Promise Me Forever Read online

  "Eight hundred pounds, you say?"

  "Yes."

  He was quiet for a moment. Then, he sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. “There is a way out of this, I suppose."

  Her heart skipped a beat. Did she dare indulge in a grandiose dream of her own? Was it possible he would help her? No, it would be insane to even consider such a thing. Why would he wish to help her when he barely knew her? He might feel sympathy for her plight, but of course, that was the extent of it. Wasn't it?

  Still, she found she held her breath as he said, “I could help you."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "I've a weakness for the underdog, I suppose."

  She couldn't believe what she thought she heard. Was it possible that he was serious? Should she dare hope that he was? The flutter in her belly now was one of hope.

  Of course, she'd have to be a complete ninny to think he would offer her aid without expecting something in return. Innocent though she was, Heather was not so naïve as to think he'd do this simply out of the goodness of his heart. There would be a price for her as well.

  Her hopes sunk a bit as she murmured, “But I've no way to repay you."

  The gleam was back in his eyes as he turned to her. “Of course you do."

  Her stomach gave a lurch. “I do?"

  He smiled. “Most definitely."

  She wasn't so certain she liked the sound of that, nor was she certain she liked that gleam in his eyes. Still, there was nothing he could suggest that would be worse than being trapped at Delilah's, was there? There was only one way to find out. “And what might that be?"

  "I'm going to be in London for several more weeks yet. I will pay your debt. In return, you will be my mistress for the duration of my stay in London."

  "What?"

  "I will, in effect, buy you from Madam Allison. And in return, you become my mistress while I am here in London."

  She bit her bottom lip. It didn't sound like such a terrible bargain, actually. She would be free of Madam Allison for good, and being Drew's mistress might not be so horrible. He was handsome and kind, and apparently, he was wealthy enough to help her out without a second thought.

  "I become your mistress?"

  "Mine solely. I prefer not to share my women."

  She mulled it over for a moment. Being a mistress would mean reclaiming her life, giving her some control over it once more. It was a start to getting her life back again. Glancing around the cramped little room, she knew what her answer would be.

  She lifted her eyes to Drew's, one question still lingering in her mind. “Before I answer you, I need know, for how long must I agree to do this?"

  He smiled as if expecting that very question. “I promise you'll not have to put up with me for more than six, possibly eight, weeks."

  She took a deep breath, knowing there was no backing out now. “Very well, then. We have a deal."

  Drew got to his feet. “Wonderful. I will be back in the morning. And we shall take it from there, I suppose."

  A flash of panic shot through her. “You're leaving, then?"

  "I don't carry that kind of money on my person, Heather. I'd be asking for trouble."

  She knew that when he left, there would be no guarantee that he would in fact, return. She might be trapped there, under Madam Allison's thumb, for the next six months. “Yes, I understand that, but—"

  Drew cupped her cheek in his hand. “I will be back, Heather. You have my word on that. I will most definitely be back. I've seen but a hint of your beauty. I have every intention of seeing the rest of it."

  She felt the blush rise again. She knew what he expected of her as his mistress, knew that she would one day soon share his bed. Her blush burned hotter at the thought.

  He smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips with a gentle kiss. “I will see you tomorrow, Heather."

  And then he was gone, lifting his frock coat from the chaise and disappearing through the door. Heather pressed her hand flat against the cool wood, wondering if she would ever see the handsome, black-haired American again.

  Four

  The next morning, Madam Allison woke Heather before noon by knocking furiously on her door. Heather sat bolt upright, her heart pounding as she reached for her pelisse and slipped into it, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

  She kicked back the covers and padded over to the door. “Yes?"

  "Open the door, Heather. I need to speak with you."

  Heather frowned. Madam Allison didn't sound angry, but she didn't sound happy, either. She wondered what Allison could want with her so early in the day. Even if Drew didn't return, Heather knew there would be no men until well after dark. Sunlight and strumpets simply did not mix.

  She smothered a rising yawn. Madam Allison had brought no other gentlemen to her room, which she found odd. Still, despite the unexpected reprieve, it had taken her forever to fall asleep. Anticipation mingled with a hint of fear at what she'd agreed to do. She was actually going to be leaving Delilah's to become mistress to a man she barely knew. She had no clue what awaited her, but it was a heady rush all the same. That rush refused to still itself and as a result, she'd done a fair amount of tossing and turning before her mind finally relented and allowed her to drift off.

  She pulled open the door to find Madam Allison beaming at her. The woman seemed happier than Heather had seen since her arrival. “I do not know what you did to that man last night, love, but you certainly made him happy."

  "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't understand."

  "That young American buck what was here last eve. Whatever you did certainly made an impression. Not only did he pay for the entire evening in your company, but he was here not less than an hour ago to pay off your papa's debt.” Allison's blue eyes were practically dancing with glee.

  "He was?” The rush was back, filling her with a joy she hadn't felt in ages. That explained why she'd been left alone following Drew's departure. She was free. Thank heavens, she was free.

  "Yes, love. And he left this note for you."

  Heather accepted the folded, sealed note, noting the elegant K emblazoned in the dollop of red sealing wax. So Drew's surname began with a K. At least she knew that much now. “Thank you, Madam Allison."

  "I must admit, though, that I am sorry to see you go, Heather. You could make quite a tidy sum, based on this. Quite the tidy sum, indeed."

  Heather didn't know what to say. Apparently Drew had made no mention of the fact that he didn't actually bed her. She wasn't about to inform the madam, either. If Drew wanted Allison to believe Heather had dazzled him, who was she to say otherwise?

  The old woman smiled down at her. “You have two hours to gather your things, Heather. I've already arranged for another girl to come in to take your place."

  "Of course."

  With that, Madam Allison swept back out of the room, leaving Heather to stare at the heavy paper she held. Her hand shook slightly as she cracked the wax seal and unfolded the missive.

  She moved back to her bed, sinking down onto the soft tick and smoothing the letter flat on her bed as she pored over the elegant penmanship flowing over the stationery. Her heart fluttered as she read:

  "Heather,

  As promised, I've settled your debt with Madam Allison. I've arranged for a driver to meet you at Delilah's for half-past two this afternoon. He will know where to bring you.

  I've left word with the housekeeper—Mrs. Markham—that you will be arriving today. I've also taken into account that your wardrobe might leave a bit to be desired, so I've arranged for you to meet with Mary Cartwright. I've been told she is most competent when it comes to ladies’ fashions. You are to procure anything you need and have the bills sent directly to me. Enjoy yourself.

  I will be home by half-past six this evening. Supper will be served at eight o'clock and dress appropriately. I will see you then...

  Yours,

  Drew Kennedy

  Heather looked down to see her hands shaking. She had ac
tually agreed to this. How could she possibly go through with this? Wasn't it as bad as working at Delilah's?

  "No. It cannot be. It cannot be anywhere near as bad as this,” she whispered, rereading the note once more. Mary Cartwright, indeed. She was only the top couturier in London. She was more than competent.

  She refolded the note, tucking it into the folds of a chemise as she packed her one satchel. Drew was correct, she didn't have a very appropriate wardrobe. Most of her finery had been sold to pay off IOUs all over London. She owned only two presentable gowns. One a lovely jade silk and the other, a sunny yellow day gown. They were all that remained from a wardrobe that had once been a rainbow of colors in silks, satins, brocades, velvet, and muslin.

  She sighed as she lifted the satchel and left her room, deciding she'd rather await the driver in the foyer. The sooner she was out of that tawdry little room, the better she'd feel. Sally seemed to be awaiting her in the hallway outside her door, her hazel eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Madam told me you are leaving already."

  "I am.” Heather set the satchel on the red and gold carpet.

  "Where are you going?"

  Heather hesitated for a moment. “I—I..."

  "Madam said that a gentleman was here earlier, that you were going with him. Is that true?"

  Heather felt a flash of annoyance. Was nothing sacred? Did Madam Allison have no sense of discretion? She didn't really want anyone to know what her new position was. True, it was better than being a trollop. A man's mistress didn't have to hope no one ever found out about her, but it still was not a position she thought she would find herself occupying.

  Still, there was no sense in lying to Sally. She had been Heather's closest friend since she arrived. “Yes. I'm afraid it's true."

  "Really? The gentleman who came in with Brady St. Charles?"

  "Viscount Danbury?” Heather knew the St. Charles family, had known them since she was a child, but she had no idea that the heir to the Danbury title frequented houses of ill repute. She was stunned to hear that her childhood friend had been there the previous evening.

  "I believe so. According to Flora, this Brady fellow arrived with a friend. A gentleman named Drew."

  "Yes. Drew. That would be him, then."

  "Really?” Sally breathed. “Flora said he is an American! A very wealthy American, no less."

  "Flora has a big mouth,” Heather replied bluntly.

  "Oh, but he must be wealthy, to have paid off what you owed Allison. Oh, Heather, do you have any idea how fortunate you are? I would kill to have a wealthy suitor take me away from all of this.” She sighed wistfully. “It must be so wonderful."

  That remained to be seen. “Well, it is only temporary."

  "Still. You cannot deny what an incredible opportunity it is."

  Before Heather could reply, Flora emerged from the drawing room. “Heather, there is a man here claiming he's your driver."

  "Ah, yes. Well, I guess that is that, then.” Heather turned to Sally. “Take care of yourself, Sally."

  Sally threw her arms around Heather's neck. “I will miss you so, Heather. Please don't forget me, then?"

  Heather couldn't help but return the embrace. She would miss Sally as well. “Of course not."

  After a long moment, she pulled away. “I suppose I should go, then. Goodbye, Sally and take care. I am certain I will see you again."

  Sally's hazel eyes were serious as she said, “No, you won't. You don't belong here. You're not like us. Now, go."

  Heather picked up her satchel and, after saying a quick goodbye to Flora, made her way down the narrow staircase to the door. The butterflies returned as she thought about what would happen once she left Delilah's. Her palms grew damp as she said her final goodbyes to the madam. It was the moment she'd dreamed of since first arriving, but fear filled her as well. The unknown loomed before her as she picked up her satchel and walked through the door.

  She stepped out into a gray London afternoon to find a slender man with silver hair, dressed entirely in black, waiting on the sidewalk. An elegant black coach was also there, the horses waiting patiently.

  "Miss Heather?"

  She nodded. “Yes."

  "I am Jameson, my dear. Captain Kennedy requested I pick you up and bring you to his residence” His gray-blue eyes were nonjudgmental as he reached for her satchel. “Allow me, miss."

  "Thank you, Mr. Jameson."

  "No ‘Mr.', miss. Just Jameson is fine.” He stowed her satchel and took her hand to help her into the carriage.

  She sank back into the rich purple velvet upholstery of the spacious coach that would seat six people quite comfortably. The ride was smooth over the cobblestones, lulling her into a state of drowsiness. It was a welcome relief from the relentless anxiety knotting her stomach.

  When they stopped, she pushed aside the curtain to peer out the window. She could see the elegant townhouse in Grosvenor Square and wondered what an American was doing claiming this as his address.

  A renewed feeling of apprehension washed over her. What if she had been too naïve, too trusting? What might she be getting herself into, offering herself to this man so suddenly? It was entirely possible that she was walking into a situation far worse than the one she'd just left.

  Before she could continue to second-guess herself, the door opened and Jameson said, “Allow me, miss."

  She stepped down from the carriage. “This is the house?"

  "Yes, miss. Captain Kennedy and Lord Collingsworth are old friends. This is where Captain Kennedy stays when he is in London."

  "He knows the Marquis of Collingsworth?” She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. She only knew of the family, as her own family did not move about in the same social circle as the marquis, although she had once seen the dashing Lord Collingsworth. She couldn't help but be impressed that Drew seemed to know the right people. Little by little, she could feel her apprehension ebb away.

  Jameson led her into the town house. “Miss Cartwright will be here shortly, Miss Heather. Ellen will take you to your chambers."

  At that, a tall, slender woman with piercing gray eyes and dark blonde hair skinned back in a tight, prim bun, appeared. “Miss Heather?"

  "Yes."

  "I am Mrs. Markham. Please, do follow me, then."

  Heather did as she was told, following the woman to the second floor. There she was led to a bedroom at the end of a narrow hall.

  Mrs. Markham pressed her lips together as she thrust open the door and motioned for Heather to enter the room. “This is your chamber. Now, you do understand, Lord Collingsworth is my employer, not Captain Kennedy. And I feel I must tell you, I find this in highly poor taste, a man bringing his mistress into a bachelor's residence. Very poor taste indeed."

  "I am sorry you feel that way,” Heather replied stiffly, summoning as much haughtiness as she could. “But, I feel the need to remind you that I am still a guest of Lord Collingsworth by association. As such, I'll not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner. You will address me with the proper respect or the marquis will receive an earful about it."

  That seemed to have struck a nerve, for Mrs. Markham's back stiffened and she bobbed her head sharply, saying, “Of course, my lady. I beg your pardon, of course."

  Heather ignored the last sentence, giving Mrs. Markham the sternest look she could muster. “And you will let me know when Miss Cartwright arrives, won't you?"

  "Of course, my lady."

  "That will be all then.” Heather waved her away with an airy hand. “You may take your leave now."

  Once she was alone, she did a little dance across the room. “Oh heavens, that felt wonderful! No matter what has happened, I am still of a higher station than a housekeeper. That will never change. My blood is acceptable, even if my past is not."

  It'd been quite some time since Heather felt like her old self—like the young woman who'd been raised amidst a gaggle of servants obeying her every command. It felt good, to say the least. It was
a glimmer of the lady she'd once been and the one she could now hope to be once more.

  She sighed, leaning back against the closed door to survey the room. It was most definitely the bedroom of a man. Dark woods, masculine colors, not a touch of feminine detail anywhere. The furnishings were simple, almost plain, really. Yet they were utterly elegant. She would wager the four-poster bed cost more than most people earned in a year. The armoire, the desk, the chest of drawers were all plain in appearance, but she knew they were most likely carved of expensive woods. The heavy dark gray draperies were tied back with heavy braids of gold cord, and white sheers fluttered in the slight breeze. The floor was bare, save for a green and gold Persian carpet beneath the bed, and waxed to a near-blinding shine.

  Her eyes fell on a heavy, brown leather chair in the far corner, a man's shirt and trousers draped over its back. Beneath the chair, a pair of gleaming Hessians lay; one atop the other. She smiled, walking over to catch the fine lawn shirt between her fingers. Drew's clothes. He would be back. For the first time in nearly three weeks, she felt herself relax.

  Perhaps everything would work out after all.

  * * * *

  The rest of the afternoon was eaten up with the arrival of the seamstress. Just as Drew had instructed Heather, so had he apparently instructed Mary Cartwright, for the woman came armed to the teeth with patterns and fabric selections. It took several hours, but when she was finished, she'd selected four gowns. Two were silk, one in robin's egg blue and one in lavender. The other was a pale peach muslin day dress. The last was an elegant evening gown of gold velvet with a shimmering gold satin skirt.

  After the seamstress left, Heather summoned one of the maids to draw her bath. She soaked until the rose-scented water cooled, and then dressed for Drew's arrival in the prettier of the two gowns she owned—the deep jade silk with silver piping and embroidery along the bodice.

  She stood before the mirror in the far corner of Drew's room, fussing with her hair as she tried to arrange it in a complicated series of soft chestnut curls pulled up and away from her face. She wanted to look as lovely as possible when he returned. She wasn't going to give him any reason to question his decision to help her.