “To wherever you want. To hell with your father, and this bloody house. Let’s just leave.”

  “You and me? Leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would we do?”

  “We would kiss like that...and more and more. We’d never stop.”

  He extended his hand, hoping she would take it, as if he envisioned the two of them sneaking off like a pair of naughty children. She gaped at it as if he’d gone mad.

  “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “If it’s what you wish. Or we can simply go away. I’ll accept whatever you can give me.”

  “My father would never agree.”

  “I’m not asking him. I’m asking you.”

  His proposal prodded at something deep inside, some craving she couldn’t describe or acknowledge.

  A woman of her station didn’t run off, especially with a man of Phillip’s dubious origins. Yet the suggestion disconcerted her. She’d never done a single, wild thing in her entire life, had never disobeyed or rebelled, had never sassed or contradicted. She was the most dutiful daughter who had ever lived, but Phillip saw someone different, someone bold and daring who could defy convention and cast caution to the wind.

  With every fiber of her being, she yearned to be the woman he needed, but she couldn’t imagine acting in any manner other than the one decreed by her father. It wasn’t in her nature.

  “No...never. I could never go with you.”

  For the briefest instant, he appeared stricken, as if she’d stabbed him with her refusal, but swiftly, he composed his features and stepped away. His cheeks were flushed with chagrin.

  As if they were being introduced at a formal party, he straightened and clicked his heels together.

  “It seems”—his voice sounded strangled—“that I’ve made a fool of myself yet again. My apologies.”

  He stumbled out.

  “Phillip!” she called. “Phillip, wait!”
<
br />   She chased after him, but he was down the hall and out the door so fast that she couldn’t catch up. She raced out to the drive, watching, as he leapt onto his horse and spurred it away.

  “Phillip!” she called again, not sure what she was requesting.

  For him to come back? For what purpose? To quarrel more viciously?

  Begging him to halt, she reached out, but just then, several footmen rounded the corner of the house, and she couldn’t bear to have them witness the humiliating episode.

  She lowered her arm, calmed herself, and strolled into the foyer as if nothing had happened.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, milord. She went for a walk, but she never returned.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Right after you left this morning.”

  Michael glared at Peggy. “Why did you let her run off?”

  “I apologize, milord. She’s an adult and your guest. I didn’t realize she wasn’t permitted to go out. When she said she was taking a walk, I didn’t believe it was my place to prevent her.”

  “You should have contacted me at once. The afternoon is nearly ended. If I don’t locate her soon, she’ll be wandering out in the dark.”

  She dropped into a groveling curtsy, looking terrified, worried that she was about to be fired, and he was close to it. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so furious.

  What if Fanny was lost? What if she’d fallen and hurt herself? If she was injured, how would she get home? Did she even want to come home?

  Obviously, during their previous conversation, he’d been correct in wondering if her agreement to be his mistress was sincere. She would risk a dangerous and imprudent flight into the woods rather than stay with him.

  Was he an ogre? Had he been a tyrant to her?

  No! He’d offered her the moon, yet she had fled as if he’d forced her into slavery. He did not understand her. “Get up,” he snapped.

  “Am I to be discharged?” Peggy asked as she rose.

  “No. I want you here when she returns. She’ll need you to assist her.”

  She shuddered with relief. “I swear I’ll be more careful in the future. I’ll notify you of everything she does. If she so much as breathes, you’ll know about it.”

  “Did she leave me a note?”

  “Not that I found, but...ah...she took the money you left for her.”

  She took the money? She’d used it to sneak away?

  He’d provided it for frivolous things, for ribbons for her beautiful hair or gloves for her pretty hands. Not as the financial means to pay for a rash, reckless escape!

  He stomped out, muttering to himself, and Peggy was brave enough to follow him outside. As he mounted his horse, she said, “When will you be back, milord?”

  “Shortly—and I’ll have Miss Carrington with me. Tell the staff to be ready to attend us both, regardless of the hour or the day.”

  Feeling as if a demented fiend had possessed him, he kicked the animal into a canter. In minutes, he was racing into the village. It was a tiny community and strangers an oddity, and he was certain people must have seen her.

  Quickly, he discovered that she’d headed to London on the mail coach, and he was greatly reassured by the news that the employees at the coaching inn had observed her as she’d departed. After all, a woman couldn’t get in too much trouble, riding in a public vehicle.

  He hurried after her, aware that if anyone had been watching, they’d have deemed him mad, and he couldn’t quite figure out himself what he was doing.

  Why fret over her? Why not shrug his shoulders and say good riddance? If she wanted to proceed to the city, to forage on the streets and starve herself to death, what was it to him?

  But try as he might, he couldn’t let her go.

  Faster than he might have anticipated, he caught sight of the coach. The road was generally safe, with no problems of highwayman, so the driver wasn’t expecting to see a crazed man loping alongside.

  The vehicle was packed to the gills, the passengers crammed in, elbow-to-elbow, and many of them peeked out. They were unnerved, impatient to keep moving.

  “Pull over!” Michael commanded.

  “Are ya daft?” the driver yelled. “I will not!”

  “My wife’s aboard,” he shouted, “and I haven’t said she could go to London.”

  “Your wife, you say?”

  “Yes, and if you take her without my permission, I’ll have your job.”

  Michael appeared sufficiently prosperous to give the man pause. For a moment, he considered, then he tugged on the reins. The team snorted and struggled to a halt, the weighty conveyance rolling some distance before it stopped completely.

  “What is it?” the passengers were frantically asking. “What’s happening?”

  The driver ignored them. “What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Frances. Fanny Carrington.”

  “I have a Fanny Carrington on board.”

  “I demand that you turn her over to me.”

  The fellow hemmed and hawed, not eager to comply with the unusual request, but unwilling to risk Michael’s wrath.

  Michael was too annoyed to wait for a decision, and he jumped down from his horse and went over to the door. He grabbed the handle and yanked it open.

  “Fanny Carrington, get out here!”

  There was some whispering, then Fanny hissed, “I will not. Go away.”

  An elderly lady leaned out. “Really, sir, this is most improper.”

  “What’s improper is my wife totting off to London without my consent. Our children are home alone, because I had to chase after her—again. She wants to be an actress! In the city! Can you imagine! How will I explain it to our daughters?”

  There were more murmurs, but disgruntled ones.

  “The man’s insane,” Fanny claimed. “I’m not his wife! I have no children.”

  Her denial produced out-and-out gasps.

  Michael peered up at the driver, pretending to be harassed and aggrieved.

  “See what I put up with, being married to her? It’s a constant battle.”

  “Hussy!” someone scolded.

  “Deserting your children!” another chastised. “You ought to be ashamed.”

  With a heave and a shove, several arms pushed her out, and Michael caught her as she fell. She was off balance, and the instant her feet touched the ground, she jerked away.

  Looking lost and very young, she pleaded with the driver.

  “He’s lying,” she solemnly declared. “I’m not his wife.”

  “He says you are, Miss. You’d best go with him.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t have no choice in the matter. You get on now.”

  The elderly woman spoke again. “It’ll be all right, girl. You’ll see.” She glared at Michael. “Promise you won’t beat her in front of all of us, so she knows you mean it.”

  Michael—who’d never laid a hand on a female—pledged, “I swear I won’t beat her.”

  “There you have it.” The woman nodded with satisfaction. “Driver? Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting.”

  The driver studied Fanny, then Michael, then Fanny again, and he cracked his whip. The team started to pull, the harness creaking with the heavy load.

  Michael seized Fanny by the waist, lugged her over to his horse, and threw her onto the saddle. He leapt on behind, wrenched around, and headed for Henley Hall.

  Fanny—for once—had nothing to say.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fanny marched into the house, her shawl pulled over her head to conceal herself from the servants. They were lined up on both sides of the foyer, their expressions condemning and derisive. Since they were extremely loyal to Lord Henley, they would view her running off as a betrayal.

  She felt as if she was entering a jail, and they were all guards. They’d watch her now, and she wouldn’t be able to so much as sneeze without one of them tattling.

  She trudged up th
e stairs to the master suite, Lord Henley hot on her heels, and she sat in a chair, silently observing him, as he whispered instructions to the traitor, Peggy. Peggy slinked away, and he whipped around to confront Fanny.

  “Well,” he started, “what have you to say for yourself?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing! You sneak off without telling anyone where you’re going. You trot across the country, bound for London and God knows what fate, and you have nothing to say?”

  “No. Why would you be concerned about what I do? How could you possibly be fretting over me?”

  The question stymied him, and he scowled, as if he had no idea why he was distraught.

  “You will not step out of this house again without seeking my permission. I’m afraid I have to insist.”

  “Am I to be your prisoner?”

  “No! Why would you think that?”

  He seemed surprised by his outburst, and he took a deep breath, then another, calming himself. He grabbed a chair and dragged it over to where she was sitting, then he sat, too, so they were facing each other, their knees touching, their feet and legs entwined.

  “I thought we had an agreement,” he gently said. “You told me you’d stay.”

  “I lied,” she admitted, “but you lied, too. You swore I could see Thomas if I dallied with you, but he wasn’t even here.”

  “I never said he was here,” he arrogantly stated. “You just presumed he was.”

  “Which makes your behavior toward me even more disgraceful. You pushed forward to ruin me, but the negotiated compensation was a visit with Thomas, and you didn’t intend to pay it. So I won’t be your mistress. Not for a year. Not for a day. It’s wrong, and I know better.”

  “But I want to take care of you, Fanny!”

  “I don’t need you to. I’m a hard worker, and I’m honest. I’ll find a job.”

  “But I’m offering you a home, and servants of your own, and an easier life! You don’t have to fend for yourself.”

  “I don’t mind. I never have. I haven’t had much luck lately, and I’ve had some set-backs, but I’ll overcome them.”