by Ariel Atwell
“Were you serious when you said you had always wanted a place in the countryside?” she asked.
“I was. Were you?”
“I was,” she said, lifting her head to find his eyes in the darkness. “I have an idea…”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but I am listening,” he said.
“Perhaps there might be a place somewhere in the countryside, far away from London, where Mr. Heath might be able to go unnoticed if she were temporarily to become…Mrs. Hastings.” She hesitated. “Assuming you still wish to marry me.”
“That is a correct assumption,” he said, brushing a lock of hair off her face. “But I am struggling to see you in the role of good country wife. Baking bread and spinning yarn doesn’t seem in character for the Laurence Heath I know and love.”
“And here I thought you were seeking a wife, not a servant,” she responded, and he laughed.
“Fair enough. But will Mrs. Hastings wear skirts?”
“It depends on whether Mr. Hastings will promise that he and his wife will be equals, regardless of her attire,” she answered.
“I will do my best, Laurence,” he said, his voice serious now. “But I worry that I will muck it up somehow, even when I don’t mean to. My intentions were good when it came to Emmeline and Lord Worrell, and I still managed to upset you.”
“Perhaps I could have been more…flexible,” she allowed. “But you were so arrogantly sure that you were right and I was wrong simply because you are a man and thus possess superior judgment.”
“I am as fallible as any man, or woman for that matter,” he admitted. “But I am also not afraid to admit when I am wrong and try to learn from my mistakes. We may disagree, but I shall never again question your decision-making solely on the basis of your sex.”
“That comes as a huge relief,” she said drily. “For I would prefer to avoid murdering you and becoming a widow so soon after becoming a wife.”
“There is something else for you to consider, and I am probably a fool to bring it up for it won’t help my cause any,” he said slowly. “If we marry, the law will give me complete control over you. I fear that you would find it burdensome and grow to resent me for it, even though it is not within my control nor is it my intent to treat you other than my equal.”
“Yes, I have been thinking of that,” she said quietly. “The implications for the firm are not to be dismissed lightly.” She was quiet for a moment and then something occurred to her. “I think I have an idea. What if we make our own rules?”
“You’re the expert at that,” he said drily.
She ignored his remark. “You mentioned once that your family was originally from Scotland.”
“My grandparents on my mother’s side,” he affirmed.
“What if we were to travel there and marry by handfast?” she said. “Handfasting is as legally binding as a marriage in Scotland, but I don’t believe it has weight under British law. We’d have to confirm that, of course, but I think I recall a case that revolved on that very point. We could resolve inheritance and those sorts of issues through separate legal agreements that would be recognized by English courts.”
“That just might work,” he said, nodding. “But the topic of inheritance brings me to two very important issues that will not lend themselves to legal solutions, no matter how clever. What would I tell my two sons about our relationship?”
“I don’t have all the answers worked out yet,” she admitted. “While I was able to keep my secret from a very young age, it is not the sort of burden that a child should be forced to bear.” She took a deep breath. “Would you consider allowing me to be a family friend—a beloved uncle of sorts?”
“I would consider that, if we could agree that we would tell them the truth when they were older, for I don’t want there to be such lies between my children and me,” he said.
“That is entirely up to you for I have had little dealings with children,” she said. “I do know that I love you, and I will support whatever you decide. And if you will be my partner, not just in law but also in life, I will do my very best to make you very happy.”
“Knowing that you love me makes me very happy indeed,” he said, pulling her down and capturing her mouth with a kiss as he grasped her hand in his own and placed it on his cock, which was fully erect. “Shall I show you what else makes me happy?”
“Please do, solicitor. Please do.”
Loose Id Titles by Ariel Atwell
The Mysterious Mr. Heath
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The CAVANAUGH TRILOGY Series
Seven Days
Ariel Atwell
Ariel Atwell has been a fan of romance novels since grade school when she used to get in trouble with her teachers for reading Harlequins during math class. A fan of history and fiction, she was inspired to try her hand at writing the type of a romance she herself enjoys reading—well-written historicals, with highly sensuous themes, main characters who aren’t children…or childlike, and plot that doesn’t make her want to throw the book across the room in disgust. An ardent fan of weekends in the country, fine wine, and the starting line-up of the Washington Nationals baseball team, Ariel aspires to be like Freya, the Norse goddess of love, lust, beauty, and sorcery, who was renowned for her ability to herd cats and for whom the day Friday was named.
A former journalist, she lives in a Victorian house in Washington DC with her husband of more than twenty years, two nearly grown children, one charming dog, and two cantankerous cats.
