Love's Promise (3 page)

She twisted and turned, trying to ease the fabric free, but the more she struggled, the more entangled she became. She wanted to yank at the material and rip it away, but if she wrecked her dress, she hadn’t the means to purchase another.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance, and a few raindrops fell, bouncing off the rim of her bonnet and dampening her shawl. She was a pathetic sight, stuck in the ditch, on the deserted lane, and she began to weep, the tears dripping down her cheeks.

She was exhausted, lonely, and famished, and she loitered, fuming and jerking at the branches, when finally, she heard the clomp of a horse’s hooves. An expensive animal rounded the bend in the road, and a single gentleman, whom she didn’t recognize, was riding it.

He was incredibly handsome, very tall and fit, with broad shoulders, a thin waist, and long, long legs. His hair was black, and his eyes were a mesmerizing sapphire that lured her in and made it difficult to glance away. Thomas was the only other person she’d ever seen with eyes so blue, and she couldn’t quit staring.

With his brown coat and tan breeches, his knee-high boots and wind-swept appearance, he looked dashing and carefree, as if he’d been out hunting or perhaps racing with a companion.

From the cut of his clothes and his confident demeanor, he was obviously wealthy, and while she should have instantly beckoned to him for assistance, she hesitated. There was something about him, a power or energy that unnerved her. She wasn’t afraid of him and didn’t think he’d hurt her, but he frightened her all the same.

He saw her, and she must have seemed sufficiently wretched that he tugged on the reins.

“Hello there,” he said, gazing down at her from his elevated perch.

“Hello.”

“Are you real? Or are you a fairy?”

“A fairy?”

“Well, we are in the forest, and you’re hiding in the grass.” He paused and evaluated her. “With that fetching bonnet tipped back on your head, I’m guessing you’re real. I don’t think fairies wear hats.”

“I’m very real.”

“Are you all right?” he inquired.

“No, actually, I’m not.” Embarrassed by her dilemma, she blushed bright red. “I fear I’ve had a spot of trouble.”

“And what is that?”

“My skirt is caught on the thorns, and I can’t get it loose.”

“A catastrophe of the worst kind.”

“I might rip it if I pull too hard.”

“It would be a pity to ruin such a pretty dress.”

He was either too far away to discern the garment’s ragged condition, or he was too gallant to be critical of her attire. Or he was blind.

“Could you...help me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Nimbly, he jumped down from his horse, like a bandit or a cavalryman born to the saddle, and he strode over. With her being so short, he towered over her, and when she caught herself gaping up at him, she blushed even more furiously.

She shifted away, furtively swiping at her cheeks, hoping he wouldn’t observe that she’d been crying, but of course, he noticed immediately.

“What’s this?” he said very gently. “Tears?”

“No, no. It’s the rain.”

“Ah...the rain,” he murmured. He studied her and smiled a dazzling smile. “It’s not as bad as all that, is it?”

“It’s fairly bad,” she was shocked to hear herself say.

“No, it isn’t,” he insisted. “You haven’t realized it yet, but it’s your lucky day.”

“Why is that?”

“Because
I
am about to rescue you—like a knight in shining armor.”

Though she’d been morose only moments earlier, she chuckled. “It’s just a bramble.”

“Well, every knight has his yoke to bear.”

He braced his feet, fists on his lean hips, as he assessed her predicament. Being very polite and cautious, he pointed to her skirt.

“May I?”

“Yes, please.”

He stepped in, and it was the first occasion that Fanny had been so near to an adult male. She was stunned by how her heart raced, by how she prickled all over with goose bumps.

Boldly, as if he fondled strange women all the time, he rested a hand on her waist while he used the other to turn her to and fro. She could feel the heat from his skin, so hot and marvelous that it seemed to burn through the fabric of her dress, and she resisted the impulse to lurch away from the intimate contact.

Ultimately, she was freed, and she moved away from him, but he’d moved, too, so they were standing very close. Much of her torso was touching his, and oddly, a thrilling connection flowed between them, almost as if a spark of energy was shooting from his body to hers.

He scrutinized her, cataloguing her features, and he asked, “By any chance, is your surname Sinclair?”

“No, why?”

“You could be a twin to my best friend, Phillip Sinclair. You have his same hair and eyes. Are you one of his sisters or cousins?”

“I’m sure I’m not.”

“His father is Charles Sinclair, the Earl of Trent.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of him. It isn’t likely we’d have such a lofty acquaintance out here in the middle of nowhere, is it?”

“You just never know,” he said.

“You just never do.” She held out her hand, being brazen and daring as she never was. “I’m Frances Carrington.”

He clasped her offered hand in his own, not letting go as he should have.

“
You
are Frances Carrington?”

“Yes, and I insist you call me Fanny.”

The revelation of her identity had paralyzed him. He stood, pondering, considering, and his potent concentration made her feel attractive and interesting, which was exhilarating. Her dear, departed father had always told her she was pretty, and she could sense it when she peered into the mirror, but she’d never had the opinion validated by a handsome man.

Tentatively, she inquired, “What’s wrong? Why are you staring?”

“You’re not what I expected.”

She was confused by his comment. “
I
am not?”

“No, I...I meant that I wouldn’t have guessed your name to be Fanny.”

“What would you have guessed it to be?”

“Something very fast. Charlotte, maybe. Or Cassandra.”

“You’re very wicked, aren’t you?” She laughed, liking to know that he gazed at her and saw someone completely different from plain, boring Fanny Carrington.

The encounter grew intimate again, the quiet building, his powerful regard not waning, and she asked, “Have we met before? You seem so familiar to me.”

“No, we’ve never met.”

She’d introduced herself, but he hadn’t reciprocated, and she was dying of curiosity.

“Are you from around here, Mr....?”

“Michael Wai...” he started, then stuttered to a halt. “Michael Waverly. I’m in the area on business. I’ll be visiting for a few weeks.”

She could think of nothing more splendid than having him as a neighbor, and perhaps his sojourn would begin as a brief one, but would become a lengthy stay.

“Well, thank you for your assistance, Mr. Waverly. If you hadn’t come by, I might have been stuck out here forever.”

“Do you live nearby? May I see you home?”

Despite how her sister had shamed herself, she and Fanny had been raised with a strict moral code. Fanny was aware that this was the point where she should have pronounced herself perfectly capable of proceeding the rest of the way on her own.

But he still hadn’t let go of her hand, and there were butterflies coursing through her stomach. At the moment, she was so eager to be with him that naught else mattered.

“I’d like it if you would,” she said.

“I would be honored.”

“It’s just a short distance.”

“That’s too bad,” he teased. “I was hoping it far off, so that I would have an excuse to spend hours getting you there.”

On hearing him declare that he’d relished their rendezvous as much as she, she was practically giddy with pleasure.

He led her to his horse, where she’d assumed he would grab the reins and they would stroll down the lane. To her great astonishment, he seized her by the waist and tossed her onto the animal, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

She whooped with surprise, as he leapt up behind her, and though she tried to sit up straight, to maintain an appropriate space between them, it was impossible to keep their bodies from touching. They were pressed together, her back to his front, his thighs cradling hers, his arms holding her steady and safe.

He clicked the reins, and the horse trotted off at a brisk clip. It had been an eternity since she had ridden, and as the wind blew across her face, she giggled with joy and clutched at her bonnet so it didn’t fly off.

Much too quickly, they arrived at the cottage, and as she made her goodbyes, he asked if he might stop by the next day to take her walking.

Readily, she accepted the invitation, and as she went inside, she was grinning, happy for the first time in a long time. She couldn’t believe how such a miserable afternoon had suddenly turned so wonderful.

CHAPTER THREE

Michael knocked on the door at precisely two o’clock as he’d promised Fanny he would.

He glanced at the sagging roof, the weed-strewn yard, the crumbling chimney, and he grimaced with disgust. How could someone he viewed as so remarkable survive in such squalid conditions?

Before arriving in the country, he’d envisioned Fanny as an ugly old crone, or an avaricious shrew. Instead, he’d found a sweet and engaging young woman who attracted him in ways he had no business considering.

From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d been intrigued by the prospect of a liaison. Part of her appeal, he knew, was due to the fact that she was very beautiful, and he was a typical male with low principles and an even lower ability to restrain himself in his carnal affairs.

Why not seduce her? Her life was bleak, her problems formidable, and he was a handsome, experienced gentleman from the city. She could certainly use a bit of excitement to lighten her dreary existence. Would she welcome an advance? Should he initiate one?

The notion of commencing an intimate association with her was tempting. His prior sexual partners had been a mix of camp whores while he was in the army in Spain and loose flirts of the
ton
when he was in England. Fanny Carrington was so different from all of them, and he couldn’t move beyond the possibility that something wonderful could happen if he involved himself with her.

But should he?

The very idea that he would question his behavior was incredibly strange, and his hesitation had thrown his entire plan into chaos.

He’d meant to show up on her stoop, to bluster and threaten and toss around some cash, then leave with Thomas. By all accounts, Camilla Carrington would relinquish him in a thrice, but Fanny loved Thomas and would be devastated if he was taken from her.

To Michael’s surprise, he was torn about his motives while knowing that in the end, Thomas had to be brought to London—even if it broke Fanny’s heart.

Footsteps sounded inside, and he braced, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t mentally prepared himself to meet Thomas, the only son of the brother he’d cherished.

The door opened, and as he came face to face with his nephew, his breath hitched in his lungs. An image flashed of John at exactly the same age, and Michael suffered a powerful rush of affection that caught him completely off guard.

“Hello, sir,” Thomas said with impeccable manners. “Are you Mr. Waverly?”

“Yes...yes I am,” Michael replied.

“Won’t you come in? My Aunt Fanny is expecting you.”

“Thank you.”

Michael entered the dark, dim space. There was one room, crammed with furniture that provided evidence of a more affluent period. Although it was a warm May day, the interior of the house was very cold, and no candle was lit to stave off the gloom.

As his eyes acclimated, he saw a woman, whom he presumed to be Camilla Carrington, slouched in a chair in the corner. She didn’t rise or exhibit any interest in him.

“Who’s there, Thomas?” she snapped.

“It’s our new neighbor, Mother,” Thomas explained. “It’s Mr. Waverly.”

In a gesture that charmed Michael, Thomas slipped his small hand into Michael’s much larger one and dragged him over to Carrington.

“Mr. Waverly,” Thomas said, “this is my mother, Miss Camilla Carrington.”

“How do you do?” Michael blandly said, but he received no response from Carrington.

“He and Aunt Fanny are going walking,” Thomas supplied.

Still, Carrington didn’t bother to stir, but she studied Michael in a cryptic fashion. Michael didn’t think they’d previously met, and if they had, it would have been a fleeting introduction a decade earlier that he no longer recalled.

Michael resembled John very much, though, so there was a good chance that Carrington might guess his identity in spite of a prior lack of acquaintance, but if she did recognize him, she gave no outward sign.

He studied her just as methodically, and instantly, he disliked her. Her rude, slothful demeanor reminded him of why it was imperative that Thomas be extricated from her influence and control. He had to harden himself, had to push aside his tender feelings for Fanny, but as he was struggling to regroup, Fanny appeared on the stairs, and her arrival brightened the dismal abode as completely as if someone had opened the shutters.

She was winsome and beguiling, and she displayed a confidence and poise far beyond her years. He was fascinated by her wholesome manner, by how she comported herself under trying circumstances, by how she persevered in such a mature and dignified way.

As usual, she was attired in her green muslin dress, and it occurred to him that perhaps she didn’t have another. The insight disturbed him and, oddly, made him yearn to buy her a new wardrobe.

“Aunt Fanny,” Thomas happily chattered, “Mr. Waverly is here!”

“I see that.” She smiled and came toward them.

Thomas released Michael’s hand and grabbed Fanny’s, instead. He pulled her down to him, and he whispered, but not softly enough to hide his comment.

“When I answered the door, I said everything you told me to say. I didn’t forget a single word.”