Page 16 of London’s Leading Lady (Castleburys #4)
T he small, candlelit room was filled with the rustling of papers and the soft scratching of quills as Lottie and Thatcher sat hunched over the cluttered desk. Their collaboration on the play had taken an unexpected turn as they found themselves in a constant dance of stolen glances and heart-pounding kisses, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on their work.
Lottie’s heart raced as she felt Thatcher’s gaze on her, his gray eyes filled with a playful spark. “Thatcher, please,” she said. “We can’t afford to keep getting distracted like this. We have a play to finish.”
He leaned closer, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “But I can’t seem to help myself,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “You’re far too captivating to resist.”
She sighed, torn between the exhilaration of their mutual attraction and the frustration of their lack of progress. “This is important,” she insisted. “We’ve been given an incredible opportunity, and we can’t squander it.”
He reached out, gently tracing a path along her cheek. “I know it’s important,” he said softly. “Yet I can’t deny what I feel when I’m with you. It’s like a fire burning inside me.”
Lottie’s cheeks flushed. “We have to keep our focus,” she implored, her voice wavering. “We can’t afford to let our feelings get in the way.”
He nodded, his playful demeanor giving way to a more serious expression. “You’re right,” he admitted. “We’ll find a way to balance our work and our…attraction.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her composure. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier. “Now, let’s get back to the play.”
She returned to the script, determined to push aside their growing feelings and focus on the task at hand. But the tension between them lingered in the air, unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface.
She leaned in and placed a gentle peck on Thatcher’s cheek, a simple gesture of affection meant to reassure him. But as her lips met his skin, something shifted between them. The kiss that had begun so innocently deepened into something more profound and tender. Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of unspoken emotions and a connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was a kiss that held a promise, a promise of something deeper and more meaningful than either of them had expected.
As she pulled away, their eyes met, and she saw the reflection of her own desires flickering there. It was a silent acknowledgment of the feelings growing between them, feelings that neither of them had been prepared for.
Lottie found herself at a loss for words, her emotions swirling in a dizzying whirlwind. She had always prided herself on her ability to control her own destiny, but now, in the face of this unexpected connection with Thatcher, she felt a sense of vulnerability she had never known.
Thatcher’s expression mirrored her own, a mixture of longing and uncertainty. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek with his hand, his touch tender and reassuring. “Lottie,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “What are we doing?”
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she replied, “I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t ignore what I feel when I’m with you.”
*
“Mr. Goodrich, Lady Lottie!”
Lottie rushed out to the main stage with Thatcher, and discovered Rainville engaged in an animated discussion with a distinguished-looking nobleman. The gentleman’s eyes sparkled with admiration as he gestured emphatically while speaking to the duke.
Rainville noticed Lottie and Thatcher approaching and greeted them with a warm smile. “Ah, here he is, the talented playwright!” he exclaimed. “Allow me to present Mr. Thatcher Goodrich and his assistant, Lady Lottie.”
Lord Riley’s eyes lit up, and he extended his hand toward Thatcher with great enthusiasm. “Mr. Goodrich, I must say, your last play was an absolute masterpiece! I was completely captivated by the storyline, the characters, the wit, and the emotion. It’s a work of genius!”
Thatcher, obviously taken aback by the lavish praise, shook Lord Riley’s hand with a humble nod. “Thank you, my lord,” he replied, looking for all the world as if he was trying to maintain his composure. “I’m honored by your kind words.”
Lottie watched the exchange, her heart sinking. Here was the very man who had taken credit for her play, basking in the praise that rightfully belonged to her. She felt the bitterness bubbling within her. How could she have forgotten even for a single moment?
Her play was an absolute masterpiece.
Her play was a work of genius.
Lord Riley turned his attention to Lottie, his gaze appraising. “And Lady Lottie, I’m certain your…contributions…whatever they may be…are notable. You clearly inspire this brilliant man to spout words that are like poetry, and I can only imagine you are quite the muse.”
Lottie forced a smile, gratitude masking a layer of livid, indignant fury. “Thank you, my lord,” she ground out, managing to sound polite but distant. What exactly was the lord insinuating?
As Lord Riley continued to sing praises to Thatcher, Rainville excused himself to attend to other matters. After what felt like an eternity of over-effusive compliments and congratulations, the viscount finally prepared to take his leave, promising to attend the upcoming performance of the next play.
Lottie seethed with anger as the nobleman finally departed, leaving her alone with Thatcher amidst the ornate walls of the theatre. She couldn’t contain the storm of emotions churning within her. “Thatcher Goodrich, I can’t believe you did it again,” she spat. “You took all the credit for my work, without even blinking an eye!”
Thatcher’s expression wavered between guilt and frustration. He had betrayed her trust once more, and she hoped it weighed heavily on his conscience. “Lottie, I—”
But she wasn’t finished. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked on this play? How much it means to me?” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “And you just stood there, letting him heap praises on you, as if I didn’t even exist.”
*
Thatcher’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her accusation. He knew he had wronged her, but he wasn’t sure how to make amends. “I never meant for things to turn out this way,” he admitted. “I… I didn’t know how to tell him the truth.”
Lottie’s anger intensified, and her voice grew colder. “The truth? You mean the truth about how you took my work and claimed it as your own?”
Thatcher winced at her words, the pain in her eyes cutting through him like a knife. He stepped closer to her, reaching out to touch her arm, but she pulled away, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily. “Lottie, please, I understand that you’re angry,” he implored. “But I promise you, I will find a way to make things right. I won’t let your talent go unrecognized any longer. I swear.”
She shook her head, her disappointment palpable. “It’s not just about recognition,” she said. “It’s about trust, about honesty. You’ve betrayed both.” As the weight of her words settled between them, she turned and began to walk away, adding, “I can’t bear to stay in your presence any longer, not when my heart aches with the knowledge that the man I was growing to care for has let me down in such a profound way.”
Thatcher watched her retreating figure, his heart heavy with regret. He knew that mending their fractured relationship would be an uphill battle. One of enormous proportions. But he would prove to Lottie that he was worth forgiving, even if it meant revealing the truth about the play to the whole world and risking everything he had worked so hard to achieve.