Page 84 of A Literary Liaison
The question she’d been dreading throughout their visit had finally come. Elisha felt her stomach tighten as she set down her own glass with careful precision.
“I once worked alongside a boy named Mark Evans at the workhouse,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “He was different from the others—literate, passionate about poetry and politics. He often spoke of our power to affect change if we united.”
Edgar nodded with recognition. “The same Mark Evans who now leads the Pioneers in London?”
“Yes.” She drew a steadying breath. “We’d lost contact after we’d been moved to different workhouses. Then a year ago, he recognized my name after reading one of my articles in theMetropolitan Review. Mark approached me about contributing to their cause—writing pamphlets that could reach a broader audience.”
She watched Edgar’s expression grow more serious, concern replacing his earlier contentment. “He also suggested I could weave some of our findings into my newspaper articles, disguised as general social commentary.”
Edgar held her gaze steadily. “Elisha, surely you understand how dangerous that is. If anyone were to make the connection—”
“I know the risks,” she interrupted, placing her hand on his. “But Edgar, I cannot ignore the opportunity to make a real difference. These aren’t abstract political theories—they’re about people still suffering in conditions I know intimately.”
He sighed wearily. “And this Mark Evans,” he said with careful neutrality that didn’t quite mask the jealousy beneath, “was he merely a fellow resident, or was there something more between you?”
Heat crept up Elisha’s neck. “We were… fond of each other once. But that was long ago, Edgar. I was young, and those feelings have long since faded.”
“Are you certain?” Edgar’s voice carried an edge she’d rarely heard. “It seems you’re willing to risk a great deal for his cause.”
“It’s not his cause,” she said firmly, taking his hands firmly. “And it’s not about Mark. It’s about all those still trapped in workhouses, laboring in dangerous factories, sleeping rough in London’s streets. Ihave a voice now, a platform. How can I remain silent when I could help them?”
Edgar squeezed her hands, his expression torn between admiration and fear. “I understand your passion—it’s one of the things I love most about you. But I worry about your safety, your reputation…” He paused, pain flickering across his features. “My family’s position.”
The words stung, even though she understood. “Some things are worth the risk,” she said softly.
They sat in contemplative silence before Edgar spoke again, his voice heavy with emotion. “If I’ve had suspicions about your activities, others surely have as well. Thornton has likely been documenting everything, waiting for the right moment to use it against you.”
The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud. She could see the genuine terror in his eyes.
“This transformation won’t happen overnight,” he continued urgently. “Please, consider the long-term consequences. Consider us.”
Elisha met his gaze steadily. “I shall consider it,” she said softly, though she couldn’t mask the reluctance. “Grant me time to reflect on the matter properly.”
*
An hour later,steam rose from the copper tub in Edgar’s private chambers, scented with lavender oil that perfumed the air with its soothing fragrance. Elisha watched in fascination as Edgar tested the water temperature with his wrist, adjusting it with the care of an experienced servant.
“You needn’t wait on me,” she protested softly, though warmth flooded her chest at his tender attention.
Edgar glanced up with a smile that made her pulse flutter. “After the performance you gave these past days, it’s the least I can do. You were magnificent, but I could see the strain it cost you.”
He straightened, his eyes growing serious. “Let me take care of you, Elisha. Tonight, there are no watching eyes, no expectations to fulfill. Just us.”
The simple words carried such weight of love and promise that tears pricked her eyes. How had she lived so long without this—without someone who saw her exhaustion and sought to ease it?
“The water’s perfect,” Edgar said, then moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you to—”
“Stay.” The word escaped before conscious thought could stop it. Edgar froze, his hand on the door handle, surprise evident in every line of his body.
“Stay,” she repeated more softly, heat flooding her cheeks even as longing filled her voice. “Please. After these days of careful distance, of stolen glances and proper behavior… I don’t want to be alone.”
Edgar turned slowly, his blue eyes dark with something that made her breath catch. Instead of another word, Elisha reached for the fastenings of her traveling dress, her fingers working the buttons with deliberate slowness. Edgar’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room.
“Let me,” he said roughly, crossing to her in three quick strides. His hands replaced hers, fingers trembling slightly as he worked the buttons free. “I’ve dreamed of this…”
The dress pooled at her feet, followed by her stays and chemise, until she stood before him in nothing but the flickering candlelight. Edgar’s eyes roamed her form with reverent hunger, his hands hovering near her skin without quite touching.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “So beautiful it takes my breath away.”
