Vow: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  ~~~

  Her boots click on the wooden floors, the strange, empty echo of it filling her ears as Ara walked across the wide foyer and back through the hallway into her study.

  Her old study, she corrected herself silently. She just needed to pick up the correspondence that Mrs. Merrywent said was here, and then she could make her next appointment with the Dowager Countess of Prewlter on Park Lane.

  Stepping into the doorway, her feet skidded to a stop.

  A man, his back to her, stood looking out the French doors at the roses in full bloom on the trellises in the garden behind the townhouse.

  Not just any man. Caine.

  It had been two months since she had seen him. His visit at Notlund Castle was followed by a stay at his estate in Somerset. The longest time they had ever spent apart.

  Caine’s shoulders snapped back as he straightened, obviously recognizing her presence, but he didn’t turn around. He stood, staring out the windowpanes of the door.

  “I do not know how you get these to bloom here without much sun, aside from the fact that every other rosebush I have come across in the past week has wilted with the August heat.” His voice low, he didn’t turn around.

  Ara glanced about the room, noting the pile of correspondence on the desk, and then her eyes rested on the back of his dark jacket. “It is Mrs. Merrywent’s doing. She has always been the genius with the plants.”

  He turned slowly, his head trailing his body as his eyes drifted from the scarlet roses. Ara’s stomach dropped, her breath catching as his blue eyes settled on her, skewering her from across the room. Anger—lust—indifference—Ara wasn’t sure what she was seeing in the hard tilt of Caine’s brow.

  “Where is everything, Ara?”

  So it was anger.

  She hadn’t written to him of her move while he was at Villsum House during the month after his stay at Notlund. She had taken care of the details of it without his knowledge, just as she had always taken care of much of his business. This house was now empty, the walls echoing the slightest sound.

  “I have moved in with the women at the Baker Street townhouse.” Her hand swept across the room at the last remaining items in the townhouse, her desk, desk chair, two heavy mahogany inlaid sideboards with cabinets below, and Caine’s leather chair. “There is no room for these items. So you will have to sell them with the house. Everything is in order and prepared for the sale.”

  His eyes narrowed. “These are your things, Ara. This is your home. You should not have moved from here.” Fury vibrated under the smooth rumble of his voice.

  Ara forced a bright smile onto her face. “I believe we agreed that keeping this house was nothing but a drain upon your estate. I can ensure a much more secure future for all the Baker Street house women if I condense all the expenses down to one household. The Vakkar Line can easily sustain all of the needs at the Baker Street house.”

  His left hand balled into a fist. “I agreed to no such thing, Ara.”

  She knew he hadn’t, but she also knew this would be the easiest thing. She had planned to have a buyer at the ready by the time he found out she had vacated the house, making it difficult for him to withdraw from the sale. Blast herself for dragging her own feet.

  The smile on her face quivered, but she held fast to it. He mustn’t know how much it had pained her to leave this place. How she had cried silent tears every night for the last week in her bed at the Baker Street house. Even now, standing in the gaping vacantness of her home, her heart twisted, longing to be back in its comfort.

  Her look dove away from him, landing on the desk as her smile finally faltered, her lips drawing in. She could not let him see how much she missed this house—nor that her stomach was having a hard time keeping an even keel when his look scorched into her like that.

  Ara pointed at the small stack of papers and envelopes on her old desk. “I am just here to pick up these letters.”

  He nodded, silent, his eyes not leaving her face.

  Ducking his unflinching gaze, she went over to the desk and made a production of flipping through the letters and notes to avoid looking at him. “Your visit to Notlund Castle went well? I understand there was a…hasty…wedding of the elder Silverton sister while you were there?”

  “There was.”

  “It has been all the chatterboxes can talk about—the Earl of Luhaunt and his new wife do well to stay in the country and avoid the sniping of the drawing rooms.”

  “I have never known you to partake in gossip, Ara.”

  Was that what she was doing? She had thought she was just attempting to fill the empty air between them. And maybe discover where he stood with the younger Silverton sister. If they had gotten engaged, Ara would have surely read about it in the papers or heard of it in the drawing rooms, and a wedding would already be in the process of planning. Unless Caine and Miss Silverton were keeping their betrothal quiet. That was possible. The thought sent a lump into her throat.

  She shook it free, shrugging with another bright smile. “Since the Duchess of Dunway has purchased several Vakkar sets, I have been in demand to show a number of Greta’s designs in the past months. It has placed me in numerous drawing rooms, that is all. I nod politely at whatever the ladies would like to talk about, and the main topic has been Lord Luhaunt’s unexpected wedding.”

  She tugged the edges of her white gloves along her wrists, pulling them farther up her bare arms. For how warm it was at the moment outside, the air in her old study seemed oddly chilly. Gathering the small stack of correspondence into her arms, Ara looked to him. “As I said, I am just here for these. Why are you here, Caine? I have been maintaining all of the affairs and accounts as warranted. Did you need something?”

  His hand disappeared under the lapel of his dark jacket, and he withdrew a folded red note. A very distinct red note.

  Ara jumped a step toward him, fumbling with the letters in her arms as she snatched the note out of his hand. “Where did this come from? I have been keeping up on all of your correspondence—every day. Why did I not see this?”

  “I made Wilbert pull any of these envelopes.”

  Dread settled into her belly. “You what?”

  “Mr. Wilbert has been pulling them from the piles for me before he handed the stack over to you.” Caine plucked the note out of her hand. “I was not about to chance you coming across one of these without me present.”

  “But it has been months, Caine. How many did we miss?” She turned to slam the papers in her arm down onto the desk before she lost control and tossed them across the room. Her hand on her hip, she whipped back to him. “How could you do that? There were girls, Caine, innocent girls that you let…that you just let…” Her hand cupped over her mouth, fighting the sudden urge to vomit. Head shaking, she glared at him. “You had no right to do such a thing.”

  “No?” He tucked the envelope back into his jacket, returning her glare. “I have every right, Ara. I already know I cannot save the world. Something you have never been able to come to terms with. I was not about to leave you with the opportunity to do something stupid, because you still—even after all these years—have no regard for your own safety.”

  Her head snapped back, struck at the vehemence in his voice. “That is not true.”

  He closed the gap between them, his breath seething as he looked down at her, his blue eyes set hard. “It is true, Ara. What would you have done had you seen one of the invitations come through while I was away?”

  Her jaw clamped shut, her lips tight as she wedged her arms up between them, crossing them over her chest.

  “Exactly. You have no business in the East End, Ara. None. So save your look of outrage for someone it will work upon. I was not about to let one of those envelopes into your view while I was away.”

  “You do not know what I would have done, Caine.”

  “I don’t?”

  “I can keep myself safe.”

  His eyebrow cocked at her. “You still do not unders
tand this world, do you, Ara? Even after all you have seen. You think you are impervious to the danger.”

  “I know very well I am not impervious.”

  “No, you do think that. You escaped the worst once, Ara, so that is where your mind turns. Unfailing optimism. You think that somehow you will escape any danger—that people are inherently good and life will spin well for you. And that makes you very dangerous to yourself, Ara.” His gaze went to the ceiling as he shook his head, hissing out an exhale. His eyes settled back on hers. “Tell me, Ara, do you think Mr. Flagerton would look kindly upon your late night activities?”

  Her eyes flew wide. “You would not dare do such a thing to me.”

  “No? You care that much for him?”

  “What if I do?”

  “Do you not think he should know what you are capable of? How far you will go to save those girls? Why he will wake one night, alone in his bed, and wonder where you disappeared to? How he will eventually come to wonder why he is not enough for you?”

  Control lost, Ara’s hand whipped up, aiming to slap him. He snatched her wrist in the air before she made contact.

  “Caine, I swear—”

  “No, I swear, Ara—I swore to keep you safe a long time ago.” He forced her arm downward between them. “And I am not about to break that vow. So yes, I will hide the damn notes from you, because you are a menace to yourself.”

  Red flew in front of her eyes. If only she’d been raised without manners, she would be spitting in his face right now.

  Her chest expanding in a breath so deep it hurt her lungs, she stepped backward, ripping her wrist from his grasp.

  She shoved the papers from the desk back into the crook of her arm, unable to keep her feet from stomping like a five-year-old’s as she went to the door.

  “Ara, stop.”

  Her steps quickened.

  “This auction is for tonight. Shall I pick you and Mrs. Merrywent up at the usual time?”

  His words stopped her at the door, but she refused to turn back to him. “I will go tonight, but it is for the innocent one. Not for you. For the girl.”

  ~~~

  Caine looked out the carriage window into the darkness at the torchlit gate they approached.

  Shit.

  This was no ordinary girl they had saved from the brothel tonight.

  Every moment they had spent with the girl, Lizzie, in the carriage—her speech, how she held herself—told Caine she reeked of proper breeding. And judging by the size of the gates they were approaching, and the light from the massive torches reflecting off the gold gilding of the crest with a roaring lion in the middle, this was a place of power, of wealth. A place that would not look kindly upon having a precious daughter stolen from them.

  That was assuming she was a relative of whoever owned this estate in Kent. She could be a scullery maid for all Caine knew. His eyes ran over the girl’s straight posture, shoulders that did not slump, the slight upward tilt of her chin. She even hid her shaking well. Bred to not show emotion. No, she wasn’t a maid. This one came from—and lived in—a world of privilege.

  Caine turned back to the window, scrutinizing the crest. The double-tailed, three-talon lion had field rose vines wrapped about the hind legs. Vaguely familiar, but he did not recognize it attached to any of the peers he knew. Quite possible the place belonged to new, untitled money. An ancient-looking crest sometimes went far to impress the masses.

  He looked from the carriage window to the girl across from him. Per her request, they had stopped after they were out of the East End to get her properly clothed in a brown dress with a high neck and long sleeves, even though it was still warm in the middle of the night. Mrs. Merrywent had combed and braided her hair during the ride only two hours outside of London, and now the girl looked of the innocence she had been sold for.

  Guilt sliced through him, Ara’s accusing eyes from earlier haunting his mind. How many young ones had they missed while he was away from London? How many were now dead? Or pieces of meat for men to desecrate again and again?

  The argument he continually warred with himself over swallowed his mind—was it worse to let his purchases, his money, fuel the trade? Or was it worse to pull his money from the trade and lower the incentive, but in the process, be forced to leave all of the innocent girls to be bought by derelicts? Especially when, just like the girl he had purchased before he left for Notlund Castle, this one was too young—thirteen, maybe fourteen at most. Tiny, especially as she was squeezed between Ara and Mrs. Merrywent.

  Despicable.

  Caine cleared his throat as he tried to control the shot of rage running up his spine. “This, Lizzie?” He waved his hand at the window of the carriage. “This is your home?”

  The girl leaned forward, stretching over Ara’s lap to see out the window. “Yes. This is home.”

  Caine knocked on the roof of the carriage. The wheels immediately started to slow.

  Lizzie looked to Ara. “I want you to bring me in, but my brother-in-law—he will not be…pleased. I am afraid for you if you accompany me.”

  Ara grabbed her hand. “Will he harm you, Lizzie?”

  “No. Never. No one would ever hurt me here. My sister will be furious with me for riding off of the estate, but I just wanted to escape to read…” She took a quivering breath that turned into a slight whimper. “That was all. I just wanted to read, nothing more. Somewhere away, and then that man appeared…”

  “Shhhhhh.” Ara grabbed Lizzie’s head, tucking the girl onto her shoulder before Lizzie’s words could turn into sobs. “From what you have said about your family, they must be frantic for your return. And it has only been a few days. You are so lucky to have them, Lizzie. That is what you need to concentrate on—being home with them, where you are loved. And if you can make yourself forget this ever happened, you must do so. Let it be a bad memory you never think about, because you are now safe. Home.”

  The wheels of the carriage came to a stop, and Lizzie nodded as she drew away from Ara’s shoulder, instantly calmed.

  Caine’s heart contracted at the scene. How Ara always managed to calm the girls, the capacity she had for empathy and compassion, when her own experience had been so very harsh, always astounded Caine. Where she drew the strength from, time and again, he did not know.

  What he did know was that Mr. Flagerton was not damn good enough for her.

  Not that he was any better.

  “Here. If you ever need me, this is the address where I can be found at,” Ara said, slipping a small card into Lizzie’s hand and giving her a quick hug. “Are you sure you do not want anyone of us to accompany you up to the residence? As we told you, we have done this before, and after a few tense moments, once things are explained, the situation becomes quite manageable.”

  “No, thank you. For everything.” She looked back to Mrs. Merrywent and then back to Ara. “But I would like to go up alone. Please.”

  Ara nodded.

  Lizzie looked at Caine. He offered her a slight nod and then leaned to the side to open the carriage door. Tom stood under the mounted lantern on the side of carriage, his hand at the ready to help Lizzie down the carriage steps he had already pulled.

  Within seconds, the girl had ducked to the right of the main gates, disappearing through a small doorway in the stone wall.

  The ride back to London was made in silence.

  Mrs. Merrywent had dozed off almost immediately once the carriage wheels started turning again. Ara’s eyes, on the other hand, stayed wide open, moving from corner to corner in the carriage. Everywhere but at Caine.

  Yes, he had been harsh with her at the Gilbert Lane house, but he had no other recourse. He knew full well Ara was bound to get herself hurt or killed without his guidance.

  Despite the drizzle that had set in, Tom made adequate time back to London. Her foot constantly tapping, Ara managed to avoid eye contact with Caine the entire way.

  The coach stopped outside of the Baker Street house. At the turn o
f the carriage door handle, Mrs. Merrywent’s entire body jerked with a start, and she sat up, eyes bleary. “That was quick.”

  The right side of Ara’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “It was.” She motioned her hand for Mrs. Merrywent to exit.

  Waiting for Mrs. Merrywent to move down the stairs in front of her, Ara scooted along the bench, her eyes solidly on escape.

  Caine knew he should let Ara go in silence. It was the honorable thing to do. He was due back up at Notlund Castle in a week.

  Due there, ready with a marriage proposal.

  His mother knew it. Miss Silverton knew it. He knew it.

  Ara probably knew it. Even though she had not spoken a word of it. She probably knew.

  Let her go.

  Yet his mouth opened the second Ara stood to exit. “Ara, wait.”

  Ara glanced at him and then out to Mrs. Merrywent. Tom was already bringing Mrs. Merrywent up to the door under the cover of an umbrella.

  Ara sank back to the seat, looking across to Caine. “What?”

  His mouth opened, but no words fell forth. What had he thought he was going to say?

  She nodded, her lips slightly jutting out as her eyes read his face. “Caine, earlier today…”

  “Yes?”

  Her hands clasped together on her lap as her heel started to tap on the floor. “You told me you swore to keep me safe.”

  The tone of her voice made his body tighten. “I did.”

  Her words went soft and slowed, each word said with distinction. “You are absolved, Caine—of everything to do with me. Everything we still need to do, we can do through written correspondence. We can even figure out how you can hand off the girls to me after an auction without interaction. There is no reason we need to ever speak again. I do not know if he told you, but I have already turned over much of the responsibilities of our association to your new man-of-affairs. He appears to be competent. It will do, until you are married and your new wife can decide how much involvement she wants with running the households.”