Forever Mine (4 page)

He paused, his teasing smirk faded. “I’m sorry.” Gently, he gathered her into his arms and rolled her onto his chest, settling them both back upon the mattress. Cradling her head against the curve of his arm, he drew in a long breath and let it out. She would forever be haunted by her brother’s disappearance. Much like he would forever be haunted by Catherine’s death. What a sad, heartbroken pair they made.

“Augustine,” he whispered, brushing away strands of hair from the sides of her smooth cheeks. “Once I ensure everything is in place for us to leave, we will commence a full investigation into your brother’s disappearance that will involve every last soul both here and in New York. We will find him.”

She lowered her gaze, tracing her finger against the lacings of his nightshirt. Lifting a tear-streaked gaze, she nodded.

He lowered his chin and kissed her forehead. “Sleep.”

She rubbed her cheek against him and glanced up at him. “How were you able to move on after your wife’s death? Especially given that you loved her so much? I want to know. In case I…need to move on myself.”

He closed his eyes and confessed against the last of his swaying mind, “There is no moving on, Augustine. There is simply acceptance of what cannot be changed. And by accepting what cannot be changed, you allow for more beautiful things to come. Such as this. Such as us.”

When will I know peace? When I find him.

-From the diary of Lady Augustine Jane Ascott

Leonard squinted against the misty, gray morning light seeping through the large latticed windows of his bedchamber and winced against the headache pinching his skull. The curtains on both the bed and the windows had already been thrown back by the chambermaid. Odd. Did he request to be roused earlier than usual?

He shifted beneath the warm linens and reached out to fetch another pillow to pile beneath his head and froze as his fingers slid into something soft. Definitely not a pillow. He paused, his gaze falling on a wealth of black, lustrous hair that covered his pillow.

His heart almost ceased beating.

He shook the hair out of his fingers and stumbled out of bed, his bare feet slapping the hard wood floor. Who the hell was in his bed? He quickly rounded the four-poster.

Between the opened curtains of the bed, he made out smooth bundled curves that rose up from beneath the moss-colored quilts and white linen. The delicate, round face of a young woman appeared beneath the wildly splayed dark hair.

Leonard’s eyes widened. It was…
Augustine
.

Thin, arched jet brows, high cheekbones and full pretty lips confirmed that it really was her. She continued to sleep peacefully with one hand tucked beneath the side of her face as if she had always slept on the right side of his bed.

He drew closer, everything coming back to him. Too much port. A rash decision. And bliss beyond measure.

He tilted his head to one side, a soothing warmth pooling in his chest as he continued to admire the way all that long wild black hair splayed across her shoulders and the pillow. Whether he had been in his right mind or not, Augustine was one of the best decisions he had made in a very long time…or ever. He hated knowing that he had wasted most of the Season watching her wistfully from a distance as opposed to drawing her into his life where she belonged. And to think she had been quietly suffering all along. But no more.

He seated himself on the edge of the bed beside her and leaned in toward her, listening to her soft intake of breath. That scent of lavender drifted from her skin, making him lean in closer. May he relive this glorious moment for the rest of his days, knowing she would always be in his arms and in his bed.

A long, soft sigh escaped her lips as she shifted.

He didn’t move. He simply waited for those beautiful eyes to open so that he could confirm that this was in fact real.

With her eyes still closed, she withdrew an arm from beneath the linens and brought a hand to her forehead, raking back tresses from her face. She paused. Her lids popped open, those large gray eyes instantly appearing.

Heat thundered through his body as their gazes met and held.

She gawked up at him. “Oh, dear.”

He grinned, unable to break that astonished gaze and leaned back, shifting away. “You should probably run along before your mother finds us.”

She jerked up into a sitting position, her small nose wrinkling. Shifting toward him, her eyes darted around the room. “This is going to create quite the scandal.”

He took in a deep breath and blew it out, trying to think of the best way to address this situation. “If you marry me, it won’t be quite the scandal.”

She groaned and plummeted sideways, her face and arms thudding against the mattress hard. “Apparently, I find you irresistible. Who knew?”

He smirked. It wasn’t a proclamation of love, but it was good enough. He smoothed a hand across that rounded backside which was jutting up toward him through her nightdress. “I suggest you get back to your room before your mother finds us.”

She lifted her head and glanced toward him. “When do we leave for New York?”

“In about five days or so. That will allow enough time for me to settle all matters pertaining to our travels and the estate. I was supposed to have gone up to Scotland as well, so I have to take care of that business, too.”

She met his gaze, her eyes soft but serious, as they always seemed to be. “I have made a mess of your life.”

“No, you haven’t,” he drawled. “My life was already a mess. At least now it’s a pretty one.”

A smile touched her lips as she smoothed her nightdress against her arms, brightening her features.

“There,” he added. “A smile. Now the mess is entirely gone.”

Her smile spread into a stunning grin that made his breath hitch. “You are truly something, Leonard. Truly something.”

Touching her hand to his, she scrambled up and hopped out of bed with a resounding thud. Her nightdress trailed behind her as she headed toward the window. Her long black hair swayed against her movements, covering the curves of her waist as she placed a hand on the ledge of the window and peered out. She stood up on her bare toes and pressed her nose against the latticed windowpane. Her breath fogged the glass. “’Tis so beautiful.”

He shrugged. “This is nothing compared to my estate in Surrey.” Leonard rose from the bed and strode over to where she was. He lingered behind her, glimpsing the large, lush garden behind his London home. “Do you like it?”

“I love it without end.” She whirled toward him, her white nightdress billowing around her legs before settling around her slim figure. “I adore you, Leonard. Do you know that?”

He bit back a smile. Gathering her into his arms, he dragged her closer and murmured against her forehead, “Don’t adore me. Love me.”

She tightened her hold around his waist and breathed out, “My love, once earned, will astound you. And I will admit, my lord, you have already earned your first breath of it.”

He grabbed her face with both hands and ardently kissed her, cherishing the possibility. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.” Releasing her, he stepped back.

She nodded and quietly rounded him, disappearing out of the room.

Throwing back his head, he groaned. This was but the beginning of what felt like an end.

Though her mother had promised to oversee Augustine’s honor, the woman sobbed without consolation the moment she discovered they were heading to New York to find Nathaniel. Her mother begged and begged Augustine not to go, insisting that after two years, nothing remained of her brother. She insisted she would not cling to any hope that would only destroy the last of her. Augustine knew she could never submit to her mother’s pleas to set aside the hunt. Her mother refused to come along, altogether threatening to eliminate what little honor Leonard had intended to uphold for Augustine by asking her along in the first place. Augustine knew that her poor mother deserved peace from her suffering and more than the scandal she was burdening her with, but she also couldn’t pretend she was free to accept any duty but the one she owed Nathaniel. Her mother, fully knowing that neither of them were about to submit, begged that Augustine be wed before her return to London so as to uphold honor before the eyes of society and God.

Augustine promised her mother that she would either return married or not return at all, to which her mother solemnly assented.

Each night thereafter, as their journey to New York drew closer, she snuck into Leonard’s room and slept in his arms and took comfort in them. Though he kissed her often with an ardent, fiery passion that melted her body and soul, not once had he sought to touch her as he had that night. He wanted to wait for their wedding night. He wanted to wait for the day she agreed to be his wife.

A finer and truer gentleman she’d never known.

When they finally made their long journey to Liverpool and on to New York, Augustine sensed that everything between them was about to forever change. She knew that whatever they unearthed in New York pertaining to her brother would serve to strengthen or break their growing bond. He would either stand beside her to the very end, or, like her mother, fade the moment any hardship ensued.

She prayed it was not the latter.

New York City
November 3, 1802
Evening

Leonard quietly fingered the smooth, cool crystal half-filled with brandy, which he pressed against the palm of his hand. He stared at the sealed parchment sitting on the sideboard beside the glass. The unbroken, red wax seal bearing the New York Marshal crest taunted him. He didn’t have to open it to know what it said. Another hope lost. Another door closed. And yet another tear for Augustine to shed.

It was unbearable.

He refused to tell her that he himself had long given up hope. Too much time had passed. No witnesses had ever stepped forth. There was nothing.
Nothing
. He glanced toward the closed door of the bedchamber. She needed to sleep. It was the only time she appeared to be at peace.

A muffled knock and the creaking open of the door made Leonard pause. He turned toward the sound, noticing that the entrance door to the room was wide-open.

He’d been so distracted, he’d left the door unlatched.

A tall cloaked figure in a top hat lingered in the shadows, outside the candlelight, the corridor beyond too dark to unveil a face. “Informants tell me you are looking for a boy,” he said in a heavy Italian accent. “A British boy who disappeared in these parts two years ago.”

Leonard blinked as the cloaked shadow strode straight into the room as if it was his to enter. “Yes. We are. Who are you? How did you…?”

A black-leather gloved hand stripped the top hat shadowing that face, allowing the golden glow of candlelight to reveal sun-tinted hair and a shockingly youthful and good-looking fellow that couldn’t have been more than twenty. Sharp, amber eyes met his. “Who are you to the boy?” he asked. “Family?”

Leonard stiffened. The man said it as if he knew something. “Yes. Family. Why? What do you know?”

The man shut the oak paneled door with the heel of his leather riding boot, that penetrating gaze never once breaking from his. “He is no longer here in New York.”

Leonard fisted his hands, feeling his heart throbbing within him. “Who are you?”

“I cannot say.”

“How is it you know this? How is it that you know anything about him or his whereabouts?”

A smirk tugged those lips as the young man slowly approached, the wooden floorboards protesting beneath every step he took. “I associate with people I should not. That is how I know.”

Leonard stared at him. Something about him scraped his ability to breathe. “For God’s sake, he is just a boy. He needs to be returned to his family and his way of life. Give me a lead. Give me something, anything. I will pay whatever price you ask.”

“If I had a price, I would have already asked it. And if I was able to say more, I would have already said it.”

His chest tightened. “Is he even alive?”

The young man lowered his shaven chin as he continued to make his way toward him. “That is why I came. To assure you that he is alive and well. In fact, they are very fond of the boy.”

Leonard hissed out a breath. There was hope. “Why hasn’t he been returned? Why is he being kept? And who are
they?
”

“Ask his father. He knows.”

He swallowed back his angst. “The bastard refuses to tell us anything.”

The man eyed him, clearly opting not to comment. “I should leave.”

A sense of panic overtook Leonard. He had to make use of whatever time he had with this man. “So he isn’t here in New York?”

“No.”

“And you know this with certainty?”

“Yes.”

“How? How do you know this? How are you involved?”

“As I said, I associate with people I should not. They know nothing of my visit and I ask you keep it such lest they kill you
and
me.”

Leonard swiped his face, trying to remain calm. “Can you at least give me a…country? Or a city he may be in? Anything? Anything that might—”

“No. Simply know that no harm will come to him.” The man paused before him. His black cloak settled with a rustle around that imposing frame, revealing a section of expensive, black evening attire, a crisp ivory waistcoat and a red silk cravat. It was as if the man had just arrived from a night at the opera.

Though they both stood at about the same height of six feet, this young man’s bulkier physique created the illusion that he was much bigger.

The man blew out a breath, wafting the tangy scent of a cigar he had smoked. He scanned the length of Leonard, titling his head slightly to one side during his observation, causing strands of sun-tinted hair to cascade onto his forehead. Long gloved fingers thoughtfully tapped against the rounded side of the top hat. “His father is to blame for this unpleasant business. When one holds a stick to a fire, it is bound to burn. I suggest you not associate with the man or entrust him to anything. He is what we Italians call a…
cazzo
.”

“And what is that?”

“A prick.”

Leonard jumped toward him and grabbed him by the lapels of his evening coat, shaking him until his own arms burned. “What is this? A joke?” Jerking him closer, he seethed out, “What aren’t you telling me?
Out with it, you son of a bitch, before I—”

The man grinned with vibrant, boyish charm, thoroughly amused. “You British. Always turning against your own alliances.” Shoving him away with the sweep of an arm, he dug into his inner vest pocket and produced an ivory calling card. “I can only leave you this and ask that you not follow me.”

Leonard eyed him, then slowly withdrew the card from between those outstretched gloved fingers.

The man whirled his hat once, then set it atop his head, tapping it into place. Adjusting the curved rim against his forehead, he pointed toward Leonard’s face whilst walking backward toward the direction of the door. “You should shave.” With that, he yanked open the door, stepped out and slammed it behind him.

Leonard touched his unshaven chin with the tips of his bare fingers, knowing it had indeed been days. He snapped the calling card up toward his face and froze.

All it read was:

Death to the British

Sucking in a savage breath, he darted for the door, slamming it open. The paneled lantern-lit corridor was empty. The son of a bitch! Dashing down its wide length, he skid to a halt at the main stairwell that led both up and down. He leaned over the stairwell, looking for movement.