Promise Me Tonight (32 page)

James threw back his head and laughed.

“I can’t begin to guess what you find so amusing.”

“You. The way you think we can keep our hands off each other.” His voice deepened, and his eyes darkened with desire.

His words sent a liquid thrill of excitement racing down her spine, and she started toward him. She was within arm’s reach of him when the satisfied smile on his face gave her pause. She’d taken his bait and let him reel her in like the veriest gull. Her nails dug into her palms as she struggled to regain control of the conversation . . . and of herself.

She uncurled her fists and placed her hands on her hips. “As you can see, I have no problem keeping my hands to myself. Now, if you will excuse me, I have packing to do.” She flounced out of the room, the grating sound of his chuckle ringing in her ears.

“I cannot talk to that man. There is just no reasoning with him,” Isabella muttered to herself. “He twists around everything I say, so I clearly can’t say anything. But I’m going to be trapped in a carriage with him for hours each day, and I don’t think I’ve ever managed to go more than an hour without saying anything. Except when I’m asleep. But I can’t possibly sleep the entire journey.”

“No, and unless something has changed drastically in the past decade, you’re not very good at pretending to be asleep, either.” Her mother’s voice intruded on Isabella’s ramblings. “Come, I would like to speak to you for a moment.” Lady Weston gestured for Isabella to follow her into the drawing room across the hall.

“Did you want to apologize for abandoning me?” Izzie muttered.

“No,” her mother said, shutting the door behind them, “I did not. I acted as I thought best.”

“Just whose side are you on?”

“That’s just it, Isabella. Marriage isn’t a competition. It isn’t about winning and losing. Relationships require each partner to give and take, and there will be many days when you feel you are giving far more than you are getting. But you have to learn to compromise. You cannot give up or start a fight each time you don’t get your way.

“It’s time to grow up, my dear. Marriage is never easy. Every day takes work and patience and understanding. You have a responsibility to your daughter to try to make this relationship work. Look, I know you love James.”

“I don’t know if I do anymore. Love shouldn’t be so difficult.”

“It isn’t love that’s tough. It’s all the emotions that come with loving someone. Love doesn’t mean that fear or anger or hurt will disappear. If anything, they will be magnified. Loving someone, opening your heart to him, always carries that risk.”

“Is it worth it? Truly?”

“I think you know deep down that it is. But if you want James to trust you with his heart, you must be willing to do the same.”

“I just . . . I’m not sure . . . That is . . . What if I let myself love him and he leaves again? I don’t think I’m strong enough to bear that.”

“
If
he should be so foolish, your aunt and I will draw straws to see who gets to hunt him down, but I doubt it will come to that. What the two of you need is time alone together.”

“Mama, James and I have never had any problems in
that
capacity.”

Lady Weston looked pained. “I meant for you to talk to each other. Passion is a key element to a happy marriage, but desire alone is not enough to sustain a lasting union. Communication is the most important element of any such partnership, and until you and James can express your feelings toward each other with words, I would urge you to abstain from more . . . physical means of expression.”

“Considering we’ll be spending all these hours alone stuck in a coach, I hardly think that will pose a problem.”

Lady Weston said nothing, but her face turned a most astonishing shade of crimson.

Isabella’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. Really? In a
carriage
? But how—”

“I really must see to packing now. I think we’ve said all that needs to be said, don’t you?” Her mother edged toward the door.

“No, I—”

But Lady Weston had already made her escape, leaving Isabella alone to ponder the intricacies of intimacies in confined spaces. Of course, as she had no intention of participating in such activities, such conjecturing was, she eventually decided, unproductive. She needed to think of something to occupy herself on what promised to be a very long, very tedious trip.

Oh, if only Olivia hadn’t deserted her with this trumped-up excuse of wanting to visit Wales. She’d like to know what
that
was about! She headed to the library to pry the truth out of her sister, and on the way she realized she’d found the perfect solution.

“Books,” Isabella said, bursting into the library. “I need books. Lots of books.”

Olivia looked up from the dusty pile of books she was examining. “Oh, you’ll get them.”

“Beg pardon?”

“ ‘Thank you’ would be more appropriate, but unless you’ve developed psychic powers of premonition, I suppose your gratitude would be a bit premature. Besides, I wouldn’t wish to ruin the surprise.”

Isabella stared at her. “I would say you just did,” she said slowly, “only I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re talking about.”

“That’s as it should be.” Livvy shook her head. “You can thank me when it is revealed because, I assure you, James would not have thought of this on his own.”

Isabella kept staring, unable to make the slightest sense out of her sister’s pronouncement. Olivia could be incomprehensible at times, but this . . .

“What, have I grown a second head?”

“Hardly. I’m wondering what’s happened to the one you have. But back to my original purpose in coming here . . . books!” Isabella picked one up from a nearby table. “
A General History of Scotland: From the Earliest Accounts to the Present Time
by William Guthrie.” Her face screwed up with distaste. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

She set the book back on the table and moved to investigate one of the stacks of books scattered about the room, rising up from the green Axminster carpet like the massive standing stones strewn about the Scottish countryside.

“Is there nothing readable here?”

“Given that you’re currently picking through the volumes I sorted as religious, I shouldn’t think you’re likely to find anything appealing. Instructive, perhaps.”

“Oh, very funny.” Isabella moved to the next pile of books. She hefted the top tome into her arms and opened to the title page. “
English Etymology, or, A Derivative Dictionary of the English Language
by George William Lemon. Enticing, to be sure.”

“When life hands you lemons, or in this case, a Lemon . . .” Olivia started to laugh.

“Livvy, I already had that lecture from Mother. The only thing I am tempted to do with
this
lemon is chuck it at your thick head.”

“Right. Why make lemons into lemonade when you can throw them at people instead?”

“Do you
want
me to hurt you?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t. Please remember I
am
the loving sister who traveled all the way to Scotland with you. . . .”

Isabella set the heavy volume back down, enjoying the loud thud it produced. “You have been spared the Lemon for now,” she warned, fighting a smile. “But only for now.” She moved past her sister to the far end of the library where the conglomeration of books resembled more a mountain than a megalithic monument.

“What are these?” Izzie gestured broadly toward the mound.

“I don’t know. Those are the books I haven’t sorted yet.”

“I thought you said you were almost done,” accused Izzie.

Olivia shrugged. “It’s all relative.”

“If you say so.” Isabella shifted several thick, and thus likely boring, texts aside and pulled out a slim leather volume. “Aha! An old journal . . . well, not that old, judging by the dates of the entries. Let’s see, are you going to be dull or full of juicy secrets?”

She opened to a random page and began to read. “Juicy secrets, it is! Finally, some decent reading material,” she told Olivia. “Listen:

Rec’d letter from J. His father is recovering slowly, but the doctor is afear’d of a relapse. J plans to stay in Scotland, esp. as his stepmother is nearing her confinement. Again he entreats me to join him & writes how he has hidden a treasure for me at Haile Castle. I shall receive my first clue as soon as I arrive. He is full of remorse over our quarrel & I long to end this wretched distance between us. I awake at night, restless & fevered, aching for him & the closeness we once shared. Would I were packing to go to him, but I must go to London instead. Though it goes against my husband’s wishes, I cannot—I will not—desert C. I pray this business may be resolved quickly, for I do not know how I shall mend matters with J should he learn of my deception. . . .

“Well!” Izzie fanned herself. “Finally something interesting after all those—”

“Give it to me!” Olivia snapped.

Isabella frowned. “I’m the one who found it. Don’t fuss, I’ll give it to you after I’ve finished—”

“No!” Olivia lunged forward, grabbed the diary out of Isabella’s hands, and clutched it to her chest like a priceless relic.

Izzie eyed her sister speculatively. “You’re acting quite odd, even for you. It’s not as if we know these people. . . . Wait, you know whose diary that is, don’t you? You know who ‘J’ is?”

Her sister nodded. “The ‘J’ is Jason, Aunt Kate’s stepson.”

“I remember her saying he was a widower. This must be his wife’s journal. Oh dear, I hope they resolved their quarrel. I wonder whether she ever found that treasure he hid for her.”

“She didn’t,” Olivia said softly.

“How do you know?”

“Because I did.”

“Olivia Jane Weston, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Oh, Izzie, it’s like something out of a novel!” Her face glowing with excitement, she seated herself on the carpet amidst the towers of books.

Isabella settled down beside her, a frown creasing her brow. She had no idea what her sister was about to tell her, but she felt certain she wasn’t going to like it. Not when the story involved Olivia’s fascination with a reclusive widower. “So that’s why you were always skulking about,” she mused aloud. “I wondered when you’d developed such an interest in the history and architecture of Scottish castles.”

“I have always been interested in old houses, and furthermore, I resent the term ‘skulking.’ It implies I was up to no good.”

“If what you were doing was good, why the need for such clandestine behavior?”

“If you were a pirate, would you want to split your plunder?”

“Olivia, you are
not
a pirate.”

“Maybe not, but I still found the treasure.” She lifted the hem of her dress and fumbled under her petticoats. After a moment, she handed Isabella a tiny brooch no bigger than her thumbnail.

Closer examination revealed a finely rendered man’s shadow portrait set in a gold frame surrounded by garnets. Whatever else she might have to say about the Marquess of Sheldon, Isabella was forced to admit the man had a striking profile. She expected to find the customary lock of hair on the back, but instead, engraved into the gold, were words so tiny she couldn’t make them out.

“You need a magnifying glass to read it,” Olivia informed her, “but it’s a quote from Donne: ‘So we shall be one, and one another’s all.’ Tell me, is that not the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?” With a dreamy smile, she plucked the brooch from Isabella’s fingers and pinned it back in place, then shook out the skirts of her dress, hiding it from sight.

“Oh, it’s romantic all right, but it’s not
yours
.”

“I found it, didn’t I?”

“Livvy, regardless of your having found it, that brooch is not yours. I don’t know what your purpose is in going to Wales, but life doesn’t work like one of your novels.” She stood, adding softly, “I should be proof enough of that.”

Olivia got to her feet as well and pointed an accusatory finger at Isabella. “No, your happy ending is in sight, but you’re too afraid to take the final steps.”

“I hardly think you’re in a position to tell me how to live my life.”

“Then don’t try to tell me how to live mine.”

They were nose to nose, circling and hissing like a pair of tabbies, when the absurdity of the situation struck them both at once. “I’m sorry,” they burst out in unison, then laughed at their timing.

“I shouldn’t have said you were scared,” Olivia apologized. “I just want for you and James to be happy.”

“I am scared. Terrified, to tell you the truth, but that’s no excuse for snapping at you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about me. I’m simply curious to meet the man. I hardly think I should suit with someone brusque and brooding, no matter how dashing he looks pacing the misty Welsh moors. However, if that diary is anything to go by, I wouldn’t mind a few kisses.”

“Be careful. A few kisses can lead to a lot more.”

“Is that so?” Olivia looked far too interested for Isabella’s peace of mind. “More kisses . . . or
more
?”

Izzie groaned.

“I see.” Livvy’s broad grin could only be described as anticipatory.