Vow: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “That was not necessary, Ara.”

  “It was. It is.” Her hands shifted to the right in her lap, pressing on the thigh of her tapping leg. It stilled, forced to the floor. “You care too much about me, Caine. You feel too much responsibility for me. It cannot continue.”

  “So you are absolving me from your life because I care about you?”

  “I am absolving you from my life because I cannot do this any longer, Caine.” Her foot overcame her hands, her heel tapping again. She leaned forward, setting the weight of her torso on her thigh. “What happened today…I cannot have you appearing in front of me out of nowhere. I cannot watch you pursue another woman. I cannot watch you get married. It is too hard. Especially after what I told you in that coaching inn…after what we did. How you left me in that room.”

  “That was for your own good, Ara.” Caine’s jaw flexed sideways, the memory of that night hitting him hard. Twice a bastard to her.

  Her hand flew up, touching the corner of her eye. A tear? He couldn’t be sure in the low light.

  “How, Caine—how was leaving me without a word, after I told you I loved you, for my own good?”

  “I did it for you, Ara. You do not know your own mind. You do not love me. You are indebted to me, you always have been—that is what you feel.”

  “What I feel?” The words turned into a low shriek as the hand at her eye balled into a fist, punching into the cushion next to her leg. “Now you dare to presume you know more about my mind than I do?”

  She shook her head, and this time when her fingers reached up to her cheek, it was a definite tear, caught in the flicker of the carriage lamp, that she wiped away.

  “Ara—”

  “Damn you, Caine. Damn you.” Her green eyes, dark with the night, landed on him, blistering with pain. “We are done. I will ensure there is no reason for us to ever have to speak again.”

  She stood, jumping out and down from the carriage, running through the drizzle to the front door. Tom bumbled, trying to run alongside her up the stairs and protect her from the rain even though he was not nimble enough to keep up with her speed.

  Caine slumped back against the cushions.

  Did Ara not realize she had no need to damn him?

  He already was damned.

  There was no arguing that.

  { Chapter 11 }

  Ara looked down at the calendar in her arms, stopping in the wide hallway to read her tiny scribble. Too many appointments were squished into the next three days. Ruby brooch with Lady Padwall. Matching emerald earrings, necklace, and bracelet with Lady Severson. A set of diamond rings with Lady Ferron. It went on and on.

  But it didn’t matter. No matter how many appointments she set up. No matter how she tried to fill her mind, she could not forget, not for even one precious second, that Caine was marrying Miss Silverton in three days’ time.

  He had proposed. Miss Silverton had accepted. Only three days remained until their union.

  Ara sucked in a breath, trying to force air farther down into her lungs and past the constant tightness in her chest. She just needed to make it through these last three days.

  Three more days, and Caine would be married. Then the pain in her chest would ease. The knot in her stomach would disappear, allowing her to eat again. Three more days.

  She lifted a heavy foot, walking down the hallway that cut through the center of the Baker Street house. A lusty, full laugh floated into the hallway, and Ara stopped just outside the doorway to the main drawing room.

  She knew Mr. Flagerton was waiting for her. He was going to accompany her on a walk in Vauxhall Gardens before the trees lost their plumpness to the chill of fall. But before they left, he needed to go through the latest shipment of gemstones with Greta.

  Turning the corner, Ara watched them. They sat in the middle of the drawing room, foreheads almost touching as they pored over the jewels spread between them on the round rosewood table. Greta’s shoulders were still shaking at whatever she had just been laughing at, and a low chuckle filled the room from Mr. Flagerton.

  Ara’s head tilted, watching them unnoticed for a few minutes. Why had she never seen this?

  Greta glanced up from the table, her eyes catching Ara. Loupe in her fingers, her arm swung, ushering Ara into the room. “Darling, you must see what Mr. Flagerton has brought me with this set of gems.”

  Ara stepped into the room, eyebrows arched, as both Mr. Flagerton and Greta stood from the table. “Something unusual?”

  Greta pointed down at the table. “Gems with the most…peculiar shapes. Mr. Flagerton has always had an eye for the interesting.” A devil smirk lit up her face as she looked at Mr. Flagerton. “Perhaps I will create a new line that we can sell specifically to the madams on the other side of Charing Cross.”

  A quick glance at the table verified the peculiar shapes of some of the stones. Leave it to Greta to go to the outrageous. At least Mr. Flagerton had the good sense to look sheepish at Greta’s suggestion. Appropriate, even if Ara had just heard him chuckling over the very thing Greta suggested.

  Ara shook her head, her eyes to the ceiling as she set her calendar onto the one clear spot on the small desk in the corner. Space was limited in the Baker Street house. The study had become Greta’s working studio, so Ara had attempted to take up only a small corner in the drawing room with her work, but she was quickly losing the battle being waged between her many ledgers and space.

  “Do not look the prude, darling Ara.” Greta picked up one of the aqua-hued gems, holding it to the light shining in from the window. “If you would only examine them, you would see the potential.”

  Ara smiled. “That is quite all right, Greta. I believe what you say and do not need to verify.” She looked to Mr. Flagerton. “Are you done with Greta for the moment? I can take leave to walk now, or we can delay it, if need be.”

  Mr. Flagerton looked to Greta, and receiving a nod, he turned to Ara. “Now would be delightful, if it does not take too much of your day. Greta says you have been beyond busy.”

  Ara shrugged. “It has been manageable. And I would like to fit the walk in. Mable should be down in a moment so we can leave.”

  Within a half hour, Ara and Mr. Flagerton strolled through an outside path in Vauxhall Gardens, Mable trailing them at a discreet distance.

  Ara glanced up at Mr. Flagerton’s profile. He was handsome. A traveler with the darkened skin to prove it. Somewhat rugged, even. Quick witted. And while Ara liked him immensely, she now fully realized the truth that had been twitching about in the back of her mind for weeks.

  She had been so absorbed in using Mr. Flagerton to forget Caine, that she hadn’t even seen what had been in front of her for months.

  Beneath all of her flamboyance, Greta was very much in love with Mr. Flagerton. And he was quite enamored with Greta in return.

  But he was also far too much of a gentleman to cut things with Ara and turn his attentions to her dearest friend.

  It was time Ara set at least one thing right in her life.

  Her hands clasping behind her back, Ara focused on a sculpture at the far end of the path. “Mr. Flagerton, you have done me the great honor of giving me your attentions these past few months, but I feel I must ask you something.”

  Worry instantly spread across Mr. Flagerton’s brow. “What is it, Miss Detton? I pray I have not offended you?”

  She looked up at him. “No. Not in the slightest. What I need to ask you about, I only just saw today—or more correctly, I only just realized it today.”

  “What was your realization?”

  “Greta.”

  “Greta?”

  “When you talk to her, her eyes glow. Your eyes glow. They do not do so with me.”

  His foot caught in a slight stumble. “Truly, Miss Detton, I would never—”

  “Please, no. There is no need to deny it. Not on account of my feelings. My ego can absorb this. I love Greta like a sister, Mr. Flagerton, and if what I just saw in the drawing ro
om is indicative of what you two could possibly have together, then I want that for you.”

  Ara paused, taking a deep breath with her next few steps. She smiled as her head turned to him. “Even more so, I want that for Greta. For all of her outlandishness, she is a special soul, Mr. Flagerton, and she deserves every happiness. If you can give her that happiness, I think you should.”

  His brow still furrowed, Mr. Flagerton continued ten silent steps before turning to Ara, his hazel eyes sincere. “I agree with your thinking on the matter, Miss Detton.”

  Ara exhaled her held breath with a nod. She would not find happiness with Mr. Flagerton, but Greta would. She could not have asked for more. The smile on her face widened. “I thought you would, Mr. Flagerton.”

  ~~~

  The glow of the swinging lantern sent shadows scurrying in front of him within the cold stone hallway. In the middle of the blasted labyrinth of Notlund Castle, Caine was lost, searching in vain for his betrothed.

  The toe of his boot stubbed on an askew stone in the floor of the hallway, jamming his toes. Dammit. It was the night before his wedding, and his fiancée shouldn’t be this hard to find.

  Caine stopped his long strides at a three-way split in the corridor. Left, right, or forward. And not a bloody clue which way would bring him back to the main guest wing of the castle.

  He stood in the split, staring down each of the dark corridors. He needed to find Miss Silverton. Find her and say what?

  They were making a mistake?

  The bloody wedding was only hours away.

  And what would await him if he did break it off?

  An estate that would be drowning in debt in another five years? An empty townhouse? A distinct cut from society after breaking the engagement? Two sisters that would be ruined by his scandal, their chances at proper matches scratched?

  There was only one thing that he knew for certain wouldn’t be awaiting him.

  Ara.

  That fact he knew without a doubt. She was done with him.

  So why was he searching so hard in this blasted castle for his betrothed—who appeared to have gone missing herself? What madness kept him seeking?

  Caine set the lantern down on the stone floor, both of his hands going to his face, vigorously rubbing his eyes.

  Dammit.

  He was holding on. Holding on to what, he couldn’t quite name.

  Hell. He could name it, even if he wanted to lie to himself and not do so.

  Hope. Ara.

  But Ara was done with him. He repeated it five, twelve, twenty-two times. Done with him. Her own lips saying the words.

  But that damn flicker of Ara would not extinguish itself. It sat in the darkest part of his mind, taunting him, telling him that marrying Miss Silverton would be a massive mistake. Caine tried to grip that ember and crush it.

  He had to be pragmatic and not turn into a bloody romantic that let misplaced optimism rule his actions. That trait was reserved for Ara alone, and had no part in his life.

  Caine kicked at the stone floor, re-stubbing his toe.

  Dammit.

  Where in the hell was his fiancée?

  And what in hades was he going to tell her once he found her?

  Caine picked up the lantern, veering to the left, his strides long.

  Maybe he would find her down this path.

  ~~~

  Caine yanked at the end of his cravat, dismantling the knot that was near choking him. He had wanted to leave Notlund Castle with the veneer of an unbowed aristocratic gentleman—a paragon—but now he could get rid of the stifling thing. The start of fall had done little to cool the air, and they had a long ride back to London.

  “What?” Caine grumbled, his eyes not leaving the countryside to look at his companion across from him in the carriage.

  “You are handling being left at the altar—well, the night before the altar—fairly well, considering the erupting scandal.” His tone light, Fletch plucked off invisible flecks from his trousers, a smirk cavorting along the edges of his mouth. “I had not taken Miss Silverton as the eloping sort.”

  Caine sighed, crumpling the white strip of the cravat onto the cushion. “How in the hell am I supposed to take the events of the last twelve hours? Do tell what would be an appropriate reaction.”

  Fletch shrugged, nonplussed by Caine’s tone. “I would have thought a frown or two would have been appropriate. Not the look of a man who has just escaped the gallows and cannot believe his good fortune enough to smile about it.”

  “I am not happy about what just happened, Fletch. I almost just lost everything.”

  “So you are not happy you did not have to wed Miss Silverton?” Fletch’s eyebrow cocked. “Personally, I had placed my bets on you absconding from the estate before the wedding and leaving me behind with your mother and sisters to try and calm the masses. I think Miss Silverton did both of us a favor last night by disappearing to the Scottish border.”

  “A favor that would not have mattered in the slightest had the duke not had the good grace to show mercy upon my mother and sisters. After finding out I buy virgins from the Jolly Vassal as a pastime, he made it astoundingly clear there would have been no wedding, even if Miss Silverton hadn’t eloped with that physician.”

  “The Duke of Letson is a discreet fellow, as far as I understand.” Fletch leaned forward, handing Caine a flask of brandy.

  It was early, but since Caine hadn’t slept last night, he had no trouble taking a long swallow. It did little to ease his annoyance. “Yes, I am happy for Miss Silverton’s elopement. It saved me from the brutal discussion I was seeking her out to have before the duke found me.”

  “You were going to end it?”

  Caine shrugged. “It does not matter now. What does matter is how in the blasted hell did the duke come by the information about my activities in the Jolly Vassal? That is where my fury lies. That knowledge is how I nearly lost everything. I—we, for you have certainly helped through the years—have done everything possible to bury my affairs in that brothel. Not a trace. How the devil did he find out?” Caine’s eyes narrowed at Fletch.

  “Don’t look at me, Caine. I swore long ago I would do whatever I could to help and never breathe a word of it.” Fletch grabbed the flask back from Caine’s hand. “In fact, I would take offense at your current glare if you didn’t already have my sympathy over your recently jilted status. But all secrets find the light eventually, Caine. Your activities in the brothel are no different.”

  “How in the hell did he find out, then?”

  “I do not know. But you are right, you did almost lose everything.” His hand came up, forefinger and thumb nearly meeting. “You were this close to becoming a disgrace to everyone you have ever known—but instead, you escaped. Without a wife you did not want, and with half of her dowry. Overly generous of the duke, considering the circumstances.”

  Caine nodded. “Especially when he heard I was considering ending it.”

  “You bloody well told him that?”

  “I did. I could not in good conscience leave that unsaid.” Caine still could not believe the duke had offered such a deal. Yes, Caine had been the jilted party, and yes, it was proper to make compensation from the dowry in these situations. But for the duke to offer the portion of the dowry instead of exposing him and all his nefarious activities to society had gone beyond mercy—even if the duke had done it for the sake of Caine’s mother and sisters. The Duke of Letson had more honor in his pinky than any man Caine knew. Or at least the duke wanted it to appear that way.

  “You realize you could have told him the truth about your purchases at the brothel—what you actually do with the girls—and he would have likely turned over the entire dowry to you?” Fletch asked.

  “And put Ara—or any of the girls—in danger of being found out, ruined because they were victims of greed?” Caine’s fist tightened, knuckles cracking. “No. Never. They have lives, Fletch. Those girls, those women now have safe, secure lives—I am not
about to jeopardize that. I would have walked away with nothing if it meant protecting their secrets. Let the duke think of me what he will.”

  Fletch shrugged. “Regardless, I somewhat expected you to be happy on this ride back to London.”

  “Tell me again, why exactly I should be happy about almost losing everything—about having my life almost dissolve into utter scandal?”

  Fletch drew his ankle up, resting it on top of his thigh. “You should be happy you have been given another chance to be the man you want to be.”

  Damned if Fletch wasn’t aiming to get under his skin with every word this morning. Caine needed to just keep his mouth closed and take a much-needed nap. Instead, his voice came out in a growl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Easy.” Fletch’s palm came up, warding off Caine’s acrimony. “Let me clarify. Be the man, with the woman you actually want to be with.”

  Caine’s mouth tightened. “Shut your mouth, Fletch.”

  Fletch’s smiled widened, abrupt enthusiasm filling his features. It looked odd, for the harsh lines of his face rarely disappeared. “So it is acceptable for me to start courting Ara when we get back to London? I was going to wait until you were properly wed to your fortune bride. But as the first bride has slipped through your grasp, I only foresee this process of you finding a wife to be dragging onward, and I find myself somewhat impatient to declare my intentions toward Ara.”

  His teeth grinding, the threat in Caine’s voice bordered on livid. “Again, I beg you to shut your mouth, Fletch, before I shut it for you.”

  “It won’t be the first time.”

  “It will be the most painful.”

  “So you take offense at my intentions toward Ara?” Fletch leaned casually back against the carriage’s thick cushions. “I had never actually considered her as a possibility to pursue until you went on this fool’s quest for an heiress bride. I can only assume Ara is now in play and available for my attentions.”

  “She is not in play, Fletch. Not with the likes of you.”