Matilda's Freedom (12 page)

Matilda brushed her hair back from her face and nodded. ‘It is different. It’s less painful and less degrading’

‘I have a debt of honour.’

‘The only debt you have is to yourself. You owe yourself the right to be happy and to live as you desire. To have what you deserve. We all do.’

He glanced at her again, and she glared back. Her welcoming mouth, usually so redolent of sunshine and laughter, stretched grim and determined.

‘You are not the man I thought you were. You disappoint me.’

Matilda gave him an expectant look as he groped for a rational comment or something that would make her understand his predicament. Certainly nothing in his mind or body would help him at this point.

The slender column of her neck moved as she swallowed. His gaze locked on the ribbon she wore around her neck.

‘So Eliza is a suitable bride, is she?’

‘So my mother says.’

‘I see. And does your mother always make important life decisions for you?’

Matilda was making his decision sound sordid, as though he was under his mother’s thumb.

‘It’s a very practical solution, and as I have been overseas for the last three years, Mother is more
au fait
with Sydney society and is better able to suggest the right bride for me. It’s all about connections and introductions.’

‘Don’t you think that’s cold-blooded?’

‘No, I don’t believe it is—prudent would be the way I would describe it. These are uncertain times. We must all make the best of the opportunities afforded us.’

‘I’m fascinated by this insight into Sydney society. Who would have thought? But I suppose you
free
men brought all your stuffy traditions over from England along with your heavy overcoats and voluminous petticoats.’

Matilda’s eyes flashed and her hands came to her hips, a sign he had come to recognise. God, she was glorious when she was riled.

‘You’re not who you pretend to be, Kit. You are better than that, better than your mother. You should not be a part of the hidebound colonial society that rules this country. You are stronger, braver. People like you will help to make this an egalitarian land—a land that can welcome people for what they are and what they offer, not who their parents were or the circumstances of their birth. Embrace it and be yourself, not the person someone else thinks you ought to be.’

Matilda’s vehemence startled and confused him. Surely he
was
being himself by thinking of the people whose safety he should care most about. He had been raised to protect his family and had protected his mother as a child until he had willingly handed on the responsibility. And now the baton had been passed back to him.

He took a step closer to where Matilda was sitting, moistening her lips with her tongue. He swallowed in response, his heart pounding in his ears. She swayed very slightly toward him, as though she knew he wanted to touch her; he found himself leaning in, yearning for the warmth of her breath and the touch of her lips. But then the wind caught her shawl, and she snatched at it, breaking the spell.

‘I expect you have matters to attend to,’ she said, rising to her feet. She stood before him, her hands clasped demurely around her ridiculous paisley shawl as it blew in the afternoon breeze.

‘I do have matters to attend to. Please be assured my marriage will make no difference to your position here. I … we, and that includes my mother and the girls, would like you to continue to be their companion and governess. They enjoy your company. We all do.’

‘May I ask you one more question?’

‘Of course you may—anything.’

‘Why, if you intend to marry Eliza, did you see fit to kiss me? Do you not think it is something your,’ and here she paused as an icy shiver ran down his back, ‘future wife may not approve of?’

He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t intend that my future wife should know of it at all.’

‘I see.’

‘Matilda, what Eliza knows or does not know is not the question. I have told you that I am not a free man, and I have commitments and responsibilities to my family. I must marry. It is tantamount to a business decision. You simply don’t understand.’

‘Oh, Kit, believe me, I do. I understand perfectly. You think I am not good enough because of the inferiority of my birth. My bloodlines are not pure. I am of convict stock and you, you are …’ she shook her head, disappointment painted across her beautiful face ‘… not the man I thought you were.’

Why did she have to make it sound so money grubbing, so devoid of emotion? It wasn’t as though he was doing something underhand. He wasn’t selling himself to the highest bidder or making a ridiculous bet on a lousy hand of cards.

‘I wish you and your future wife every happiness.’ She smiled again—not her wide, open-eyed smile, but a tight lift of the corners of her mouth. ‘And, now, if you will excuse me?’

She walked away.

‘Matil—’ Kit let the breeze carry her name away as he bunched his fist and rammed it hard into the palm of his other hand. Circumstances were conspiring against him, and nothing was working out the way he intended.

He needed this marriage to Eliza, his family needed this marriage to Eliza, but he
wanted
Matilda. And he wanted to be the man she believed him to be.

Why, oh why, didn’t they live in France? The French were far more realistic about such matters. They married for social advancement, and
affaires de coeur
were exactly that—matters of the heart and body. What he and Matilda needed was an arrangement.

Kit paced up and down around the trees. There had to be a solution here. His experiences in France had proved marriage and love were almost mutually exclusive, so why couldn’t he marry Eliza and still enjoy Matilda’s company?

His mother and Barclay had created a successful marriage; their love and respect had come later. There must be a similar solution in this case, an arrangement that could be reached.

He stopped suddenly and ran his hands over his face. Yes, there was a solution. He could offer Matilda one of the cottages on the estate as her own, provide her with an income, and then everyone would be satisfied. Matilda could continue as a companion to the girls, and he could provide her with the finance to maintain her family property. The girls’ future would be assured, his mother would be happy, and he would not lose the pleasure of Matilda’s company.

It was the perfect solution.

Kit’s footsteps sounded on the small stones that covered the footpath to her cottage, beating steadily in a rhythm like that of her own heart. Matilda, however, was not going to stop or turn around. She couldn’t. She had to make it to the cottage before he caught up with her.

She would not let him see the tears pouring down her cheeks.

She brushed the corner of her shawl across her eyes, lifted her skirt, and ran. Once through the door, she slammed it behind her. Then she leaned back, firmly pressed against it as if she could barricade herself in and keep him out.

It took only a second for the door to vibrate with the force of his knocking.

‘Matilda, let me in. I need to speak to you. Please.’

‘Kit. Go away. We can talk later.’

Oh God, please make him go away.

‘No, Matilda. Open the door now. I must speak with you.’

I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it.

Matilda stepped away from the door and it opened, but didn’t turn around.

His scorching gaze bored into her, but she refused to turn. To turn would be an admission, and with one glance at her tear-stained face, he would know just how much his words had hurt her. She would keep her pride and her dignity, if nothing else.

Kit’s hands dropped to her shoulders and she shuddered. She wanted nothing more than to lean back into the warm comfort of his solid chest, but she could not.

She would not.

His chin dropped and rested on the top of her head. His breath murmured against her scalp, making her shiver.

It was all too much.

Matilda couldn’t resist. She turned slowly, keeping her eyes downcast, and rested her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. She felt the beat of his heart against hers as it marked time with her own.

Kit’s fingers tightened around her waist as she leaned into him.

‘What are you trying to do to me, Matilda?’

‘Nothing.’

His grip intensified.

‘You’re leaving tomorrow to collect your fiancée.’

Kit’s head nodded against her hair. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin.

The last time. This would be the last time
.

She lifted her hands to cup his face. His eyes were so dark—as she stared into them it was as if she could see into his very soul. It welcomed her and spoke to her of love and honesty, of the man she knew he really was. This was the man she loved, the only one she would ever love.

Sliding her hands into the thick hair at his neck, she stretched up onto her tiptoes, tilted his head and brought her lips to his. They teased and were full of promise, like butterfly kisses.

The vibration from his deep groaning echoed against her breast. His warm and soft lips moved against hers, and she sank into him. But she wanted more, more than just his kisses. And why shouldn’t she take it?

She was of convict stock—an ‘inferior member of society’. Why should she adhere to the conventions of a society that wouldn’t accept her? She would make her own rules and follow her own beliefs of honesty and truthfulness. And, truthfully, she wanted Kit. If she couldn’t have him on his terms, then she would follow her heart and take him for herself. It would be her gift to herself, a simple love that she could keep in the deep and private recesses of her mind. She would re-visit it on cold, wintery nights when Kit would be safely tucked up in the bosom of his family, with his socially acceptable wife, and Matilda would be alone.

‘I want you, Kit. I want you tonight—all of you,’ she murmured the words against his lips, and his body grew still. The silence hung ripe as a full moon between them.

‘You don’t know what you are saying, my darling.’

Oh, she knew exactly what she was saying. He simply couldn’t comprehend her sincerity.

‘I know what I am saying, Kit. For this one night I want you to be my lover.’

Now he understood. She could tell from the way his body tightened and filled, pressing against hers and telling her all she needed to know. He wanted her love as much as she wanted his.

Matilda flicked her tongue across the lobe of his ear. His arms clamped around her, and he lifted her off the ground, the heat of his breath fanning her face. Then his lips were crushing down upon hers. His tongue darted and enticed, sweeping the inside of her cheek here and tracing the line of her teeth there.

‘There’s no turning back,’ he murmured against her mouth.

‘Why would I turn back? I know you don’t want me as your wife, but I want you as my lover. Just this once.’

Kit’s strong arm slid down to her waist. He lifted her against him, cradling her and shouldering the door open as he carried her to bed.

Now there was no turning back
.

Matilda smiled up at him, her eyes dark with passion. As she lay back against the pillow, her bright hair fanned out around her perfect face. ‘I know that you are to be married and that you will belong to another, but tonight I want what your eyes have been promising me from the first moment we met.’

Dear God. This woman would be his undoing
.

Kit knelt at the side of the bed and ran his fingers around the loose collar of her blouse. The sight of peaked nipples—visible through the cotton of her blouse—and of goosebumps sparking in the wake of his fingers caused an agonising pulse of need that scored his already-tense body.

Surely she didn’t understand what she was saying.

‘Kit.’ The breathless tone of her voice turned his name into a caress more potent than the touch of her body alone. She was irresistible, and she was right—he had dreamed of this since that first moment she had leaned across the dinner table, captivating him in the candlelight.

Bending over her, Kit took her lips, kissing her slowly as though they had all the time in the world. As he nipped at her lower lip, she moaned in pleasure, licking and stroking until he could no longer bear it and his body screamed out with need.

Kit released her mouth and trailed a line of kisses across her cheek, inhaling the scent of warmth and sunshine of her hair.

‘Tell me once more,’ he whispered against her cheek. As much as Kit wanted her, this had to be her decision and must be made of her own free will. He would not take her until he truly knew that was her wish.

‘I want you, Kit. It is my gift.’ Matilda stated the words simply. ‘My gift to myself.’

His breath hitched. Then he leaned closer as she stared into his eyes, scorching his very soul. ‘I know you can never be mine, but tonight I want you before you commit yourself to another.’ She shifted against him, pressing her body closer and imprinting her words, her very being on his soul.

Easing her back against the bed, he leaned down to the buttons of her blouse, and with a control he did not know he possessed, he slowly—oh-so-slowly—undid first one, and then the next. He stared into her eyes, looking for the first sign of panic, but her gaze never faltered. Firm and steady, as always, and full of truth and honesty.

He tugged her blouse loose and slipped it off her shoulders, marvelling at her alabaster skin—a portion of her body that had never seen the harsh Australian sun. Then, as she pulled him close and her hands threaded the hair at the nape of his neck, he claimed her mouth again.

A satisfied smile lifted the corners of her swollen lips. As Matilda finally lowered her eyelashes, he knew that she truly wanted him.

In one impulsive movement, she raised herself from the bed and stood. He stared besotted as she removed her loosened blouse from her shoulders, unbuttoned her skirt, and let the garments slide to the ground. In the heavy silence, she sidestepped the pooled material at her feet and lifted her arms to remove her chemise.