Matilda's Freedom (13 page)

She stood before him—proud and pure—clothed in nothing more than the velvet ribbon with the love token dangling between her breasts, leading his way to paradise.

Magnificent.

Rising slowly from the bed, fearful of startling her, Kit ran his hands across her perfect skin, worshipping that smooth, cool perfection. It felt like the polished marble of the statutes in the gardens at Versailles.

Summoning every ounce of restraint, he removed his clothing carefully and arranged it in a neat pile on the chair in the corner. Then he turned back to the bed.

Matilda lay on one side. Her elbow was raised, and her cheek was resting in her cupped hand. The silken strands of her hair covered her shoulders, leaving only a tantalising glimpse of nipple, and her bent leg covered her triangle of curls. For a moment, he feasted on that perfect picture, and then he stretched out on his side next to her, propping his head up on his hand and mirroring her pose.

With his left hand, he smoothed the curve of her hip, the swell of her thigh and then down the length of her leg and back to the rounded swell of her belly.

She lay languorous, watching him patiently through lowered lids and waiting. Only a slight flush of her cheek revealed her arousal. With a feather-light touch, he pushed aside her curtain of hair and cupped her breast, watching with delight as her nipple puckered tightly. A tiny sigh escaped her lips, and he revelled in it.

Matilda was tempting him beyond belief and had from the moment he had first seen her in the candlelight; now, when she was offering herself to him by moonlight, he wondered if he was he worthy of such a gift.

‘You will have to tell me what to do, Kit.’

Her words startled him. Tell her what to do? He wanted her to do nothing more than she was already doing. How could she improve on perfection?

Running his index finger down her nose and over her smooth golden freckles, he eventually reached her rosy lips. They opened to his touch. His finger slid into the moist warmth of her mouth; she sucked on it gently, her lips curving in pleasure.

His body jerked in response.

Courage flared in her eyes. Her gaze travelled down the length of him, slow and sensual. Her hand traced down his stomach, lowering gently until his anticipation threatened to spiral out of control. Kit would die if he could not be inside her.

The smooth, taut skin of his belly rippled, and she watched, in awe of her power.

‘I have nothing to tell you, my darling.’

Emboldened by his words, she sat up and feasted her eyes on his perfect body. He stood, aroused, and thrilled at this response, she felt the last vestiges of doubt slip from her mind. This was so right—selfish, perhaps, but right. Every moment they had shared, every second she had spent in his company since their eyes had first locked across that dining table, had lead irrevocably to this moment. This was her destiny and what came after mattered not one iota.

‘Tell me how to please you. Show me what I must do.’

He smiled at her then, and bent his head to drop a long, lingering kiss on her belly. His tongue lit a trail of flames there, tracing her warm skin. She ran her hand over his head as Kit moved closer to the spot where her heat pooled.

She gave herself up to him.

Matilda opened her eyes. A shimmering path of moonlight lay across the rumpled coverlet, highlighting the planes and angles of Kit’s body. Carefully, she lifted her hand and ran it down the sculptured flesh of his thigh, and then trailed her finger slowly back towards his hip. A golden glow of happiness filled her.

She dropped her head and lightly kissed his mouth. It had never occurred to her that lips could provide such pleasure, or that a tongue could delve and delight. So … this was love.

She did not regret a second of her decision last night. No matter what the future might bring, she knew in the deepest recesses of her heart that she and Kit were one. It would be sacrilege to ignore such bliss, not only because they had made their bodies one, but because of the deep feeling of peace and rightness within her. They were meant to be together, not forced apart by an understanding agreed upon before they had even met. From the very first moment, they had both reached out and made a connection, and then, finally, last night—here in this little bed, in this little cottage far away from prying eyes—that connection had been sealed.

Sealed for all eternity.

Rolling over and smiling in the moonlight, Matilda was finally at peace—she had come home. Her eyelids fluttered, and she snuggled back against the warmth of his body. Even in sleep, he responded, and his arm curled around her and pulled her closer. She rested her head against his chest and sighed with pleasure.

Bright, slanting sunlight woke Matilda a second time. Unwilling to part with her memories, she kept her eyes tightly closed and reached for him.

Her eyes snapped open. The disarranged bedclothes, the rumpled pillows, and the scent of their love-making was now the only tangible reminder of last night.

He had gone.

The side of the bed tipped, and she rolled over. Kit stared down at her, his soft eyes melting her very bones, his warm hand covering hers. She rolled over to the edge of the bed and pushed her hair back from her face. He ran his fingers through the tangled mess.

‘I have to return to the house while it is still early.’

Nodding, knowing it was so, she tried to ignore the little voice in her heart that cried, ‘Now we have known each other, stay with me’.

Marry me
.

She climbed from the bed and pulled her chemise over her head, some inner voice warning her that now was not the moment to stand naked in his arms.

‘Matilda, I’m sorry.’

Stepping closer into his embrace, she moved her face against his shirt in denial. It was not for him to express regret. She had made the choice; she had knowingly gifted herself this one night.

‘But I have a solution.’

Her heart had stopped. Truly it had. There was only his heartbeat, strong against her cheek with no accompanying rhythm from her own. Matilda gulped back her tears and knew he had heard the sound.

She raised her cheek an inch or so from his chest, but no more—she didn’t dare. He had a solution. Of what it was, she could only dream.

‘Matilda, look at me. I wasn’t thinking clearly yesterday.’

She lifted her face, his thumb tracing a single tear trickling down her cheek. His lovely lips hovered just above hers, and she yearned to feel them against her—again, and again, and again.

Kit cleared his throat.

All sensation left her body. She felt light, as light as air, and a bubble of happiness welled and blossomed in her breast.

‘Matilda, would you do me the great honour of becoming …’

She swayed against him, her legs incapable of supporting her weight.

‘My mistress?’

She stared long and hard at him for a moment.

And then sensation began to return to every part of her body in an icy torrent. She leapt away from him, her foot catching on her discarded pool of clothes. He reached out to steady her but she backed away, incapable of wrenching her gaze from his.

This wasn’t happening. The man was insane. She was insane. The floor spiralled up to meet her.

Delicious coolness trickled across Matilda’s face, and in her mind she traced the droplets as they slid between her breasts—cooling, calming, soothing. Light filtered slowly back into her field of vision, and she heard Kit’s voice whispering to her. He spoke words of endearment, words of love.

Then she opened her eyes, and a wave of desolation swept over her as she recalled his last words.

Mistress, Mistress.

It rang like a town crier’s bell in her mind, both loud and brazen.

She pushed his hand away and turned her face, her arms falling to the side of the ladder-back chair where she sat. She lifted her shoulders, staring up at him. The concern on his handsome face was a direct contrast to his hurtful words.

‘Matilda, stay still for a moment. You fainted.’

In outraged defiance, she stared at him and then stood. Tentatively, she took a step forward, relieved that her legs and feet appeared to again be following the commands of her befuddled brain. She reached out to the door and opened it.

‘Please leave.’

Matilda gazed out into the pink, early morning light, knowing that she could not afford to look at him again.

‘Matilda, I—’

‘Leave.’ The cold, controlled tone of her voice belied the turbulent emotions surging through her body, threatening to overpower her tenuous grasp on reality.

Kit stepped past her, and she closed the door behind him. Quietly.

How had it come to this? A gift, a night of love, and he had debased it all with a single word.

Mistress.

Matilda lifted her blouse from the floor and pulled it over her head, shielding her traitorous body. Then she wrapped her crumpled paisley shawl around her shoulders.

Mistress. A prostitute, paid for her services
.
Another
chahut
girl
.

Not an equal. Not good enough to be his wife. What a fool she had been; what a silly trusting fool to follow her heart.

There had never been any confusion or any doubt about her position in the household. No one had lied to her. Her position was that of a companion to Hannah and Beth, and Kit was the master of the house. But, oh, she was a fool.

She had imagined taking his arm and being escorted to church, to dinner, to a ball even—dancing with him—and being a part of his life. She tossed her head, trying to shake the ridiculous pictures from her mind.

And as she stood, staring into oblivion, she saw the future he proposed—sitting like a wallflower in the corner at a ball and watching as Kit and his wife entered into Sydney society. Hannah and Beth would grow and get married, and where would she be? Perhaps she’d be asked to be the nanny of their children? That would be too much to bear.

It had all been a mistake, a terrible mistake—a halcyon dream. She should never have offered herself, allowed herself to be swept off her feet in a moment of greed.

She had to leave; it would be too much to bear. She would take the coach to Windsor and go back to Bathurst. Back to the dry and dusty tract of nothingness she had once called home, and back to tend the graves of her family.

But how?

The thought of travelling to Morpeth, the memory of that road and the ride they had made together, was more than she could stand. Back then she’d had stars in her eyes and had believed in a life of opportunity and happiness.

Her mouth tasted of bile. It was all a farce, a pantomime, a circus.

She wasn’t good enough.

Kit didn’t want her for anything other than his nights of debauchery. She’d like to kick his head in, never mind his hat.

‘I’m pleased to see that Matilda appears to have accepted her role in the household.’ Kit’s back teeth clamped together at his mother’s words. Either she was a mind reader or she had less intelligence than he gave her credit for.

‘The move to the cottage was an excellent idea, and I have noticed that she and Bonnie are becoming firm friends. It is important the girl should have friends of her own class.’

He pushed his plate away from him and drew his chair back from the table.

‘Are you not hungry, Christopher?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Hannah, Beth, tell me about your day. Your brother is a little out of sorts. We’ll put it down to the weather, shall we?’

His mother was right about one thing, Kit thought mutinously—he was out of sorts. He was incapable of sorting through any of the confusing emotions that circled his exhausted brain, never mind trying to control the perfect images tattooed behind his eyelids.

A crash of thunder rent the air and the windowpanes shuddered. The room filled with a brooding atmosphere that was a perfect reflection of his mood. The slanting rain hung in the slate sky like a pall, and even with all the lamps alight, the room grew cold and dank.

‘It was too wet to ride today so Matilda didn’t come up to the house, but we read some more Shakespeare,’ Beth told her mother, a touch of excitement in her voice. ‘It’s a secret, but it will be ready by the time Eliza gets here. We have a surprise.’

Eliza. Eliza. Eliza
. It seemed the whole household revolved around the arrival of Eliza. The sooner he arranged this wretched visit, the sooner it would be over.

‘That’s lovely, my dears.’ Mrs Barclay smiled vacantly at her daughters. ‘Beth, have you been practising your music? We will have some entertainment for our guests, won’t we?’

Their nonsensical conversation billowed around him like the storm clouds above.

‘I’ve been practising, and so has Hannah. We have such a surprise for you all.’

Kit pushed his chair further back from the table and stood, his mind now made up. ‘If you ladies will excuse me, I have some paperwork to take care of before I leave.’

‘Leave? Where are you going?’

‘I intend to leave this afternoon for Maitland. I have some business to conduct and will spend the night with John Portus’s sons in Morpeth. I’ll then be taking the steamer to Sydney the following morning.’

Kit recognised his mother’s excited handclap as a sign she had a plan. There was more to come, but it was nothing he wanted to hear. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left the room.

It was difficult to tell if it was morning or evening, but the flat grey light and the slanting rain did not prevent Matilda from making her way to the house after lunch. She had promised Hannah and Beth that they would perform a selection of short excerpts from Shakespeare’s plays to present at the birthday party. And there was also the musical piece Mrs Barclay was so keen on the girls performing. She had her doubts about the idea, but who was she to offer an opinion?

It was time that she stopped weaving dreams and got on with the job she had been engaged to perform. She would get on with her life—a real life, not one that involved chasing rainbows. She needed time to decide her next move. Back to Bathurst or back to Sydney?