Promise Me Forever Read online

  He eased one knee between hers and she couldn't contain her groan as the sensual frictions sent shockwaves pulsing through her. Apparently she had a desire of her own and it was just as unfamiliar to her. Until now.

  Then he pulled away, and their eyes met once more. His were heavy-lidded, darkened to a smoky indigo that practically snatched the breath from her lungs. No man had ever looked at her this way, with such pure lust, and her heart thundered in her chest as he took her by the hand to lead her to the bed.

  "Captain Kennedy?” Mrs. Markham tapped on the door.

  "Oh, hell...” Drew breathed, pressing his cheek into Heather's hair. “I am going to recommend to Collingsworth that he fire that woman."

  "Captain Kennedy? It's time for tea."

  He lifted his head, scowling at the door as he growled, “Thank you, Mrs. Markham,” with no little sarcasm in his voice.

  "Tea does seem to be most important to her,” Heather murmured, eyes half-closed as he nuzzled her.

  "I hate that woman,” he muttered after a long moment, pulling away to gaze down at her. “She interrupted what was a very lovely moment."

  Heather smiled up at him. “There will be other moments."

  "Ah, there should have been. Now, however, I'm not so certain.” He sighed deeply, pulling away and moving around her to finish dressing. “That is part of the reason I was gone all night. I had a little spat with the harbormaster. Seems I'll be taking myself from these shores sooner than I thought."

  "How much sooner?"

  "Most likely within the next two days, while the tides are favorable."

  Her stomach dropped at that. Two days? Two days and she would be left to fend for herself. She thought about the calling card the duchess had given her. Heather supposed she could accept the duchess's offer, and merely hope her secret never came to light.

  Then Drew surprised her. He must have seen the look of horror on her face, for he smiled then, crossing back to take her in his arms and whisper, “Come to America with me."

  Eight

  She stepped back. “What?"

  Drew smiled at her. “You heard me, Heather. Come with me. You can be my mistress in Brunswick just as easily as you can here in London."

  "I cannot go to America! Are you mad?"

  "What is so mad about it?"

  She struggled to come up with a reason, waving a hand about as if it would help her think. Of course it was mad—stark raving mad, in fact. How could he think otherwise?

  Still, now that she'd blurted it out, she couldn't think of a reason. What was to keep her in London? She had no family, her friends would no longer associate with her. Life as an outcast, that was what awaited her when Drew left. Whereas in America...

  What would await her in America? She had no way of knowing. A fresh start, perhaps? A new life? Still, she had to be mad to even consider Drew's offer. Didn't she?

  He arched one brow and her cheeks burned. Finally, she gave him the best reason she could. “Because it is,” she replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

  "A perfect reason, to be sure,” he replied dryly, reaching for the midnight blue shirt draped over the foot of the bed. “I may not know much about the rules of your society, my lady. But I am fairly certain ladies from decent families do not seek employment at brothels. I am even more certain that young men from decent families would never wish to marry young ladies who've sought employment in such places. Do you wish to die a spinster?"

  He was right and she knew it, and that aggravated her. She frowned up at him. “Thank you for reminding me."

  "It's not as though I'm taking you away from some wonderful life, Heather. Where are you going to go once I'm gone?"

  A chill settled over her. She hadn't given any thought as to what would become of her once Drew left England behind. It was far too unpleasant and far too easy to shove into the back of her mind. If she didn't dwell on it, maybe—just maybe—it would never happen. Of course, now she knew differently. “I hadn't really thought about it. I thought you'd be here a while longer."

  "Well, I was supposed to be. And if I had more time, I would see you set up in a house, with a stipend and all. But I'm afraid I no longer have that kind of time."

  His words surprised her. “You were going to do that for me?"

  He nodded, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. “Of course. That's what a man does for his mistress. But, since I've not the time to find a suitable residence, this is my alternative. I do not wish to see you in the gutters, love, and that is where you will end up. That is, if you do not return to Delilah's."

  She shuddered at the thought. “I would never go back there."

  He shrugged. “Then mine is a perfect solution."

  "Drew, you met me three days ago. And now you wish me to travel to America with you? It's insane, that. How could you possibly think otherwise?"

  "Of course it's insane. It's nothing less than anyone who knows me would expect of me.” Drew gave her a boyish grin. “You'll quickly learn I am the black sheep of my family."

  Could this actually be happening? Could he truly want to bring her to America? Would she be a fool to trust him?

  But she knew he was right. There was nothing in London for her, save a return to Delilah's, and she would much rather risk finding her own way in America than return to that horrid place.

  She shuddered again at the thought of having to go crawling back to Madam Allison. She had no doubt that the woman would take her back, she seemed too convinced that Heather would bring in a fortune. That was something Heather could not believe for a moment. The other ladies working there seemed so much prettier than she was. She'd always felt rather plain compared to the likes of Flora and Sally.

  He grinned at her, as if waiting for her to reply. That grin unnerved her, as if he could read what was going through her mind. She wracked her brain, trying desperately to think of something to say. The best she could come up with was:

  "I suppose I would be considered the same, then. A black sheep, that is."

  He chuckled. “I imagine you would, love. I imagine you would."

  A sudden flush of embarrassment rushed through her. What would he tell his family when he returned home with a strumpet? What would they think of him? Or, for that matter, what would they think of her?

  She paused for a moment, trying to think of a tactful way to phrase the question. Before she could say anything, though, he'd moved away and began stowing things in his sea chest.

  "Besides,” he said, “this way my hard-earned money won't go to waste."

  His words held no malice, but brought forth the truth of the matter. Drew had bought her. The shame she'd thought she'd left at Delilah's flooded her now. No matter how hard she tried to pretty it up, nothing changed. She had become his possession the moment he'd paid off her father's debt. Perhaps he hadn't meant it quite as she'd heard it, but there was no mistaking he was right. He owned her now. He was, in fact, her master.

  "I suppose I ought to begin packing as well, then,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  "I will send Jameson out to purchase a sea chest for you, Heather,” he told her, lifting his head up to meet her eyes. “That way—” The words died on his lips and he frowned. “What is the matter?"

  "Nothing,” she replied, ducking her head and turning away. She felt like such a fool, to think that perhaps she meant more to Drew than she actually did. There was no way she could ever tell him that, though. It sounded mad, even to her. He hardly knew her, never mind cared for her. It was purely physical, indeed.

  He didn't press the issue. Instead, he shrugged and straightened up, pulling on his frock coat. “I suppose we ought to go down before Mrs. Markham is pounding on the door again."

  "Yes. I suppose we should."

  He offered his arm. “Shall we?"

  Heather hesitated a moment, but decided it was in her best interest to accept that proffered arm. If a mast
er he wished to be, then she would do her damnedest to make certain to treat him as one.

  It was impossible to ignore the warmth seeping into her hand as it rested lightly on his forearm, but she resisted the urge to squeeze the dense muscle packed beneath his skin, muscle she could feel even through his clothing. Casting a sidelong glance up at him, she remained silent as they left the room to go down to tea.

  * * * *

  Drew sensed Heather's sudden coolness, but couldn't imagine what the reason could be for the change. She grew quiet, speaking only when spoken to, averting her eyes whenever he happened to look at her. Her brow furrowed, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Whatever might be troubling her though, she kept to herself.

  He wondered if it had to do with leaving England to venture to America. He didn't know what had possessed him to invite her to go with him, but the words were out before he could stop them.

  Still, he did not regret issuing the invitation. He did want her to go with him, though he wasn't exactly certain why. A mistress was not something he made a habit of keeping. But there was something about her, something that pressed him, urged him to keep her close. He couldn't simply sail off and leave her to fend for herself. Not when he knew where she would most likely end up.

  The very thought of her returning to Delilah's fired his blood. Anger coiled within the pit of his stomach any time he thought of another man laying a hand on Heather. He knew possessiveness made up a fair amount of the blood of a Kennedy male, but he couldn't explain why he should feel it where she was concerned. As she'd pointed out, he'd just met her. How could he feel possessive towards her in such a short time? It made no sense, but he could not deny he felt it.

  Heather said not a word as they went into the drawing room, where Mrs. Markham had set out the tea. She prepared a cup with plenty of sugar and thick cream, and sat back in an elegant red leather wing chair to take a sip. She remained quiet, eyes downcast, as she nibbled at a scone.

  He sat across from her, scowling, his biscuit ignored on his plate. Heather continued to keep her eyes glued to the floor, paused to sip her tea again, and then resume chewing.

  "What is on your mind, Heather?” he finally asked, shoving his plate away in disgust.

  She looked up at him with wide dark eyes. “There is nothing on my mind, sir."

  Once again, he was amazed by her eyes. They were the darkest brown he'd ever seen—as luminous as moonbeams and as fathomless as the ocean. A man could get lost looking into those pools. He cleared his throat. “I thought we agreed you were never to use the word sir in association with me?"

  "Of course. I apologize."

  As her eyes ducked back to her plate, he fought to squelch his rising irritation. Whether she chose to admit it or not, he knew there was something troubling her, and he fully intended to get to the bottom of it. The sooner, the better, he thought, for if possessiveness made up half his blood, impatience made up the other half.

  "Please, Heather. Do not apologize for every little transgression,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Show a little spirit."

  "Of course."

  He gritted his teeth. Something was most definitely going on beneath her chestnut curls and that something was going to drive him mad.

  A maid bustled into the room to clear away the dishes, hovering around him as she lingered at clearing away his place. He sighed inwardly, mentally rolling his eyes over the maid's attentions. A mite flattering, but tiresome just the same. He waved her away and said to Heather, “So, did you enjoy your shopping spree?"

  She nodded. “I did."

  "And I take it Jameson kept a watchful eye over you?"

  "He did."

  This was becoming quite tedious, indeed. “You are allowed more than two words per sentence, Heather."

  His impatience was quite evident in his voice and she must have decided it would be in her best interest to comply. Lifting her gaze to his, she simply replied, “I'm sorry."

  It would have been amusing, if it wasn't so damned frustrating. Resting an elbow on the table between them, he leaned towards her, growling, “Am I boring you, love?"

  That got him a reaction. Her head jerked up, her eyes meeting his, and he was happy to see a spark of annoyance in them. “Of course not."

  "Ah, three words. A small improvement, but still an improvement just the same. Now please, for the love of God, will you speak to me?"

  "As you wish,” she replied, setting down her scone and folding her hands in her lap. Meeting his eyes, she asked, “What is it you wish to discuss?"

  She was more formal than she'd ever been with him, speaking in a slow, moderate tone. Even her demeanor was formal. She sat perfectly straight, chin up, hands folded demurely in her lap, eyes focused downward once more. It sent a flash of annoyance surging through him. Why this sudden change?

  "This is ridiculous,” he suddenly burst out, shoving up from his chair and moving to stand before her. “Aren't you even the slightest bit curious about America? About Brunswick? About anything?"

  He could almost see the curiosity in her eyes, could swear that she was almost chewing her lips off to keep from saying more than her one or two word answers. He stared hard, trying to figure out why she was so cool. Then, she took a deep breath, lifting her eyes to his. “Of course I am, but it isn't my place to question your wishes."

  "What?"

  Her brow furrowed with exasperation. She'd realized he wasn't about to make it easy on her. “I said, it's not my place to question your wishes. I suppose I will find out all about America once we arrive there."

  At last, he was getting somewhere. Some of his irritation left as he said, “Heather, if you wish to question anything, please feel free to do so. Why do you suddenly think otherwise?"

  "I think that should be quite clear."

  "Well, it isn't.” Drew shook his head. “I must admit I am a bit confused as to this sudden change. What brought it on?"

  Her eyes rolled, her gaze dropping down and her shoulders sagging as if she wished he would simply let the matter drop. “It's simply how things should be."

  "How things should be, eh? Very well, I suppose it'd best to leave things alone then."

  "As you wish."

  This was wearing on his nerves. He had no desire to keep playing games. “That is what I wish. Now, I need to pay a visit to the harbor to see that preparations are underway to set sail as soon as possible."

  "Very well."

  "I expect to be back in time for supper. Please dress accordingly."

  "As I did last eve, when you did not return?"

  It almost made him smile, seeing that hint of temper poke through her sudden reserve. “That was unavoidable. Besides, did you not just say it wasn't your place to question? Consider yourself lucky I do not request you to not dress, at all."

  His cobalt eyes locked with hers and she felt the jolt crackle through her. The flush was back, creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks, disappearing into her hairline, making her entire head feel red-hot. Her eyes fell back to the table as she said, “Of course."

  Drew left it at that, striding from the room. He slammed out of the townhouse, his voice sharp as he snapped, “Eagleton's office,” to the driver and practically threw himself into the carriage.

  Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, replaying the scene in the drawing room. What the devil was going on? Which was the true Heather Spencer? The fiery spirit who'd returned his kisses with such passion, or the mealy milquetoast with whom he'd just shared tea?

  He tried to think of any reason to explain her sudden change of character. It made sense that night at Delilah's, for he was fairly certain she'd been instructed to accept whatever orders she might be given by the paying customer. It didn't make sense now, at least not to him. He had no aversion to the occasional disagreement, no aversion to her speaking her mind. He'd been raised by a most outspoken mother and a father who'd encouraged his wife's opinions. His two younger sisters had minds of their own and
no qualms about using them. Why should Heather be any different?

  He smiled as he thought about his mother, Samantha, and his younger sisters. Kendall, the older of the two girls, was married now, and the mother of a daughter herself. It would be nice to see them again. He had missed his family during his absence, for they were a close-knit group.

  "Well, we'll be there soon enough,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “And I do not relish the questions I am certain to be peppered with regarding Heather."

  How would he explain her? His family was no stranger to scandal. After all, scandal was what landed Kendall her husband. But this was different. He had no idea how they would react, should they learn how he'd met Heather in the first place. Drew didn't think his father or Garrett would be overly troubled. He certainly was not the first Kennedy to ever venture into a house of ill repute. The female portion of the family might be a different story altogether.

  He'd worry about that when the time came. As for now, he had more pressing matters at hand and one of them concerned one relatively greedy harbormaster and an increasingly restless crew. He needed to settle up with the former, and round up the latter, then he could set sail for home.

  Nine

  The next two days were a blur of activity for Heather as her time in London drew to a bittersweet close. Anticipation mingled with a hint of regret at the thought of leaving her home, but she tried not to dwell on it.

  Her spat with Drew was forgotten, since he was so frantically busy preparing his ship for their return to America. She saw little of him during those two days, but when she did, he was all smiles and kind words, filling her with a sense of relief. At least their quarrel had changed nothing.

  Finally, it was her last day in London. It was a gray, misty morning and it didn't take long for her to finish what little packing she had to do.