Lawrence stared after her.
By God, did he not understand parental pain more than most? Did he not understand how fathers and mothers could give birth to their children and when they grew into individuals with their own minds, scruples, dreams and desires, they could be tossed aside, or else pummelled into submission? Hadn’t his hatred towards his parents been drawn by not just the way they treated him, but how they had stood side by side in their actions. Equally to blame and equally ambitious.
‘Damnation.’
He lifted his hand and nodded to a nearby waiter that he wished to pay his bill.
As he waited, he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, his foot rapidly tapping against the expensive flooring, each minute like an hour. When the waiter reappeared, Lawrence scribbled his signature across the bill and leapt to his feet. He had to catch up with Esther.
Self-disgust twisted inside him. No one on earth could understand the desire to want more for the next generation. The cruelty inflicted on him in the name of making him a man had ensured he would never disparage or deny Rose and Nathanial the paths they chose for themselves.
Instead of listening to Esther, doing his utmost to understand her frustration, he’d turned her words into knives with which to stab at his own insecurities, his own fears that he might harbour the genetic traits of her father that could one day bubble to the surface, spill over and hurt everyone in their path.
He stalked towards the entrance. Her coat. Had she picked up her coat? Rain battered the windows and ran in rivulets down the glass, the evening sky heavy and dark. It was pouring, and Esther might as well have been wearing a satin sheath for all the protection her beautiful dress would provide. He stepped in front of the maître d’, ignoring the grumbled protests from the gentleman beside him.
‘Did Miss Stanbury take her coat? An umbrella?’
‘She’s left the restaurant?’ The maître d’ looked behind him towards their empty table. He faced Lawrence. ‘Well, no, sir. I didn’t notice that she—’
‘Then could you please retrieve her coat for me? I must find her before she is half-drowned.’ Self-admonishment pressed down on him. It was his fault he pushed her away; his fault she’d fled into the night unprotected.
‘Of course.’ The maître d’ grimaced at the fuming customer beside Lawrence. ‘Please, sir. Just one moment.’ He walked to the cloakroom at the side of the restaurant and spoke quietly with the young girl checking and hanging coats. Moments later, he came back with Esther’s coat.
‘Thank you.’ Lawrence took the coat and turned to the gentleman beside him. ‘My apologies, sir.’
Before the man could respond, Lawrence dashed to the door and ducked outside into the rain. He could’ve sworn there had been tears in Esther’s eyes before she’d fled the restaurant – and she had fled. Her rushed steps so very different from the confident, graceful walk he’d watched the handful of times she’d left his side before.
This evening her gait had been flustered, upset and its cause lay entirely with him.
Scanning the busy street, Lawrence breathed in the scent of expensive perfume mixed with hair cream as dressed-up couples passed him arm in arm. The feeling of the upcoming Coronation seemed to be everywhere, from the banner stretched across the street to the chatter and laughter filtering from restaurant and store windows. A day of celebration. A day of new beginnings. Only time would tell if those beginnings would change this city and country for the better.
As he hurried along the stone-flagged pavement, a small boy stopped in his path, his cupped hands outstretched. ‘A penny for a hot roll, sir?’
Lawrence reached into his pocket and put two pennies in the boy’s hand. ‘Here. Get two.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The boy’s eyes widened as he flitted his gaze from Lawrence to the coins and back again.
‘You’re welcome.’ Smiling, Lawrence touched his hat, nodded at the boy and continued along the street looking for Esther.
On and on he walked, passing more and more poor, malnourished adults and children vying for charity from the wealthy who strolled back and forth. The differences between the rich and poor in Bath was abhorrent. Something had to be done to change the vast chasm between the privileged and the starving. It was neither fair nor right that some died from hunger while others grew obese.
He drew to a stop.
Esther stood under the awning of a latticed-windowed shop, her dress darker pink in places where the rain had soaked through. Staring at the wares inside, she seemed oblivious to the falling rain.
Slowly, he approached, uncertainty and self-judgement in every step. How did he speak with her, apologise for his behaviour without sharing any of his familial history?
Lawrence closed the distance, the street suddenly feeling strangely empty of people and transport. The ground shone beneath his feet, the lamps reflected in the puddles and the rain drenching his hair and the shoulders of his suit jacket.
Esther turned, and he halted as her eyes met his across the few yards that separated them. Her beautiful face was a mask of sadness. Her eyes almost pleading with him as he came closer. Once he was under the awning, she looked into his eyes, seemingly searching for something. A quip lingered on his tongue. To say something to make her laugh. Even the urge to replicate the funny face she’d pulled for Nathanial suddenly felt plausible compared to the blankness he was certain his face showed. What did he do now?
He shook out her coat and held it open.
She lowered her focus to his mouth, her expression inscrutable.
Stepping closer, she leaned into him, her gaze locked on his lips. His hands itched to touch her, to pull her into his embrace and kiss away her sorrow. She lifted her eyes to his and an unimaginable hunger burned in her gaze, her mouth dropping slightly open. Lawrence’s heart beat a little faster as he stepped closer still.
He wrapped her coat around her and released his held breath… and then took an impulsive leap that could so easily end in disaster. He lowered his mouth to hers.
She sighed softly before clasping her arms about his waist. He pressed his body closer to hers, wrapping her more firmly into his warmth.
She tasted like rainwater and the softest, sweetest perfume. He breathed in the floral scent of her skin, marvelled at the softness of her lips. This wasn’t the time to think, to contemplate or even panic. He eased his tongue tentatively against hers, and she shuddered gently in his arms as she raised onto her toes to deepen the kiss. Every part of him burned with a desire that had never been ignited before. His erection strained, his heart thundered, and his mind filled with only her.
The rest of the world ceased to exist.
He could’ve stayed in their kiss forever…
A salty wetness slipped onto his mouth.
Tears. Her tears.
He eased back, glistening drops ran slowly over her cheeks and he lifted his hands, thumbed away her sadness. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Her eyes were glazed as though she’d been as lost in their shared moment as he had been.
She blinked, and her eyes widened before she stepped back. ‘I… shouldn’t have let you kiss—’
‘Yes. Yes, you should.’ He opened the coat, so she could put her arms into the sleeves. ‘And I hope, in time, you will again.’
She shook her head, her eyes lowered revealing a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in her before. ‘But our argument—’
‘Is forgotten.’ How could she even begin to come to a different conclusion when his mind and heart was now filled with nothing but their kiss?
Her distress showed in her beautiful eyes, her brow furrowed. ‘How can our words be so easily dismissed when they became so heated?’
‘Because they can. I meant it when I said I want to help with your endeavours. If you don’t want my financial help then, maybe, I could come to your next demonstration to understand more fully what you do and how I can help?’
She tipped her head back to meet his gaze, her eyes lingering on his as she considered. Finally, she exhaled. ‘Not a protest. Not yet.’
Hope spread. Not yet. Did this mean she wanted to see him again. ‘But another time?’
‘Yes.’ She dipped her gaze to the pavement before meeting his eyes once more. ‘Why don’t you come to the store tomorrow evening? With Rose?’
‘Pennington’s?’
‘Yes. A lady author is coming in. She’s written a book about her rise from widowhood and how she was left a small bakery by her husband. Despite the odds stacked against her, she went on to open a second shop and, now, a third. She seems very inspiring. A woman forging forward. I think you’d enjoy listening to her speak.’
‘And you think Rose would, too.’
Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she smiled. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Then tomorrow night it is.’ Satisfaction and joy swept through him. Whatever she’d suggested, he would have agreed as long as he saw her again.
He buttoned her coat and brushed a damp curl from her cheek, hoping upon hope she did not disappear from his life as quickly as she’d appeared. He wanted so much to get to know her, to share a little of her life even if he could never share it all. ‘Will you allow me to hire a cab? I’d like to ensure you get home safely.’
‘You don’t need to…’ She stopped, her shoulders dropping as she softly smiled. ‘Yes. I’d like that very much.’
‘Good. I’ll go along the street and find one. I’ll not be more than a few minutes.’
He turned and jogged along the street, happiness and pride filling his chest in a great heave, pushing the air from his lungs. He had to find a way to gain Esther’s trust. Because, right now, she needed him… and he needed her.