Promise Me Forever (20 page)

“I’m assuming it was Rhys.”

Lydia nodded. “It was at his family’s estate, shortly after we met. He kissed me there.”

Lauren patted Molly’s hand when it came to rest on her shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll finish preparing myself for bed.”

Molly nodded and walked out of the room. When the door had closed firmly behind her, Lauren brought her legs around the bench until she was facing Lydia. “Then have some pity on me, Lydia. I swear you’re worse than my mother. Tom’s not going to take advantage unless I give him
leave to do so, and do you honestly think that if I’ve decided I want him to take advantage, you can do anything to prevent it from happening?”

“Then why am I here?”

“Appearances. I have always felt that the notion of chaperones is silly. I want to spend this time with Tom, to get to know him again, to have a few memories to take with me back to Texas.” In earnestness, she bent forward, crossing her arms on her legs. “I remember once, when you were staying with us, before you were married, Rhys bursting into your bedroom, sitting on the bed, comforting you because you were ill, and you seemed neither shocked nor ashamed, as though having him so near your bed was not unusual.” She watched as Lydia lowered her gaze and her cheeks burned red. “You know what it is to be young and…curious, to know what it is to wonder what it might be like to be a little more intimate with a man. If you are guarding me so closely because you fear that I might travel a path you once walked, guard me only if you truly believe that your life would be better now if you’d not taken the path.”

Lydia lifted her gaze. “The thing about the English is that they use so many words to say something that can be said with a few. All you have to do is say, ‘Stay away.’”

Lauren rose to her feet. “Stay away. You’re here to satisfy my mother and society. Not me and certainly not Tom.”

“Do you love him, Lauren?”

“I don’t know. There are times when I see the shadow of the boy he was…but there’s not enough there to hold my heart. I’m trying to follow your advice and see the man he’s become. If you guard me, how will I ever learn if I’m safe with him?”

Lydia sighed. “All right. Rhys and I will find ways to occupy ourselves while we’re here.”

“You don’t have to be strangers or avoid us completely. Just don’t send the butler after us if we’re alone.”

It was after midnight when she finally dared to venture from her room, certain that Lydia, if not asleep, at least wouldn’t be scouring the hallways. The storm had increased in intensity, the claps of thunder echoing with a loudness that sometimes made her jump. She crept down the hallway, down the stairs, and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Smythe snuffing out the candles in the entryway chandelier. It was indeed a late-night house hold.

Lauren pulled the sash on her robe. She gave him a weak smile and hurried past him to the stairs that led into the other wing.

“His lordship is in the library,” Smythe said, in a voice that tolled as loudly as Big Ben.

Lauren spun around and headed the other way.

She intended to play Tom’s little game in a way that had him reaching for her. She would be the one standing as still as a statue, the one tempting
him, the one so close he could smell her scent…

She’d been squirming in bed with needs unfulfilled, and if he was still awake and in the library, perhaps he’d been doing the same. Only she didn’t know how he could sit still long enough to read.

So late at night, no footmen were about, thank goodness. She opened the door and stepped into a room that was a black abyss. A shiver went through her. Obviously Tom wasn’t there. She was turning to leave when lightning suddenly illuminated the room, casting everything in silhouette, including the man standing on the second level before the large plate-glass window. She would have recognized his form, his stance anywhere.

He was staring out on the night, and she didn’t think he’d detected her presence. She padded across the room and quietly climbed the spiral staircase to the landing that marked the beginning of the second tier of bookshelves. The familiar scent of old parchment and aged leather greeted her. She always found something comforting in the fragrance.

Lightning again filled the sky, giving her a clearer view of Tom. He wore neither jacket nor waistcoat, only shirt and trousers, as he gazed out on the storm. She eased up beside him, wrapped her hand around his arm. “Are you all right?”

“Just remembering other storms.”

Looking out the window, she watched the lightning split the darkness. “It’s a magnificent view.”

“They fought here. In the library,” he said quietly.

“Who?”

“My mother and father. I had sneaked up here to read; I liked being with all the books. He was yelling at her. He needed another son. He forced—”

He stopped, and she could hear the grinding of his teeth.

“She was his wife, and he gave her no choice.”

“How old were you?”

Now that she was closer to him, she could see his silhouette in the shadows, could see him shake his head. “Not very old. I’d only recently learned to read. I don’t think I read a book I didn’t have to after that day.”

She remembered him saying that he preferred being shown…she wondered if before this night he had any inkling as to the reason he might have an aversion to reading.

“Why did she come back?” he asked.

“To protect you. That can be the only explanation. She did love you. I believe that with all my heart.”

“What if I’m like him, Lauren?”

“You’re not.”

“I forced you”—she heard him swallow—“to unbutton your bodice.”

“You teased me into unbuttoning it. Do you honestly think that I would have carried through on the bargain if I hadn’t wanted to? My God,
Tom, I got in a carriage and instructed the driver where to take me. You couldn’t have been more surprised to see me if I’d strode in stark naked.”

“Why did you come that night?”

“Because I saw what hitting Whithaven did to you, the remorse and humiliation you felt, the trepidation that you were a reflection of your father.” She touched his hair, forced herself to offer him a slight smile. “And because I wanted to offer you comfort, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate yellow roses.”

“You said you planned to behave with decorum while you were here.”

“And you’ve held yourself at bay. How in God’s name can you think you in any way resemble the man who was your father?”

“His blood runs through me, Lauren.”

Reaching up, she wound her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his. “His blood may, but his soul doesn’t. You’re your own man, Thomas Warner. Your mother ensured that you would be, and for that, I’m extremely grateful.”

He kissed her softly, sweetly, as though he continued to hold himself at bay, as though he feared unleashing the hunger that had devoured them both before. She wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t allow these emerging memories to destroy the passion he was capable of exhibiting. He’d never forced her, he never would, because it wasn’t in his nature to be cruel, it wasn’t in his nature to harm
without reason. And if it was the last gift she ever gave him, she was going to erase all the doubts from his mind.

She would be the aggressor. Although she couldn’t deny that she’d taken the initiative the night that she’d shown up at his house. She might have grown timid when faced with the reality of what she wanted, but she’d done nothing that she didn’t want to do.

She began unbuttoning his shirt. She was aware of his fingers fumbling with her buttons. It gave her a sense of satisfaction, of power, to know that she could make him tremble.

Her gown slipped off one shoulder. He cupped her breast. With his tongue, he lapped at the tip, causing it to pucker and harden. Closing his mouth over it, he suckled earnestly, then gently. She spread his shirt wide, ran her hands over the firm muscles of his chest, his stomach.

Lightning flashed, exposing him as though nature approved of the specimen on display. She pressed kisses to his dew-coated throat, his chest.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but I can’t wait.”

Before she realized what he was apologizing for, he had her against a bookshelf with the hem of her nightgown up around her waist, his trousers unbuttoned. Then he was lifting her up with his hands beneath her bottom—

And plunging into her hot, moist center.

Only the tiniest bit of her scream sounded be
fore he blanketed her mouth, capturing the rest of it, his tongue swirling and thrusting with as much force and eagerness as his hips.

Where before he’d been patient, now he was impatient, as impatient as she. To have learned what it was to be with him, then to have been without. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, as he pumped into her.

The sensations grew like a pebble tossed into a pond, growing, growing, until she was shuddering with her release, shuddering in his arms. He tore his mouth from hers, buried his face in her hair, in the curve of her neck, as his body spasmed and his harsh groan echoed between them.

His labored breathing surrounded them as he kissed her temple, the corner of her mouth, her chin. “Next time will be slower, darlin’, I promise.”

She nestled her face against the side of his neck. “Ah, Tom, I’m going to hold you to keeping that promise.”

With the moonlight spilling in through the window, Tom gazed at Lauren as she lay sleeping, nestled against his side, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her hand curled just below his pounding heart. Keeping his promise, he’d carried her to his bed and made love to her slowly the second time, leisurely removing her clothes, while she’d removed his.

He skimmed his finger along the swell of her
breast. Sighing, she snuggled more closely against him. He thought he’d never tire of hearing the little sighs she made while she slept, the way she rubbed the sole of her foot over his calf until she drifted off to sleep. Like a child needing the repetitive motion of a rocker so it could go to sleep.

Not that she was a child. Far from it.

It was a shame that she disliked England so much. She would have made an exemplary countess. She would have been his choice for a wife, a helpmate. But life with him would diminish her smiles, lessen her laughter until they were both miserable. He couldn’t do that to her.

Her eyes fluttered open and her lips tilted up into a sleepy-looking smile. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“Watching you sleep.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I can sleep later.” When he had nothing but his memories of her to keep him company.

She yawned. “I should probably go back to my room.”

“Stay a little longer.”

She started tapping her finger on his chest. “I told Amy that they didn’t have chaperones in Texas because everyone behaved. They don’t behave, do they?”

“Depends on your definition of misbehaving I guess.”

“This here seems like misbehaving to me.”

She spoke with a slow drawl that had Tom chuckling. “I like it when you don’t talk so proper.”

“Do you now?”

“’Course, I like when you talk proper, too. Especially when you’re getting after me. You still rile so easily.”

“You still do plenty to rile me.”

He squeezed her breast. “What if I do something guaranteed not to rile you?”

She stretched languorously against him. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

She laughed lightly. “Reckon not, since I am, too.” She stopped laughing. “Never knew I was until now.”

“That’s because I’m a very skilled lover.”

“Lover. I guess you are my lover. That makes all this seem so wicked.”

“We’re the only ones who’ll know, darlin’.”

She rolled over onto him, kissed his chest, moved up slightly and flicked her tongue over his nipple. Groaning, he rubbed his hands down her back, over her bare bottom. He glanced toward the window, saw a streak of light, grinned. The storm had moved on, leaving a clear sky in its wake.

He patted her bottom. “Come here, darlin’.”

She lifted her head. “I am here.”

“I meant move off me.”

“Uh-huh. I’m awake now. I want a little loving.”

He patted her bottom again. “And I want to give it to you, but let’s get out of bed first.”

“Are we going to do it against the wall instead of the bookcase this time?”

“Not exactly. Come on, Lauren.”

“Tom—”

“Look at the window.”

She raised up, twisted her head. “Was that a falling star?”

“I think so.”

She scrambled out of bed, took the few steps to the window, and peered out. “Oh, Tom, the sky is so clear that the stars look like diamonds spilled on velvet. Oh, and look, there’s another star falling. Why are there so many out here?”

He came up behind her. “I don’t know that there are more. It’s just so dark that they’re easier to see.”

With his hand, he scooped her hair up and over, draping it over her shoulder, so it cascaded along her chest and stomach, leaving her back completely bare. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. She sighed, started to turn—

He put his hands on her shoulders. “No, keep watching the stars.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just keep watching the stars.”

“But I want to touch—”

“Shh. We may never have a moment like this again.”

When he laid his hot, open mouth against her neck again, and his hands came around to cradle
her breast, Lauren was finished arguing. He was so very skilled at convincing her to try things his way.

She dropped her head back.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said.

“I will…oh, there’s…one.”

He skimmed his mouth along her spine, his tongue blazing a trail, down, then up, across her shoulders, along her spine again, each swirl of his tongue, each nip of his teeth had her squirming. His hands traveled provocatively over her breasts, her stomach. She stood there, stoically accepting the torture he inflicted, moaning, writhing, wanting to turn around so she could inflict some of her own.

She could do this to him. Run her hands slowly up and down his legs. Kiss his calves, his thighs, his buttocks. She could skim her hands over his chest, tease his nipples, she could take her hands lower…