Love's Promise (4 page)

“You are a perfect little gentleman.”

Fanny chuckled and stood, and she winked at Michael.

Camilla scoffed. “Bloody right, he’s a little
gentleman
. His grandfather’s a bloody duke.”

She assessed Michael, checking to see if she’d shocked him with her vulgar language, or if she’d astonished him by claiming an exalted connection. He kept his expression carefully blank, declining to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Camilla,” Fanny scolded, “please don’t start. Mr. Waverly is our guest.”

“Been to London lately, Mr.
Waverly?
” Camilla’s tone implied that she knew who he was, but she didn’t reveal the information to Fanny, and he was curious as to why not.

“No, I haven’t been there in ages.”

“Pity,” she sarcastically cooed. “I might have asked you if you’d ever met my boy’s father. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? John Wainright? He’s Clarendon’s oldest son and heir.”

“I’m not acquainted with the family, I’m afraid. They’d be quite a bit above my social station.”

“Would they now? How do you suppose John is doing?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

At the peculiar banter, Fanny scowled and took Michael’s arm, leading him outside.

“We’re going, Camilla,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” Camilla pouted. “I’ll just sit here and entertain myself. It’s not as if anyone ever calls on
me
.”

Thomas followed them onto the stoop, a forlorn look on his face. He kept nervously glancing at the cottage. Fanny was nervous, too, and Michael was torn between his desire to be alone with Fanny and his desire to rescue Thomas from his mother’s clutches.

Fanny went to Thomas and knelt by him so they could have another whispered conversation.

“Must you go?” he asked. “Mother is in such a foul mood.”

“You’ll be fine. Why don’t you play in the yard until I return?”

“She said I couldn’t, but I hate to stay inside with her when she’s angry.”

“No. You go play.” Fanny rose, her distress apparent. “I won’t be away long. I promise.”

She spun away and rushed out to the lane without a goodbye. Michael murmured a hasty farewell to Thomas, then raced after her. When he caught up with her, he strolled by her side, not certain of what to say. They were silent, the only sounds the chirping of the birds in the trees and the click of their heels on the ground. She was very upset, her cheeks red with chagrin.

“I’m sorry,” she ultimately mumbled.

“Why would you be sorry?”

“We didn’t always live like this. Oh, what must you think of me? I’m so embarrassed.”

She stumbled to a halt and covered her eyes with her hands, trying not to cry, and he couldn’t abide her woe. Before he could give himself opportunity to reconsider, he folded his arms around her and cradled her to his chest.

She didn’t protest the liberty he’d taken, and like the cad he was, he snuggled her closer, rubbing her back, calming her as one might a young child who’d had a bad dream.

“Hush,” he soothed, “it will be all right.”

“Thomas is such a wonderful boy, but she’s so bitterly unhappy. I don’t know what’s to become of us.”

The admission hit him like a blow, and it was on the tip of his tongue to make pledges he couldn’t keep, to offer arrangements he wasn’t prepared to extend. He clamped down on all the foolish remarks that were begging to be uttered.

“Where is Thomas’s father?” he inquired, feeling like a scoundrel, but probing for answers he was dying to receive. “Is it this John Wainwright your sister mentioned?”

“Yes.”

“Why hasn’t he helped you?”

“They were never wed, and he had no interest in her or his son. He seduced her when she was a girl, and she refuses to believe that he never cared about her.”

“Did you ever contact him?”

“On a dozen occasions or more. My father wrote. I wrote. Wainwright never replied to a single letter. We were fine until my father passed away, but now that we’ve lost his support, our circumstances are very grim.”

Michael took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

He couldn’t unravel the truth of the situation. John had been an honorable man. If Fanny had corresponded with him about their dire straits, he would have assisted them.

Why hadn’t he responded to their pleas? And if he was so unconcerned, why had he left the bulk of his estate to Thomas?

It made no sense.

“Why don’t you go directly to Thomas’s grandfather?” Michael queried. “Your sister said he’s a duke. Surely he’d aid you.”

“He’s a notorious fiend,” she vehemently stated. “He has a reputation for philandering that’s a hundred times worse than his son’s. His habits are obscene, and he’s extremely cruel. He’s horrid to everyone, and he’s generally loathed.”

“How do you know all this?”

“The neighbors told us. They delighted in tormenting Camilla and shaming my parents.”

“Maybe he’s not the monster he’s been painted.”

“He is, he is,” she insisted. “He’s been threatening legal proceedings to take Thomas. Can you imagine that sweet boy forced to live with people who have no morals or conscience? My poor father was a vicar. He’s probably turning over in his grave at the very idea.”

Michael wanted to defend his family, but unfortunately, the Duke was every bit as awful as she’d claimed, so he focused instead on how perfectly she fit in his arms, on how marvelous it felt to hold her.

He kissed the top of her head, then her temple, and he was thrilled that she didn’t pull away. She remained snuggled to him, her pert breasts crushed to his chest, her thighs tangled with his own.

He dipped lower and kissed her cheek.

“Don’t be sad,” he said. “I can’t bear it when you are.”

She peered up at him, her poignant, enticing eyes having captured the hues of the forest so that they were a vibrant green. Her golden hair reflected the afternoon sun. With tears damp on her lashes, her expression bleak with dismay, she was beautiful and vulnerable and captivating, and his heart did a little flip-flop.

Just then, had she been shrewd enough—or greedy enough—to seek his favor, he might have done anything for her.

He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, a soft brush of his lips to hers, and at the fleeting contact, his pulse raced. He was almost giddy with joy, like a young lad with his first girl, and the strident reaction scared the hell out of him. If he could be so rattled by a mere kiss, of what further sorcery might she be capable?

He was terrified to know.

She drew away, her look half-accusing, half-enchanted.

“Oh...” she breathed. “Oh my...”

They stared and stared, a thousand unspoken comments swirling between them, but she didn’t order him to desist, didn’t stomp off. He reached out, cradling her face, and with slight pressure, he urged her to him and kissed her again.

He was very gentle, letting her learn the way. At the start, it was a tad clumsy, but she quickly acclimated, joining in as fervently as if they’d been lovers for years.

Gradually, he hugged her tighter, a palm on her back to keep her close. He didn’t do much else, didn’t fondle a breast or stroke a buttock. He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more.

He was used to consorting with whores—both highborn and low—and usually, he paid for his sexual services, so there was rarely a reason to linger over the preliminaries. As a result, he seldom delayed in his ardor. But with Fanny, there was no rush, and the pleasure was sweeter for the restraint. He felt as if he had all the time in the world, as if he could kiss her forever and never grow weary.

He kept on until her lips were ripe and swollen, until her body was tense with a yearning he was sure she didn’t understand. For his own part, his anatomy was screaming at him to hurry, to push matters to the next level, to take more from her than she should ever give him.

Finally, she was the one who came to her senses and called a halt. She wrenched away, and the accusing look had returned, but it was speculative, too, as if she’d surprised herself with her eager participation.

They stared again, then he stepped to her, but she extended a hand, warding him off.

“Please, stop” she implored. “You make me dizzy with your attentions.”

“I’m not sorry, and I won’t apologize.”

She blushed a fetching shade of pink. “I’m not experienced enough to be certain, but I think you’re very good at kissing.”

He shrugged. “I won’t deny it.”

“Are you in the habit of kissing women you scarcely know?”

“If they’re pretty.”

He smiled, and she blushed again.

“Are you claiming I’m pretty?” She said it like a dare, like a challenge.

“Very pretty,” he murmured.

As if it were preposterous, she scoffed at the notion. Didn’t she comprehend how spectacular she was?

“You don’t have any honest intentions toward me, do you?”

He frowned. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I’m not positive what it’s like in London, but here in the country, when a girl dallies in the forest with a man as I just have, marriage is expected soon after.”

“It was just a kiss. You shouldn’t read too much into it.”

“But are you the type who makes promises afterward? Are you the type who offers things he doesn’t mean?”

“Probably.”

Her gaze narrowed, as if she was viewing him in a new and unflattering light. “If we continued on, you’d never marry me, would you?”

On hearing the question, he nearly choked with laughter. What a bizarre conversation! As if matrimony should pop up as a topic, merely because they’d kissed!

Oddly, he regretted giving her the only answer he could.

“No, I’d never marry you.”

“Why? Because I’m poor? Or because my sister is loose and disgraced?”

“Neither of those. They’re irrelevant to me.”

She blanched with horror. “You’re already married!”

“No.”

“Are you engaged?”

“No.” It was the truth, and it wasn’t. He wasn’t betrothed to Rebecca, but he would be shortly—or to someone just like her.

“I see,” she mumbled, but she really didn’t.

She peered at the ground, appearing very young, very disappointed, as she struggled to identify what other excuse he could possibly have, but if he’d had a whole year, he couldn’t have enumerated all the reasons he would never consider her as a bride.

“This has nothing to do with you personally,” he said.

“It has
everything
to do with me. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“All right, I won’t. Now I
am
sorry, and I apologize.”

He stepped nearer, close enough so that the tips of his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt. She glowered up at him, wounded and offended and so very lovely.

On noting his perplexed expression, she said, “I’ve embarrassed you.”

“No.”

“You must find me provincial and absurd.”

“I don’t at all. If I’d thought you ridiculous, I’d never have called on you.”

“Just once in my life, I’d like to be special to someone. It saddens me that it can’t be you.”

“I think you’re very fine.”

“Do you know what it’s been like to remain here after Camilla’s troubles?”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t. When my mother died last year, I had to sell her wedding ring to buy us food.”

“How awful for you.”

“This isn’t the city—where females are free to revel in any scandalous behavior that tickles their fancy. Have you heard what they say about me in the village? They say I’m exactly like Camilla. Is that why you’d never have me? Did you hear something appalling from the neighbors?”

“I’ve spoken to no one.”

She scrutinized him. “I can’t tell if you’re lying.”

“No one has said anything to me,” he insisted, “and I wouldn’t have believed them if they had.”

“For your information, I’m nothing like her.”

“I know you’re not.”

She glanced at the ground again. “I’d like to go home now.”

He studied her petite figure, her bowed head, and he wondered how he’d made a muddle of such a splendid afternoon.

He touched her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at him, and he traced a finger across her mouth, using every ounce of fortitude he possessed to keep from kissing her again.

“I think you’re very fine,” he repeated like a dolt.

“A lot of good it does me.” She flashed a weary smile. “Could we go?”

He could have argued, but he’d been sufficiently unkind for one day, and he would be even crueler in the future.

He sighed with resignation. “Certainly.”

As he took her arm, he was glad that she let him hold it, and they strolled slowly, silently, back to the cottage.

When he stepped to follow her through the gate, she stopped him.

“Goodbye.”

“No, not goodbye,” he replied. “I’m planning to visit tomorrow.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Why?”

“You make me wish I had a different life, but I’ve learned the hard way that it’s foolish to crave things that can never be.”

“But I want to kiss you again tomorrow.” He grinned, letting his fondness show in his gaze. “I’ve tried it once, and I can’t stand to suppose it will be the only time.”

“I would like that—very much—which is why we’re done seeing each other.”

“Fanny!” He sounded as if he was scolding her. “I’ll be here such a short while. Don’t ask me to stay away from you.”

“You know it’s for the best.”

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“I’m not loose, Mr. Waverly, and I won’t pretend to be. I’m too aware of the dire consequences.”

“Would you call me Michael?”

“No.”

She went into the yard, putting many feet of distance between them, and she thoroughly assessed him, cataloguing his features.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

“For what?”

“For liking me.”

She raced away, but she didn’t go inside. Skirting the house, she hurried out behind it, and he moved down the lane, so that he could see what she was doing.

She stood in the grass, the breeze rustling her hair and clothes, and as she peered up at the summer sky, her anguish and confusion were visible. After a long interval, Thomas ran up to her, whooping with joy and talking a mile a minute. She concealed her distress, feigning composure, then they headed for the stream that meandered on the edge of the woods.