The Unlacing of Miss Leigh

Her gaze flew back to his face.

The eyes. She remembered his blue eyes.

That long ago day in the woods when Bob and Hughy Newell threw their sticks and stones at a little girl too small to outrun them, a boy with those blue eyes had come to her rescue. Graham Veall had been her first, nay, her only hero.

“Would you walk with me, Miss Leigh?” His voice seemed to resonate deep in her soul.

It shook her. “You do not wish to stay at the party?”

“I only came for you.” He pressed a purse into her hand.

Her payment. She swallowed.

He was letting her know she had already fulfilled their bargain. She could refuse his request if she wished.

But she wanted to be with him. He was Graham Veall.

“My pleasure, sir,” she murmured.

His eyes creased at the corners. “Graham.”

“Graham,” she repeated in a stronger voice.

He led her through the porticos, away from the throngs of people, away from the music. They walked on a gravel path toward trees with fewer lamps and where shadows loomed ahead. Any trepidation Margaret felt about this meeting had vanished. This was Graham Veall walking at her side. She held his arm and savored the warmth of his skin beneath the silk domino.

“I thought it very likely you would not come, Miss Leigh,” his voice sounded rusty from disuse.

“I needed the money.” No use to pretend otherwise, she thought.

It crossed her mind to tell him of their prior connection, but she was too proud to reveal how poorly her father had provided for her.

His expression turned sympathetic. “Are you so in need of money?”

She lifted the purse. “This will pay to keep my younger brother in school one more year.” She could not bear to think beyond that one year.

“It is for your brother?” Graham looked surprised. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.”

“Is his schooling so important?” He sounded incredulous.

Education was Andrew’s joy; it was all he lived for. Even before Andrew was out of short coats, his thirst for learning had been evident. They’d been a family of scholars, so Andrew’s talent was not surprising. Their grandfather and Henry’s father had been schoolmasters. Margaret’s parents had run a small boarding school in their home to supplement their father’s church living. She and Andrew had always been surrounded by books and lessons and learning.

Until her mother died of influenza and her father could not manage the boarders alone. He’d used every spare penny to send Andrew to a good school, and Margaret had never begrudged the expense.

“My brother has a mind that begs for education. Now I can provide it for him.” She squeezed the purse.

Graham touched her arm and the warmth of his touch radiated through her. “I merely was surprised the money was not for yourself.”

She returned a steady gaze. “Andrew’s schooling is more important.”

He tilted his head as if examining her anew.

Threading her arm though his again, he continued their stroll. The paths were now much darker, and from the deep recesses of the shrubbery came sounds of murmuring and laughter. Ever since the Newells had chased her, Margaret had hated walking through woods, but with Graham she would be happy to walk all the way to the hermit who inhabited the farthest reaches of the Gardens.

“Tell me more about your brother,” he said.

She complied, telling of Andrew’s love of physics, of chemistry and of all things mechanical. Graham asked questions and seemed to listen to her answers. Margaret could almost delude herself that he was a beau, instead of a man who’d paid for her company. Because he was Graham, she wished he was a beau.

As they walked on, two men burst from the shrubbery and stumbled onto the path ahead of them. Margaret jumped back, uttering a cry. Graham wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the trees, his black domino cloaking them both. The two young men, deep in their cups, staggered by, talking loudly and apparently never noticing them.

Still, Margaret trembled under Graham’s embrace.

“I would allow no harm to come to you,” he whispered in her ear.

Her trembling came not from feeling again like that little girl clinging to the boy who rescued her, but from an acute awareness that he was a boy no longer. He was a man with a man’s needs, and was willing to pay to have those needs met. His arms felt wonderful around her, his strong muscles holding her with such reassuring confidence. Her body was pressed against his, and it seemed that all his power and strength were melding with her.

Her breathing quickened, and sensation flared through her. She felt hungry for more, although she did not know precisely what made her ravenous. She only knew this moment must never end or she would surely perish.

Unfortunately he released her, but slowly, as if as reluctant as she to break the embrace. Still clasping her arms with his strong fingers, he looked down on her, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim light, pleading for something she wanted desperately to give him, but not knowing precisely what it was he desired. He lowered his head and Margaret’s excitement grew. She rose onto her toes.

The sounds of more revelers came near. He again enveloped her in his domino. “We will walk back to the supper boxes,” he rasped.

Her disappointment was crushing.

They walked in silence, and Margaret searched her mind for a question she could ask him, a question that was not Why did you release me?