The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst) Read online

  At least where it concerned the youngest daughter of Amhurst.

  Sarah refused to quit his mind, his thoughts rampant with her capricious behavior. She had asked for his help in clearing her name, yes, a task he was keen to follow through, but she had also declared her intent to seek out a spouse. And worse, not because she sought protection, or feared for her future, but because she had somehow surmised her happiness was directly related to her marital status. Rubbish and nonsense.

  Two years of living in the shadow of Society had clouded her logic.

  He had believed her content, happy even, without a man to encumber her interests. Sarah was an enigma, more intelligent than most men in his acquaintance and more suited to independence than any other woman he’d had the pleasure of knowing. She was singular in her opinions, at least among her own sex, and he had thought, apparently ignorantly so, she was best left at Rosehearst alone to do what she had always done and not be hampered by the ideologies of dim-witted people.

  He was not as insightful of her character as he once had been.

  She had changed, and in more ways than he could have conjured. He glanced toward the window he knew to be hers. No light flickered in the darkened glass, which was just as well. Her curvaceous form silhouetted against the thin faded curtains would only have added to her allure. Gone was the lean, lanky form he remembered from the first dance they had shared at Lady Dewbury’s. Time had added a lush roundness to her figure. She was no more the young girl he had led around the ballroom, but a woman, and one who wanted a husband to make her happy.

  As though she needed the approval of another to be happy.

  But then, didn’t he? Was that not his current plight? To seek out the good opinions of others to further his cause in Parliament? A cause he, and his mother before him, believed would lead to the betterment of Society? He had successfully lobbied his campaign and had in fact nearly secured the majority to see his vision—the creation of a reformatory school for those rejected by the very Society they served.

  His years of begging and campaigning were on the cusp of fulfillment, and the fallen women of the demi-monde tossed aside by his peers would have a second chance at life. Was that not his goal? To make certain others were given an opportunity to secure a better future? Where they, too, might aspire to happiness and contentment?

  And yet his continued association with Sarah stood to upset his goals. Her unusually high level of intelligence, her over-education, might cost him votes.

  He had near convinced the entire House of Lords that educated penitents could add to the betterment of Society. But Sarah, a lady, had used her education to injure others, which might make many question Jonathon’s assertions.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. His thoughts were too deep and despairing for such a late hour. He needed rest unless he denied himself of slumber now, enabling him to recuperate his loss in the carriage tomorrow. Heaven knew from Sarah’s manner today, she would not offer any diversion—at least of the verbal variety. In her current mood, she was mulish beyond the pale. Her physical presence, however, would present its own distractions—the scent of her soap, the essence of spring itself, was enough to befuddle the mind and make him think lascivious thoughts of Olivia’s dearest friend.

  Unless his mind was already out of sorts.

  Brandy. And a substantial dose, he wagered. Enough to dampen his unwanted attraction whilst leaving him immune to her scorn. He headed toward the front of the inn, intent on asking for the best of their stores for the morning departure, when a rustle of fabric stilled his steps.

  He’d believed himself alone in the small clearing, the occasional snort and stomp of a horse from the nearby stables the only sound breaking the silence of the chill evening. Someone had decided to join him. Of the inn’s five available rooms, his party filled four, the remaining room having already been let upon their arrival. Anyone could be out checking on the horses and ensuring their safety. Or, as he caught glimpse of a touch of scarlet flitting around the corner, they could be engaging in something less innocent.

  Jonathon stepped around a prickly piece of shrubbery, the glossy and pointed leaves snagging on his wool jacket as he sought to remain hidden, until the bright color of the familiar pelisse darted past. He shot out his hand and wrapped it around Sarah’s upper arm as his other clasped over her mouth.

  She gasped, her body rigid with surprise as he pulled her back against him. All manner of the very worst horrors ran through his brain. Did she not know the dangers found in an inn yard? Or worse, was she seeking them out? Had he caught her on the way to some sort of assignation?

  No. He was being foolish. This was Sarah struggling in his arms, not some tawdry woman seeking a bit of excitement. She likely had very good reasons for slipping out of the inn well past decent hours. And he would very much like to know what they were. Keeping his voice calm, he whispered, “It is curious to find a woman who wishes to clear her reputation engaging in activities that seek to damage it further.”

  She relaxed against him. Good. Even if having her rounded bottom pressed hard and fast against his groin made his blood surge to certain parts of his anatomy he prayed would remain undetected. She understood he was here to help her, and if necessary, protect her from herself. He had always had his eye out for danger whenever they played together as children. He was the elder, by more than a few years, and as such it was his duty to guarantee her safety.

  With a hard shove of her elbow in his ribs, she wrested free of him and spun around, her finger digging into the center of his chest. What he failed to remember, what always slipped his mind, was her affinity for self-defense and her natural ability to find the best place to inflict pain and render him helpless.

  “If you had stayed in your room, I would not have needed to venture out and put myself at risk,” she said.

  “An unmarried woman knocking on my door is equally damaging,” he grunted, her well-aimed jab near taking away his breath. “Though I see you’ve been practicing the skills I taught you.” The same ones he had never believed she would use on him. He blamed the ignorance of youth.

  “I’ve had ten years to perfect them,” she said with a hint of smugness. “And had you not wanted me to use them, then you should not have taught me to defend myself.”

  “I taught you so you might ward off unwanted advances from forward gentlemen pressing their advantage. Not so you might strike me down in the dead of night.”

  “And who was to say you were not some hoodlum waiting to steal my purse?”

  Surrendering to her argument, he held up his hands. She made a fair point. And he had no wish to be at the receiving end of her elbow yet again. “You need only have sent the staff to fetch me, and I would have obliged whatever inquiry needed answering at ungodly hours.”

  “I did,” she snapped. “I sent my maid and then Olivia’s. They both said you were not in your room.”

  “And you thought to take it upon yourself to find me? When you are concerned with the restoration of your reputation?”

  “I had questions,” she said defensively.

  “That could not wait until morning?” he asked, restraining his frustration, but only just.

  “Olivia is unwell,” she said. “And as there are likely no physicians of notable distinction in such a small—”

  “Unwell?” he asked, his heart speeding at the idea his sister may be in danger.

  “She has some discomfort, is all. One I can easily remedy with a hot bath and a bit of…tea.”

  His brows lifted.

  “Basil tea. The caffeic acid in the leaves will ease her discomfort. Along with the hot bath, of course. I thought, were you to watch as I made the tea, then perhaps…” She thrust her shoulders back. “I have a mind for my reputation. If you stand as a witness, perhaps minds will be assuaged.”

  Jonathon peered at her through the veil of darkness. He could scarce make out her face, though his eyes had long adjusted. Not that he needed to see her to believe the sinc
erity ringing in her voice. He had her features memorized, from her full set of lips to her pert little nose. She would never hurt Olivia. And he held no doubts over her tea-making capabilities. “And you think the basil tea will right her?” he asked, more out of concern for his sister than any doubt over Sarah’s judgment.

  “I do. She suffers from a common enough ailment and one we share. I have found great success with the basil and have no reason to believe she will not as well. I brought along the leaves in the event I required them. I need only boil some water and steep the basil until the water cools.”

  “I leave her to your care. Do what needs to be done.” He extended his arm to indicate his willingness to follow. Whatever ailment his sister suffered, it was an insignificant one, for no worry or anxiety colored Sarah’s voice. Certainty and confidence rang in her tone, and he believed her more than capable of dealing with his sister’s affliction.

  “You trust me, then?”

  “You’ve given me no reason not to.”

  She cleared her throat. “Right. Would you like to watch as I make the tea?”

  “As a witness to your virtue, no. But as a protector, yes. I cannot have you bustling around in a public place without means of a chaperone. It isn’t done.”

  “I am an earl’s daughter. I will not be bustling anywhere, least of all in a public area. I will have some water brought up to our room along with the bath. I shall steep the leaves, as Olivia has no protests to my remediation. She merely wishes it be done expeditiously. Hence my earnestness in seeking you out.”

  She paused for a second, her lips parting as though she had something to add, but must have thought better of it, for she clamped her mouth shut and started toward the inn.

  He matched her stride and came up alongside her. “What ailment has afflicted my sister?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Nothing some tea, a hot bath, and a bit of rest cannot fix.”

  “What is it you aren’t telling me?” She was withholding information. But why? Especially when he had confided his trust in her healing capabilities?

  “It is a private matter.” She took one of the two candles resting on the entry table and lit the wick off the flickering flame of the sconce. “An ailment that only affects our sex. Please, do not press further. You may hold a position akin to a brother, but there are some things a woman does not share with her male brethren.”

  He eyed her curiously but nodded. “If you are steeping leaves in your room, Olivia and her maid’s presence will suffice for any sort of witness you may require.”

  She started up the stairs, her skirt in one hand and the candle in the other. The light from the flame flickered over the pale expanse of her face, her cheeks still flushed from the cold. Along with the rich scarlet of her cape, she made a striking profile, the thick plait of her dark hair draping over her shoulder and beckoning him to loosen it…

  “Very well. Good night.” She lifted her foot onto the next step and swiveled back. “Thank you.” Biting her bottom lip, she turned and started up the creaking staircase, her round bottom bobbing into the shadows and enticing him to think thoughts no brother should think of his female brethren.

  Jonathon plucked the remaining candlestick off the weathered sideboard and rolled it between his hands. Yes, brandy was needed. A lot. There would be no waiting for dawn, not if Olivia was in a weakened state. Another few days at the inn were required before they continued on to Barrington. Which was just as well, as he had no intentions of rising before dawn. He only hoped for a dreamless slumber void of the inviting images of Sarah, still flush from the cold, her hair aching to be freed from its plait.

  Chapter Three

  Eager to return to the warmth of her and Olivia’s shared room, Sarah bounded up the staircase, the chill of the autumn night still biting at her cheeks and likely pinking her flesh. Though, were she to be honest, she could not deny a touch of the color could be attributed to Jonathon’s ready approbation. She’d expected resistance, or at least some hesitation at her request. Heaven knew she was asking a lot of the man to trust her with his sister’s health.

  But he hadn’t even blinked, his consent given before she could voice the careful argument she had readied on her way to seek him out.

  He trusted her.

  Sarah paused and thrust back her shoulders. As he should—she had only Olivia’s best interests in mind. Heaven knew Sarah had suffered the ill effects brought on by her own monthly courses. Basil was a simple enough remedy she had found in her research during her last stay at Plumburn. What’s more, it worked. And with a little rest and a hot steaming bath to soothe her aches, Olivia would be well on her way to recovery.

  With a quick glance behind her, she paused. She’d expected the glow of Jonathon’s light as he continued up the stairs, only there was no shadow or creaking of the stairs to indicate his presence. Had he returned outside to do whatever he had been doing when she interrupted him?

  Her blood stirred as she recalled precisely what he had been doing when she came across his solid form in the dark of night.

  She’d expected him to be in his room. Heaven knew the hour was late enough. But when assured his room was empty, she’d left Olivia’s side, knowing he was somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps brooding on her ill treatment of him in the carriage. He might be infuriating at times, but despite any disagreement they may share, he would never flee from his responsibilities. If Jonathon was anything, he was stalwart.

  And very, very strong. Her arms still tingled where he had grasped her and held her tight against his rigid body. The Kama Sutra had educated her on the different types of embraces, and while his had been one of constraint, her mind had ventured into other definitions. Would her body react similarly had he meant to caress instead of restrict?

  A flutter in her chest suggested as much. But he hadn’t meant to hold her in any endearing fashion. This was Jonathon, not a rogue. Besides, the book had warned of the body’s senses. Hers was getting the best of her. Focus was key.

  That she had found him in the inn yard, not yet undressed from the voyage, had not been a total surprise. His tall frame barely fit in the confines of the carriage, his long legs unable to fully extend. After a day of sulking in silence, she surmised his limbs had suffered as well and were in need of physical exertion. But she’d been so concentrated on Olivia, she hadn’t considered he, too, might be in pain. She chewed on her bottom lip. There was nothing more she could do for Olivia, at least not until the water arrived in another quarter hour.

  Which was more than enough time to discern if Jonathon required any assistance. Her skin flush and warm once again, she turned and retreated down the staircase, careful to make light of her footfalls so as not to wake the other guests.

  The flame in the sconce still flickered at the bottom of the stairs, casting an eerie shadow on the faded blue paint of the wall. Jonathon stood off to the side, his hands wrapped around a tallow candle, his broad shoulders resting against the wall. He lifted his head at her arrival. Her breath caught.

  “Sarah?” His light-colored brows knit together as he pushed off the wall. “Has Olivia—”

  “She is well. Or at least she will be once the water is brought up to her room. I thought I’d ask after you.” She paused on the second to last step. While narrow, the ledge afforded a nice height advantage over Jonathon. Unusually tall, he loomed over her petite frame. She rather liked being the taller of the two of them.

  “Me?” His face softened into one of surprise.

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “I know the carriage can be somewhat restricting.” Her gaze fell to his legs encased in the soft buckskin of his breeches. His thighs were shapely and attractive, his legs well-appointed in comparison to the graphic sketches found amongst the pages of The Kama Sutra. Sarah’s cheeks heated at her appraisal, though she should feel no shame in her observation. It was an academic one, after all. A study of anatomy. Nothing more. “It is only natural for you to suffer from some discomfort. I have one of H
enrietta’s best chamomile blends along with me, should you need some help settling for the evening.”

  His lips pulled into an endearing half smile. “Why, Sarah, you flatter me with your apology.”

  She let out a snort. “I should have known you would see a simple inquiry after your health as a form of atonement.”

  “Is it not?” he asked incredulously.

  “Would you accept it if it were?”

  He placed a hand at his chin, his fingers stroking the beginnings of a beard. Oh, he was teasing her, for certain, with both his hesitation and with the graceful and altogether mesmerizing movements of his thumb as it trailed over the slight shadow at his jaw. She thawed, her heart melting at the sight of the simple motion. She shook her head. The hour was late.

  “I may. If it were stated in earnest.”

  “You are deplorable.” Making her state the obvious, indeed. When he had already deduced the true intent of her concern.

  “And you, my dear, have more pride than a duke with his heir.”

  She let out a laugh. “I’m afraid I have no shortage of dignity.” It was as close to an apology as she dared offer. Any more and he’d gloat the rest of the way to Barrington.

  He gave her one of the endearing half smiles that had caused entire ballrooms to swoon. She, however, was made of stouter things than most of the fresh debutantes thrust in the line of his charm. But only just. Her heart fluttered as he chuckled.