Matilda's Freedom

by Téa Cooper

  ‘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.

  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.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘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.