A Rebel at Pennington’s

by Rachel Brimble

  A dangerous flutter took flight in her stomach. The notion of using him suddenly bore connotations that were unforgiveable. Maybe even sinful. ‘Thank you.’

  An unfathomable look came over his face and his expression sobered. ‘When you look at me, what do you see?’

  Her mind raced. Wasn’t that the ultimate question? Didn’t everyone want to know how they were perceived? The importance of that first vital impression? Everything about Lawrence and his children had struck her the moment she’d met them and even now, weeks later, they continued to linger in her heart and mind.

  ‘Esther?’

  What did it matter if she admitted her feelings? They were alone and adults. Maybe he needed her to expose a little of who she was in order to tempt him to do the same. ‘I see a man I am growing to like very much. A man who is devoted to his children. Most of all, I see a man who inspires me and makes me want to be more than I am. But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I’m confused by my constant thoughts of you. Confused by what I feel when you touch me. My inner compass is off-centre for the first time in forever and the fault lies entirely at your feet.’

  The muted sounds of passing voices and horses on the cobblestones outside the window quietly filtered into the room.

  He slowly stood, and Esther’s pulse beat loud in her ears. If he should touch her now…

  Stopping in front of her, he offered her his hand. Every part of her screamed to refuse his silent invitation, to turn away from his penetrating gaze and gain the time to realign her equilibrium. Instead, she slipped her hand into his and he gently pulled her to her feet.

  His gaze moved from her eyes to linger softly at her mouth. The hunger in the stark blue of his eyes caused a spark of sexual tension to permeate the air. Insecurity battled with her desire to have him take her in his arms and kiss her again. Yet, shouldn’t she be sure of who he was before they progressed any further? Who was to say he would come to be no different than her father? A man equally capable of loving her, and then hurting her.

  ‘Come and sit with me in the drawing room.’

  Releasing a slow breath, Esther followed him from the room and up the stairs. Dragging her gaze from his back, she flitted her eyes over the portraits lining the staircase. One after the other was of Rose and Nathanial at different ages, another of Lawrence at a desk either at home or work.

  They reached the landing and Esther’s heart kicked as she stared into the soft, pretty gaze of a woman around the age of twenty-two. She had the most astonishing mane of curled blonde hair, elegantly dressed and cradling a swaddled babe in her arms.

  ‘That’s Abigail. My wife.’

  She turned to the quiet sound of Lawrence’s voice. He watched her intently, his expression unreadable. Esther glanced at Abigail’s picture again and slowly nodded. ‘She’s lovely.’

  ‘Yes. She was. I commissioned that painting after Rose was born. It was an extravagance we could not truthfully afford, but, with Abigail now gone, it was worth every penny. This picture is important to me, but especially important to the children.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Come through.’

  Esther glanced at the image one more time, her heart twisting with sadness for Lawrence, Rose and Nathanial. She imagined the Culford family would have made quite the picture had they been granted the opportunity.

  She entered the semi-darkness of the drawing room. Shadows from the jewel-coloured lamps played across floral walls, the ornate sideboard and stone fireplace. The dried flowers and foliage in the hearth were enormous, set in a white porcelain jug. Knick-knacks and framed pictures scattered the tops of the sideboard and small side tables adjacent to an ivory upholstered settee and armchairs set in front of the fireplace.

  All was in perfect order as opposed to the glorious childhood chaos that had surrounded her when she’d played so happily with Rose and Nathanial on her last visit. The absence of the children echoed in the stillness, fuelling her temptation to flee.

  No. She would not run. She could be here with Lawrence like this. To whom did she have to answer to but herself? And maybe Abigail.

  She followed Lawrence to the settee and sat, only releasing her held breath when he took the seat beside her, her hand still held in his. He circled the back of her hand with his thumb.

  ‘There are things you don’t know about me, Esther. Serious things. If we are to move forward with our relationship, I owe you my honesty about everything, but I need a little more time. Do you want me as I want you? Do you think you could come to care for me past friendship?’

  Nodding, her pulse leapt and jumped. She could not deny how she wanted him to become an intimate part her life. Wanted him in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with her work or the Cause. ‘Yes, I think I could.’

  ‘When I’m with you…’ He briefly closed his eyes and opened them again. His gaze blazed with sincerity and conviction. ‘I feel a connection with you. As though we’ve experienced the same pain. That we have the same sense of the world turning while we try to understand the right direction to take. Your spirit and determination echo inside of me. I love spending time with you.’

  Her heart swelled with misplaced pride that he would so openly admit his feelings for her, but that could not lessen her natural state of caution. ‘And I’m flattered but, still, you must tell me what it is you need to be honest about. You’re a father. You have a warm, loving home, so very different to my own. My father turned his back on me on the constant suggestions of a stepmother I despise. My trust has been broken and my heart betrayed by the people I should’ve been able to rely upon the most. I will not expose myself to risk again, so I need your honesty, Lawrence, or our future together can never exist.’

  His gaze travelled over her face. ‘Please, Esther, just give me a little more time.’

  His sadness seemed too sincere to be deceitful. Too deep to be beguiling.

  And suddenly she was too weak to resist him. Too afraid of never meeting another man so handsome, gentle and caring. Could she not control the path they took? Hold onto a big piece of her heart and lock it away so he might never cause her irreparable harm? Wasn’t her fear of being disappointed, hurt and banished again strong enough to restrain at least a modicum of emotional attachment even if she couldn’t forsake her body and mind?

  She stared into his eyes, her body drawn to him. He looked so exposed and vulnerable. She cupped her hand to his jaw. His eyes immediately darkened with a dangerous heat that brought a low hum of want high between her legs.

  Leaning slowly forward, she hesitated, her study dropping to his mouth.

  And then he kissed her.

  Fervently, passionately, his hands moving to her waist.

  Esther eased closer as craving caught and ensnared her, melting away her fears and making her want him with every part of her. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, praying this moment of owning her yearnings, of acting on her desires for the very first time, did not shock or deter him. Whenever she was with him, she longed to be uninhibited and free, no matter how unwise.

  His mouth moved from hers to kiss her jaw and Esther leaned her head back. Hot kisses trailed along her neck to the sensitive spot below her ear and liberation rushed through her body, annihilating her conscience and strengthening her need to feel worthy and wholly desirable. Merit every ounce of this man’s undivided attention.

  *

  Blood burned hot and urgent through Lawrence’s groin, his fingers brushing the neckline of Esther’s dress as he moved his knuckles across the soft skin above her breasts. It had been months since such lust had shrouded him and, when it had, it had risen from an innate need for unattached sexual gratification. Sex with a woman with the same need of liberation. A woman who might help him forget his loneliness, to avoid another night of feeling he had no one… was no one. A woman with whom he could spend a few hours without discourse into his innermost feelings, fears or failings.

  Now, for the first time in his life, he understood why sex was so
metimes referred to as making love. Of adoring, of wanting to watch a woman succumb to the pleasures of her body, to yearn and crave for more.

  Yet, no matter how much he wanted to witness Esther’s satisfaction, he also wanted her to know the real him. To know everything about him. He was in awe of her candour and desperately wanted to share his self-loathing, but to do so now would take from the pleasure he could give her as her inhibitions fell away and she surrendered to the possibilities of intimate human touch.

  ‘Esther.’ He whispered her name against her neck and moved lower to kiss the skin his fingers had explored moments before. ‘You are so beautiful.’

  He eased back and looked into her eyes, dark with wanting and arousal, her cheeks flushed pink. How could he not have contemplated what she would be like in the throes of lovemaking? Everything about her, everything she did, revealed the concealed passion of the woman beneath. She voiced her opinions without censure. Why on earth wouldn’t she enjoy unbridled fervency? Passion epitomised Esther in one beautiful, erotic package.

  But he would not take her now – no matter how much he might want to – instead, he’d show her what she did to him. What she made him feel. How she made him feel.

  Releasing her, he locked his gaze on hers and loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top few fasteners on his shirt. Her study dropped to his partially exposed chest as he ran his hand over the skirt of her dress and she slowly relaxed, her knees dropping open a little wider.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, gently easing his tongue to the warmth of hers. She met his passion and Lawrence gripped the hem of her skirt. He gently eased it higher and waited.

  Opening his eyes, his heart pounded as he studied her gaze to ensure she wanted him to continue. Her eyes were clouded with hunger, her plea evident and confirmed. She reached for his hand and guided it beneath her skirt to the naked skin of her inner thigh. His erection strained as he fought against every instinct to take her, devour her and love her as she deserved.

  He had no idea if she was a virgin, but he would bestow care regardless.

  Inching his hand higher, he smoothed his fingers over every centimetre of her exposed flesh until he tentatively slipped his fingers into her drawers. Satisfaction warmed him and heightened his pleasure to discover wetness. He gently rubbed her, probing a cautious finger at her entrance. To touch her like this was an honour he’d neither forget nor waste. Her eyes drifted closed as she sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

  Her softly whispered groan urged his exploration deeper.

  She lifted her hand to her breast and cupped it, her nails digging into the silk of her dress.

  He caressed her with precision and intention. Her breathing turned from quiet whispers to harried breaths as he increased the pressure, moved his fingers faster over her core. She writhed against him, her eyes squeezing more tightly closed.

  Was this how they could be together? Would a mere touch of one another ignite a powerful, silent possession that no one else on earth could evoke? Their fathers had changed them, destroyed their trust, yet together they could break free and embrace everything they should’ve known themselves capable of their entire lives.

  She stilled…

  Lawrence stared at her beautiful face, his desire for her showing in the perspiration beaded on his skin and the stiffness behind the confines of his trousers. She came undone and tightened around him as she gripped his shoulders, her mouth dropping open, her cheeks and neck flushing with colour.

  This could not be the only time he saw her this way.

  He wanted her in his bed, in his home and in his life. If he had to let her go… No, he couldn’t think that way. She was meant to be with him. He ran his fingers over the side of her long neck. ‘Esther, you are like no one else I have ever met.’

  ‘As are you.’

  He eased away and turned her in his arms so her back was against his chest. He smoothed the hair from her brow and kissed her crown. ‘You’ve made me see in the shortest time how the things that happened to me sculpted me into the man I am today. I want to be entirely myself for Rose and Nathanial. For me. And for you.’

  Twenty-One

  Esther closed her eyes as Lawrence continued to gently touch her hair, but, no matter how comforting the feeling, tears welled behind her closed lids. Shame enveloped her that she’d allowed him to touch her so intimately. He would now know how weak she really was, how much she yearned for a man’s respect and love. Her carefully erected armour had been torn away in his arms, at his touch, and soon he would realise her no stronger than any other woman he might have had this way.

  She needed to leave. Go. Before he said anything more to make her want him… make her love him.

  Easing from his arms, she drew forth every ounce of her strength and stood. Smoothing her hair and skirts, she despised that her fingers trembled with weakness. ‘I really need to go. Thank you so much for such a lovely evening.’

  ‘Esther, wait.’ He scrambled to his feet, his gaze concerned.

  She turned away from the horrible disappointment in his eyes. ‘I have to get back to my aunt. I’m sorry.’

  ‘But—’

  She hurried from the room and down the stairs, the portraits beside her seeming to stare in judgement. Their faces no longer smiling but twisted with disapproval. Swiftly entering the dining room, her heart raced, and her body shook, but Esther kept her chin high as she claimed her purse from one of the chairs around the table. The heavy guilt pressing down on her could not deter her from leaving. She had to re-establish power over her emotions. Lock them down and keep everything safely inside, lest her life be pulled apart as it had before.

  When she looked up, Lawrence stood at the door, his face a mask of stone. ‘Why are you leaving?’

  No anger or accusation resounded in his voice. Worse, his question was little more than polite enquiry. Was he distancing himself now he knew her to be wanton? Or was he enforcing space for the same sense of self-preservation?

  She walked slowly towards him, forcing her gaze to remain steady on his. ‘The meal was wonderful, as were your company and caresses, but I have to work in the morning. Not to mention my aunt will soon be fretting about where I am.’

  ‘Did you not tell her you were dining with me tonight?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’

  The reasons for her secrecy were entrenched in survival. If she’d uttered a word about this evening’s assignation, her aunt would have reported back to Viola and she, in turn, would have told her father. Esther wanted them to know nothing of her life. Not about her work at Pennington’s, her work for the Cause and, certainly, not anything that might pertain to her heart.

  Her father could visit her at any time, but he did not. If he deigned to visit her now, all he would do is bestow disparagement on her work and life. Worse, he could confront her at Pennington’s, humiliate her in front of her colleagues and associates. She missed him more than she’d ever admit, but, in the same breath, she wanted her father far, far away so she’d never see the angry displeasure in his eyes again.

  She pulled back her shoulders. ‘My relationship with my family is steeped in poison. I’ve not shared anything with them since I left home. It’s better that way. My stepmother will do anything she can to destroy whatever gives me an ounce of pleasure. Would revel in telling my father anything to blacken me further. He had an ideal for me. A plan. One that did not include work and causes but homemaking and children. I refused to conform to his expectations and he’ll never accept who I am.’

  ‘I see. And homemaking and children will never be on your agenda? In your future?’ His gaze softened. ‘Do you see that to live a life entirely alone is an impossible aspiration? Everyone has people in their lives. Even you.’

  Her mentioning children would have undoubtedly drawn his mind to Rose and Nathanial. Maybe now he’d surmise they could never be linked romantically. No matter their attraction. His children and their happiness were everything to
him. Just another aspect of him she was falling in love with.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘I have a few friends and associates at the store and Society. I don’t need anyone else.’

  Regret flashed in his eyes. ‘No one personal to you? What about your aunt?’

  Hating the concern in his gaze, Esther lifted her chin against the pain in her heart. ‘She is a reluctant companion. A person my father elected to take me in so that he could not be seen publicly as expelling me. So that he might not be embarrassed if I am seen without a chaperone.’

  ‘But your aunt feels differently?’

  ‘She’s never denied me any choices I’ve made. Although I’m not certain if that’s because she’s waiting for me to make a mistake. What does it matter? Why should I care for their opinion? I decided a long time ago that the only way forward for me was to make the life I want. My mother…’ Her voice cracked. ‘My mother would have been proud of me. That’s all I need.’

  His jaw tightened, frustration showing in his dark blue eyes. ‘And that means never loving someone else? Never trusting anyone?’

  The loneliness that struck her was sharp and sudden, and she crossed her arms. ‘What other way is there for a woman to be happy? If she shows weakness, there will always be someone ready to manipulate it.’

  He shook his head and paced a few steps before stopping again. ‘At least your reluctance to allow me to court you isn’t a singular revolution. Clearly, you intend the same defence of family, friends, colleagues and associates.’

  His tone was laced with iciness and Esther’s irritation flared. ‘I am not unhappy living this way, Lawrence. I like that my destiny is my own.’

  She moved to brush past him and he gently gripped her elbow, halting her. ‘I asked you here tonight because I admire your conviction. I want to be with you. Get to know you.’

  She eased her arm from his grasp. ‘Life doesn’t have hard and fast rules that people aren’t allowed to test or stretch. When my mother died, my father wanted me to accept everything he said and did without argument. If I couldn’t do that for him, a man who meant the world to me, how can you expect me to do the same for someone I’ve only known a matter of weeks? I enjoy your company, but I am not, and never will be, a possession who will talk and act on your will rather than my own.’