Promise Me Forever (15 page)

He left them to their gossip, and he had no doubt they would begin to gossip—about him, about Lauren.

He wondered why she’d never mentioned Kimburton, wondered exactly what her feelings toward the man had been. It seemed he and Lauren had a hell of a lot more to discuss. He wanted to find her and—

“—believe she had the audacity to attend this ball.”

“The Duchess of Harrington is her cousin. She could hardly not come.”

“On the contrary, I believe she should have had the decency not to show regardless of any relationship she may have with the hostess.”

“I daresay she seems to have caught Sachse’s attention.”

“Poor blighter has no idea regarding the humiliation she’s capable of inflicting.”

“Perhaps we should seek an introduction, so we
can explain the truth of the matter and save him the misfortune of making a complete fool of himself where Miss Fairfield is concerned.”

“No introduction needed,” Tom said to the backs of the three men standing at the edge of the dance floor. If he hadn’t been in a dangerously foul mood after Lady Blythe’s revelations—before hearing their pompous words—he might have laughed at the way they all jerked and spun around as though they were puppets dangling on strings.

“I say, Sachse, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” the taller and lankier of the trio said.

Tom, unkindly, could envision him serving as a scarecrow in a field of corn. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t mind hanging him on the poles himself.

“Allow me to do the honors,” the man continued as Tom held his silence. “I’m the Earl of Whithaven and my cohorts”—chuckle, chuckle—“are the Marquess of Kingston and Viscount Reynolds.”

The other two gentlemen mumbled greetings.

“You were gossiping about Miss Fairfield,” Tom said pointedly.

“Oh, no, no, no, dear fellow,” Whithaven said. “Women gossip. We were merely…conversing, exchanging concerns, speculating on the inevitability of a Season gone awry. We couldn’t help but notice that you seemed quite smitten by Miss Fairfield—”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“Perhaps not, but we felt that we should warn you that she treated one of our friends rather badly last Season. A very likable chap, Kimburton, and that is not even taking into consideration the prestige of his title, for which she showed blatant disregard.”

“Because she said no?”

“Because, old chap, she gave every indication that she would say yes. I lost a fortune on the wagers. Hardly sporting of her to dupe us all.”

“Hardly
sporting of you
to wager on the outcome.” He’d made his delivery in a perfect British accent that had all three men bugging their eyes.

Tom took a step toward the man who appeared to be the leader of the bunch. “If I were you, I’d stop talking about Miss Fairfield, or I’ll be making a wager on whether or not you’re fast enough to duck my fist.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Tom gave his head a shake, turned to go, couldn’t do it—

His fist was flying into Whithaven’s face before he realized it. The man would have lost the wager had he made it. He wasn’t fast enough to duck. He stumbled back into a dancing couple before landing on the floor with a thud.

Someone screamed, Tom heard a few gasps, a squeal, the music suddenly stopped, Reynolds was sputtering.

“See here!” Kingston said. “That was uncalled for.”

Tom felt a hand on his arm, looked over to see Lauren staring at him, her brow deeply furrowed, horror at his actions clearly etched in her eyes. “Tom, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Being a barbaric Texan.”

“Is there a problem?” Harrington asked.

Tom turned to the man he’d thought he might be able to develop a friendship with. “I’m sorry for disrupting your party. I should have taken this outside.”

“Perhaps you should come to the library—”

“No, thank you, I think it would be best if I left.” He looked over at Whithaven. A woman with blond hair and green eyes was kneeling beside him, while Kingston and Reynolds were muttering and trying to get the man’s nose to stop bleeding.

Then Tom was storming out of the room before he did more damage. So much for proving he wasn’t his father.

T
om was so angry that he could have chewed nails. Angry at himself for losing control, angry at Whithaven for daring to dare him, angry at Lauren for showing interest in another man, even if that interest had ended.

Angry at himself for storming out. Angry at Lauren for not following, not that he’d invited her to, but still he’d thought she might come after him. Angry because he wore the veneer of civilization, but that’s all it was. A veneer that looked good on the outside, but the shining surface hid from view the rotting wood beneath. He wished they’d never come searching for him. He wished his father’s blood didn’t race through his veins.

He was angry about that most of all.

That he couldn’t be the man he’d become.

He sat in a heavy, brocaded chair in the sitting area of his bedchamber, a fire burning in the fireplace because he couldn’t get used to the chill of the night or the cold of the house. Even the whiskey he was downing straight from the bottle seemed unable to warm him.

He heard the door open, close. Damned valet. The man seemed to think he was in charge of more than Tom’s clothes; he was in charge of his life. “Thought I told you to go on to bed, that I could undress myself to night.”

“Actually, I don’t recall your saying that to me.”

Lauren.

Tom came up out of the chair so fast, turning so quickly, that his head spun, and he thought he might bring up the whiskey he’d already downed.

Standing just inside the room, she wore a simple dress, not a single flounce, ribbon, or bow on it. Something she could have put on without any help at all, something like what she’d worn that first night when they’d gone down to the river. Her hair was piled on her head, and he cursed himself for longing to see it released, draped around her shoulders, flowing down her back. Where she was concerned, he seemed unable to stop himself from longing for a lot of things.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she crossed the short distance separating them, moving around
a small table until she was near and nothing separated them except the memories that joined them.

Her eyes reflected a sadness that made him want to reach out, take her in his arms, and comfort her, assure her that everything would be all right. But he’d never been a man to make promises he couldn’t keep.

“I’m here to make good on the debt I owe you,” she said quietly.

His gut clenched so tightly that he almost dropped to his knees. Her words were the last he’d expected to hear.

“And when the debt is paid, I want to be released from the bargain we made.”

He could hardly blame her for that request. He had no doubt that his earlier actions had brought her shame. He nodded. “Agreed.”

“Do you remember the conditions of the debt, Tom? The conditions that apply to you?”

He swallowed hard. “Look, but don’t touch.”

“I want your word that you’ll keep your end of the bargain.”

His word? Not to touch what he so desperately wanted to hold? To walk away from what he so desperately wanted to claim? Did she know what she was asking of him and what it would cost him to follow through on his end of the bargain?

His hands were already shaking so badly that he figured they’d be here all night while he strug
gled to make them work. “I won’t touch you, but you’ll have to do the unbuttoning.”

She gave a brisk nod. “And with that little change in the arrangement, you’ll consider the debt paid in full?”

Nodding, he took a step back. “Pay up, Lauren.”

Pay up so he could release her from both bargains. Pay up and he’d purchase her passage back to Texas within a day. Pay up and she’d never have to spend another minute with the savage who couldn’t bring his best behavior to a ballroom, who’d acted as though he were in a saloon. He didn’t deserve her. He never had. He wanted her running from him as fast as her legs would take her.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, licked her lips, took a deep breath…

And just stood there.

“I’m not going to consider the debt paid until those buttons are undone,” he said.

“How many?”

“Clear down to your waist.”

He thought she flinched, watched as her cheeks turned as red as a summer strawberry, thought about calling the debt paid, but when this was no longer between them, they would have nothing. “Come on now—”

“Stop rushing me! I’ve never done this before.”

He knew it was wrong to let her spark of anger so please him. But it did. She had the ability to
stand up to him, the ability to give back as good as she got. She deserved a man who would give her the best, and that wasn’t him.

“You’ve never unbuttoned a bodice?” he asked.

“Not in front of a man.”

“It’s no different.”

“Of course it’s different. How would you like it if I insisted you unbutton your trousers?”

He couldn’t stop the slow smile from spreading across his face. “I’ll be happy to oblige if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”

A corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re always corrupting me, Tom.”

“Keep taunting me, Lauren, and I’ll decide that I need to do the unbuttoning.”

“Don’t rush me, Tom.”

“Don’t rush you? Hell, woman, I’ve waited ten years! Now do it!”

Before he did lose what little patience remained to him. The impatience seeped right out of him when she raised her hands to that first button just below her throat and he saw how badly they were shaking—almost as badly as his would be if they were about to do the same task.

“Lauren?”

Lauren lifted her gaze back to his. The tenderness in his voice, in his eyes was almost her undoing.

“Just take your time,” he said quietly, without the anger or the impatience that had marked his earlier words.

It was an odd thing to be in the reality of a moment she’d fantasized about over the years. She was taunting him, deliberately, making him wait for what he wanted, just as she’d had to wait all these years. Wait for him to come for her until she’d given up on him, until she’d almost given herself over to another man’s promise.

She wasn’t afraid of Tom. She never had been. Not from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. But he did call out to the wildness in her, to the part of her that wanted to be wicked, to do things that she knew were wrong. To be the uncivilized hellion that London’s ladies whispered about with meanness. To be everything she had shoved aside.

She sometimes felt as though she’d been suffocated, shaped and molded into what her mother thought she should be, what society thought she should be, rather than the woman she truly was. Only with Tom did she ever feel that she had a chance to be herself.

Which was the very reason that she was there. Because there was a wicked part of her that did want to unbutton her bodice for him…a terrified part that feared he’d be disappointed with what he saw.

He’d not spoken a single word about love. He was interested in her for a debt owed, a bargain to be kept. And it was time she kept it. Released them both from the past.

He wasn’t going to touch her. He wasn’t going to
see much more than was revealed by her most immodest of evening gowns. It was just the idea…that she would slowly reveal what was presently hidden. And slowly was exactly how she intended to do it. Make him wait a little longer.

She pressed her fingers against her palms to stop their shaking and took a deep breath to try to stop her body’s trembling. The tremors cascading through her were distracting, and she was afraid that he could see them, traveling over her skin, that he would know how nervous she was.

She reached for the first button, not certain if it was her fingers or the ivory that was so terribly cold. That she managed to loosen it so easily was encouraging, for surely, then, her nervousness didn’t show. With the second button, she’d expected his gaze to dip, but it didn’t. It remained steadfastly fixed on hers. With the fourth button, he bunched his hands into fists at his side. With the fifth he reached out with one hand and grabbed the mantel, his fingers digging into it until his knuckles turned white, and she was surprised that the black marble didn’t crumble within his grasp.

A light sheen of dew appeared on his forehead, and she wasn’t even certain that he continued to breathe. When she loosened the final button, she eased her fingers between the parted material and brought it back to reveal the white cotton of her chemise and while she was still modestly covered, she felt as though she were completely naked.

He lowered his gaze then, and what she saw in his eyes was almost her undoing. Raw, feral desire, a yearning so great as to be painful.

He turned away from her, grabbing the mantel with his other hand, bowing his head, staring at the flames dancing in the fire.

“The debt’s paid,” he rasped. “You can go.”

It was what she wanted, to be free of the debt, to have nothing between them that could separate them. She took a step toward him—

“Get out of here, Lauren,” he growled through clenched teeth without looking at her, “before I do something we’ll both regret. I proved to night that I’m not far removed from being a barbarian.”

And that, too, was the reason she was there. Because she’d seen his face after he hit Whithaven, had seen the shame and mortification he felt before he’d quickly masked it. She’d seen a man who wanted to prove he was different from the man who had come before him, different from his father, and in the eyes of those surrounding him, had seen that he was thought to be the same.

“A barbarian would have me on the bed already,” she said quietly.

He looked at her then—and in his eyes, she saw not the boy he’d once been, but the man he’d become, a man who was barely holding on to his passions. “I’m warning you. You’d better go.”

“Barbarians don’t warn.” She took a step closer.
“Why
did
you hit Whithaven? Did he say something—”

“He said a lot.”

“About you?”

She watched as the muscles in his jaw jumped.

“About me,” she said softly. “What exactly did he say?”

“That you had someone. I’m busting my back in Texas and you’re favoring some fella—”

“I never got your letters,” she said calmly. “Ten years. You can’t possibly believe in all that time that some gentleman didn’t give me attention or that I didn’t give attention to him. You can’t tell me that you never had a woman—”

“Mine were all paid for. Not a one of them ever thought she meant something to me, Lauren, not a one ever expected a marriage proposal, not a one ever thought I’d give her the honor of taking my name. Not one stood a chance of taking your place in my heart.”

In his heart. She’d held a place in his heart. Did she still?

She moved nearer. “It’s different over here, Tom, different for a woman. A woman’s value is based upon what she brings to a marriage. From the time she has her coming out, her only acceptable goal is to get married. She is constantly on display, no matter where she goes: for a stroll in the park, to a concert, a ball, a dinner. The way she is dressed is commented on, the way she behaves is the subject
of conversations. Every damned aspect of her life is scrutinized: Does she have the proper friends? Did she dance the proper number of dances?

“So, yes, when Kimburton singled me out for attention, I reciprocated. It was so damned wonderful to feel that I had to please but one man instead of a hundred. And he was so incredibly nice, and for a while I wasn’t lonely. For a while, I didn’t go to bed every night thinking about you.”

“Why did you turn him down?”

Her throat burned with the effort to hold her tears at bay, but they escaped, spilling over onto her cheeks. “Because I realized that if I married him, I would have to live here forever, and I couldn’t promise him forever. That’s when I went to work, when I started making my plans to return to Texas, because I had to know if you’d forgotten me.”

“Ah, darlin’.” Then he was there, holding her near with one arm while with the knuckles of his other hand he tenderly gathered up her tears. “I could never forget you, Lauren. Sweet Lord, girl, how could you ever think that I would?”

He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers as lightly as a breeze wafted over the first blossoms of spring. Yearning so intense nearly caused her knees to buckle, and she thought if he wasn’t supporting her with one strong arm, she might have fallen.

He slanted his mouth across hers and settled in
as though he had plans to take up permanent residence. Somewhere in the far recesses of her mind, she thought she should object, but her heart was winning this battle, begging her to stay, to finish what they’d started so very long ago, when they were both too young to care about anything or anyone other than themselves and their wants. Before society stifled them with rules, before earlier promises gave way to later ones.

He nibbled on her lips, then glided his tongue over her mouth as though to heal what he might have hurt, but his actions caused no pain, except to her heart, which had been without him for too long and could no longer be with him forever. Still, she relished his touch, his attentions, and when she parted her lips in welcome, he took full advantage, using his tongue to explore, to taunt, to tease. No other man had ever kissed her as Tom did, and she realized with startling clarity that she’d never wanted another man to be so intimate with her. Kissing Tom, pressing her body against his, recognizing the feel of his burgeoning desire, was as natural as breathing.

There was no shame in these feelings, no dishonor in this closeness. She wanted to do more than unbutton her bodice. She wanted to remove all her clothes, unbutton his trousers, and remove all his clothes.

Tom deepened the kiss, relishing the feel of her arms winding around his neck, her body flattened
against his. The willowy girl who had climbed out her bedroom window to meet with him had grown into a woman that a man’s arms ached to hold. She fit perfectly, and it was all he could do to restrain himself, not to discover how perfectly he might fit within her.

With a groan, he tore his mouth from hers, lifted her into his arms, and carried her the short distance to the bed. Gently, he laid her down before following and stretching out beside her. Her gaze was riveted on his face, as she watched him, but he saw no fear. He saw only desire that rivaled his and something that ran much deeper.