The Promise

by May McGoldrick

  She smiled and her hands moved from his back to rest against his chest. “And I believe you have spent too much time today in Sir Nicholas’s company. You are starting to sound like him.”

  “There is a distinct difference. Nicholas praises all women who are exceptionally beautiful. I praise only the one that I have desired for an eternity of days. The one woman who stirs my insides and sets my blood afire with need. The only woman who has ever managed to insert herself beneath my skin and reach into my heart. The one who I have failed to be able to push from my mind from the moment I first saw her.” His hand moved lower on her back and he pressed her closer until his arousal was pressed tightly against her belly. A flash of awareness darkened her blue eyes. “Do not confuse me with him, Rebecca.”

  She stared up at him with eyes so large that in them he could see her giving heart, her besieged soul. In them, his could also see his own reflection…the image of a man in love for the first time.

  “I could never confuse you with anyone,” she whispered finally, before raising herself on her toes and pressing her lips softly against his.

  He did not know it before tonight, but Stanmore realized that he had been so ill for so long and Rebecca was the cure.

  Stanmore’s blood pulsed. Desperate as he was to peel away her fears and see her rejoice in the passion that was ready to burst forth between them, he held back, controlling his desires, determined not to frighten her again.

  Rebecca’s hands slipped around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair. Her mouth slanted beneath his, her lips pressing harder. In her innocent way he felt her coaxing him to take charge. Careful to slip only a single thread of his control, he let his affection and his passion flow into the kiss. In the giving and taking of their mouths, in the delicate imitation of the sexual act, he felt himself soar.

  Her moan of pleasure was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Her body molded to his, softened, formed itself to him in ways he’d only dared to dream. He let slip another thread of his restraint, allowing his hand to roam over her back, pressing her closer, cupping her bottom, savoring the perfect fit of their bodies.

  Stanmore tore his lips away from her mouth and trailed kisses on her face, along the column of her neck. He lifted her in his arms and his lips came in contact with the round flesh of her breasts. He found himself becoming ravenous with need as her slender fingers guided his movements, pressing him to go on.

  “Is this it, Rebecca?” Stanmore managed to ask as he carried her to the divan and lowered her onto it. “Are you ready?”

  Her answer came as a whisper. “I am. For the first time in my life, I am ready.”

  And he was ready, as well. He knew what he wanted for today, for tomorrow, for eternity.

  “I do not want our first time to be here.” The layers of skirts draped across his arms as he lifted her again and started for the door. “But there is no stopping, now. No changing our minds.”

  She shook her head and kissed him on the lips. “No stopping. No regrets. Just the opposite.” She smiled shyly at him. “But I am not accustomed to being carried off to anyone’s bedchamber while an entire household looks on.”

  He hesitated by the door and then put her gently on her feet. Discretion had rarely been an issue with any of the women he’d known.

  “Of course. We will do this in the way that will please you.” Her warm smile and the affection that shone in her blue eyes rewarded him for his words. “However, if I allow you to retire to your room ahead of me now, do you give your word to let me in later?”

  She nodded and brushed a kiss over his lips.

  “And do you promise to remain impatiently by your door, dressed as you are?”

  She nodded again and smiled shyly.

  “One more thing, Rebecca,” he asked as she turned to go. “What was your name…before your marriage?”

  Stanmore watched the color rise from her neck into her face. Her gaze, though, did not waver.

  “Neville!” she said softly. “My name was Rebecca Neville.”

  ***

  The old woman snatched the coin out of the lady’s palm and peered at it in the darkness of the closed carriage. She glanced quickly at the drawn shade. She had met the carriage at the appointed place—an alley by Christ’s Church—but she could no longer hear the sounds of High Street.

  “What is it you want to know?” she asked nervously.

  “Rebecca Neville. Tell me everything you know.”

  “Been a long time since I’ve heard that name, yer ladyship.”

  Louisa Nisdale impatiently reached inside her purse. “Talk to me and there is another shilling in it for you.”

  The woman eyed the purse. “Miss Neville was well off, I should think, but kept to herself, she did. Polite to us servants, unlike the rest of them snooty ones…begging yer pardon, mum. The girls lived upstairs. We was in the attic rooms, but I worked in the kitchens, and I don’t know much more about her, to tell the truth.”

  “What happened to her?” Louisa took out two coins this time and held them close to the woman’s face. “Where did she go? What were her secrets?”

  “Can’t say I knows any of this, mum.” Her eyes narrowed. “But even if I knew some, that’s a lot of questions for the little ye be offering.”

  Louisa angrily reached inside her purse again and took out a gold coin. “Tell me anything worth knowing, and you shall earn this.”

  “That’s more friendly-like, mum.” The servant snatched the coin, holding it tightly in her fist. “We’re talking years ago, of course.”

  “Of course!” Louisa hissed impatiently. “Go on!”

  “Well, shortly after Miss Rebecca left, there was confusion in the house, mum. You see, Mrs. Stockdale had found the miss a paying job in London town, but whoever her kinfolk were, they didn’t take to it much. Fit to be tied, as far as we could see…especially after nobody could find her.”

  “What do you mean, no one could find her?”

  “Well, that’s just it, mum. She just kind of disappeared, she did. Went to that paying job and disappeared quicker than a dog with a bone.”

  “Who were these people that she went to work for? Give me a name.”

  The servant shook her head. “That I can’t, mum. I mean I don’t know. Where them girls come from or go don’t reach us much in the kitchens.”

  Louisa leaned forward and took hold of the woman’s wrist. “Then you find out. Do you hear me? You ask around and find out to whom she was sent in London.”

  “’Twill cost you another gold one…” the woman wrenched her wrist free, “…for that kind of work.”

  “Tomorrow!” Louisa said fiercely. “You bring me that name tomorrow.”

  ***

  Rebecca paced the room with a nervousness that had everything to do with lies…and nothing to do with passion.

  She could not go through with it. She couldn’t hurt Stanmore again. She would not treat him the way those other women that he’d cared for—his mother and his wife—had treated him. She couldn’t leave him without a word.

  What made it all so shockingly unfair was the thought of making love to him and then simply disappearing. All along, he had given her a choice, an option to go forward with their affair or to back away. Now, it was only right that she should offer him the same. This decision had to be his.

  The soft knock on the door set Rebecca’s heart pounding even faster than before. She moved quickly to the door and took a deep breath before opening it. He had discarded his jacket and waistcoat. Almost involuntarily, she studied every inch of him as if trying to stamp on her memory this moment, this man. It was a memory that would need to last for more years than she cared to count.

  “May I come in?”

  She was scorched by the heat of his gaze. Extending her hand in invitation, their fingers entwined, and he entered. As soon as the door closed behind them, he caught her up in his embrace, holding her, pressing every curve of her body against his until she could almost fee
l his heart beating in her own chest, feel his need spreading through every inch of her body, feel his desire become her own.

  “I cannot remember ever wanting anything in life as I have wanted you.”

  An aching knot formed in Rebecca’s throat, and she swallowed hard. “Before we do…this…there are things that I need to tell you. Things about myself…about my life…”

  His powerful arms held her close, and she paused to muster her courage. She had to speak the truth now, while she had the nerve.

  “Before I even start, though, you should know that…that everything that I have held back from you…the truth that I did not reveal…that I could not reveal…the reason I held back…had nothing to do with deceiving you…nothing to do with wanting to bring harm in any way to James…or to your family’s name. I had to deceive you because of the person I once was…because of the life I once had, and needed to escape.”

  She was babbling. She was crying. She was a mess. And still his arms did not release her. This realization only made the tears come faster—made the knot in her throat grow larger. She shook her head.

  “I am sorry. I…I just…”

  “Hush!” One strong hand caressed her back. The brush of his lips against her brow was filled with tenderness. If she could only hide in his arms and forget her past! If she could only continue to live her life in a lie, then she would have the memory of this night to take her through the rest of her life!

  But she couldn’t. She would not hurt him for all the happiness in the world.

  It was some time before Rebecca was able to find her voice. “I have failed you miserably in the promise I gave you downstairs.”

  “You have yet to fail me, Rebecca.”

  His words were charged with meaning, and she drew a breath. “I…”

  She stopped, pushed out of his embrace, and walked a few steps away. She couldn’t think clearly, so near him.

  “The first thing that you should know is…is that there never was a John Ford. That I was never married. As I told you downstairs, my true name is Rebecca Neville. But I have not used that surname for nearly ten years.” She turned to face him. The expression on his face was hidden by the shadows of the room. “When I arrived in Philadelphia so many years ago, I was an unmarried woman with a child that I was claiming as my own. I was in search of a position by which I could live. I decided then that it would be much easier…safer…if others saw me as a married woman. There were other husbands at war.” She shot a quick glance at him. “As far as anyone knew, he could return any day. With such an invention, I could keep off men’s attentions, and I could start our lives anew.”

  Stanmore moved to the nearest chair and sat down, but Rebecca could not look at him. She didn’t want to gauge his mood before she was finished saying everything that she had to say.

  “My design worked. I was able to find a place to live and employment that supported us. After that, I simply let the lie stand. Some months later—after I was secure in our haven—I made it known to those around me that I had received word of my husband’s death…at Quebec.”

  She moved away from him and toward the window.

  “When your attorney, Sir Oliver, found us in Philadelphia this spring, I had to lie to him about how I originally came to have James. Who I was…the life I had made…it was all based on the invention of this imaginary husband, on the fictitious life I had created for him and for myself. No one around me knew that I had not been born and raised in the colonies.”

  Rebecca felt a damp, aching cold seeping into her. With each word that she spoke, she knew she was moving farther away from him.

  “The first time I met your wife, Elizabeth, was on the night that she was leaving England.”

  “The same day that James was born.” His words from across the room brought tears again to her eyes. So he did know the truth of that, she thought.

  “She was alone and very ill from the childbirth…and I was…I was in need of help, myself.” She stared into the emptiness that separated them. “She helped me…paid my ship’s fare. And I promised to stay with her…to take care of James afterward if…if something were to happen to her.”

  Rebecca leaned against the windowsill and brushed away her tears. “She died less than a week into the journey. I, on the other hand, won a treasure from the bargain. I had James. I left England with only the clothes on my back, though, so upon arriving in New York…I sold the jewels your wife gave me. With what I received from them, I took James to Philadelphia, and we started our new life.”

  Rebecca leaned her head against the window, vainly hoping that the coolness of the pane would penetrate her feverish skin. “Sir Oliver asked me in Philadelphia why it was that in all these years I never thought to seek James’s father…to return him to his rightful family. The answer I gave him then was different than the truth I have held in my heart.’

  “If things were different…if I had the financial means and the courage to return to England on my own, I…I still would not have returned him to you. Elizabeth may have given me the initial means to go on, but James was the one who gave me the courage. Raising him taught me about life. Taught me independence. Made me forget my fears and seize all that life might offer. Selfish of me, it was…but I would not have come back if you had not sent for him. The two of us might have been out of place in some ways, but we had each other.”

  She reached up to wipe a tear from her face, but his fingers were the ones that brushed the bead from her cheek. He had moved close to her, and she had not been aware of his advance.

  “Why were you running?”

  She was trapped by the touch of his fingers, by the dark gaze that caressed her face.

  “You must not ask me that!”

  “Rebecca!”

  She shook her head, and his fingers released their hold on her face. “I have told you everything that concerns James…and you and your family. But as far as my past…you must allow me to remain silent. In return, I promise I shall not jeopardize your good name, m’lord.”

  Rebecca let out an unsteady breath and stared at the open collar of his shirt. “In fact, in order to keep that promise, I have come to a decision. I am returning to the colonies. I shall leave for Bristol this coming Friday.”

  “How can you…”

  “When we first arrived, I spoke to the masters of half a dozen ships on Broad Quay. I shall have no problem securing passage.”

  “Everything so neatly arranged.” His tone had become cold, restrained.

  “Not everything,” she replied, trying to keep up her courage. “I have told James nothing about my leaving…or his staying. I know he is ready, though. I know he will be able to deal with my absence much better now than at the beginning. Still though, I thought…it would be best if…if I waited on telling him…until the last moment.”

  His face was a mask, but his eyes were daggers, piercing her very soul.

  “And what would have happened if I had taken you—as you were offering yourself—downstairs in the library earlier? Would you have waited then and told me at the last moment, as well? Or would you have been happy simply to go…and let me hear the news from someone else?”

  She winced at the harshness of his tone, but her pride forced her to lift her chin and meet his gaze. “My past might be a perverse lie…my future not much of an improvement…but the person before you now, m’lord, would gladly step into a lion’s den rather than knowingly hurt you. I would have found a way to tell you…even if we were to…to stay in your library.”

  “Damn you, Rebecca!” His fingers were rough as he grabbed her shoulders. “Why must you do this to me?”

  “Because you matter too much!” She pushed herself against his hard body and pressed her lips to his. He stood rigid, not responding. But she was not deterred. She had seen the hurt in his eyes.

  “Please,” she coaxed, brushing her lips against his again, wrapping her arms around him and molding her body to his. “You want this…”

  His str
ong fingers pulled her back again, and he glowered menacingly. “And is this another bit of charity? Another selfless act? Helping Elizabeth. Helping James. Of course, why not spread the good works to Stanmore? Give them all what they need!”

  “No!” She shook her head. “No! This is for me.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  “You must believe me!” Her fingers clutched at his shirt. “You have awakened in me a need…a passion…that I never knew existed. You have made fires light up inside me with your looks…with your kisses…with the sound of your voice. I have few regrets about my past, but I know my greatest disappointment would be if I failed at this moment to take this…memory…of us into the future.”

  “Damn you!” He kissed her, attacking her mouth. His hands moved unabashedly over her back, her arms, turning her slightly to feel her breasts through the dress.

  His eagerness made Rebecca come alive in his arms. She no longer feared, but sought. Her mouth became as ravenous as his, her fingers as probing, as rough. She pulled his shirt from his breeches, hungry for the feel of his skin.

  She felt her dress draw down in front. Her nipples tightened at the feel of the air and then one rough hand cupping and shaping her flesh. The sweetness of the ache was excruciating.

  Rebecca knew if they were to slow down, he would have time to think. She knew he would stop, and this knowledge added to her frenzy to please him—to keep him mindless in this reckless moment of passion. She was inexperienced, but her instincts guided her as she suckled his probing tongue, her hands kneading the hard muscle of his buttocks.

  In a flurry of motion, she suddenly found herself on the bed, and a thrill raced through her as they sank into the bedclothes.

  Stanmore’s lips left her mouth and trailed roughly down her neck and to her breasts. He was down on one knee, and his hands were impatient as they pushed beneath her skirts. Rebecca gasped at the feel of his warm mouth suckling her breast. Her fingers dug into his hair as she felt the brush of his hand moving up the inside of her thighs.