Brotherhood 02 - Broken Promise (2 page)

Sarah tiptoed out of the baby’s room and down the stairs. She was in need of a cup of tea. Jonathan was usually such a good baby, but she thought he was cutting his first teeth. He’d kept her up a great deal of last night. And the night before.

She put the kettle on the stove, then sank down in a chair at the table to wait for the water to heat. It had been nearly three months since they’d left Wakemoor, and she was finally breathing easier. Maybe she and Jonathan had nothing more to fear.

She lowered her head to her crossed arms and closed her eyes. She hoped she’d been wise in bringing the baby to London. But surely she’d create less interest here than in the country where everyone knew their neighbor. After all, London was filled with widows with babies. She would just be another amongst the scores of them.

She breathed a heavy sigh and relaxed her tired muscles. What she wouldn’t give for a short nap.

A loud knock at the front door startled her.

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t expecting guests. She hadn’t become familiar enough with anyone that they’d feel obligated to call on her. The only person who knew where she lived was the lad she’d hired to bring fresh milk each day. But he always came to the back. And he’d already been here today.

She stayed in the small kitchen for what seemed an eternity, praying that whoever was there would go away. But the banging didn’t stop.

Her legs trembled with each step she took to the opposite end of the house, even though she told herself she had nothing to fear. Surely, if the intruder meant her harm he wouldn’t knock on the door.

There was another knock, this time hard enough that the door shook on its hinges. Loud enough that if the banging continued, the babe would wake up.

She took a deep breath and stepped to the door. Her hand shook as she reached for the knob. Maybe it was only someone who needed directions. She could dismiss them rapidly since she hadn’t lived here long enough to be of help.

She slowly turned the knob and opened the door enough to see who was there.

“Yes?”

She had to lift her gaze to look into the stranger’s eyes.

He was taller than most, and handsome in a rugged sort of way. His eyes were the vivid blue of a sky on a clear, summer day and she felt a connection to him even though they’d never met before.

What startled her, however, was the coldness in his gaze, a wintry frost suggesting he trusted no one, or that he was used to dealing with people who posed a threat to him. Not with someone like her—a vicar’s daughter who wore her naiveté like a placard hanging from her neck.

His harsh expression softened as if in that instance he decided she wasn’t that great a threat.

He studied her as intently as she evaluated him.

She wasn’t sure what conclusion to draw. He didn’t seem dangerous—exactly, yet…

His complexion was dark, as if he spent much of his time out of doors. He wore an air of authority, and looked at her with the noble lift to his chin of a man accustomed to issuing orders—and being obeyed.

His dark blond hair was groomed and he held his hat in his hand. His attire issued the impression not of wealth, exactly, but of a good upbringing.

Her heart began a steady pounding in her chest.

She looked at his expression, hoping to see a hint of softness, or a gentleness to indicate his purpose for coming was innocent. What she saw caused a swelling of fear to consume her.

“Good morning.”

His voice was deep, rich, commanding.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Captain Austin Landwell. I’d like to speak with you in regard to a matter of importance.”

Another rush of fear raced through her. Every instinct with which she’d been born told her to fear this man. Fear what he might do to her. To Jonathan.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t imagine anything you and I might have to discuss.”

She pushed on the door, but before she could close it, his booted foot moved forward and stopped the door from closing.

“Please, leave,” she demanded as she held him off.

“As soon as we’ve talked, my lady.”

Sarah pushed on the door again but he shoved his way further into the house.

“No!”

Sarah knew fighting him was useless. He was too big, too strong. She needed something with which to protect herself.

She threw the chair that sat by the door into his path as he entered, then ran across the foyer. The kitchen was at the end of the hallway. If she could reach it, maybe she stood a chance of stopping him. But he was so big.

She raced to her small kitchen and pulled open the cutlery drawer. A knife. She needed a knife!

She grabbed her weapon by the handle and swirled around. Before she could focus, his powerful body slammed against hers. He pressed her against the wall and pinned her hands on either side of her head.

The knife fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

She tried to fight him but her efforts were useless. He was too strong, his grip on her wrists too confining. She thought of Jonathan in his room alone, unprotected, and her mind refused to allow her to submit without a fight.

He didn’t move away, but pressed against her. “This is hardly a kind reception for a visitor, Lady Fledgemont.”

“Leave.”

One word was all she could manage. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His body pressed against her, forcing her to stand still.

Their gazes locked. She couldn’t have looked away from him if she’d tried. He held her gaze as securely as he held her wrists, as firmly as he confined her body.

“Stay calm. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her blood turned to ice.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

His voice was lethal and unyielding, the glare in his brilliant blue eyes still held her captive.

She attempted to move but he wouldn’t allow it. The solid length of his body pressed closer, his fingers around her wrists like steel tentacles. Her flesh quivered where they touched and she was blatantly aware of every sinewy muscle holding her, surrounding her.

His shoulders were broad and powerful but his grasp was gentle even in its strength. How could that be?

Coils of pinpricks shot from where his fingers held her wrists. Raging spirals of heat traveled down her arms, through her chest, then low to a place that had never felt such a sensation.

What was wrong with her? She’d never experienced anything so consuming in her life. Never felt so helpless, so overwhelmed.

She focused on his face, taking note of everything about him. A softer expression overshadowed the immovable hardness she’d noticed before. The icy coldness in his eyes warmed—if that was possible. The rigid lines of his lips softened enough to draw her gaze. And hold it.

A deepening sense of shame overtook her. How could she possibly notice such small details about a man who’d broken into her home and held her captive? How could she want to stay in his embrace as if his arms were some kind of haven?

Deep furrows etched his forehead as if he’d read her thoughts and they puzzled him. A jagged scar ran crosswise from his temple to his ear, and another faint line ran across his cheek. The scars would have made any other villain appear more dangerous, but they didn’t this man. They enhanced his rugged masculinity and heightened her awareness of him. She wanted to believe he wasn’t the threat she’d first thought him to be.

But he was. He’d called her Lady Fledgemont. Someone had sent him to find her—to find Jonathan.

“Please, leave. I have nothing you could possibly want.”

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You don’t know how I wish that were true.”

His voice was a whisper. His words confused her. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to evaluate what he might mean. Before she was prepared to support herself, he released her hands and stepped away from her.

She staggered, then caught herself on the corner of the wooden table and held steady.

“I’ll not harm you,” he said. “I only want to speak with you.”

She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t.

He turned to face her. “Can we find some place more comfortable?”

She nodded.

He glanced at the water still boiling on the stove. “Were you making tea?”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like a cup, and I think you need one, too.”

“Why are you here?”

She asked the question even though she already knew the answer. She prayed Jonathan wouldn’t wake up, wouldn’t cry. He hadn’t asked about the babe. Perhaps he didn’t know about him. Perhaps, as her father had often said, pigs could fly.

She wasn’t sure how long he silently watched her, evaluating her in a calculating manner. She opened her mouth to repeat her question then stopped when he held up his hand.

“Make the tea. I’ll wait for you in the front parlor and we’ll discuss the reason I’ve come.”

He turned his back on her and walked to the kitchen door. She studied his retreating form and mentally evaluated how long it would take her to rush up the back stairs, gather Jonathan, and escape through the kitchen door.

“Lady Fledgemont?” He stopped when he reached the door and turned. “You won’t make it. And even if you do, I’ll find you again.”

Before she could respond, he turned and was gone.

She walked to the side table and with hands that shook, placed two cups and saucers on the tea tray. She reached to pick up the tray, then stopped and braced her hands on the wooden surface. She dropped her head between her outstretched arms as wave after wave of terror engulfed her.

He thought she was Lady Fledgemont. He didn’t know she wasn’t.

Sarah squeezed shut her eyes. What did it matter who he thought she was? Somehow he’d found her. Which meant he knew about Jonathan. Now, neither of them was safe.

Her mind hurried through a dozen different ways she could escape with Jonathan and knew none of them had a prayer of succeeding. Austin Landwell was a powerful adversary. The Earl of Penderly had chosen well.

Even though this was the first time she’d met Captain Landwell, she knew he was a force with whom to be reckoned. Perhaps allowing him to think she was Lady Fledgemont would work to her advantage. After all, only a monster would separate a mother from her child. And that’s all that mattered to her. She’d promised Lady Fledgemont she wouldn’t let Penderly have him. Promised her on her deathbed that she’d always take care of Jonathan. And she intended to keep that promise.

Jonathan was hers now. And no one would take him from her.

With a new resolve, she picked up the tea tray and walked to the front parlor, ready to face her enemy.

The door was open. She stepped into the room and came to a halt.

Her gaze found him as if she knew he’d be standing instead of sitting, as if she knew he’d be on the opposite side of the room so she couldn’t enter without him noticing her. As if she knew he’d seem relaxed and at ease, instead of wound tight as a spring like she was. One look at him told her he was accustomed to being in control of every situation. That he didn’t
allow
himself to be trapped in a situation he couldn’t control.

Well, she intended to control this situation. She intended to fight to keep Jonathan as if he was her own.

He looked at her and trapped her in his gaze. Her heart turned a slow somersault. Being in the same room with him caused her world to shift beneath her. She’d never met a man who made her insides churn like he did. But she couldn’t allow him to affect her.

She crossed the room and placed the tea tray on the small table between two cushioned chairs.

“Please, pour,” he said when she hesitated. “Then be seated.”

She let his forwardness pass, and poured each of them a cup of tea before she sat in one of the chairs. He sat in the opposite chair and lifted his cup.

She took one obligatory sip from her cup, then set down her saucer and let her gaze bore into him. “Why are you here, Captain Landwell?”

“You’re a very straightforward woman,” he said, calmly drinking from his cup. When he finished, he placed one ankle atop the opposite knee and rested the dainty cup and saucer on his leg.

“And you’re a very intrusive man,” she added.

She thought the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly but knew she was probably mistaken. He slowly uncoiled from his relaxed position and placed his cup and saucer on the table, then leveled her with a frigid look.

“Where’s Miss Bentley?”

“Miss Bentley?”

He held up his hand and leaned forward in his chair. “Is she with the babe?”

Sarah had lived with fear so long now that she thought nothing could frighten her more. She was conditioned to looking over her shoulder, to being anxious of every stranger she met. But nothing had prepared her to face such blatant intimidation.

“It will only take me a moment to search the house and—”

She bolted to her feet and placed herself between him and the door. She couldn’t let him leave the room until she convinced him to forget he’d located her and the baby.

He rose but didn’t move toward her.

“Lord Penderly sent you, didn’t he?” She swiped her hand in front of her. “Of course he did.”

She was desperate to protect Jonathan. She’d promised she would. He couldn’t help the circumstances surrounding his birth. He wasn’t responsible for the hatred Penderly harbored because his son had married an actress.

She lifted her gaze. “Leave,” she demanded. “Go away and forget you found us. Tell Lord Penderly that he has nothing to fear from me. That I’ve returned to the stage. Or that you couldn’t find me. I don’t care what you tell him.”

His brows arched. “And the child? What should I tell the earl about his grandchild?”

She gathered more determination. “Why do you have to tell him anything?”

“Because he deserves to know.”

“Then, tell him whatever you want. That there was a child but he’s dead. He should be happy to hear that.”

The stranger stared at her as if she’d escaped Bedlam.