A Reckless Promise (23 page)

Without answering his outrageous question, Sadie reached up and grabbed the lapels of his robe and pulled them out and down, rather
capturing
his upper arms while leaving his chest bare.

His voice was light and teasing. “Why, Sadie Grace, what
are
you thinking?”

“No more thinking,” she told him. “Isn't that what you said? There comes a time when no more thinking is necessary. Or talking.” With that, she reached up on tiptoe and proceeded to kiss him with all the pent-up anticipation brought on by his teasing touch.

He moved hands onto her buttocks and slid his thigh between her legs, pulling her close, grinding against her as she felt her entire body melt like heated wax, made entirely conformable to every part of him, the heat and strength of him.

The next thing she knew he had caught at her weakened knees, scooping her up high against his chest, their mouths still melded together, and carried her to the bed.

“Get rid of those pillows and pull down the covers,” he said against her mouth, bending so that she could reach out and do what he said. The next thing she knew she was lying on the sweet-smelling sheets and her sash was open and he was kissing her.

Kissing her, touching her, driving her mad as he'd done the first time, but this time he was more sure in his touch, apparently knowing just what moved her, caused her breath to catch in her throat, painted multicolored rainbows behind her eyelids.

It was her turn to learn him.

She reached down to grasp his wrist, and pushed one bent leg against the mattress as she levered him over onto his back, ending lying half across his chest.

Now it was her hands that moved, that stroked, that found and captured, her mouth that trailed kisses, her tongue that tasted and teased.

Give to me, as I gave to you. Give me all of you, not just the parts you want the world to see. Break down the barriers, Darby, let yourself free, make us both free. Trust me. Trust me. Let it go. Let it all go...

Did she only think the words? Or did she say them? She didn't know, would never know.

She only knew she was on her back again and he was over her, his arms braced as he slid inside her, deep inside her, and began to move.

Sadie clasped her hands around his forearms as he looked down on her, as she lifted herself to him, watching as he seemed to struggle for control, his chest heaving, his every muscle straining. She raised her legs, lifting them up and onto his back, holding tight so that he could move inside her but couldn't leave her. Never leave her, never leave her...because she was with him, joined to him, and they would be one, because the time was past for them to be two.

Now, Darby. If not now, what are we doing?

“Sadie. Oh, God... Sadie...”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

D
ARBY
KNEW
HE
would have to think long and hard to remember another time in his life that he had been left speechless, or as nearly so as to feel he wouldn't be quite coherent if he did say something.

Darby Travers, speechless, with not a single quip or even a self-deprecating joke meant to put everyone at their ease—perhaps including himself? He'd record this extraordinary event in his diary, if he kept one.

And there it was again. Even inside his own mind, he refused to remain serious for long.
If he kept a diary, which he didn't.
Not any of his best work, but still, he was right there again, attempting to make light of the serious.

Because what had happened a few minutes ago between he and Sadie had been deadly serious. She'd all but ripped his heart out with her impassioned, almost sorrowful words as he'd taken her to the brink. Had she even realized what she'd said to him, how she'd pleaded with him...how she'd succeeded in forcing fully open a partially closed door deep inside him for the first time in years, decades, allowing all of his past out in a single moment, taking all the bits and snatches that haunted him and putting them on a plate in front of him, daring him to consume it—face it all—at one time?

He held her as she slept against his shoulder, her arm laid across his chest, recovering from their long ride through the countryside, no doubt, but also from her lovemaking, his unexpected loss of control as he plunged into her, calling out her name as the two of them melded together, becoming one. Truly becoming one...

She stirred in his arms as a shaft of sunlight he'd been watching make its way across the bed finally reached their faces, causing him to blink.

“Is it morning?” she asked him as she snuggled closer, burying her face against his chest. “Make it go away.”

“Normally, your wish would be my command, but I'm afraid turning off the sun is beyond even my extensive abilities. It's not morning, Sadie Grace, but late afternoon, and we need to seek out Sam Dobson, remember?”

“Oh, my God!” She pushed herself up, nearly knocking the breath out of him as she used her right hand and his stomach as her launching point. “How did you...why did you let me sleep?”

He was already out of the bed and reaching for his robe. “Because you were exhausted? Because we arrived in Brighton too late for a morning call and too early for an evening visit? Because I could have happily held you forever, your long, utterly wonderful body snuggled warmly against mine?” He pulled the sash on the robe around his body and tied it. “Yes, I think it's that last one.”

“You're imposs—no, you already know that. We have to get dressed. My hair is probably in a wretched tangle—”

“Your hair looks beautiful in a tangle,” he interrupted as he planted a kiss on her cheek on his way back to his own room. “We're still too early to bang on Dobson's door, so I'll ring for some small snack for us and meet you in the other room in ten minutes.” When he opened the door, she was right on his heels, tying her own robe shut. “Why are you following me?”

“Because my gown is in this room,” she said, gathering up the garment. “I don't fully know where the rest of me is, so yes, some tea would be welcome. I'm a long way from awake.”

“Don't worry, Sadie, I'll soon take care of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Darby, we don't have time for—”

“My stars, woman, is that all you can think about? I've created a monster.”

He winced in exaggeration as the door to her bedchamber shut with a slam, and then smiled. At least she was fully awake now, and remembering how maddening he could be.

He'd have to ease himself into telling her what she needed to know, somehow sensing she hadn't ever seen all of him. But how? Perhaps because she'd been harboring a quite large secret these past days, she could recognize the signs of others who weren't entirely forthcoming.

All he could conclude was that it all went back to their first, disastrous meeting, when he'd looked into those magnificent eyes of hers and had felt his world tilt beneath his feet. Had he known even then that she was the one? The one who held the key that would finally help him close and lock the heavy door to his past and take him to a new and better future?

He heard the servant's knock as he was just finishing tying his neck cloth in a faultless Waterfall—one of his lesser talents, but a useful one at the moment. He spared a moment to smile at the memory of his friend Coop fumbling with his third attempt at a simple knot as he told his friend he'd become the target of a blackmailer. Coop had triumphed, as he always did, but only with the blackmailer. It had been left to Darby to tie the man's neck cloth that day. Ah, those who can keep their heads in any situation...
probably had more experience with fooling others into thinking they're more in control than they really are...

“I thought I heard a knock,” Sadie said a few minutes later as she entered the sitting room, closing the bedchamber door behind her.

“That was more than ten minutes, Sadie Grace,” Darby pointed out as he waved her to the couch placed behind a low round table that now held their refreshments. “Don't tell me you stopped to make up the bed in order to spare Bettyann's blushes.”

“I admit it was difficult, but I restrained myself. Remember, I've spent my entire life picking up after myself because nobody else would if I didn't, so I have to slowly adjust to being slovenly. I suppose it just came to you naturally?” she jabbed back at him as she sat down beside him. “You've already poured the tea? Thank you.”

“Ouch...and you're welcome. Sadie, do you mind if I tell you something?”

She looked at him curiously over the rim of her teacup. “I suppose not.”

“It's something you do in bed.” Still easing into it...giving himself a chance to change his mind.

She put down the cup. “Oh, Lord. I snore, don't I? I've always wondered.”

He reached over and took her hand. “No, Sadie, you don't snore, and I wasn't referring to sleeping in bed, but to another activity that takes place there, at least for the most part. You talk.”

She pulled her hand free. “I—I
talk
?
So I didn't just imagine it? I actually
said
those— Darby, I'm so,
so
sorry.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Never sorry. God, no. But now it's my time to talk, and well overdue. Twenty years overdue, some would say.”

She raised her hand and laid it on his, which was when he realized he'd been rubbing at his temple, the headache pounding on the door of his skull, demanding entrance.

“Let me help you,” she said. Before he could say it wasn't necessary, she'd gotten up and walked around the table, to come kneel behind him, reaching for the ties to his patch. “It only gets in the way,” she told him, allowing the patch to drop into his lap. “Face away from me. Sometimes talking is easier when you don't have to look at the person.”

“I'm not the only impossible person in this room, Sadie Grace,” he told her, but then gave in and did what she'd instructed. “Have you figured it out yet?”

“That the headaches aren't caused by your wound? Yes, I believe I have. You've had them for a long time, haven't you?”

It was now or never. “Since I was about ten or eleven, yes. When I began to remember. It took years until I could piece it all together. The nightmares, the headaches...”

She moved her hands down onto his shoulders and began kneading at them.

“You've never told Gabe or the others, have you? Nobody knows. Are you certain you're ready to tell me?”

“They've all made vague guesses of an...an unhappy childhood. But no, I've never told them, and they've never pushed. You don't push, either, Sadie Grace. You
shove
, and it's more than time somebody did.”

“You listened to me. You healed me.”

“So you've forgiven John?”

“No, not yet. But I've forgiven myself, and that may have been the most difficult thing to do. The rest will come in time.”

“Forgive yourself, and the rest will follow. I hope you're right. Your hands are still magic, by the way. Which is not to say I want you to stop.”

“Darby, I won't stop. But you have to start. That's the most difficult part, I know. What did you try so hard, not to forget, but to not remember?”

The headache was still there, still trying to get in, but its attempts were losing strength, becoming more feeble as he could imagine himself growing stronger, fighting it, not giving in.

“I was seven. Like Marley, or close enough for me to see her in me, the me I was when my world fell apart. I...I wish I could have kicked someone, and probably I did, but I don't remember.”

“You told me you came to the cottage when you were seven. Did Camy and her husband know why you'd been brought there? It was obvious to me from that first day that they hold you in deep affection. Couldn't they have helped you?”

“They tried. But they only knew the reason they were given by my then-guardian, an uncle who never visited, and died just after I'd reached my majority. I should probably tell you something else. I'd stopped speaking, not so much as a single word, until I was ten or so, and was sent off to school a year later.”

Sadie's fingers stilled against his temples. “You...you didn't speak? For three years? Not at all?”

“I've since made up for that lack—in spades, some would complain—but yes, I was silent as a clam, as it's said. I believe there was some talk about
putting
me somewhere, but Dr. Whiting, the local physician Camy had called in to care for me, said I was fine, and I would talk when I had something to say. He was a lot like John, now that I think about it.”

“I'm sorry, Darby, I keep interrupting you. Please, go on, right after I say thank God for Camy. No wonder she's so protective of you.”

“Nearly dragon-like, but you passed her test in one afternoon. I should have known then, shouldn't I?”

“Known what?”

“Nothing. As I told you, my memory of that day came back in pieces, over time, years. I'll spare you that, and just tell you, beginning to end...or perhaps not to the end, as the past apparently is not yet done with me.”

“These headaches.”

“They're an embarrassment, yes, and come on at the damnedest times, like a guilty conscience, perhaps. All right, let's get this over with,” he said, sitting up, and not bothering to tie on his patch as he turned to face her. In truth, he'd forgotten he wasn't wearing it...and what did it matter, now that he was baring the rest of him to her?

“We were in residence at the home estate for the summer, which was a happy thing for me because it meant I was presented to my parents once a day for ten minutes, to bow, to recite something I'd learned that day and receive a kiss on my forehead from my mother before being hustled back to the nursery. She was so beautiful, my mother. She smelled of flowers, I suppose, and her laugh was like the tinkling of small bells. I wasn't taken to London with them for the Season, you understand, and I only saw them those few weeks in the summer, and again over Christmas unless they were invited elsewhere. Those days, when I was called to the main saloon to perform, to be kissed, are burned into my memory.

“They were exotic, rather like a pair of Basil's birds, I suppose, and I was so proud that they were my parents, even when my father insisted on those long hours in the chapel every Sunday. He believed a man could do as he pleased all the week through, as long as he said he was sorry on Sundays. I can't begin to tell you how I hated those damned gargoyles.

“The day it all ended, my tutor, Mr. Trembley, had ordered me to bed for a nap I didn't think I needed, so while the nursery maid slept in a chair beside my bed—yes,
she
snored—I sneaked out of the nursery and down the servants' steps and outside. I've always been good at locating seldom-used doors and servants' stairs.”

Sadie smiled, and laid her cheek against his chest.

“I was chasing a butterfly through the gardens when I heard my mother's voice. She sounded strange, calling out, and I ran to investigate. And found her. I...I, um, watched for a few moments. I'd been wrong—she hadn't been calling out in fear, or whatever I'd thought. She seemed to be very happy where she was, but I wasn't. I screamed,
‘Stop it, get off Mama or I'll kill you,'
and leaped onto Mr. Trembley's back, pounding my fists against his head.”

“Oh, Darby. Oh, God.”

He'd get through the rest as quickly as possible.

“My screams, Trembley's attempts to order me to silence, Mama's shrieks as she struggled to push down her skirts—it was mayhem, Sadie. Like something out of a very bad farce. Until my father showed up. He'd just come back from hunting grouse or some other bird and had taken the path through the gardens on his way from the stables. He had his hunting guns with him, opened, draped over his arm, but still loaded.

“He saw me and ordered me back to the nursery, but I refused to go. Mama held on to me, held me in front of her, as a shield I've since realized. I told him Mr. Trembley was hurting Mama and I was protecting her, but my father just laughed and told me again to leave, because he'd take care of Mama now. By then he'd pulled up the barrel of one of the guns and was aiming it at Trembley.”

“You were a child. You can't feel blame for obeying your father.”

“On the contrary, Sadie, I thought my father was going to shoot Trembley, shoot him dead for what he'd done to my mother. I had no problem with that, but I wanted to watch, so I only retreated far enough to be hidden when I crouched down behind one of the yews. Seven is a fairly bloodthirsty age.