The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Fowlkes, Frances

  “Olivia’s here.”

  “Jonathon?” She startled, her light near falling to the floor.

  “Indeed.”

  He snatched a bound novel off his sister’s chest to avert his gaze from Sarah. The girl was ethereal in her appearance, the small light of the candle enough to illuminate her state of undress. Her plaited hair hung over her shoulder, the light from her candle catching on the occasional caramel-colored highlight in her dark tresses. His fingers itched to undo the ribbon holding her quick plait together and have the cool silk hairs fall heavy in his hands—along with the rest of her.

  She was a vision, her full curves catching on the thin muslin of her simple chemise. The close proximity of her light yielded the fabric transparent. He did not have to look hard to see the dark circles of her breasts or the hollow space between her thighs.

  His blood roared to life, along with the lower half of his anatomy.

  Good God.

  How many times had he seen her thus? Wandering about Covenan, in search of a good book at ungodly hours? More times than he could count, were he to be decidedly honest, but she had been twelve, fourteen…sixteen at the latest. She certainly hadn’t been as…as well-proportioned and curvaceous as she was now. Her breasts were full and taut against the muslin and the indention of her waist along with the roundness of her hips left little to the imagination.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here at this hour?” he growled.

  “The same could be asked of you.”

  “I asked you first,” he asked, his irritation evident in every syllable he spoke. And why should he be anything but annoyed and displeased? He had found his sister asleep on a chaise lounge in their host’s library. In the middle of the bloody damn night. She should be abed with layers upon layers of blankets heaped upon her, not gallivanting about in night clothes.

  The word evoked the image he had just seen, of Sarah and her robes, hinting at pleasures he had no right to be thinking.

  Sarah was unsuitable. Her ill reception today a clear testament to the untidiness of their match. His votes in Parliament would be discounted, with Lord Vincent leading the way, should he seek any sort of relationship with her. Her reputation was far more soiled than he imagined, the damage far more vast than he first believed.

  He needed a school for his penitents, dammit. He’d seen their rejection, their inability to secure further employment once their bodies had degraded. Scorned. Cast aside. And dying in the streets. Like Elizabeth. Salvation would not come and his guilt would not be assuaged should he pursue the educated Lady Sarah—the very real embodiment of what the ton’s elders feared—a truly educated woman who had used her education to harm others.

  All of which made him feel like a complete heel. He was having indecent thoughts about a woman he could not have.

  He brought a hand to his head and sighed.

  “Are you all right?” Sarah asked, her words filled with concern.

  No he was not all right. He had images of her breasts heavy in his hands, of her thighs parted wide for him, flashing in his mind. He was the furthest thing from all right.

  “My head,” he grumbled. As if wishing to right his falsehood, a dull pain began to throb at his temples. The evening was going from bad to worse quicker than a March hare through spring fields.

  “I am told rest will cure most ailments,” she offered.

  “Unfortunately it doesn’t make younger sisters less adventurous.” He nodded toward Olivia.

  “I woke to find her gone. I feared she might be wandering about the halls asleep.”

  Olivia was prone to the occasional dream-like stance, and as her friend, Sarah would not hesitate to follow and investigate. But damn it all, if the conditions were not highly volatile.

  “I thought to seek you out for your assistance,” Sarah continued, “when I saw the light.”

  He waited for Olivia’s ear-splitting snore to quiet. “You thought to seek me out? In a house where they are looking for you to act indecorously?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I considered the consequences before I set out on my mission. My concern for Olivia outweighed any possible ramifications.”

  He could not fault her for caring for his sister. Were their situations reversed, he would have done the same, but Lord, if his head didn’t hurt and his groin ache with unreleased yearnings. He touched a finger to his temples.

  “A bit of wine would help,” Sarah whispered.

  “And so would a sister who thought twice before slipping out of her room.”

  “Agreed.” Sarah’s voice warmed with amusement.

  Which only served to increase his ardor. His thoughts continued to fall to her barely clad body and the lush curves it exposed. He wanted to fling aside the filmy shift and do all sorts of indecorous things to her. The throbbing of both his lower half and his head increased. “I shall consider a glass as payment for returning both of you to your chambers.”

  “A payment fit for the service. Unless you think she can be roused and your assistance unnecessary?”

  He smirked. “Have you ever attempted to wake Olivia when she does not wish to wake?”

  Sarah let out a laugh. “I overheard her maid saying she no longer attempts the feat.”

  “Precisely. She will have to be carried. There is nothing for it. I only hope she is as light as she appears.”

  Smiling, she stepped toward him and held up her light. “Of course she is. Unless she had a second helping of custard. You know how she likes her desserts.”

  “Yes, plentiful.” He bent over and adjusted his sister’s arms around his neck so as to move her carefully from the chaise. With a grunt, he lifted her, adjusting her head against his chest.

  “I’ll get the candles.” Sarah doused Olivia’s wick and jostled the three holders in her hands. “I don’t suppose you know your way to the women’s quarters?”

  “I would not be a gentleman if I did.” Even though he was harboring very ungentlemanly thoughts, especially where it pertained to Sarah’s round bottom and the anticipation of seeing it bob and sway in front of him as he followed her to her shared room.

  Yes, libation. He definitely needed libation to get him through a lonely evening.

  “Right then. I will do my best to remember.” She lifted the lone flame and turned about. “I believe the exit is this way.”

  “It is.”

  With a deep breath, she led him out of the room and into the hall. Her steps were measured and purposeful, each one swift yet careful in its placement. Despite her uncertainty of the room’s location, she brought him to their door quickly and without interception, thank goodness. Olivia weighed heavy in his arms, and Sarah’s reputation weighed even heavier on his shoulders. She would be ruined beyond redemption should someone come upon them. But they didn’t. Perhaps his luck was turning.

  He settled Olivia onto her bed and turned toward Sarah.

  Then again, perhaps not. Seeing her near a bed in her night clothes was not his definition of lucky. Especially since he could not act on his impulses and kiss her senseless.

  Sarah lifted open a trunk as Olivia sat upright. “Whist.”

  “Whist?” Sarah asked.

  Olivia gave a sleepy nod. “It is how you shall redeem yourself.”

  “Now I know she is still dreaming,” Sarah uttered. “What does whist have to do with anything?”

  “Lady Vincent has a particular fondness for card games,” Olivia said with a yawn. “Specifically whist.”

  “Yes, of course,” Jonathon breathed. The marchioness was forever playing the game. She fancied herself a champion of sorts, a prodigy of chance and reading other’s faces. She knew when to lay down a trump and when to hold her cards to gain the advantage.

  “As much as we appreciate your contribution, I should have your ears boxed, Olivia. What do you mean by leaving your room? You must have known Sarah would follow.”

  “Of course she followed. She is my friend.” Olivia gave both of
them a drowsy smile. “But I did not intend to cause havoc. I simply rested my eyes for a moment—and then ended up here. With both of you.”

  “How delightfully convenient for you, Olivia,” Sarah scolded. “Do you realize the damage that could have been done? My reputation is at stake.”

  “Which is why you shall play a long game of whist with the marchioness tomorrow.” Olivia sunk under the covers, pulling them over her shoulders.

  “And you think a game of cards will earn her favor?” Sarah reached into the trunk and pulled out a dark bottle of wine.

  “That depends on what she wages and whether or not you win,” Olivia mumbled, her voice muted by the blankets.

  “Would it be in my best interest to lose?”

  Jonathon shrugged. “In the case of Lady Vincent, it would behoove you to play well for the first game, giving the appearance you have a thorough understanding of the rules, and then to conveniently forget them for the last two rounds.”

  “He’s right,” Olivia said on another yawn. “Now, if it would not be too much of a bother, I would like to get some rest.” Olivia shifted under the coverlets as a light snore started.

  Sarah peered across the bed at Jonathon. “As much as I agree with her plan, I cannot guarantee I will partner with Lady Vincent. Partners are drawn, not chosen.” She uncorked the bottle and tipped it into a small glass.

  “In London, perhaps, but not in Essex. While at Barrington Park we play by the Vincents’ rules, not popular ones,” said Jonathon.

  Sarah handed Jonathon the glass, which he readily took. “If that is so, I think it would best to partner with you rather than with her.”

  “Me?” he asked.

  “If Lady Vincent is set on breaking one rule, I don’t see why we cannot break another, especially if we both stand to win.”

  Jonathon eyed Sarah, careful not to indulge in his yearnings and allow his gaze to dip the succulent expanse of cream-colored skin between her shoulder and neck. “How so?”

  “You said it yourself. Win a few hands and then conveniently lose to allow her ego to remain unharmed. Display knowledge of the game while maintaining humility, yes? She would be magnanimous to the gracious loser. Maybe soften her stance toward me.”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. He glanced at Olivia, who continued to snore. Past experience lent him to believe her sound asleep. Her night walks were draining, the evening dramatics equally so. Returning his gaze to Sarah, he gave her a long look. What precisely was she suggesting?

  “You work with me to make certain she scores the most points and in doing so, she sees I’m not the awful rapscallion she believes me to be.”

  “And how do you plan to ensure she scores the most points?”

  “As my partner you can determine when to lay down the suit and when to discard.”

  “But I have no control over the hand I am dealt.”

  “Then my excellent memory shall aid us.” Sarah pointed a finger to her temple. “I simply have to remember which cards have been played and reason out those that still remain.”

  A brilliant idea, and one he believed she alone could execute…with him as her partner. A few quirks would have to be worked out, but the plan had potential. His pulse quickened. Should he follow through with her ruse, he would have to sit across from Sarah for the entirety of an afternoon or evening, depending on when he could convince Lady Vincent to entertain the idea.

  Whist, for once, held far more appeal than a fox hunt.

  “Who do you think Lady Vincent will choose as her partner?” asked Sarah. “Her selection could affect the outcome of our ruse and whether the two of us are accepted as a team.”

  “Leave Lady Vincent to me. Whomever I choose as my partner will be accepted.”

  “Because you are in her favor?”

  “Yes,” he said with a nod.

  “If you still remain so after not informing her I was your guest.”

  “You doubt my influence?”

  “I doubt her charity,” Sarah said flatly.

  “Have a little faith,” he assured. “She will go along with my choice. But it is I who must select you. Should you choose me, she will sniff out our collusion before it even begins.”

  Sarah nodded. “I can only guarantee my part by counting the cards. Should she choose someone with an equivalent talent, then we may have no chance at winning a trick and looking even marginally competent.”

  Jonathon pressed his lips together. “No one will suspect your talent, especially since they know you are here to earn their respect. To have you openly cheat in front of them, well—it would counter your mission and therefore be unexpected, regardless of whom the marchioness selects as her partner.”

  “Still, it would behoove us to have an idea of whom she may select as her partner, so that we can be somewhat prepared.”

  Jonathon set down his glass. “Mr. De la Pole. He had information on Albina this evening, and despite Lord Satterfield’s attempt to make everyone believe it an untruth, the fact that he even mentioned her is worth Lady Vincent’s investigation.”

  Sarah groaned, a delightful sound that plunged his mind straight to the bedroom. Would she do the same were he to kiss her? Or pleasure her in the basest of ways? “But Lord Satterfield chastised De la Pole in front of her.”

  “Which makes him all the more appealing,” he said, forcing himself to focus on the conversation at hand and not on possible sounds she might emit from his lovemaking. “You know how the gossip mill works. The more someone objects a rumor, the more interesting it becomes, regardless of whether or not it is true. And if Satterfield was strongly opposed to the possibility of your sister training as a jockey, then Lady Vincent will do everything she can to ferret out the truth, and her victim will be the source—Mr. De la Pole.”

  “But Albina’s past is just that. Done and finished,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Why bring it up now when she is happy and ensconced in a marriage with a viscount?”

  Jonathon narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying there is truth in the rumor?”

  “I’m asking why it matters. She is not here. Why she is a piece of discussion at all?”

  “Because you are here. And she is connected to you. As your sister, your past mistakes, misfortunes—they are interwoven with yours.”

  Balling her fists, Sara huffed. “But it was not I who committed them. I tried to prevent her from making a fool of herself. I warned her of the consequences, it—” Her hand went to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror.

  “Dear God,” he whispered. “It’s true, then. She trained as a jockey.”

  “And won the Emberton Derby,” Sarah said fiercely.

  He held up his hands. “Her achievement does not displace the fact that De la Pole is aware of her involvement.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “No. It does not.”

  “And Lord Satterfield?”

  “He was the one to discover Albina after the race. He has sworn secrecy, of course. Should anyone ever discover his acclaimed jockey was bested by a woman, he’d face—”

  “Certain humiliation.”

  “Precisely.” Sarah gave him a small smile and recorked the wine.

  “Then, I shall attempt to partner Olivia with Lord Satterfield. He appears a welcome ally.” He brought the glass of wine to his lips and sipped the last of its contents. “You have a long day ahead of you. Besting Lady Vincent is only the short of it.”

  “Which is why you cannot leave yet,” Sarah admonished. “We must first agree on our signals and determine how we will disguise our communication.”

  She settled herself on the bed linens and further tormented him with the placement. All he had to do was lean her back and take her mouth with his…instead, he placed his glass on the table and settled himself across from her.

  Despite the late hour, her eyes shone bright. “Well, this is cozy. It is just like when we were children and telling each other ghost stories by the fire.”

  Only it wasn’t. Because then, he ha
d not possessed a sexual attraction for the woman across from him. And he had not yet yearned to kiss her, awakening a deep-seated desire. He shouldn’t be here. Alone. With his sister and her friend. But what choice did he have? Should he ever hope to mend Sarah’s reputation and ensure her admittance into Society so she might claim the husband she sought… His body rebelled at the very notion. He had only to peer at her face, her full lips and bright, beautiful golden eyes to know he wanted them for himself.

  He didn’t want her to settle for another man. He wanted her to accept him.

  Which was impossible.

  Swallowing his disappointment, he nodded to Sarah.

  “Let us begin.”

  …

  Sarah took a deep breath, adjusting her position on top of the bed and leaning toward him. “Right then. We need a few gestures to pass by Lady Vincent’s keen observation.”

  Jonathon peered at her, his green eyes reflecting the flickering flame serving as their light. “Indeed.”

  She had stared into his eyes almost her entire childhood, and yet…she had never seen them this particular shade of emerald before. They were dark, deep green and glinting with the same suspected sensuality she had seen before.

  The hour was late and he had just consumed her wine. No doubt he was tired and wished to return to his bed. Much as she did hers, though slumber would not visit her. Not with the memory of that gaze burned into her brain. The color deepened…and she couldn’t help but think she was right in her suspicions. And there was more than cards and social advancement on his mind. He mimicked her position, leaning closer. His hand brushed against hers, sending little prickles of awareness skittering across her flesh. She did not move, for fear he would remove his hand—and the tingles it wrought.

  Her studies on lovemaking had covered an entire chapter on desire—and she was certain desire for Jonathon was what she felt.

  Oh for heaven’s sake. She needed to focus.

  “Well”—she licked her lips—“a natural flutter of the eyelids could be a signal to set down a trump.”

  He blinked and gave a slow nod of his head, leaning in an inch closer. She could smell the wine on his breath, the hint of sweetness blended with the sharp bite of alcohol. Sarah’s pulse rushed. “And how would I discern a natural flutter from an intended one?”