Page 18 of To Follow her Heart

Kitty sniffed and gave a wan smile. “Mr Derby is certainly perfect casting for the villain in a Gothic novel. If only we could dig up an ancient prophecy or find a mad monk, it would be perfect, though the weather is too fine,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We’re in dire need of a thunderstorm.”

Matilda’s heart ached for her, for her bravery and courage.

What would it be like to love so fully and with such passion, to stand up to a man who would keep her beloved from her, and not to be cowed by his power and rank; to love so fiercely that no thought or fear of her own ruination even entered her head? Matilda felt rather in awe of her, in awe of an emotion that could overpower fear and uncertainty.

“Kitty,” Harriet said, the voice of reason amid such desperate romance. “I believe you must take a moment to consider what you are doing, what effect it will have on your family. Even if you and St Clair are correct and Mr Baxter does love you, he’s made it clear that it’s impossible, that he cannot marry you.” Harriet took her hands and Matilda watched the spark of anger growing in Kitty’s eyes with trepidation. “He’s the heir to an earldom, dear. Men of that stamp rarely marry for love, only for power and wealth. Lady Frances is a brilliant match, and one Trevick will not let go lightly. You must accept that… that perhaps Mr Baxter… despite his feelings he… he may want this.”

“No!” Kitty snatched her hands from Harriet’s grasp. “Luke cares nothing for material things, for titles and power. I know him… I know—”

“You knew him ten years ago, Kitty,” Harriet pressed, and Matilda could see the anguish in her eyes, her desire to protect Kitty when she was so lost to emotion she could not protect herself. “You knew a boy. He’s a man now, with a man’s thoughts and feelings. You don’t know what influences have worked on him over the past decade. Trevick and Mr Derby will have done their best to mould him, though, that’s for certain, to make him in their own image.”

“Never!” Kitty cried, getting up from the bed and pacing the length of the bedroom. Her eyes flashed, wild with grief and anger. “I will never believe him so changed. I can believe they tried to, I can believe they’ve bullied him and threatened him and made him so miserable he’s trapped and doesn’t see a way out, but there is a way out, and we shall find it.”

She stared at Harriet, rigid with fury, and then all the passion seemed to drain from her at once. Her shoulders slumped, her face crumpled, and she burst into tears.

***

Dawn. 21st August 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.

Luke stared out of the window as dawn lightened the horizon. Holbrooke House was a stunning location and in ordinary circumstances he would have been eager to explore it, especially the beautiful grounds, which beckoned him as the golden light of a summer’s morning crept over the landscape.

Nothing about this morning was ordinary, however. She was here. Kitty Connolly, his own Kitten. She was here, and every bit as bold and beautiful as she’d always been.

He’d not slept. How could he, knowing she was there, so close to him after so many years apart?

It had stunned him when she’d appeared in St Clair’s study. He’d been so shocked that it had been the most natural thing in the world to hold his arms out to her, to pull her to him and hold her tight. He’d wanted so badly to never let her go.

How strange it had been to hold her close, the lithe, slender girl he’d once had the right to call his own, now a woman. She was softer now, with curves that had not been there before. He realised now that in his mind she’d still been a girl, their love the innocent, perfect thing it had been then. She was a girl no longer. Even now he could feel the warmth of her body through her gown, feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest as she’d clung to him.

He’d not lived like a monk all these years. Mr Derby was not foolish enough to believe that a good idea—quite the reverse, in fact. He’d no doubt hoped Luke would forget his sweetheart in the experienced embrace of the most talented courtesans. He’d been encouraged to make hay with any number of willing young women put conveniently in his path. Loneliness and a young man’s desires had driven him into their arms often enough, yet always it had felt like a betrayal. Always, he’d been left feeling wretched and dissatisfied. Any desire he’d felt for those women had been nothing, though… nothing to the grand sweep of emotion that had hit him when Kitty had thrown herself into his arms.

It was like holding up a match in the blaze of a forest fire.

He was still in shock, he thought, dazed and dazzled by the way she’d appeared like a spirit … or a fairy princess. He smiled at the idea. Yes, his own tricksy fae, come to lead him into her fairy fort, and how he longed to follow her. His mind still couldn’t take it in.

She was here. She was here, after all this time. It was too extraordinary.

Yet it made complete sense when you added the bear in evening dress to the equation. That was the kind of ridiculous thing that Kitty delighted in. Even now, as his chest burned and ached with a surfeit of emotion, his lips quirked at what she’d done.

He’d thought the first years after they’d been parted had been the most painful of his life. He had believed that he could die of it, from the misery and loneliness, but he’d been wrong. Life had carried on and he’d lived until the pain had become something he was used to. Each year it dulled a little, along with his senses.

Once Mr Derby had made his threats against her, on realising Luke’s passion for Kitty was not waning as he’d hoped, Luke had died a little more each year, cared a little less what happened to him next.

Nothing—nothing—he’d experienced in those wretched years, compared to the pain he felt now.

He knew now that Kitty was no longer the pretty girl he’d loved with an innocent passion. The one thing that had comforted him as he’d matured was that their love had been pure, unsullied by anything. It had been as simple as the happiness of being together. It had been sweet and honest, and something he could remember with a poignant smile when he was an old man, when the pain of losing her would have long since left him.

Seeing her yesterday, all those old feelings had flared to life, harder and stronger, but now with that forest fire blaze of desire. All the breath had left him at once when he’d held her to him. He’d realised in an instant that the feelings he’d had for her had been a prelude, a gentle introduction to a magnum opus of such grandeur and power that it would sweep him up in its grasp and hold him enthralled until the day he died.

There would never be another in his heart and, if he couldn’t have her, he was doomed to misery. Just as he’d been from the first time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been spellbound. Bewitched.

She’d been magnificent.

Her dark eyes had flashed with fury and pride as she’d faced Mr Derby, her dark hair had tumbled from its pins and now all he could think of was sinking his fingers into those thick locks. He wanted to search out every pin until her hair fell over her shoulders. It would look like black silk falling over a white cotton pillow, her lovely skin blushing as he took her mouth and….

Oh, heaven help him.

The memory of Mr Derby’s furious tirade in the hours after that meeting chased away any surge of desire. Trevick could ruin the Connolly family if he put his mind to it. He had invested heavily in the linen trade—though in such a way that no one could accuse him of dirtying his hands—and if he boycotted their mills and forced his colleagues to follow suit….