Promise Me Forever (19 page)

Lauren shook her head. “I can’t believe I once thought us friends as well as cousins.”

“I’m beginning to suspect that just as one shouldn’t borrow money from a friend, one shouldn’t ask a friend to chaperone. I may have to include that sage bit of advice in the next edition of my book.”

The men’s laughter rumbled through the room.

“Do you think they’re discussing what we’re discussing?” Lauren asked.

“Surely, not. There was no cause for laughter in what transpired. Perhaps they’re simply sharing a humorous story.”

“Perhaps we should join them,” Lauren suggested.

“Perhaps we should.”

Dinner was a pleasant affair, dishes served as though Tom had been in residence from the be
ginning to oversee them. It was a testament to how well the previous Lady Sachse had managed the staff. However, when the butler discreetly informed Tom as he was preparing to leave the dining room that he might wish to discuss tomorrow’s various menus with the cook first thing in the morning, he felt himself floundering. What did he know about the preparation of meals when most of his life he’d eaten a side of beef and a can of beans?

“Is everything all right?” Lauren asked as he caught up with her in the hallway.

“Apparently I’m supposed to discuss food with the cook in the morning.” He extended his arm to her.

“That’s a task that usually falls to the lady of the house, and while I’m not, I suspect that I’m better prepared than you are for handling it. Would you like me to see to it?”

“Would you mind?”

“Let’s see…ensure that we have variety or risk having nothing except beef and beans served? Mmm.” She touched her chin with her finger, then shook her head. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So will everyone’s stomachs.”

“How did you know I prefer beef?”

“First, because you’re a rancher, not a poultry farmer or a fisherman. Secondly, it’s the only time your plate is practically wiped clean.”

“I guess I have simple tastes.”

“You should be more adventuresome. No telling what you’ll discover you like.”

“And what about you, Lauren? Are you adventuresome?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He couldn’t deny that or the spark of plea sure it gave him to have her there, willing to help him out by taking care of a few of the domestic duties. He could see a definite advantage to having a lady in the house, especially this lady. He wondered if he’d be able to smell her flowery fragrance in these hallways after she was gone, if it would soak into the pillows on the bed where she was sleeping. If he slept there, would it be like sleeping with her?

“You seem to know where you’re going,” he said.

“Since Lydia has visited before and is familiar with the layout of the house, she gave me directions before she and Rhys went on ahead. This hallway leads to the gardens. We thought we’d take an evening stroll. Lydia and Rhys should be waiting for us outside.”

They were waiting at the edge of the veranda, talking quietly, both suddenly stopping to turn to Tom and Lauren as they approached.

“I suppose we should follow you,” Lydia said, “so I can more easily keep a watchful eye on you.”

Rolling his eyes, Tom led Lauren up the walk,
hearing the click of heels as Lydia fell into step behind them, Rhys with her. “I don’t know how these people ever figure out that they want to get married with someone watching their every move.”

“They very cleverly figure out ways to evade their chaperones. Although the practice of having a chaperone is not as rigid as it once was. More and more ladies are beginning to rebel at the notion that they can’t be trusted to ensure that men behave.”

Tom laughed. “So, it’s the men who don’t behave?”

She peered up at him, and even in the night shadows, he could make out the outline of her smile, the sparkle in her eyes. “Most certainly. Ladies are always above reproach. A woman has a stronger will, can more easily resist the temptation of improper behavior.”

“And what do you consider improper?”

“I don’t need to define it, Tom. You know exactly what is improper.”

“Smoking a cigar?”

“Definitely.”

“Drinking?”

“Spirits? To excess? Most assuredly.”

“Kissing?”

“Other than on the hand or cheek, yes, without a doubt.”

“I don’t recall you objecting to any kisses that I gave you.”

“You took me by surprise, before I could object.”

By surprise? His memory of each one had him taking his time, going slowly, savoring the moment. What sort of game was she playing?

He smelled the returning rain on the air only a few seconds before the downpour began. Lauren and Lydia both shrieked, and Rhys yelled, “Back to the house!”

Tom envisioned the chaperones scurrying back the way they’d come. He grabbed Lauren’s hand, halting her retreat in the same direction. “This way!”

She was alternately laughing and shrieking by the time he got them under the protective roof of the gazebo. He shrugged like a dog just out of the river, thought she might have as well. The distant gaslights along the path allowed the gazebo to have some semblance of shadows rather than complete darkness, and he was able to see Lauren standing there, arms crossed over her chest, her head somehow misshapen…

He grinned. Her hair was falling down. The rain had managed to do what he’d been longing to do all night, release the golden tresses from the confines of pins, ribbons, and bows. He removed his thoroughly soaked jacket. It would do little to keep her warm.

“Here,” he offered. “It’s wet, but the inside is still warm.” He draped it over her shoulders, felt her shudder beneath his fingers.

“Where did Lydia go?” she asked.

“I heard Rhys yell something about the house, so I assume they headed back.”

“And why didn’t we?”

“The gazebo was closer.”

“Except in the house I have dry clothes. Here I have nothing.”

“You have me,” he said quietly.

“But you’re as wet as I am.” Her voice held a shiver, and he wasn’t certain if it was from the cold or his words.

He moved up until they were very nearly touching. “If we’re close, we can warm each other.”

“I suppose you’re going to suggest that we remove our clothes to generate even more heat.”

“The direction your thoughts go in…are they proper for a lady?”

He heard a most unladylike snort and twitched his mouth, which felt funny without the full weight of his mustache. What ever had he been thinking to change it at all?

“You’ve got a mess here,” he said, reaching up to very slowly, very carefully begin removing the pins from her hair, his face close enough to hers that the warmth of her breath fanned over his cheek.

“You’re just going to tangle it.” She sounded breathless but didn’t take any action to halt his actions.

“I’ll brush the tangles out when we return to the house.”

“And when do you think that will be?”

“As soon as it stops raining.”

“Which could be hours from now.”

If I’m lucky
, he thought, as he removed the last pin and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. He had an urge to taunt her, to prove that he could be within close proximity of her without touching her. He had a devilish desire to push her to the edge until she couldn’t resist touching
him
, to prove that it wasn’t always the man who made a chaperone necessary. The lady was equally responsible, tempting a man, exposing her throat and shoulders so he couldn’t help but think about nibbling that delicate skin, dabbing drops of perfume in provocative places so he couldn’t help but think about leaning close and breathing in the sweet fragrance, occasionally touching her tongue to her lips so he couldn’t help but think about tasting…

Dammit if he hadn’t moved in so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her body, smell her intoxicating scent, and almost taste those lips. A whisper’s breath separated her mouth from his, and his hands were tangled in her hair. So much for his resolve not to touch.

He could hear each shuddering intake of breath, not sure if it was hers or his. The rain continued to pour, tapping on the gazebo roof, splattering on the ground surrounding the structure, encasing them in a cocoon of intimacy. Resisting the urge to lean in and take what he so desperately wanted
was damned near killing him. Even in the shadows he saw her lick her lips, and it almost shattered what little restraint remained to him.

He wanted proof that she wanted him with the fierceness that he desired her, wanted her to close the gap between them, wanted her almost brought to her knees with yearning. She licked her lips again, and her breathing sounded more ragged. He felt her fingers slip beneath his waistcoat, close around his shirt.

“My fingers are cold,” she rasped, “and you’re so warm. How can you be so warm?”

Because she had the ability to ignite a fire within him that threatened to consume him. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes. He was going to break, dammit. He couldn’t hold out, couldn’t resist…he felt the lightest brushing of her lips over his, like a gentle wind ruffling the petals of a dandelion—

“My lord?”

His eyes sprang open, and he jerked his gaze toward the voice. Smythe stood in the gazebo entryway, an umbrella over his head protecting him from the still pelting rain.

“The duchess sent me out with an umbrella to ensure that you and the lady were able to return to the manor house without the risk of catching your death.”

The rain was hardly at risk of doing him in. It was his own pride and vanity, his own need to prove a stupid point. He took a deep breath, forc
ing his body to loosen and settle back down so he could think clearly about something other than Lauren. His body aching with need, he strode over to Smythe and took the two umbrellas he was offering. “Thank you.”

“The duchess said she expects your immediate return; otherwise, the duke might have to seek you out to ensure all is well.”

Tom fought back his impatience. “Inform the duchess that we’ll be there shortly.”

“Very good, sir. Dreadful weather we’re having this time of year. I daresay you might wish to travel slowly in order not to put Miss Fairfield at risk of turning an ankle.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’ll inform the duchess that there will be a slight delay before your arrival.”

Before Tom could respond, the butler was hurrying along the garden path that would lead him back to the house.

Turning back to Lauren, Tom could actually hear her teeth chattering. Without the warmth of his nearness, the heat of their passion, the chill and dampness were taking their toll. He opened an umbrella, held it up. “Come on.”

She came to stand near him. Clutching his jacket with one hand, she reached for the umbrella.

“I’ll hold it,” he said. “You just get underneath it.”

“I don’t know that we can both fit, and we have the second umbrella.”

“Don’t worry about me getting wet.” He wrapped his hand around her neck, drew her near, and whispered near her ear, “Good thing your chaperone interfered. I think your resistance was about to crack.” Then he planted a kiss on her mouth designed to make her regret that she’d offered up any resistance at all.

With a contented sigh, Lauren soaked in the steaming hot water the servants had poured into the shining brass tub. She felt the chill leaving her bones to be replaced with a sense of euphoria, very similar to the sensation she’d experienced when she’d leaned in to kiss Tom. She’d cursed the interruption, even as she’d been grateful for it. She didn’t know what had gotten into him, to just stand perfectly still like one of the statues that adorned his house—only he’d been clothed and she’d found herself wishing he wasn’t, that she would have had the opportunity to see his solidly carved form in the gazebo with the rain falling around them and the pale light harkening the shadows into retreat.

She sipped on the tea that Lydia had prepared for her, wondering if it seemed too sweet because of all the sugar that Lydia might have added or because Tom’s taste still lingered on her mouth. She’d barely touched his lips, but it was enough to know that he would have tasted like the delicious walnut cake that had been served for dessert. But
even without the sweetness of the dessert served after the meal, Tom would have tasted divine—because he always did, always had, from the first moment that he’d kissed her.

“I hope you’re not angry at me for sending Smythe out with an umbrella, but I know firsthand about the dangers that can arise within the confines of a gazebo,” Lydia said, effectively bringing Lauren out of her reverie. Her cousin was sitting in a chair, on the other side of the screen, as though she thought even within this room, Lauren needed protecting.

Lauren set her teacup aside and reached for the soap. “I hope you’re not planning to sleep in my bed.”

“No, of course not.”

Silence settled around them, and all Lauren could hear was the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

“Did you get into mischief?” Lydia finally asked.

She decided silence was the best course of action, rather than a lie. She didn’t need Lydia being any more alert than she already was. Quite honestly, she was surprised by her cousin’s vigilance, had actually expected Lydia to serve as chaperone in name only, especially after her instructions before dinner.

“Lauren?”

“No, no mischief.” She finished washing up,
stepped out of the tub, and wrapped the towel warming before the fire around her. It too felt heavenly. Everything here seemed geared toward pampering her.

She walked to the bench and sat at the vanity. Her maid, Molly, immediately began to brush out her tangles, and Lauren was surprised that she felt a bit of regret that it wasn’t Tom doing the brushing.

“I do hope it doesn’t rain the entire time we’re here. Rhys was hoping to do a bit of riding tomorrow,” Lydia said.

“I’m sure we’ll have a few days of sunshine. So tell me about your experiences in a gazebo.”

In the mirror’s reflection, she saw Lydia duck her head and begin sipping her own tea, as though she thought that was enough to evade the conversation.