Promise me forever - The Lost Lords Trilogy 03

by Lorraine Heath

  As she walked into the house, she decided that come morning she would have Molly discard any dresses or gowns that Lauren had with buttons in the front. Not that she thought Tom would take advantage without permission, but because the truth was, he’d guessed right. She was afraid he was a temptation she couldn’t resist.

  Within his carriage Tom stroked the glove, pulled it between his fingers, wondered when Lauren would realize that he hadn’t given it back to her. Every moment spent with her was pure torment, to be near and not touch, to give in to temptation and kiss, but not possess.

  He wasn’t exactly certain when his plans regarding her had changed, when he’d decided that he didn’t want her to teach him as much as he wanted to demonstrate to her the passion and fire that could exist between them.

  He didn’t want her leaving with anything left unexplored between them. And that meant doing all in his power to break through her reserved facade. To undo her years of training.

  To make her want him as desperately as he wanted her.

  Chapter 11

  “I inquired. He’s been invited.”

  “Then surely he will show.”

  “One can only hope.”

  “He might not realize the importance of this affair.”

  “It’s the first ball of the Season. Of course he realizes its importance. He’s been here long enough to learn to appreciate a few of our customs.”

  “I do hope you have no plans to seize all of his attentions this evening, as you apparently have since his arrival.”

  Standing with the four ladies who had been in her stepfather’s drawing room the afternoon Tom had arrived, Lauren couldn’t seem to stop herself from blushing as Lady Blythe directed her last statement Lauren’s way with obvious disapproval. Her glare was hard, her lips pursed, and her brow arched. The dancing had yet to begin, and the ladies were engaged in their customary gossiping session. The fact that it was indeed the first ball of the Season—hosted by the Duchess of Harrington no less—also meant that many of those in attendance had a good deal of catching up to do, and a few other ladies were nudging up against their circle, striving to determine what juicy tidbits they might have missed.

  “During the time I’ve spent with him, his attention has been focused more on learning your rituals than on me,” Lauren explained, resenting that she felt any need at all to explain her actions or her time with Tom. Over the past week, accompanied by Lydia and Rhys, she and Tom had attended a performance at Albert Hall, browsed through the National Portrait Gallery, visited the Crystal Palace, and strolled through the zoological gardens. Everywhere they went, Lydia was quick to introduce the new earl to anyone of importance, which was the advantage of going through London accompanied by a duke and his duchess: There were few people they couldn’t impose upon for introductions.

  Tom was always charming, dazzling the ladies with his roguish smile. Even his slow drawl didn’t seem to grate on anyone’s nerves as hers had. Lady Blythe had spoken truly that first afternoon: When one was wealthy and titled a good many faults were easily overlooked. As a matter of fact, Tom was handling himself so well that Lauren was really beginning to wonder if she had any true purpose other than to provide him with a decoration for his arm and occasional conversation. Not that either was any hardship, but he was much less untutored than she’d realized.

  Oh, some of the minute details would throw him from time to time: the practice of tipping the street sweepers who cleared the streets ahead of them so they could cross without stepping in horse dung, sitting in a shop so items could be shown to him—he’d purchased fans for all the ladies in Ravenleigh’s house hold. Small things. Things he could have easily learned through observation. He was extremely generous—

  “He sent me flowers, you know,” Lady Blythe said. “After we rode through the park last week. Pink roses.”

  Too generous perhaps, Lauren thought, suddenly unreasonably irritated that he was showering attention—

  “The ones he sent me were white,” Lady Cassandra said.

  “Mine were red.” Lady Priscilla giggled.

  All eyes turned to Lady Anne. She blushed. “Mine were an assortment of red, pink, and white. ‘I appreciate the warm welcome,’ was written on the note that accompanied them. I thought that was extremely sweet of him.”

  But none had been sent yellow roses, Lauren couldn’t help but notice, taking delight in the realization that those had been reserved for her and her alone. A little bit of Texas.

  The ladies nodded, murmuring that Sachse had expressed the same sentiments to them. Very tactful on his part, not to single one of them out for more attention while at the same time making each feel special. Very tactful and very clever.

  “And the color of your flowers?” Lady Blythe asked Lauren, a bit of snideness in her voice that Lauren didn’t appreciate.

  “I didn’t receive flowers after we rode in the park,” she said, not inclined to reveal that hers had come before. They knew enough about her public moments with Tom. The private ones she intended to hold to herself—not that they’d had many private moments, but still…

  “Do you think he’ll come dressed as a cowboy to night?” Lady Cassandra asked.

  “I daresay that would be scandalous,” Lady Blythe announced.

  “He wasn’t wearing gloves when he appeared at Ravenleigh’s or the morning when we rode together in the park.” Waving her fan frantically in front of her face, Lady Cassandra appeared on the verge of a swoon. “I’ve never touched a man’s bare hand before. I do hope he shall ask me to dance.”

  “What if he doesn’t know how to dance?” Lady Priscilla asked.

  “Oh, he knows,” Lauren assured them.

  “Did you teach him?” Lady Priscilla asked.

  “No, he picked that up in Texas, all on his—”

  “Oh, my word, I think that’s him,” Lady Blythe interrupted breathlessly.

  “I believe you’re right,” Lady Cassandra said. “I daresay it is quite a quandary whether I prefer him dressed as a cowboy or a gentleman. Although I must confess that I don’t recall him looking quite so extraordinarily handsome.”

  “He does still look exceedingly dangerous, though. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. I can scarcely breathe,” Lady Blythe said.

  Perhaps your corset is laced too tightly, Lauren considered murmuring, but held the words back, because she, too, was having difficulty breathing.

  Tom was quite simply gorgeous. Every ounce of English blood he possessed was on display. Oh, he still possessed a slight swagger, but his mien radiated confidence and self-assurance. His black swallow-tailed double-breasted jacket, open to reveal his white silk waistcoat, did little to hide the breadth of his chest and shoulders. A white silk tie adorned his white shirt, and brought out the swarthiness of his deeply tanned complexion. The darkness of his skin was a stark contrast to the paler complexions of many of the other men in attendance. Yet so much more about him caused every head to turn toward him. It was the manner in which he strode through the room, dark and feral, sleek, like some ferocious beast that might be captured but never tamed. Not a wolf, but something more regal: a lion perhaps, a tiger, a panther. A creature that prowled through the night.

  In spite of her recent tutoring and instructions, she’d failed to tame him, and that knowledge pleased her immensely. She had yet to destroy that which made him magnificent. And he was magnificent, as he cut a swath through the other men as though they hardly existed—with only a brief acknowledgment here and there—his gaze boring into her as though no other lady inhabited the room. With all these people gathered around, how had he managed to find her so easily?

  Before he reached her, the music began signaling that the first dance of the evening—a waltz—was soon to begin. Lauren’s dance card was almost completely filled, but she’d deliberately left the first dance open. Only now did she realize why.

  Tom came to a stop before her, his gaze roaming over her, his eyes filling with an appreciation that caused her
heart to speed up, her skin to grow warm.

  “Good evening, darlin’,” he said in that low rumble that sent shimmers of plea sure cascading through her.

  “Hello, Tom.” She shook her head, curtsied slightly. “Hello, my lord.”

  He grinned, his mustache shifting up to accommodate the width of his smile. “No need to be so formal, Lauren.”

  Before she could comment, he’d turned to the others. “Good evening, ladies. I can’t recall ever seeing so much beauty in one place.”

  Lauren heard the tiniest of squeals and a wistful sigh.

  “I hope I haven’t arrived too late to reserve a dance with each of you.”

  Lady Blythe giggled annoyingly and held up her wrist, dangling her dance card in front of him. “I believe dance five is available. It’s a waltz.”

  Tom took the pencil she offered and scrawled his name on her card. Then he looked at Lady Cassandra. “What about you, darlin’? Do you have a dance for me?”

  Lady Cassandra began frantically waving her fan, and Lauren feared she was on the cusp of demonstrating one of her infamous swoons.

  “Number eight,” she fairly squealed, as though her corset was also laced up too tightly.

  Lauren was feeling quite nasty; she didn’t want to acknowledge that it might stem from the fact that they had such a keen interest in Tom or that he might be the slightest bit interested in them. She didn’t like seeing him flirting with them, even though she knew it was his nature to flirt harmlessly with anything that wore skirts.

  Tom signed Lady Cassandra’s dance card, then Lady Anne’s and Lady Priscilla’s. And as a few of the other ladies who’d been gathered nearby pressed in on him, he signed their cards as well. Then he winked, somehow managing to take in the entire assemblage. “Now if you ladies will excuse me, I promised my first dance to Fairfield.”

  Tom reached for Lauren’s hand, but before he could grab it she placed her hand on his arm.

  “You offer a lady your arm,” she said quietly.

  He grimaced, and she thought she could see a blush beneath his collar. He wore no bandanna that might reflect any sort of red coloring onto his skin. How interesting that he was so easily embarrassed, that he did actually blush.

  “Thanks,” he said, as he escorted her onto the dance floor, where he smoothly took her within the circle of his arms.

  “I must say that you are certainly charming the London ladies,” she said.

  “I’m trying. Harrington explained that my most important task is to find a wife.”

  She lost her footing—

  “Whoa,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  —but his hold on her was sturdy enough that they managed to avoid any embarrassing mishap.

  “Yes.” She laughed self-consciously. Of course, he would marry. She knew that. She simply hadn’t accepted it. “I didn’t realize you’d already begun the wife hunt.”

  “The ‘hunt’ part makes it sound a little barbaric.”

  “Yes, I suppose it does, but still I didn’t realize that you were searching for a wife already.”

  “Not seriously pursuing one at the moment. I’m simply keeping my options open.” His gaze roamed over her bare shoulders. “I sure do appreciate your dress.”

  “I believe Charles Worth would shudder if he heard you call it a dress. It’s an evening gown.”

  “It suits you.”

  “Worth has an uncanny ability to know the style and color that will most flatter a woman. His gowns are considered works of art, and I daresay that he charges enough that they could be framed and hung on walls as such.”

  Tom laughed. “Still a bit of country in you, isn’t there, Lauren?”

  “I sometimes fear there’s more than a bit.”

  “Why does that frighten you?”

  “That was simply an expression. I actually hope I’ve retained some of the country. I worry a bit that I won’t fit in when I return to Texas. Wouldn’t that be ironic, to find that I’ve changed so much that I might feel as out of place there as I once felt here?”

  “I think if you set your mind to it, you can fit in wherever you want.”

  “I can at least give the appearance of fitting in,” she admitted. “Speaking of fitting in, you certainly have adapted well. I don’t think you’re going to need me at all to night.”

  “Oh, darlin’, I need you. Don’t doubt that for a second.”

  There was an undercurrent to his words, something more than the idle banter. She wanted to touch his cheek, brush back his hair that had fallen forward. As he continued to swirl her around the room, she became lost in the heat of his dark gaze. She didn’t want to think of him looking at anyone else in quite the same manner as he looked at her: as though she was still his.

  The music drifted into silence and quiet murmurs began to take up the space left behind as people started to seek out their next partner. Lauren had never had a chance to dance with Tom in Texas. She was glad that at least she’d leave England having had one dance with him.

  He leaned near, bending his head slightly. “It was my plea sure to dance with you, darlin’. I hope you’ve saved at least one more dance for me.”

  Her heart fluttered with the seductive rasp of his voice, the wafting of his breath just below her ear. She nodded, barely able to push out the words. “The last one.”

  “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

  As he escorted her off the dance floor, she realized that she would be as well.

  Tom had never had occasion to experience jealousy, but at the moment it was sure rearing its ugly head. Lauren was without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the room, and one of the most sought after. Her dance card was obviously filled because she had yet to sit out a dance. Tom seldom took his eyes off her, which made dancing with any other lady a dangerous undertaking.

  “Stop watching her.”

  Tom shifted his gaze to Lydia. It seemed that they’d both improved since they’d danced in her family’s barn on her birthday. “I can’t say I think much of this two-dance rule you have over here,” he said.

  She gave him an impish grin. “If we didn’t, she wouldn’t have much of a chance to dance with anyone else, now would she?”

  Not if he had anything to say about it. Not that he thought he would. During the past week, during each of their outings, she’d been polite and reserved while rattling off instructions, explanations, and examples of what was considered proper and what wasn’t. He couldn’t deny that he’d learned a lot or that she was doing exactly as he’d asked: teaching him to project the polished veneer of a civilized man. But they’d seldom had a moment alone, to truly talk, to explore possibilities.

  It had taken every bit of restraint he could muster not to go out every night and toss rocks at her window to get her attention.

  “Oh, someone’s brooding,” Lydia said.

  He dropped his gaze to Lydia’s. “My apologies. I was just thinking about everything we’ve done in the past week, and it doesn’t seem like we’ve really had any time to just…” He let his voice trail off. To just what? To get to know each other again?

  “The Season is known for being a whirlwind of activities.”

  “And you love it.”

  “I do. And I’ll warn you that it’s about to get much more hectic, now that the first ball has taken place.”

  More hectic? He couldn’t imagine. He wanted to embrace this life, but he found himself longing for the quiet of a star-filled night.

  “If some other lady catches your fancy, and you’d like an introduction, do be sure to let me know, and I’ll arrange one,” Lydia offered.

  “I appreciate the kindness.”

  The final strains of the music fell into the silence. To his surprise, Lydia rose up on her toes and whispered, “I have it on good authority that she is in the habit of always taking a turn about the garden during dances twelve and thirteen.”

  Tom grinned down on her. “Now I appreciate that bit of information even more than an i
ntroduction.”

  She smiled warmly. “I thought you might.”

  The promise of a rendezvous echoed through Tom’s mind as he danced with Lady Blythe, maybe the second-prettiest gal in the room. She was flirtatious, and he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the way she smiled whenever he called her darlin’. But she couldn’t hold his attention. It seemed the only woman with that power was Lauren.

  Lauren to whom he’d promised to purchase passage to Texas at the end of the Season. He couldn’t have made a more unsatisfying bargain if he’d made his deal with the devil.

  He slipped outside during the eleventh dance and stood in the shadows, watching as others—some discreetly, some not as much—made their way along the gas-lit path that led into the gardens. Some moved about almost guiltily, and he wondered if they had plans to leave the path, to go where they couldn’t be seen, to be a little daring, a little bold, to cast propriety aside for a little bit of fun.

  That’s what he was missing: good old-fashioned fun. He couldn’t explain why he wasn’t having a good time. He enjoyed the company, and he was certainly engaged in a variety of activities, but he couldn’t truly identify the purpose behind any of them—unless it was simply to be seen and in the being seen to make an impression on London.

  He wondered how long he’d feel this need to impress, how long before he’d feel that he’d succeeded at putting his father to rest.

  Hearing the music waft into silence, he turned his attention to the French doors, envisioning Lauren’s latest dance partner escorting her back to her circle of friends, wondering how long she’d wait to make her escape. Not long at all.

  A grin crept up his face as she appeared in the doorway, disappearing so quickly into the shadows, that if he hadn’t been waiting for her, he might have missed her. He stepped forward, and she released a startled gasp.

  “Oh, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  He chuckled low. “Do you have any idea how many times you’ve asked me that since I got to London?”

  “Obviously it bears asking when you continually show up so unexpectedly.”