by Ariel Atwell
“Quit being fanciful, Laurence,” she scolded herself. “It’s been a long day, and you’re tired.” And then she realized she was actually talking to herself out loud, the sound of her voice making the darkening silence seem even quieter as her words faded away. This was getting her nowhere.
Lifting the lid on the silver dinner tray sitting on her desk, she stared at her meal without much interest. There was roast guinea hen, a lamb chop, roasted potatoes, and a large pile of boiled carrots. It would appear that Mrs. Campbell’s vegetable rebellion had begun immediately following Mr. Hastings’s departure.
There was a second tray, this one smaller, covered only with a linen napkin. Laurence lifted the cloth to reveal a small chocolate pudding and a note:
Dear Mr. Heath,
Wishing you a fine birthday, sir.
Your humble servants,
Martin and Mrs. Campbell
Laurence felt the sting of tears rising in her eyes and impatiently wiped them away. Someone had remembered after all. How kind of them. And how absurd of her to be crying over something as silly and frivolous as a birthday. It was just a day no different from any other. She certainly had no need for a party. That was just a lot of sentimental claptrap, wasn’t it?
Unbidden came the memory of Mrs. Heath, happily surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Laurence pictured Violet and the tender way her husband had smiled at her and the way she had kissed him. And then recalled the look of joyful anticipation on Matthew Hastings’ face that morning as he commenced the long journey to see his sons.
Was there anyone who smiled at her like that? Who looked forward to seeing her with joy in their heart? She could think of no one, and an overwhelming feeling of emptiness washed over her. Was that her fate, then? To be alone? Respected and admired by many. Loved by no one.
“Happy birthday, Laurence,” she said to the silence, and then took a bite of the pudding before laying down the spoon.
She picked up the candle and walked up the main staircase toward her room, unable to stop the tears that crept silently down her cheeks.
Chapter Six
“Thank you for being so patient when I ramble on about the boys,” Matthew said over dinner on the night after his return. They had just finished Mrs. Campbell’s excellent mutton stew and were making serious inroads on a second bottle of wine. “I must be boring you to tears.”
She gave him a relaxed smile. “Not at all. I enjoy hearing about them. I can tell that you enjoyed seeing them.”
“I did,” he admitted, taking a healthy gulp of wine from his glass. “It’s always so difficult when the holidays are over and I have to take them back to school. Though they‘re both doing well and not likely sparing their old father any thought at all.”
“Nothing wrong with a man being devoted to his offspring,” she said and thought about her own parents. “My father wasn’t terribly interested in me when I was young.”
Matthew gave her a speculative look. “Word among the partners is that Edward Heath regarded you as the son he never had.”
“I was fortunate that my uncle took an interest in me,” she allowed. “But he never really knew me.” The words rushed out before she could stop them. What on earth had possessed her to say such a thing? It must be the wine—and also Matthew’s presence, for she felt so relaxed with him, as if she could confide anything. But it wasn’t true, and she must not forget that.
“You rarely talk about yourself, Heath,” Matthew said, his tone casual, but his clever gaze watchful.
“There is not much to talk about,” she said dismissively.
“Come now, don’t be modest. Everyone has a story to tell, particularly London’s most celebrated solicitor,” Mathew said, raising the wineglass to his lips. His lips were full and sensuous, and she desperately wanted to know what his mouth would feel like against hers, kissing her skin, licking her body…
Stop thinking about such things, Laurence! No good will come of it.
“As you know, I was born and raised in London.” Her glass was nearly empty and she reached for the wine bottle at the same moment he did. When their hands collided, it was as if every other place in her body had gone numb except for the precise spot where their skin met. She snatched her hand back as if he were made of fire. He did the same, a stunned look on his face.
“I’m sorry…”
“I didn’t mean…”
They both fell silent.
“As I was saying, I was born…” she began, stopping when she saw his expression. Confusion. Bewilderment. Shame. She wanted to reach out and touch his handsome face and reassure him that it would be all right.
“Hastings, I…”
“Dammit, Heath…” he said roughly, and before she could react, his lips had descended upon hers, and then she was swimming, drowning really, in a stormy sea of new sensations. The softness of his lips. His heady taste and scent. The slight scratchiness of his cheeks. The intoxicating feel of his hand as he cupped the back of her head and held her close. The way his mouth moved against hers in a sensuous dance, the steps of which were as yet unknown to her.
Abruptly he pulled away. Running his hands wildly through his thick hair, he gave her a haunted look.
“I’m sorry, Heath…I don’t know what came over me, I must have been… Dear God, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
Before she could say anything, he was gone from the room, his boots pounding up the main staircase, followed by the slamming of his bedroom door.
She sagged against the chair like a rag doll with all its stuffing pulled out.
You must tell him the truth.
I cannot. There is too much at stake. I could lose everything I have worked for all these years. All the sacrifices I have made would be for naught.
She pulled back from the table and slowly climbed the stairs to her own room, shutting the door behind her as she had done so many nights. She was alone again. She had been alone her entire life really.
She ripped off her waistcoat and vest, flung the corset to the ground, and unwrapped the fabric from around her chest.
She hadn’t minded being alone before, because she hadn’t known it could be different. Now she did. She understood the anticipation that came with looking forward to seeing someone at the end of a long day. The simple pleasure of being in the same room with a person whose company you found enjoyable. The everyday magic produced by a particular voice or a smile. Matthew’s kiss had been the first of her life, and she had never wanted it to end.
Why did you have to kiss me, Matthew Hastings? Why did you have to ruin it all?
She laid her head against her pillow, and for the first time since childhood, she allowed herself to weep. She cried for the girl she might have been and the wife and mother she would never be. She cried for the father who hadn’t really known her and the mother who wasn’t able to love her as she was. She cried at the look she had seen in Matthew’s beautiful eyes tonight and because she was too much of a coward to go to him and make things right as she knew she should. Most of all, she cried because he was going to leave her and she would be alone again.
Go to him. Tell him your truth.
I cannot, for I do not know how.
She had lived her lie for so long she wasn’t sure where Heath the man ended and Laurence the woman began.
She heard the door to his room bang open and shut and the sound of his footsteps across the hall and down the stairs. Was he leaving already? Please no…
The front door slammed, and he was gone. Somehow her already splintered heart found a new place to break.
Chapter Seven
“Heath.” The urgent whisper pierced her unsettled sleep. “Are you awake?”
It was Matthew. He was back and in her room. How had he gotten in? Her eyes blinked open. She must have forgotten to lock her door.
“I am now,” she said, sitting up. She wore only her white cambric shirt and prayed he would not be able see her in the darkness. He was standing at the e
nd of her bed, and she could barely make out his features.
“I apologize for intruding at such a late hour, but I could not leave without bidding you farewell.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, now fully alert.
“It doesn’t matter. After the events of this past evening, I cannot stay here any longer.”
She heard the torment in his voice and she ached.
“That’s a bit a hasty, don’t you think? Why not sleep on it? No doubt things will seem better in the morning.”
Matthew shook his head. “I do not think they will. I went to a bawdy house tonight, you see.”
Laurence wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he was going to say. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I needed to know if I could be with a woman. Do you know what happened?” he said, his tone bleak.
“No,” she whispered.
“I held her in my arms and it felt terribly wrong. I could not go through with it for thoughts of you,” He took a ragged breath. “I do not know what has come over me, but I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said.
“As always, you are very kind and more tolerant than I deserve. But I know I must go.” He turned away, and she knew that if she didn’t do something right this moment, he would walk out her door and she would be alone. Forever.
“Matthew,” she said, rising from the bed and walking toward him. It was the first time she had uttered his given name aloud. “Wait.”
He turned toward her, and she grasped his left hand and laid it against her chest.
“Heath?” he asked, sounding uncertain.
She moved his hand until his palm was directly over her right breast. And with her hand over his, she squeezed. She felt him stop. Taking his right hand in the same manner, she moved it over her left breast. Again she squeezed.
“What twisted game do you play, Heath?” he cried. He tried to pull away, but she would not let him, using every ounce of her strength to hold his hands close against the thin fabric covering her breasts. As his thumbs grazed the pointed ridge of her nipples, he froze for a moment as the realization dawned of what lay beneath his fingertips. He touched her, tentatively at first, and then with more certainty.
“Please don’t go,” she said, allowing her voice to rise to its natural timbre.
He dropped his hands and stepped back. “Who are you?”
She took a deep breath and uttered the words she had never before said aloud to anyone, including herself.
“Who am I? I am Laurence Heath, Esquire. I am a woman.” With that, the lie that had constricted her for her entire life was finally set free, and a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying lifted. “I am a woman,” she said again, and when her tears began to flow, he pulled her close in his arms.
She buried her face against his neck and savored the delicious feeling of her body pressed tightly against his. She wasn’t small, but he was much bigger and very strong, and he made her feel safe. It was a good sensation.
For a long while, he simply held her. “Laurence,” he said at last, pressing his lips against her brow.
“Yes, Matthew.”
“Please tell me what the hell is going on here.”
She took a deep breath. “As you know, I was born and raised in London…”
Chapter Eight
She lit a candle at his request, and he stared at her long and hard in the flickering light.
“I cannot believe I didn’t see it before,” he said. “How could I be such a fool?”
“In my experience, people tend to see what they want to see or expect to see,” Laurence replied.
“I see a beautiful woman, which is not at all what I was expecting,” he agreed, and then possessed her lips in a kiss so deep and so sweet that she wanted to weep for the beauty of it. How good it felt having her nipples against his chest, her hips against his hips, with the taste and scent of him filling her senses. When he moved his hands over her back and shoulders, shivers of pleasure webbed through her body.
It was only when he reached below the hem to caress bare flesh that she stiffened. The sensation of his skin against hers was welcome, yet strange and unfamiliar, and she was uncertain about what to do or how to react.
It took him a few moments to realize she was no longer responding to his caresses. “Have I misread your intentions?” he asked. “For I will stop if this isn’t what you want.”
“No,” she said softly, her reply unconvincing even to her own ears. “That is…” Her voice trailed off.
“That is…” he prompted.
She couldn’t look at him.
He tipped up her chin and looked into her eyes. “How is it that the fearsome solicitor who has argued complicated cases against the most powerful of men in the courtroom cannot tell me the simple truth about what she is thinking in my arms?” he asked.
It was a fair question. “I have not, that is, I don’t…” She was stammering now. Drat and bother. Why was this so difficult?
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Laurence, have you ever been with a man before? In an intimate way, I mean.”
She exhaled in relief. “I have not been with a man before in any way,” she replied, gratified at how steady her voice sounded now.
“How is that possible?” he asked, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.
“Why would you think it would be impossible?” she shot back.
“I do not know, for I am traversing territory that is wholly unknown to me, and I seem to lose my footing with every step.” He gave her a searching look. “Dare I hope that you have revealed your true self to me because you want us to be together as man and woman?”
She took a deep breath. “I think so.”
His smile was strained. “My desire for you is strong, but my regard for you is far stronger. I need for you to be absolutely certain.” His voice was as serious as she had ever heard it before.
She swallowed. “I am certain,” she said, and as the words emerged from her lips, she knew in her heart she spoke the truth. He was good and honorable. If she was going to be with a man, she wanted it to be him.
“There is trust in your eyes that I am not worthy of, but I am selfish enough not to care,” he said. “For I want you enough to cast all honor aside.”
He pulled her close again, seeking her lips as if he had been starved of them for too long. When he thrust his tongue in her mouth, she returned the favor, reveling in his taste. She might have stayed there and kissed him forever, but he had other ideas, sliding his hands down to cup her bare bottom. His touch was warm, each place of contact sending sparks of pleasure through her skin.
“You have done an excellent job disguising yourself as a man, but the softness of your skin alone reveals that you are all woman,” he said huskily, and for the first time in her life, Laurence felt both feminine and desirable. “I must see you now for I am on fire with need.”
Again she hesitated. She had no basis with which to compare herself to other women. What if there was something about her that was wrong or that he found repulsive? Before she could react, his nimble fingers had unfastened the buttons of her shirt, parting the material. Instinctively, she tried to shield her body from his gaze.
“No, you don’t,” he said, grasping her wrists and pushing them behind her back, gazing at her body with such frank admiration that her feelings of shame fell away. Holding both of her hands captive with his right hand, he began exploring with his left, starting with her collarbone and then moving lower. When he pinched her nipple, a hot sizzling feeling shot through her, and to her dismay she felt herself grow wet between her legs.
He released her mouth and dipped his head down to her other breast, sucking on the nipple before letting go, blowing on the damp evidence of his caress. “Does that feel a little bit good?”
“More than a little bit,” she whispered.
“That’s just the beginning,” he promised, his h
and continuing down her body, traveling over the soft flesh of her belly and tracing the sharp bone of her hips. When his fingers reached that mysterious place between her legs, she was mortified, as the reality of the moment washed over. Yes, she had fantasized about being with him, but surely he wasn’t actually going to touch her there?
Before she could protest, he was parting her lips and gently stroking. “You are dripping, Laurence,” he said, and there was not even the smallest note of disapproval in his voice.
“Is that all right, then?” she asked tentatively.
“It tells me that you desire me, and I like that very much,” he reassured. “Do you have any idea how much I desire you right now? Let me show you.” He took one of her hands and brought it to the front of his trousers, and she felt the hard ridge of him beneath the wool fabric. His brow furrowed as something seemed to occur to him. “You do have some knowledge of how this works?” he asked urgently.
“I know,” she reassured him, and he exhaled in relief. “Well, I have a good idea,” she amended.
He gave a shaky laugh. “That is something, at least. We’ll take things slow,” he promised, stepping back and pulling off his shirt to reveal a broad chest, a flat stomach, and arms that were strong and powerful. His gaze never leaving hers, he unfastened his trousers, allowing them to fall to his ankles, where he kicked them off, revealing himself to her at last—completely naked and fully aroused. She had never imagined a man could be beautiful, but he was. Oh he was. His chest tapered into narrow hips, muscular thighs, and long legs. Most fascinating of all was that mysterious part of him thrusting up from the thatch of dark hair between his legs. Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows, but his penis was much thicker and longer than it had felt when she had stroked him through his trousers. It reached upward to just below his navel. She could not stop herself from staring, for while she knew nature intended that part of him to be inside her, she couldn’t quite imagine how it was going to be possible.
