Chapter 23 #2
“Mrs. Hind?” Leonard asked, his voice confused. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head with a humorless smile.
“That’s what all of this mess comes down to.
Mrs. Hind was my friend, and of course, I could not even have that simple pleasure.
” Her mouth formed a flat line on her face.
“Mr. Hind made me an offer one day as I was about to leave their home. He asked if I would . . .” Her words trailed off.
“He knew my past—had dug around. That’s what he does.
He blackmails people. Everyone has something to hide.
” Her heartbeat suddenly spiked, and her heart did a strange twirl in her chest. “So he had a proposition for me. He offered me the opal necklace and said I could be his friend as well. Dirty lout thought he could use my childhood of thieving against me to get what he wanted.” Honora lifted her gaze to Leonard, whose face was unreadable in the dim light.
“I turned him down,” she finally said. “And on my way out, I took the necklace.”
After a few beats of silence, Leonard asked, “Why did you take it?”
“Because I did not want his wife to find it and figure it out. I wanted to keep my friend.”
“And then he ordered you to give it back.”
She slowly nodded. “Yes.”
“And you went to Pratt tonight. Did he have it?”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she did her best to blink them away.
“No. He didn’t. It’s gone. I have nothing to give Hind.
Which means his wife will not only find out about my past, but he will concoct some lie that I had tried to seduce him.
And why would she believe me?” A tear slipped down her cheek, but she lifted her hand and swiped it away.
When she wiped the tear, she winced at the pressure on her tender cheek where Pratt had slapped her.
Suddenly, she felt strangely confined and short of breath.
Her hairpins were too tight, the collar on her pelisse now suffocating.
Honora pulled a pin out of her hair, then another, leaving two pathetic strands of hair hanging.
Then she began unbuttoning her pelisse, her hands shaking and frantic.
She had to get out of it. She couldn’t breathe—the room was stifling.
“Why did Wilson light a fire,” she said, her hands fumbling over her clasps. “It is blazing in here.” Perspiration grew on her brow, and she swiped a hand over it while the other tried valiantly to finish its task.
Leonard stood from his seat, striding over to her and kneeling on the floor. “Let me help,” he said, his words quiet.
“I don’t need—”
“I know,” he said, nodding as his hands reached toward her. “You don’t need it.”
She sat mesmerized as he began helping her.
His hands were so gentle, the care he was taking evident.
After freeing a few toggles, his hand went to her arm, squeezing it for a second before going back to his job.
She didn’t assist him. She couldn’t. Instead, she sat there, watching his careful ministrations as her breathing, while still erratic, slowly settled, and errant tears streaked down her face.
“There.” With the toggles all undone, he pulled on the arm of her pelisse, slipping one arm out, and then the other. He remained crouched in front of her, his brown eyes soft and assessing, as if she were so fragile she might break.
But she was not fragile. A person on their own couldn’t be.
And then he did something completely unexpected. He sat up on his knees, leaned forward, reached his arms about her, and pulled her close.
She was wrapped in a sudden warmth, his grip firm yet gentle.
His body felt strong, as if it could hold her through anything.
His nose pressed into her hair as he breathed in.
And the comfort undid her completely. He smelled of shaving soap and smoke from the fire, and she found herself burying her face in the crook of his neck as sobs wracked her body.
First one. Then another. Until she could not stop them all, and gave in.
“Shhhhh,” he hushed into her ear, holding her tighter. As she cried, not knowing how to stop, he plucked the remaining pins from her hair with one hand as the other kept her cradled to him. “It’s all right,” he said, his words hushed. “You aren’t alone.”
It wasn’t some feminine cry at a sad scene in a play. No. These were gut-wrenching sobs from years of trying to survive in this cruel world. After hiding it within her smiles for so long, the dam had broken. She feared the tears would never stop.
But they did. After what seemed an eternity, her tears ran dry. She lifted her head, still slightly hiccupping from her crying, and Leonard used his hand to wipe her cheek. She closed her eyes at the warm touch, leaning her head into it until he pulled it back to himself.
“For someone who told me it was human to be vulnerable, you certainly kept a lot from me.”
She fluttered her lashes, as new tears sprang up.
“I know. But I thought if you knew, you would leave.” She sniffed.
“I feel as if I’m perpetually teetering between two worlds,” she said, the words spilling forth.
“I want to give in and live this life, and yet, I find myself reaching out and toying with my old one.”
After a moment, Leonard opened his mouth to speak. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.”
But when he only stared at her, letting her think things through, she continued. “Perhaps I’m afraid to leave what I know entirely behind. No one in my family has lived this life. I have no one to guide me.”
His thumb traced over the back of her hand. “You have me.”
She lifted her eyes. “Do I?”
Without words, he tightened his grip on her hands, pulling her closer.
As his face neared, her heart pounded in her chest. Time seemed to still as his mouth paused in front of hers.
She felt his breath brush against her lips.
The anticipation nearly undid her, but then, with the barest of touches, his lips grazed over hers—once.
Slow. Intentional. And then again. Each new kiss lingered longer than the last, with a tenderness in each one that made her defenses weak.
But at the moment, she didn’t need to be strong, for he was her strength.
His hands lifted and cradled her jaw, warming her cheeks as his mouth began a more thorough search of hers—as if she were something new and mysterious, and he had to figure out every angle and detail. She had never felt so adored.
Her heart beat an erratic rhythm in her chest, her skin prickling with awareness as his head tilted to the side.
His hands trailed across her neck, then combed through her hair, which now lay unencumbered down her back.
She opened her eyes just enough to see his lashes fan across his cheeks and his hair wave over his brow.
And then her eyes fluttered closed once more.
His lips were just as soft as she had imagined, and she grew mesmerized as their breath mingled together.
Leonard pulled back just enough that she thought he might retreat, and she felt herself lean forward.
She lightly grasped the lapels of his jacket.
As if sensing her silent message, he propped his hands on either side of her chair, bracing himself.
And then his lips came back, more urgent than before.
Every press of his mouth to hers felt like an assurance. He would be there. He would cherish her. Protect her. She felt emboldened, reaching a hand up and toying with the back of his hair. He emitted a soft sigh.
Finally, he leaned back and removed his hands from her seat. He took a few ragged breaths, watching her carefully. His eyes were full of storm clouds, and she wanted nothing more than to run in their rain.
He reached forward and cradled her hands, his thumbs stroking the backs. “Where does this leave us, Honora?”
She waited a moment, gathering her thoughts.
“Us?” She was unable to stop the confused tone of her voice.
“I lied to you. Stole from you. In fact, why are you even here, Leonard?” she asked, the thought finally dawning on her.
She had been much too preoccupied with the other events of the evening. She was losing her edge.
“I can’t quite explain it.” He dipped his head. “I just . . . had to talk to you.”
Her cheeks heated, the response triggering something quite unexpected within herself. She did not blush—she was quite sure she never had, even in her youth.
“Why?” she sputtered out. “I gave you your freedom. You have your great-grandmother’s ring.”
“Is it freedom if I can only seem to think about you?”
Her cheeks reddened further, and Leonard’s eyes flicked to her cheek, a small smirk appearing in the corner of his mouth.
“I would say you have lost your mind,” she said. “And if I am saying that, it must be true indeed.”
His smile widened further. “I agree with you.”
“But you like predictable.”
“I know what my days will be. But now, I find myself not wanting to know. I want the unpredictable.” Then he sighed, his smile falling. “I blame you.”
With a ridiculous smile forming on her lips, and more tears blurring her eyes, she shook her head. “I think you were hit too hard on the head at the pub.”
“Perhaps.” His small smile returned, making her stomach flutter like a fool. “I think,” he continued, “I’ve realized what is so likeable about you.” Another pause.
“What?”
His eyes traced her face in a way that warmed her to her toes. “You cared enough to ask, even when I didn’t wish to answer. And that, Honora Gillingham, is a special quality indeed.”
She swallowed, her throat tight from her crying. “What are you saying, Leonard?”
“What would you say to a ride on my curricle tomorrow?”
She stared at him. What was he thinking? Surely he could not mean to pursue her? Though, she supposed his kiss did leave that as a possibility. “I think I would be rather cold,” she finally said.
“True.” He tucked a hand beneath his chin. “But you not having a lady’s companion is making my choices of acceptable activities rather small.”
“A curricle ride in late September sounds quite lovely, actually,” she said, smiling—and sniffing. Goodness, crying really was horrid. No wonder she did not do it often. “I shall wear my newest muff for the occasion.”
“And there will be nothing unsavory in said muff?” His eyes flicked to the table by the door where she had dispensed her knife.
“Not even a little one?” she asked, lifting her shoulders, holding her fingers in the air a mere breadth apart.
“You will have me, so why would you need one?”
“Don’t make me answer that. It would be uncomfortable for us both.”
He scoffed, though he smiled through it. “I believe I proved myself capable the other night. And I doubt anyone would approach you with nefarious intent during a curricle ride with a gentleman.”
“Unlikely, but not impossible.”
“No knife,” he reiterated, his chin dipped as he watched her.
She sighed. “Very well. If you insist.”
“Now, I need to leave. I will slip out the back door so as to do my best to protect your reputation.”
“I do not have one to protect.”
His eyes simmered as he watched her. “I beg to differ.”
The fact that he cared was enough to steal the response that sprang to her tongue. Goodness, she was about to lean forward and kiss him again. Instead, she found her voice. “Are you going to be the unbearable one now? I don’t know how I feel about this switch in roles.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, grinning at her, then placed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Until tomorrow.”
She watched as he stood, that discomforting warmth spreading over her cheeks again. His confident stride as he walked to the hall made her look forward to tomorrow’s ride with even more anticipation. She didn’t mind a bit of confidence in a man. And Leonard was wearing it like a snug-fitting glove.