A Heart Revealed Read online

  In an equally bold response, he smiled and nodded slightly, causing her to widen her eyes in realization of his part. He wished he could pull her aside and learn more but that was out of the question, and he preferred Miss Sterlington to share the truth with him herself.

  “I shall return shortly with a tray if you would like to show yourself into the library,” Mrs. Miller said with a pleased smile.

  Thomas thanked her, then turned his attention to the library, which was as dark as it had been on yesterday’s visit. It made him smile that Miss Sterlington felt the darkness concealed her bright eyes and fine features. He stood in the doorway until his eyes adjusted to the low light and he was able to make out the figure sitting properly on the settee.

  She was dressed in a light green gown today with not so high a neckline as the one yesterday, though it was modestly appointed with a trim of lace, and Thomas was reminded of his encounter with her in London and how the color matched her eyes and complimented her hair. No, he corrected himself, it would be better not to think of her hair as he knew it to be a casualty of the situation that had sent her here.

  The cap she wore today, and had worn during his other visit, concealed the current state of it but if her hair was shorn last summer, it would not be much longer now than Thomas’s own. Certainly this was a matter of great insecurity for her but it was not for Thomas. Even with a short coiffure, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and hair would grow back. He had seen for himself that Miss Sterlington’s overall health was unaffected—she was as beautiful as she had ever been, mobcap and all—and yet he could praise her ailment in regard to the part it had played in the woman she had become in response to her circumstance.

  “Mr. Richards.” As always the tone of her voice invigorated his senses. “Do come in.”

  He did as she asked and sat in his familiar chair. Once seated he wondered if he should have been more forward and seated himself beside her on the settee instead, but he did not want to cause her undue anxiety. He must contain his eagerness. She did not know as much as he did, and he would need to be patient.

  “How are our Yorkshire skies this day?” Miss Sterlington asked. He enjoyed that she seemed to have taken ownership of those skies. He liked to think she was beginning to feel she belonged here in Yorkshire.

  “Fearsome, I’m afraid,” Thomas said, frowning slightly. “There was rain most of the morning and though it has given some respite, I daresay it will start up again soon. The temperatures are cooling, which makes me wonder if we are due for snow.”

  “I shall not expect you to stay so long as to get caught in the storm, then.”

  Thomas leaned toward her, causing her to pull back and lower her chin, which kept her face in shadow. How he wanted to pull the cap from her head so he could see her face and those eyes that had kept him up at night. “I shall welcome any force of nature the skies shall deem fit to bestow upon me in trade for a hour of your company.”

  “Oh, how you talk.” The nervous twitter in her voice did not disguise the pleasure of her response. “You are doing it too far thick, Mr. Richards. It is not like you.”

  Thomas leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps it is quite like me. Perhaps I am a man who does nothing too thick but is neither insincere in his feelings.”

  Mrs. Miller brought in the tray and set it on the table before them. “Mr. Richards’s cook sent treacle tarts as well as a cut of ham and bottle of cherry cordial.”

  “That is most generous,” Miss Sterlington said. “Please return our compliments to her, Mr. Richards.”

  “I certainly shall,” he said with a nod.

  Mrs. Miller quit the room and, after hesitating a moment, Miss Sterlington pulled forward on the settee in order to pour the tea. He watched her elegant hands move about the tray with all the etiquette of the ton, and when she handed him his cup, his fingers brushed against hers. He realized that he had never actually touched her before and was startled at the energy that shot through his arm and down his spine. He quickly looked at her face and felt a new rush from the surprise of her own reaction. She stared back at him with those big green eyes that rendered him speechless for the time it took her to remember herself and pull her hand away from his.

  The swagger and confidence he’d had upon entering the cottage only minutes ago shifted and settled within him at the reaction to her touch, confirming every feeling he’d felt toward this woman in all the months of his having known her. He had been so irritated and even embarrassed by the draw he had felt toward her when she was spoiled and arrogant, yet seeing her transformed character led him to admit that his feelings were not merely biological or even emotional. He was in love with Miss Amber Sterlington. She had changed his heart and fate or God or some such force had brought them to this place.

  Miss Sterlington looked away first, breaking the spell, though not completely, as she attended to her own cup of tea. He watched every movement of her fingers and expression as she lifted the cup, blew across the surface, and took a small sip before returning the cup and saucer to her lap, which she had not covered with a rug today.

  There was silence for a few moments before Amber found a topic to provide rescue. “Suzanne tells me your family is very generous to those of us situated so far from town. She says you often deliver boxes of goods to outlying settlements when the snow is too deep.”

  Thomas ducked his chin in modest acceptance. “Living in a place such as this inspires the community to work together. Fortunately we have been spared the worst of the season this year. So far at least.”

  “It is certainly generous for you to be so charitable.”

  “Traditionally one of the purposes behind a title was that the bearer would care for those within his stewardship, and while those boundaries are not quite so set as once they were, my family has always taken its position as a place of responsibility.” He hoped it did not sound pompous, as it was not how he meant it. However, he was proud of his family’s tradition of genuine charity.

  Miss Sterlington cocked her head to the side. “I suppose I had not thought of titles in such a way. I fear most men graced with them do not feel such responsibility.”

  “I beg your pardon but I am sure most of them do,” Thomas said with a confirming nod. “They may have bailiffs that do the watching, but the men of my acquaintance bound by position seem to understand that they are in a place of benefit for those that work their lands. Though there are a fair amount who spend their time hunting or gaming or some such endeavor, I should hope they are in the minority.”

  “That is an optimistic position,” Miss Sterlington said. “I’m afraid as a female I am kept apart from such considerations.”

  “And does this bother you, Madam? Do you wish not to be apart?”

  Miss Sterlington lifted her shoulders, which drew attention to the line of her neck and collarbone. He was careful to keep his attentions on her face, however, to prevent too much distraction. “I have not lost much time in regret over my sex,” she said. “I have known a great many powerful women in my life, and while their place within society might be different, I have always felt they are equally positioned to have influence if they choose.” She looked up at him. “If we might tie this conversation into Shakespeare, for instance, do you not find that many of his female heroines possess a great many strengths of quality reflective of Queen Elizabeth’s own turning of traditional roles for men and women?”

  Thomas was mesmerized by the workings of her mind and could not hold back a smile. “Indeed. I do not feel the Bard was subtle in his positioning of his women characters. I had a professor in Oxford quite enamored of this topic. I can’t help but wonder what turned your head toward it.”

  She gave him a smile he knew to be far more dazzling than she expected it to be, otherwise she would never have shared such a bold gesture. It fairly made his fingers tingle with the desire to touch her fine lips, preferably with his own. “I suspect that any woman left to read the entirety of Shakespeare’s work
over the course of a winter would be hard-pressed not to find such patterns within his stories.”

  “You would be wrong in such suspicions,” Thomas said with assurance. “Forgive me for sounding critical, but I have discussed Shakespeare with any number of women and the best I can expect from them is a passing understanding of his more memorable characters. You would be hard-pressed to find a single one with the barest familiarity with any of his histories, for example. Rather they shall sigh over Romeo and perhaps laugh with Petruchio, but they will see Lady Macbeth as rigid and mad rather than regal and powerful until her guilt overtakes her. They only reference Kate when attempting to contrast their own good nature against what they see as her failings.”

  It was brave indeed to introduce Kate—a woman of such similar likeness to the woman sitting across from him—into the conversation. Kate was a veritable Shrew, as the title of her story proclaimed her, but she was intelligent and sought for equality amid men who were of no mind to give it to her. Perhaps Thomas was making too many comparisons in his mind, but he saw many of Kate’s qualities reflected in Miss Sterlington.

  “Do you not feel that Kate has great failings, sir?” she asked.

  “I do not,” Thomas said, causing her to lift her too-dark brows that looked odd, though perhaps it was only the lighting that made them so. “I find Kate to be one of Shakespeare’s most fascinating heroines. She is proud and intelligent, but chooses to soften her character in order to find equanimity within a position she initially refuses. It is my belief that through the courting process—the taming, if you will—she comes to realize the strength of a solid marriage, that it helps her to share in the position of her husband as no other arrangement can give her. I do not see that she gives up her strengths, rather she hones them into a more useful position and finds herself triumphant.”

  “Perhaps such matters of her character are neither good nor bad, then,” Miss Sterlington said in a thoughtful tone as though forming the ideas even as she spoke them. “Rather it is how they are utilized that determine their nature.”

  “Precisely,” Thomas said, even more invigorated by the depth of the discussion. “She chooses to use her strengths alongside a husband who allows her to do so rather than to fight against him, which would be a battle she would surely lose. You will remember that at the end of Taming of the Shrew, Kate and Petruchio retire to their marital bed, while Hortensio and Lucentio are left to worry about their own marriages. It seems obvious to me which couple found greater joy within their union. Petruchio could have dominated any number of women into the role of his wife, but he chose a woman of strength who then complemented him far more than Bianca or the widow did their husbands.”

  “That is a very interesting observation,” Miss Sterlington said after a few moments of contemplation.

  “It is very much in line with your observation regarding women finding position in society if they have a mind to do so. My mother is part of a woman’s society here in Yorkshire that studies matters of politics and history; they meet together to discuss a new topic each month. My sister-in-law, Lady Fielding, has headed an effort to send supplies to an orphanage in Ireland quite depleted in resources. Neither of them were afforded a critical education and both were dependent first upon their fathers and then their husbands—yet they have both flourished within their spheres, just as, I believe, Kate did.”

  Miss Sterlington leaned forward slightly as he spoke, as though unwilling to miss a single word. When he stopped, she remained silent for several seconds and he could only assume she was pondering his bold words. She seemed to realize herself and sat back against the settee, repairing her thoughtful expression with one of a bit more ease.

  “I wonder if I could ask you to read me that final speech of Kate’s. I have read it myself but have never seen beyond the seeming servitude of her thoughts. I have learned before now that your skills at oration can give new meaning to such things.” She smiled and Thomas’s heart flipped within his chest. He had not seen such a radiant smile from her since London, and yet there had been a falseness to the expression back then—a calculation. This smile, here in North Riding, was perhaps the truest he had ever seen upon her face.

  “I would be most pleased to read that passage,” Thomas said once he recovered himself, flattered and quite validated by the request. He had known she was listening when he read from Richard II and was as pleased to have her admit it as he was to see her comfortable in their company. “If you shall direct me where to find the volume?”

  “I shall retrieve it, sir,” she said, setting her saucer on the table before rising and crossing to the bookshelves that filled the interior wall of the library.

  Thomas rose when she did and observed her movements as the fire within him, already kindled by her intellect and smile, began to grow. She bent to position a small stool beneath the shelf, and he did not hesitate to cross the room in order to be of assistance; he ached to be near her even if only to retrieve a book she could not comfortably reach.

  “Allow me,” he said, coming up behind her and reaching the topmost shelf for the book—a collection of several plays bound together in one volume. He was close enough to smell the scent of lavender and closed his eyes as he inhaled the warmth of her. He was only fractionally aware of her turning to face him until he opened his eyes—quite caught in his moment of sensory attention—and found her looking up at him with eyes that reflected the same awareness of their closeness that had him rooted in place.

  He could scarcely breathe as he looked into those eyes that were far more the vulnerable girl at Carlton House than the haughty woman at Almack’s. The way the air between them increased in temperature seemed proof that she was not opposed to his nearness.

  Rather than remove the book, he braced his hand against the bookshelf and waited to see if fear appeared in her eyes. Instead he saw reflected in her gaze a willingness and welcomeness that fairly caused his chest to burn through with rising heat.

  Miss Sterlington lifted a hand to his chest but rather than push him away, she grasped the lapel of his coat. It was more invitation than he could refuse, and he lowered his mouth to hers, pulled by a force he could not define until his lips touched her soft and willing ones. The sensation that filled him was of a magnitude far greater than that when their hands touched over the tea tray. The hand gripping his coat pulled him closer and he did not resist as perhaps a better gentleman might have.

  Instead he deepened the kiss and placed one hand alongside her jaw while placing his other hand over hers, flattening her palm against his chest so that she could feel the way his heart raced in response to her. She slid her hand up his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer until he felt sure the very room would soon catch fire.

  It was only when he felt sure he was about to lose control completely that he pulled back and allowed them both the chance to breathe. He searched her face, afraid he might see regret within her expression. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, putting his fears to rest. He smiled back and leaned in once more to kiss her cheek, allowing his lips to linger as he gained further control of himself. He moved his mouth toward her ear and whispered, “Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, as seal to this indenture of my love.”

  He felt her intake of breath and knew that despite how much he wanted to stay, it was time to take his leave. He had moved far faster today than he had anticipated, and things had not occurred in the proper order—she still had not revealed her true self to him.

  Likewise he needed time to plan his response when next they saw one another. He had made his attraction quite clear and needed to align himself in order to declare his full intentions. He took a step back and bowed over her hand, kissing the back of it with a lingering press of his lips to her skin.

  “I think it best that I take my leave, Madam, but might I request an audience come Tuesday?”

  “O-of course, sir,” she said breathlessly enough to bring another smile to his face and another flip of his h
eart. To know she was as affected as he was left him steeped in warmth and invigoration.

  He released her hand and tapped his finger on the tip of her perfect nose. “’Til Tuesday, then,” he said quietly.

  She blinked and nodded while raising a hand to adjust her cap, though it had not shifted. “’Til Tuesday.”

  Chapter 44

  “I am sorry, Amber, but I will not do it.”

  Amber looked at Suzanne in surprise. She was to leave for town within the hour for church and her usual Sunday evening activities. Tomorrow she would be posting the letter Amber had written in response to her mother’s invitation to attend the wedding ball.

  “Suzanne, I need your help with this.” Amber held out the note she had written to Mr. Richards and shook her hand to emphasize that Suzanne should take it from her.

  Suzanne clasped her hands behind her back. “And I will not do it. Mr. Richards has been nothing but kind to you, and if you are not to see him again, he deserves to hear it from your own mouth.”

  “You promised me you would help me,” Amber said, disliking the whining tone of desperation in her voice.

  “Which should impress upon you how seriously I feel that Mr. Richards deserves more than words on paper. I would never break my word unless I felt this strongly.”

  Amber let out a breath and glanced around the kitchen as though there might be something that would support her argument. She could not tell Mr. Richards to cease his attentions—she could barely write the words much less say them aloud—but she was certain that sending a letter was a better course. Feeling she had no choice, Amber stood up straight, put the hand not holding the letter on her hip and drew all the ton left within her veins to the surface. “As your mistress, Suzanne, I demand you take him this letter.”

  Rather than be cowed, Suzanne smiled slightly. “If that be the case, then I shall quit your service entirely.” With both hands she lifted her skirts and curtsied quite elaborately. Once she had straightened, she smiled even wider. “And you are left without a maid to deliver your message or fetch your foodstuffs or transport your laundry. Now what shall you do?”