Promise Me Tonight (37 page)

He was sprawled on his back, lying in a state of sated bliss, his breath still rushing in and out of his lungs, happier than he had ever been in his life, when James realized the bed was shaking. Then he heard a low moan. He grinned. He was a lucky man to have married such a lusty wench. Even if his body still needed time to recover, he could pleasure her again with his fingers and mouth.

He felt a stirring in his groin. Perhaps he would be ready sooner than he’d thought. Smiling, he rolled onto his side and was met with a sight that hit him like a fist to the gut. Isabella had curled up into a tiny ball, facing away from him, and her shoulders were heaving—but not with pleasure. She was crying—sobbing, actually, with her fist pressed to her mouth to stifle the sound.

He felt hurt and helpless, completely adrift, and the place within himself he’d thought was healed split open again, leaving him raw and vulnerable.

“Izzie?” he said cautiously.

“Leave. Please.”

Her words pierced his heart, but he kept his tone light, pretending to misunderstand. “I shall oblige you, my dear, but only because my bedchamber is quite on the other side of this house and I fear sleep is upon me. You have quite worn me out.”

“No. I need you to go away from here, away from me. I need space, time to think.”

“Away from you,” he repeated slowly. “And away from my daughter?”

She rolled over and sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. “She is
my
daughter. I am the one who wanted her, carried her inside me, brought her into this world, while you—”

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “I didn’t mean to belittle your part in the process. I was just uncertain whether you actually thought I would walk away from our child.”

“Why shouldn’t I believe it? Walking, or rather, running away, is what you do best, isn’t it?”

A hit. A palpable hit. “I have changed. As, apparently, have you. Because instead of the courageous woman I was foolish enough to leave, all I see is a coward. In this case, by asking me to leave,
you
are the one who is running.”

“I am not
asking
you to leave. I am
telling
you to leave.”

James raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered. “I don’t bloody well believe this. A few minutes ago we were making love, and now you are asking—no, pardon,
telling
—me to leave. You will understand if I am somewhat confused.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly? Because if you are filled with regret over our lovemaking, I don’t particularly want to hear it.”

“It’s just . . . I just . . .”

“You wanted it. Don’t you dare try to deny it.”

“I’m not. What just happened was as much for my comfort as for yours.”

“For my comfort,” he repeated slowly, trying to reassure himself that she didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It didn’t work. “
For my comfort?
” he roared, his pride bruised and battered. He flung himself out of the bed and began pulling on his clothes. It was damnably reminiscent of the last time they had made love, and he felt equally betrayed.

“Comfort!” He let out a derisive snort. “I’m tempted to climb back into that bed and prove just how much of a liar you are. Tell me, Izzie, what are you really scared of? Are you more afraid of my leaving or of my staying?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“You love me. I know you do.” Even had she not admitted it, he would have known. A woman didn’t give herself to a man like that unless her heart was involved.

“I do love you. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what exactly
is
the problem?”

“I don’t
want
to love you.”

James swallowed and nodded tersely, masking the painful wounds her words wrought. He’d exposed his soul to her, told her his most private fears and secrets, and he had come up lacking. She didn’t love him; she loved the fantasy of him she’d created in her head. No man could live up to that.

He’d finally pieced his heart together, and he had thought he could trust her with it. He’d been a fool. He gathered the rest of his clothes and headed to the door, then turned to look back at her, his heart clenching. He’d be damned if he’d let her have the last word. “I’ll be gone by the morning,” he assured her, because really, nothing else remained to be said.

As soon as the door closed, Isabella began to cry. She didn’t understand herself sometimes. How long had she dreamed that he would return to her and profess his love? Now that he had, she sent him packing.

He was right. She wasn’t brave anymore. She was terrified. She had fallen back into his arms so quickly. Had fallen back into the habit of
him
. And it wouldn’t matter if he left within the hour, or in a week, or even in five years. Whenever that day came, he would take her heart with him.

She knew it as surely as she knew that day
would
come—the day when he would leave her.

Because he didn’t love her. Not really. It was his sense of duty that had brought him back to her, and that, along with his pride, would keep him by her side. But one day it wouldn’t be enough for him, and it certainly wouldn’t ever be enough for her.

And even if he did love her, was that really enough to sustain a marriage? How could she know whether it would grow and strengthen under the inescapable stress of family life, or collapse like a flimsy house built of cards under the strain? She was lost and confused, more so than she had ever been. She wasn’t used to the feeling, and she didn’t particularly like it. She had more than liked the feelings James had roused in her, though. Her body hungered for that sweet release again, and her mind craved a return to that glorious place where she didn’t have to think, only feel. And her heart, her very soul, longed for
him
.

But she had sent him away, stupid, scared creature that she was, and she had no idea if he would come back. Miserable and filled with doubts, Isabella bawled and blubbered and sobbed and sniveled until she finally exhausted herself and fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was morning. She allowed herself to hope that her words hadn’t chased him away, that this time he had stayed because he loved her too much to leave, but a visit to the housekeeper’s rooms disabused her of the notion.

“He left early this morning, my lady.” Mrs. Benton clucked disapprovingly. “Didn’t say a word as to where he was going, neither.”

Isabella burst into tears.

Mrs. Benton laid a hand on her shoulder. “So the two of you have had a falling-out, have you?”

Izzie bobbed her head. “I said the most awful things,” she confessed.

“He knows you didn’t mean them, dearie. It’s plain to anyone who sees you that you’re in love. He’ll likely go and get soused with that brother of yours and spend a few days feeling sorry for himself, but then he’ll come home. You’ll see.”

“You think he’s gone to London, then? Not to”—she drew in a shuddering breath—“to Jamaica?”

“Jamaica?” The housekeeper’s brows rose in amusement. “Seeing as I saw Mr. Davies carry only a small portmanteau out to his lordship’s chaise, I think it highly unlikely that he planned on traveling quite that far.”

“He wouldn’t leave Bride,” Izzie repeated to herself.

“Of course he wouldn’t. He dotes on the pair of you.”

“He may dote on Bride,” Isabella said, “but not on me. He doesn’t love me.”

Mrs. Benton crossed her arms over her chest. “Honestly, child, do you have eyes in your head?” she scolded.

“Of course he loves you. Why else would he be letting you live in your own wing so he could court you like a proper suitor?”

“I never thought about it like that.”

“Perhaps it’s time you start. While you’re here, though, perhaps you can help me. I’ve sorted through everything in the trunks that arrived earlier this week, and there’s an unmarked package. . . .”

She went over to a cabinet and pulled out a paper parcel that looked somewhat the worse for wear. “Do you recognize this, my lady?” she asked, handing it over to Isabella.

“I know I’ve seen it before.” Izzie cast her mind back, trying to recall where.

“Well, it can’t have been for you or you would have opened it.”

The housekeeper’s pragmatic observation triggered Izzie’s memory. “No, it was, I mean, it is for me. James had it with him the day he came to Haile Castle. There was so much going on; I suppose it got left in the nursery. One of the maids must have found it and set it aside. It probably got packed along with Bride’s things.”

“That mystery is solved, then,” Mrs. Benton remarked. “Now all that remains is what’s inside.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll open this in my room,” Izzie told Mrs. Benton.

“Of course, dear.”

Isabella hurried to her chambers. Once inside, she pulled at the strings and the paper fell away, leaving her breathless. James had bought her a baby blanket—the loveliest, most perfect baby blanket in the world—and he’d done it before he had known of Bride’s existence.

He had told her of his awful past—a past she feared he would never be completely free of—and he had still bought the blanket.
For her.
To show her that he was willing to face his past and fight his demons . . .
for her
.

He’d told her that he had changed, but she hadn’t believed him. He was such a strong, virile man, and even though she’d known he was capable of love and tenderness, she hadn’t been certain he was capable of making the sort of compromises marriage required.

She had been wrong. It wasn’t as hard to admit as she’d thought. If she could go back in time to the previous evening, Isabella would have run after him, fallen on her knees, and begged his forgiveness for the awful things she’d said. Then she would have kissed him and never let go.

He would be back, she told herself. He wouldn’t stay away from Bride, and once he was back, she would convince him to stay. He’d said he loved her; the blanket was proof. And she couldn’t stop loving him even if, as she’d stupidly said, she wanted to. They were perfect for each other in so many ways, she mused, fingering the soft wool of the baby blanket. They would complement each other and complete each other. Oh, they would have their fair share of fights, she had no doubt, but in the end they would always be drawn back together by a force greater than themselves: love.

Now she just had to wait.

James regretted leaving Sheffield Park almost as soon as he set off, but his pride drove him on to London. On James’s fourth night in London, Davies confronted him.

“My lord, would you say you are a man of your word? That you keep your promises?”

“I would, no matter what my wife has to say.”

“When we were sailing back to England, you told me that on the day of the battle you made a promise, to yourself and to God, that if you survived, you would spend the rest of your life devoting yourself to your wife’s happiness.”

James scowled. “She told me to leave. I am making her happy in my absence.”

“Do you truly believe she’s happy? Are you happy?”

“No.” James sighed. “But what am I to do? She doesn’t believe I’ve changed, and it’s damned difficult to convince her otherwise if she doesn’t want me near her. For Christ’s sake, I bared my bloody soul to her. I explained why I went away—to protect her—but she thinks I left rather than deal with—”

He stopped and raked a hand through his hair.

“Lord, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I did just what she said I would do. I ran away like a bloody coward. I gave up without a fight.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, my lord. Sometimes it is more difficult to battle ourselves than a warship full of brigands.”

“What do I do now, Davies?”

“Why don’t you go to your club, my lord? You will seem much less pathetic if you’re surrounded by other unhappy husbands seeking solace in liquor.”

“You are an impudent bugger, Davies.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Perhaps you are right. Very well, tell Cook I shall dine at White’s tonight.”

“Very good, my lord. I expect it will do you good.”

“Thank you, Davies. I expect it shall.”

What James didn’t expect when he entered his club was to see his best friend, or rather, the man who had been his best friend until he’d taken his sister’s innocence. He figured that pretty much violated the sacred rules of friendship, regardless of who had been the actual seducer.

A man could have only one
best
friend, though, and after so many years James really had no inclination to find another. As with Isabella, he wasn’t prepared to let the relationship go without a fight. With Henry, however, James suspected that the fight would be an actual bout of fisticuffs. His bad shoulder ached at the thought, but if that was the only price he paid, he’d consider himself as having gotten off lightly.

Henry was devouring his dinner with single-minded devotion, so it took him a moment to register James’s presence. When he did, his expression was hard and unwelcoming.

“You should leave. My sister asked me not to shoot you, but I never actually agreed,” Henry said, then turned back to his food.