The Mysterious Mr. Heath (9 page)

Laurence looked up at him in surprise. “Does something have you on the high ropes today?”

“Don’t try and play me for the gull,” he said furiously. “Information that I shared with you, and only you, was included in a letter of demand sent from someone named Emmeline Winthrop in an attempt to extort money from Lord Worrell. Who, in case you have forgotten, happens to be one of our best clients.”

She regarded him closely. “What exactly are you on about?”

“Do you deny that you shared information about a client—confidential information no less—with a third party? Tell me the truth right now, or so help me, I will take this to the Lord Chancellor and have you brought up on charges.”

She stood up. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner,” she said, furious now. “Whatever has happened between us, do not ever forget that I am still the senior partner here, and you will show me the respect of my position.”

“I’ll show you respect when you’ve earned it,” he fired back. “Wheedling information out of me to use on behalf of someone else is morally and ethically wrong, and you know it.”

Laurence took stock of the unyielding expression on his face and realized she had no choice but to be honest with him.

“Sit down,” she said abruptly. “I have a story to tell you.”

“This is no time for stories, Laurence,” Matthew said, his anger palpable even from across the desk.

“You will indulge me for just a few minutes, and if afterward you are of the same mind, then I give you leave to take whatever action you deem best,” she said.

“You have five minutes to convince me, but that is my limit,” he said, taking the chair in front of her desk, his expression stony.

“When Lord Worrell’s stepmother died, his fourteen-year-old stepsister Emmeline became his ward. Instead of looking after the girl and protecting her like a brother should, Worrell took advantage of the situation in the most vile and disgusting manner.”

“I’m listening,” Hastings said.

“First, he stole the funds she had inherited from her mother.”

“That is what she alleges in her letter,” he acknowledged. “That doesn’t make it true.”

“May I be allowed to complete the story without your snide commentary?” Laurence asked him.

“Apologies,” he said sarcastically. “Pray, please continue.”

Laurence gave him a pitying look. “What the letter did not say is that shortly after Emmeline went to live with Worrell and his family, he began forcing himself on the poor child. Night after night, as his wife and children slept, he would go into the girl’s room and violate her, threatening all manner of dire consequences if she told anyone of his abuse.”

Hastings was looking increasingly grim, Laurence was pleased to note.

“When she fell pregnant, still just a child herself at age fifteen, he forced her into a marriage with his estate manager, Thomas Sharpton, who was more than thirty years her senior. Worrell hoped to bury any scandal while still keeping her under his control. Sharpton was a cruel husband who beat the poor girl until she lost her baby. One has to wonder if that wasn’t Worrell’s plan all along.”

“Continue,” was all he said.

“When Sharpton died, Emmeline was left with nothing but debt. With no way to support herself, she went to Worrell seeking access to her inheritance. He informed her that all her money was gone, and when she refused to resume their illicit relationship, he summarily tossed her into the streets.”

“You are making very serious accusations against one of the richest men in England based solely on the word of a girl who more than likely has ulterior motives,” Matthew said. “Laurence, you cannot let a sad story influence you just because you are a woman.”

She looked at him. “I may be a female, but that doesn’t make me a fool!”

“No,” he agreed. “You are the last thing from a fool. Which is why it is so difficult for me to understand why you have compromised your ethics for such a trivial matter.”

“If this were your daughter, would you think this matter trivial?” she shot back at him.

“It is a very sad tale, but she is not my daughter, nor is she yours,” he said. “I recognize that your motherly instincts, which have gone unfulfilled because of your unfortunate circumstances, may have compromised your thinking in this matter.”

If there had been a pistol handy, Laurence might have shot him.

“Yesterday you had complete faith in my legal opinions, and today I am reduced to stupidity because of my lack of children?” She was furious now. “You may rest easy, Mr. Hastings. This matter was brought to my attention by a very prominent gentleman. Who presumably is devoid of those motherly instincts that apparently now render me incompetent to perform a job in which I have been eminently successful since you were still in short pants.”

Matthew stood up and began pacing the room in agitation. “There’s no need to get personal about this, Laurence. If you are truly convinced that Lord Worrell is at fault, then you should go about this the right way and bring formal charges against him.”

“If you think that bringing charges against an English peer will yield anything, you are painfully naive,” Laurence said scornfully. “While Worrell’s actions are appalling, they are not necessarily illegal or easily proven in court. The girl’s name and reputation along with any chance for future happiness would be completely ruined.”

“I see you have convinced yourself that you, and only you, can save her,” he said.

“Maybe others could, but few will be bothered, yourself included,” she responded. “For many months, I have been searching for a way to bring Lord Worrell to the bargaining table.”

“And you saw your opportunity when I came to you for advice about his land deals,” Matthew concluded. “Did the fact that I had previously worked for Lord Worrell play a role in your decision to offer me a position at Heath & Heath?” he demanded furiously.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” Laurence said weakly.

“But it was the primary one.” His tone was bleak now. “Did you also sabotage my living accommodations so you could spend more time mining client secrets from me?”

“No,” Laurence said. “I have genuinely enjoyed your company. It can be quite lonely at Russell Square.” She realized by the expression on his face that she had said the wrong thing.

“Lonely?” he said. ”Is that what our nights together have been for you, then? An antidote for your loneliness?”

“Don’t be absurd. Of course not. You know that I…that we…” Her voice trailed off awkwardly. Why did she always find it so difficult to express her feelings to him?

“So in addition to being a handy source for information to help you further the agenda of whichever lady has given you her sob story, I am also good company?” he sneered. “What a fool I have been. How you must have laughed when I asked you to marry me.”

“Stop it. You are exaggerating matters far beyond the truth.”

“You have spent so many years of your life lying to the world that I am not sure you even know what the truth looks like,” he said scornfully. “You’ve certainly had no compunction about deceiving me at every turn.”

“I do not blame you for feeling that you have been ill-used, but I couldn’t just abandon Emmeline,” Laurence said, trying to placate him. “I was planning to tell you eventually with the hope that you might join me in my efforts.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Exactly what efforts would those be?”

“To help ladies find justice when the legal system lets them down,” Laurence said earnestly. “When a woman can be beaten, have her money stolen, and her children taken away on her husband’s whim, there is something terribly wrong with our laws, do you not agree? When the Emmelines of the world have nowhere else to turn, they come to me.”

“You say that you won’t marry me because it would mean the end of your career, yet every day your actions put not just you but the entire firm at enormous risk,” he said angrily. “And for what? Some sniveling girl with a sad story? If it became known that you were involved in something like this, everything that you have built and claim to love would be lost forever.”

“I cannot turn my back on these women, Matthew, for they have no one else to champion their cause,” she said. “I wish you would try to understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” he said. “While I cannot change the fact that you do not share my feelings or wish to be my wife, I will not let you ruin me professionally. Whatever deceit you choose to practice on our clients is entirely on your head, but you will leave me out of it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do hear you. Quite clearly.” Their eyes met, and for the first time the vivid blue of his gaze seemed muted. He seemed sad and defeated, and she hated knowing she was the cause. He turned toward the door.

“Matthew…” she said.

He stopped and turned around. “Yes, Laurence?”

“Where are you going?”

“Away from here. As quickly as I can organize myself.”

“Surely you’re not leaving the firm,” she protested.

He gave a short laugh that held no humor. “It’s always about the firm for you, isn’t it? You’re obsessed with making your father proud of you, never mind that he’s been dead for how many years now? No living man can possibly hope to compete.”

“The firm is all I have. It’s all I’ve ever had,” she said.

“That isn’t true, Laurence. You could have had me. We could have had each other.”

“Now who is the one telling falsehoods?” she said. “You don’t want me as I am. You want me as you wish me to be. Dressed in skirts and behaving as the weaker sex should, leaving you to be in charge making the important decisions and doing the meaningful work.”

“Once again, let me offer my apologies for insulting you with my proposal of marriage,” he said, bowing smartly. “Rest assured I will be gone from your home and your life as quickly as feasibly possible. I wish you a good day.”

He left as rapidly as he had arrived, leaving her standing there staring at the door of her office as if by not looking away she might be able to bring him back. The door remained stubbornly shut. Was this the last she would see of him?

It was a thought so painful that she gasped and sat down in her chair, trying to absorb the enormity of the blow without collapsing to the ground. But what could she do? Run after him and beg him to stay? To what end? How could she contemplate giving up everything for this man she barely knew and feelings she did not fully understand?

“Don’t go, Matthew,” she whispered at last. “You are far more to me than just a colleague. Please come back to me. Please.” It was too little too late, she knew.

She took her time walking home that evening, dreading the idea of returning to the empty house and hoping against hope that he would not have departed.

“Good evening, Mr. Heath.” Martin’s cheery greeting at her arrival home felt like sandpaper rubbing against the rawness of her pain.

“Good evening, Martin,” Laurence said, shrugging off her coat and looking around in vain for any sign that Matthew might still be in residence.

“Mr. Hastings left several hours ago,” Martin said, correctly interpreting her look. “He seemed to be in a bit of hurry, sir.”

“Was he, now?” Laurence said, picking up the evening newspaper and pretending an interest she didn’t feel.

“A bit odd the abrupt way he left, if you don’t mind me saying,” Martin said disapprovingly.

“Well, I suppose he had his reasons.”

“Mrs. Campbell left a tray for you in the library as usual.”

“A whisky first, Martin.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” Within a few minutes, Laurence was seated in the library, a glass of spirits in hand, the dinner tray set up on the desk before her.

“If that’s all you will be needing, sir, I will bid you goodnight,” Martin said.

“Have a good evening,” Laurence called after him, but he was already out of earshot. As the door shut behind the departing servant, she was no longer able to keep her despair at bay. It rose up within her, constricting her chest until she could hardly breathe. The house, which had felt so alive and welcoming with Matthew in residence, now seemed cold and desolate.

Pushing the meal aside, she climbed the staircase as if in a dream, crossing the hallway to the bedroom where he had once slept. In the three days since they had become intimate, he had spent every night in her room. How was it possible to miss someone so keenly when they had been together for such a short time? She had barely grown used to sharing her bed, and now she dreaded being there without him.

She opened the door to his room more forcefully than she had intended, and it banged against the wall, the sound echoing through a chamber that was unmistakably empty. She held up the candle and looked closely. The bed, the chair, and the dresser were there as always. But every personal sign of the man who had occupied this space had vanished, as if he had never been there at all.

“Damn you to hell, Matthew Hastings,” she cried out to the empty room. “Damn you for making me want you. Damn you for making me dream about things I cannot have. Damn you, damn you, damn you.”

It was only after she had undressed and climbed into her own bed that she discovered the only remaining trace of him. For the tantalizing scent of Matthew Hastings was imprinted on her bed linens. She hugged the pillow where his head had rested the previous night and inhaled her memories of him. Where was he now? Still in London somewhere or on a coach headed back north? He wasn’t here, and that was all that really mattered.

Chapter Thirteen

Four months later

Laurence set down her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. There was no hope for it. Emmeline Winthrop was not going to prevail against Lord Worrell, and there was nothing Laurence could do about it. She had tried her best but was out of ideas.

How she hated to lose—hated it even more when someone as vulnerable as Emmeline was exploited by a bastard such as Worrell. But she had promised Matthew she would cease using the information she had gained from him, and without it there was nothing compelling enough to persuade Worrell to negotiate on Emmeline’s missing inheritance.