Promise Me Forever Read online

  She skewed up her face, which he thought should have made her look ugly, but it didn’t. It just made him want to tease her more, to keep her lingering around.

  “All you want to do is unbutton my bodice?”

  He nodded, his mouth suddenly so dry that he didn’t think he’d be able to talk if he had to.

  “You can’t touch nothing,” she said.

  “I won’t,” he forced out through the knot forming in his throat as his anticipation built. “I’ll just look.”

  “I guess there’s no harm in just looking.”

  “None at all.”

  She held out her hand. He dropped the coin in it, wishing his didn’t look so dirty to him all of a sudden. After setting his hat aside, he wiped his hands on his trousers and cursed them for starting to tremble again. He hated to think how badly they might be shaking if he got to touch more than buttons. Not that he would touch more than she’d given him permission to. He might be a thief, a liar, a cusser, and—most recently—a drunk, but he wasn’t a scoundrel. Well, maybe he was a little. The unbuttoning might be walking right up to the line, but he wasn’t going to step over it. A man had to have some principles.

  Holding his gaze, she lifted her chin. He swallowed hard, wishing she didn’t have so many danged buttons. The first one seemed to take forever to slip through that tiny little loop. It parted to reveal the tiniest bit of her throat. He stopped breathing. Moved his fingers to the next button—

  “Lauren Fairfield!”

  Before he could make a move to escape, his ear was held in a painful grip, and he was dancing on his toes, trying to stop the agony. How could a woman inflict such torment with a pinch?

  She was hauling him around the building before he could work up a protest.

  “Marshal Montgomery!”

  Sliding his gaze to the side, because she wouldn’t let him turn his head, Tom caught sight of the marshal, standing by the telegraph office. She marched Tom across the dusty street.

  “Madam—”

  “He was doing it again. Unbuttoning my Lauren’s bodice.”

  The marshal glared at him. “I told you—”

  “I turned sixteen today,” he hastened to explain, “and you said I could have a look-see if she was willing to take money. I give her two bits.”

  “You told him he could unbutton my daughter’s bodice if he paid her?”

  “Not exactly. He misinterpreted my instructions,” the marshal tried to explain.

  “You worthless son of a bitch!” she yelled as she thrust Tom toward the marshal. “I want him in jail and you along with him. I’m going to the town council.”

  Tom watched her march off, righteous indignation in every determined step. Lauren was looking over her shoulder at him, worry in her expression that caused his chest to tighten. It had been a long time since anyone had worried about him.

  “What’s your name, lad?” the marshal asked.

  “Tommy.” He preferred Tom, but he’d learned that people cottoned up better when he used a version of his name that made him sound younger, more innocent. A Tommy they might protect. A Tom they’d cart to jail.

  “Where in God’s name are your parents?”

  “Dead.”

  The marshal sighed heavily. “Come with me.”

  Dang it. His ploy had never let him down before. He jerked up his chin defiantly. He’d gotten out of many a scrape of late by bluffing. “I ain’t afraid of jail.”

  “I’m not taking you to jail.”

  The marshal walked along the boardwalk, his steps echoing over the planks. Tom recognized the sound of anger when he heard it. He might really be in trouble. He thought about running, but he was so danged tired of running. And if he ran, he might never see that blue-eyed gal again.

  The marshal shoved open the door to the saloon.

  “You gonna lie and tell ’em I’m old enough to drink?” Tom asked, hopefully.

  The marshal gave him a steely glare. The man wasn’t as much of a dandy as Tom had thought. He was usually pretty good at figuring fellas out, but this one confused him.

  Tom shrugged insolently. “I reckon you ain’t.”

  “Wyndhaven,” a man said as he slowly walked over, leaning heavily on a cane. Tom recognized him as being the owner of the saloon. He talked the same funny way that the marshal did. “What have you got here?”

  “A lad with no parents and too much time on his hands. What can I do with him?”

  The saloon owner looked Tom over. Tom clenched his jaw. He hated being looked over, measured, judged.

  “Know anything about cattle, lad?”

  “I know it all,” Tom said confidently, defiantly. He knew what happened when a fella was found lacking. He got a sound beating.

  “You don’t know a bloody thing, you little liar,” the saloon owner said, “but you will before the month is out.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” the marshal asked.

  “Put him to work for the Texas Lady Cattle Venture.”

  By nightfall, Tom had a full belly, a soft pallet on which to sleep, and for the first time in a long while, hope for a better life.

  Ten years later he’d come to thank the man responsible. It had been Ravenleigh—Viscount Wyndhaven at the time—who’d offered him a chance back in Fortune. As fate would have it, it hadn’t been the marshal to whom Lauren’s mother had kept turning Tom over—it had been the man’s twin brother, come for a visit. And when he’d left Fortune, he’d taken Lauren’s mother, Lauren, and her sisters with him.

  Tom wasn’t sure if he made a noise or Lauren simply sensed his presence, but she rose gracefully—so gracefully—turned to face him, then stilled as though suddenly encountering an unknown danger.

  Sweet Lord in heaven! She’d grown more beautiful than he’d imagined. And he’d done a lot of imagining about her over the years. And he realized with a startling clarity so sharp that it almost doubled him over that he hadn’t come to thank Ravenleigh. He’d come for something else entirely. But he had too much pride to go begging, too much pride to admit how much her silence had hurt him. But not so much pride that he wouldn’t take what he was owed.

  Lauren had heard the smallest whisper of movement, had assumed the tea she’d requested earlier had finally been brought by a servant. But when she rose and faced the door, her breath caught painfully in her chest. She was barely aware of the other ladies gasping, one of them squeaking.

  Tea hadn’t arrived. A cowboy had.

  And she would have recognized him anywhere.

  Tall, whipcord lean with a loose-hipped stride that hinted at no hurry to arrive, he boldly crossed over to her, confidence brimming in every step, a man with a mission. The thud of his bootheels hitting the polished parquet floor echoed through the room. He clutched his black hat in his large, weathered hand, while his dark brown eyes held her captive.

  His midnight black hair, more tamed than she’d ever seen it, brushed the collar of his white shirt, almost hidden beneath his simple black jacket. A black silk tie was knotted into a limp bow at his throat. His mustache was a new addition, as thick as his hair, framing the upper bow of his mouth and the sides that spread wide as he bestowed on her one of his slow, sensual grins.

  She didn’t think it was squinting at the unforgiving Texas sun and wind that had carved lines into his face, at the corners of his eyes, across his brow. It was harsh living, and probably hard playing. He’d never been one to do things in half measure. For all the changes that she noted, it was what remained the same that made him so recognizable.

  He gazed at her as though she belonged to him. Once upon a time, perhaps she had.

  He was the last person she’d ever expected to see again, the one person she’d given up hope of ever seeing again. Perhaps he was a mirage, a figment of her imagination, a faint hope that she’d held on to when she’d thought she’d given up completely.

  Except when he stopped directly in front of her, his scent—leather, tobacco, a touch of whiskey,
a bit of dust—stirred to life forgotten memories of nights spent with him beneath the stars. He was real. And he was there. At long last, he was there. She could scarcely believe it.

  Her heart was thundering so hard that she was certain everyone could hear it, could see it pressing against her chest with each forceful beat.

  “Tom?” she finally whispered.

  “Hello, Lauren.” His voice was a deep rumble, raspy, sensual, which shimmered through her and touched all the lonely barren corners of her heart.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’ve come to collect a debt.”

  A debt? What on earth was he talking about?

  “My goodness, Tom, who owes you—”

  “You do, darlin’.”

  Chapter 3

  Lauren stared at him, his words registering but hardly making any sense. The only thing she’d ever owed him…

  Good Lord! After all this time he’d come here to collect what he’d failed to collect in Texas? Her unbuttoned bodice? Had the man taken leave of his senses?

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  Tom watched as disbelief washed over her delicate features, to be quickly replaced by defiance. He couldn’t explain why it pleased him to see the obstinate jut of her chin, the pressing together of her lips in disapproval, especially when it wasn’t her disapproval he’d come for. Somehow she always managed to bring out a bit of the devil in him.

  “You’re him, aren’t you?” one of the ladies asked, before Lauren could sting him with a sharp reply.

  Tom turned to the woman who’d spoken and wondered why he didn’t find her blond hair and blue eyes as attractive as Lauren’s. In some ways she was prettier, but in all ways that mattered to him she was simply ordinary. Still, he wasn’t in the habit of ignoring women. They were too rare in Texas for their presence to be taken for granted, so he grinned. “And who would that be, darlin’?”

  “Oh.” She released a tiny giggle, and her eyes began blinking faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Clearly flustered, she took a deep breath. “The Earl of Sachse.”

  “Of course, he isn’t,” Lauren said. “He has business dealings with my stepfather. Isn’t that the real reason you’re here, Tom? To bring Ravenleigh the latest news about one of the Texas Lady ventures?”

  Tom knew that as the enterprise had grown to include more than cattle, Ravenleigh had become an investor, a partner with his brother and his two friends, Grayson Rhodes and Harrison Bain-bridge. Tom was also well aware that the men had kept Ravenleigh informed of his progress, his success, and while it had never been official, he’d often felt as though they had adopted him.

  “I told you the reason I was here,” he said to Lauren.

  “Surely you didn’t travel all this way for something as trivial—” She stopped abruptly, as though remembering that she had a drawing room filled with ladies who might find his reason a tad scandalous. Tom knew all about the damage a scandal could cause. Every Englishman he’d ever met had some sort of scandal associated with him that had resulted in his exile to Texas.

  “I never considered anything about you trivial,” Tom said, watching as vibrant red slashed across Lauren’s cheeks. He hadn’t remembered her being one to embarrass so easily. But then it didn’t take much looking to realize that she was no longer the girl who had challenged him outside the general store. She possessed a poise, a calmness, a grace that she’d lacked in her youth. She was the epitome of a lady, and he wasn’t quite certain how he felt about the obvious changes, wondered if the changes in him were as clear to see.

  “Please, you simply must join us,” the hummingbird urged, again before Lauren could respond, and he realized that he should have waited before approaching her, waited until he could get her alone. After all these years, she deserved that consideration. They both did.

  “Please,” one of the other ladies implored. “We would love to have you join us.”

  How could Tom say no to such an earnestly delivered invitation, when such expectation hovered in the room, as though staying would fulfill their every wish?

  “I appreciate the invite.” He sat on the offered chair, bringing up one leg, putting his ankle on his knee, placing his hat on his thigh.

  With her delicate brow furrowed, Lauren stared at him as though she didn’t quite approve of his posture—or perhaps she was still having a difficult time believing he was there. But then he was having a difficult time believing it as well. He wondered if it would be inappropriate to ask her to step outside for a minute so they could talk in private. He had ten years of questions that needed ten years of answers. But even as he considered the possibility, he knew the required resolution: of course it would be inappropriate to take her aside. The one thing he had learned regarding the women in England was that a man wasn’t allowed to be alone with one—no matter how innocent his intentions.

  With an almost imperceptible shake of her head, as though accepting his presence, she made introductions without fluster, as though cowboys with daring declarations were known to barge into her drawing room every afternoon. The hummingbird was Lady Blythe. The dark-haired woman was Lady Cassandra. The younger ones were Ladies Anne and Priscilla.

  “Are you a cowboy?” Lady Blythe asked.

  “Yes, darlin’, I am.”

  She ducked her head and peered over at him, batting those long eyelashes again, appearing inordinately pleased. He’d always enjoyed showering attention on the ladies, but he was accustomed to having to work a little harder to get any sort of results.

  Leaning over, Lauren touched his hand, and desire speared him clear down to his bootheels. She’d always had an effect on him, but it had never been so strong, so sharp, so immediate.

  “These ladies…their fathers are all peers. You should address them with a bit more formality,” she said.

  “I, for one, don’t mind that you called me darling,” Lady Blythe said. “I’ve never before had a gentleman call me darling.”

  He gave her a broad grin. “I find that hard to believe, darlin’.”

  Lady Blythe released another tiny giggle that was almost a sigh. “It’s true.”

  “Then I’m thinking that you’re living in the wrong place, because fellas would be lining up to call you darlin’ back in Texas.”

  “Truly?”

  “I’m not one to lie.”

  “Since when?” Lauren asked.

  The anger, hot and furious, roiled through him, and it was all he could do to keep it harnessed, as he slid his gaze back over to her. “Did you want to start counting off false words spoken—in front of your company? If so, I’d be only too happy to oblige.”

  She looked as though he’d fired a bullet into her heart, but he wasn’t about to apologize or take the words back. She was the one who hadn’t kept the promise they’d made.

  “Tom!”

  The familiar cultured voice echoed between the walls. Tom came to his feet, hand outstretched, as the Earl of Ravenleigh crossed the room. He didn’t look much different from when Tom had seen him last. A few more wrinkles across his brow. His hair might be graying a bit on the sides, but it was barely noticeable against the reddish blond strands that were combed back.

  The man shook his hand, his light blue eyes twinkling. “It’s good to see you, lad.”

  “You, too, sir.”

  “I had no idea you were planning a trip to our side of the world. You should have sent word, so I could have made arrangements to meet you. Do you need a place to stay?”

  “No, sir, that’s taken care of.”

  “Excellent.” He turned to address the women in the room. “Ladies, excuse my interruption.”

  “Not at all, my lord,” Lady Blythe said. “It’s always a plea sure to see you.”

  “An equal plea sure to have you in our home.” He gave his attention to his stepdaughter. “Lauren, please notify Cook that we’ll have a guest for dinner. You will stay for dinner, won’t you,
Tom?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Splendid.” He clapped Tom on the arm. “Join me in the library, so we can talk for a bit and have some refreshment. I want to hear about all your adventures, and I want a firsthand accounting of how my brother and his friends are doing in that hellish place you call Texas. Letters leave much unsaid.”

  Tom nodded to the women. “Ladies, it was my plea sure to make your acquaintance.”

  Lady Blythe looked as though he’d issued her a personal compliment, her smile wide, her eyes back to blinking quickly.

  Tom tipped his head slightly toward the girl who had left him behind. “Lauren.”

  Then he followed the earl out of the room, wondering how Lauren truly felt about his staying for dinner.

  “You simply must tell us everything!”

  “However did you meet him?”

  “Who is he exactly? If he’s not the earl…”

  “Are all cowboys so handsome?”

  “Is it possible he’s Sachse? He didn’t exactly deny it.”

  “Well, he didn’t confirm it either.”

  “He was so intriguing. Regardless of who he is, we must see that he is invited to an upcoming ball.”

  “I daresay I shall speak with my mother posthaste about the possibility…”

  Lauren was dizzy with the circle of comments and questions, could barely take in who was saying what. They didn’t seem to be truly seeking answers, until Lady Blythe pointedly asked, “Lauren, you obviously have a history with this man. How did it feel to see him again?”

  Suffocating silence suddenly dropped down on her, and Lauren couldn’t tell them the truth. He did what he’d always done: confused her, excited her, infuriated her. All these years, she thought she’d gotten over him, thought she’d forgotten about him as easily as he’d forgotten about her. All it had taken was seeing him again to stir the memories and unwanted emotions back to life. How could she possibly answer their questions?

  She’d risen to her feet when her stepfather had made his appearance. Now she turned her attention away from the door and finally faced her guests, hoping that she successfully masked all the emotions reeling through her. She’d had years to practice for this moment.