In Your Hands - Chapter 1

I'm a little behind and still working on my planned updates, so here's something random I wrote a while ago for a friend's birthday.

Rating: PG-13, Non-ABO, might be slow burn or might not be.

Description: Lena Luthor is of age to be married, but she would rather be taken to an asylum than ever belong to a man. Though her friends consider her a prude, Lena just harbors a secret: she’s enamored with women.
With marriage on the horizon to a wealthy suitor named Michael Mathews, Lena is desperate to find a way out of it.

[Lena's a big ol' lesbian and Kara is posing as a man "Clark" to pursue a career as a doctor].

Tags:  Lena hates Kara but they kiss. Historical AU,  Mentions homophobia typical of the period. Let me know if you'd like a continuation of this eventually.

 

At nineteen years of age, Lena Luthor knew her days of being a single woman were numbered.

It was not more than two weeks after her birthday that Lena’s mother had chosen a husband for her — a man of great distinction, with a household staff of over twenty-five people and a stake in both the railroads and steel industry.  

Lena saw him mentioned often in the papers, fresh and hot off the press, left on the table every morning beside her tea.

Michael Matthews.
 

The news of the engagement floated like a handkerchief caught in the wind. Once it was let go, Lena could never get it back. 

She met with him twice, once at the theatre and then again for dancing. Those were the most unpleasant, boring evenings of her life, and Lena was accustomed to listening to her mother read aloud from all of the dull letters that her relatives sent for at least an hour before bed every night. 

Lena supposed it was not entirely the fault of her husband-to-be, not when she had always found her attraction to be towards members of the fair sex. The delicate hands of women drew her eye, especially the hands of servants when they sewed or baked. Ever since she was little, she had been the type to sit idly in the kitchen with a book and watch all of the skilled work that went on, even when her mother scolded her for it. 

One day, when she was still far too innocent to realize how damning such an attraction could be, Lena had asked her mother why a woman could never be betrothed to another woman. Her mother had simply reported that it was not natural — that women with those inclinations were not only improper, but they would also suffer for their choices. They would lead lonely lives without status or children.
 

In spite of her mother’s warnings, Lena willfully continued to observe women. She had no interest in men, especially the man she was to marry. Pleading with her mother to call off the engagement had less than favorable outcomes, with Lena forbidden to argue another word on the matter. Her only comfort was that Mr. Matthews lived across the country, in New York, and that their engagement would be a long one, during which they would see very little of each other.

During this time, another strange and unfortunate thing happened: a young doctor came to live with them. 

He was handsome enough that he turned the heads of her friends, Jess and Eve, when they were all sitting down one day in the parlor.  
 

When Mr. Danvers poked his head in through the door, sheepish and confused about where to find Lena’s mother, Eve giggled excitedly behind her hand.
 

“Are you sure you’re looking for Mrs. Luthor?” Eve asked. “Come and sit with us for a little while. Please, we’re ever so hard up for good company.”

Lena kicked her friend under the table for that betrayal, but offered up the sweetest smile when Eve crossly glanced her way. She pretended she had nothing to do with the sting in Eve’s shin as she turned her eyes towards Mr. Danvers. 

“I’m sure Mr. Danvers has better things to do than to sit down to tea with us,” Lena said lightly in warning, even as he reached out a hand to grab a scone. 

Mr. Danvers had sandy hair and blue eyes that caught the light like prisms. He was handsome, kind and polite. 

Lena disliked him for no reason other than that he was a man who looked at her and openly appreciated her beauty. At least he had the decency to seem ashamed while he admired her breasts, pushed up as they were in a corset beneath her dress. 

Eve seemed desperate to get his attention, but Mr. Danvers only cared to stare at Lena. 

It took Eve reaching out for his hand to free Lena from his scrutiny. 

“Come sit by me,” Eve pleaded and poured Mr. Danvers a steaming cup of tea. “I don’t know your first name. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“It’s Clark,” Lena interrupted testily and rolled her eyes, because Eve did know his name. 

If Clark stayed to tea, Lena expected Eve to ask all kinds of stupid questions simply to keep him at the table. 

Lena had a low enough tolerance for listening to men, as they all preferred to dominate conversations and brag about their accomplishments in business. The only situation that was worse involved a woman – otherwise smart – pretending to be an idiot for the sake of a man. 

Clark politely took the seat next to Eve, though his eyes wandered back to Lena, and he smiled in a manner that seemed like he was most unsure of himself. “Thank you for the tea, that’s very kind of you.” He picked up the fragile cup carefully, pinky raised, and sipped the steaming liquid as Eve stared longingly at him.
 

“Would you care for some butter or jam?” Eve asked, her eager fingers gliding over Clark’s to tease the scone out of his grasp. She slathered it in both before he even formed a word, but he accepted it with a bright smile. “That’s most generous, Miss…”
 

“Teschmacher.” Eve quickly supplied, her fair skin transforming before his very eyes, radiant with the hot glow of attraction.

Clark appeared only to notice it when Eve sighed, his brow crinkling as he asked quite seriously, “Are you feeling well? You look like you may have a fever.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s just suffering from a certain kind of sickness of the head,” Lena quipped and widened her eyes, then reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand.
 

Clark had been ready to press his palm to Eve’s forehead when he caught Lena’s remark, and realizing the blush of her cheeks was nothing more than the healthy rouge of desire, promptly diverted his reach to the scone instead.

 

Jess picked up a glazed biscuit and bit down on it nervously, as if she feared she might laugh.

It was strange for Lena to observe this interaction between Eve and Clark. She had never met a man who could resist Eve’s charm, her curly blonde hair, or hourglass figure – but Clark seemed disinterested.
 

Eve propped her chin on her hands and fawned over Clark for giving her the slightest bit of attention. 

“Don’t mind Lena,” Eve insisted. “She’s just a crab and she really has no right to be. She’ll be married to a billionaire by this time next year, living out a fairytale life on the East Coast.”

Lena scoffed at that and sipped her tea, because it would be unwise to confess her true feelings about the marriage at this table. Her friends had no idea why she was unhappy, and she doubted she would get sympathy from Clark. Men respected wealth, and he, like every other man in her town, must have seen her as a spoiled thing, the perfect kind to marry well and do little else with her life. 

“Oh.” Clark’s surprise stuck in his throat, and he swallowed it down with a bite of scone. Still, that furrow of his brow remained, and he dusted crumbs off his coat as he said, “I was unaware that you were engaged, Miss Luthor. Most women are happy to announce it.”

Jess nibbled some more on her biscuit and made eyes at Lena before she was sent a scowl in return.
 

“Aren’t you pleased to be betrothed to this gentleman?” Clark asked, as if he had the right to be so candid in his questioning. He must have sensed the building turmoil and set his teacup down to hastily state, “Forgive me, I don’t mean to speak out of turn. I tend to be too curious.”

Lena cast a scathing look at Clark, because he would have had to be both blind and deaf to have missed all of the recent gossip about her.
 

“If you’re that curious, then I would have guessed you’d heard all of the rumors by now,” Lena spat. “There’s no need for formal wedding announcements when everyone already knows, but my mother will be sending them out soon.”

“Lena is miserable about the engagement,” Jess confided in a quiet voice, and Lena glanced sharply at her — appalled, because out of her two best friends, Jess had never been one to be disloyal. 

Lena lifted her shawl around her shoulders and clasped it close to her chest. She felt vulnerable and moody and she decided that Clark was the reason for that. “And what about you, Mr. Danvers?” she demanded. “No doubt you’re looking for a wife, though I don’t suppose you have any prospects, not when you’re living under someone else’s roof. Why is it you decided to board from my mother?”

Lena’s tone and words surely rocked Clark in his seat, because he gaped quite comically before he recovered with a squint. “I find it’s easier to pay for room and board while I am funneling all my money into buying a building of my own to set up my practice. It also gives me the chance to get to know people, so if and when they require my services, they’ll be sure to come to me.”
 

He seemed to consider Lena with kind eyes, which only drew her ire all the more.
 

“On the other hand, when it comes to matters of the heart, I have my work to keep me company, so the matter of finding a wife is the last thing on my mind,” Clark continued. “Though I am sorry to hear of your misery, but, if you speak to your future husband as honestly as you do me, perhaps you will persuade him to find another woman who is of an inclination to want his affections—”

It was Clark’s careful wording that set Lena on the edge of her chair. She held her tea cup daintily in her hand, although her first wish was to splash him with it. Locking eyes with Clark, she silently questioned what he was implying. Had the servants been telling him about the time she had kissed the girl who washed the floors? That little transgression happened when she was twelve, old enough to understand it was forbidden, but not old enough for it to have led to anything more ribald. 

A kindly gardener named Tom and two of the kitchen maids saw it take place. By demand of the gardener, none of them were ever to speak of it again—except the kitchen staff could never be trusted to keep their secrets to their breasts.

“Lena will learn to appreciate her future husband,” Eve assured Clark, cutting in before Lena could think of a way to both insult and interrogate him at the same time. 

“Word is that Michael Matthews is quite the ladies’ man—or a true cad,” Eve drawled on, never one to think about what she should or shouldn’t say in the company of men. “I have no doubt he’ll be experienced in giving affection, and that’s just what
Lena needs. She’s such a prude now, because she’s never so much as kissed a man, but she’ll grow up eventually.” 

It was while they were on the subject of affection that Lena began to notice Clark’s hands. They were larger than hers, and a little less delicate, but still there was something appealing about them and about Clark’s looks in general. 

Clark’s brows raised, his eyes widened and he regarded Eve with a different kind of appreciation for her honesty. “Michael Mathews is indeed a cad. The worst sort.” 

He sipped his tea as if unaware how Eve gawked at him and reached out to plead with him for gossip. “You’re familiar with him then. Please, you must share how you have crossed paths. I have yet to meet him myself, and Lena finds him barely tolerable, so her stories are never fun.”

Setting his tea cup down, Clark shifted his gaze back to Lena and then fixed his cuffs.
 

“I’ve run into him more often than I wish to admit. Each time he has left me with the impression that wealth is no substitute for intelligence.” Clark said dryly, though his lips curled like rising steam, and he mused aloud, “Perhaps being a prude is the best defense to ward off someone who greets new acquaintances by having them shake something other than his hand.”

Lena inhaled her tea. She broke into a coughing fit so severe that Clark stood up and walked around the table to pat her back. 

“How do you know Mr. Matthews behaves like that?” Lena asked disbelievingly. Her eyes watered and she spoke with a rasp in her voice. “And how dare you speak that way in the company of young ladies?”

Defending her fiancé had less to do with having faith in his character, and more to do with how uncomfortable Lena was with Clark’s hand on her. Never before in her life had she responded so strongly to a man’s touch and it made her feel positively unnerved.
 

She glared reproachfully up at him until he took an uncertain step back. 

“Oh, let the man talk,” Jess urged and reached out a gloved hand to grasp Lena’s tightly. “We never get to hear the honest opinions of anyone. Besides, if Clark is right about Mr. Matthews, your mother will never allow you to marry him.”

“I’ve been unfortunate to see Michael in pursuit of activities which are quite unbefitting of a man with good character.” Clark quietly intoned, a slight flinch catching the side of his face as if he anticipated backlash from Lena for being so bold as to continue. “It’s not my intention to ruin Mr. Matthews’ name, but he ruins it enough on his own.”
 

Clark took his seat as if patiently waiting for Lena to look at him, and though it was more glare than glance, he carried on quite seriously, “If you wanted to wed him, I would choose my next words carefully, but it seems you do not, so allow me to be frank.”

Eve reached out to clasp Lena’s other hand in solidarity and turned to Clark with wide eyes, ready to hang on his every word.
 

“Mr. Matthews may be wealthy but he won’t treasure you.” Clark’s words were softly spoken and full of remorse, as if he worried that he may upset Lena further with the truth. “He only respects himself.”

Lena sat quietly, her face bare of emotion while she imagined an awful future for herself. 

Perhaps it was Clark’s honesty on this day, or a draught in the room — but by the next morning, Lena fell so deathly ill that she could not lift her head from the pillow. 

The servants came in to draw the curtains and dress her for the day, only to find her a ghostly color. They called for her mother, who had glanced over her complexion and immediately summoned Clark.
 

“Mrs. Luthor?” Clark called quietly from the door, his voice unmistakably filled with worry.

“Please, call me Lillian,” her mother whispered and beckoned him into the room. 

Lena’s eyelids let in the barest sliver of light, which proved to be too much for her aching head. She could see Clark in his finest waistcoat, clutching his bag of instruments. 

“Lena has always been of an excitable nature,” Lillian confided, her sharp features showing only her agitation. “It’s a godsend to have you in this household. I’ve heard of your reputation for treating women’s illnesses, especially where it concerns hysteria and deviant behavior.”  

It seemed to pain Lena’s mother to use these words in reference to her much more than it did to see Lena in a sickly condition. 

“Mother, it’s a chest cold,” Lena furiously spat, then suffered a fitful bout of coughing. 

“Oh, so you are awake,” Lillian drawled and stepped closer to the bedside to touch Lena’s face. “The servants couldn’t rouse you this morning. I figured you were just being dramatic because you had heard the news that your fiancé is coming to town to see you in two weeks.”
 

“Well, that news does make me quite ill,” Lena admitted with a wry smirk.  

Lillian pursed her lips tightly until they crinkled like paper around the edges. “I see this sickness has not robbed you of your petulance.”
 

Clark quietly cleared his throat, and Lillian stepped back to allow him closer.
 

“I trust you’ll see her back to good health, Mr. Danvers,” Lillian sighed. “Pay no mind to her sharp tongue, and do what you must.”
 

Lillian gave her daughter one last scrutinizing once over, then left, closing the door behind her as though she had tired of Lena’s habit of making a spectacle of herself.
 

Clark took the liberty of locking the door behind him to ensure privacy and approached the bed cautiously with his bag. “I must say, I do not believe you are faking anything, Miss Luthor.”
 

Pressing his palm to Lena’s forehead, he frowned at the heat that must have radiated off of it. Opening his bag, he took out a stethoscope and then, without preamble, parted Lena’s nightgown to bare the top of her chest. He touched the cold metal to her pale, heated skin and listened to her shallow breaths for a good moment. “Curious.” He mumbled, and slipped the instrument back into his bag. “I hear no signs of a cold in your respiratory system.”
 

With a slight fumble inside his bag, Clark produced a slim, flat stick next. “Allow me to check your throat for signs of infection. Please open your mouth and poke out your tongue.”

Lena resented opening her mouth for him, but in the end she did what was expected of her. She began to worry that her mother would be proven right – that her illness was merely the outcome of fear and doubt about the future. 

Marrying anyone would be terrible. To be packed up and sent to live in another home far away from the few friends and comforts she had seemed like an unusually cruel fate. She almost hoped to be afflicted by an illness so severe that it would prevent Mr. Matthews from taking her for a wife. 

As Clark examined her, Lena’s thoughts began to calm. He removed the stick from her mouth and she stared at him, his gentle face and brilliant blue eyes.
 

Somehow Lena had taken ahold of his wrist to keep his hand away from her. It had been instinctive and quick. 

She became transfixed on Clark – the tiny notch of a scar near one of his eyebrows, his high cheekbones and warms lips. He had a prettier face than most men, and Lena’s breath stuck in her throat when he touched her. 

“I don’t suppose you found anything,” Lena mildly concluded. “Just give me some of your syrups to make me sleep and I am sure my condition will be better by morning.” 

Clark looked disturbed as he stared at her and tugged his arm free from her grasp. “I take my profession very seriously. I am not in the habit of handing out elixirs and syrups when none are needed.” 

With the back of his hand, he tucked inky strands of Lena’s hair behind her ear and held her gaze steadily and searchingly. 

“I can see you are in a great deal of pain.” Clark whispered. “Not of body, but of mind, and I can only conclude it is Mr. Mathews that has you feeling this way.”
 

He quirked a brow at Lena and dared to sit on the bed beside her. “I’m of the opinion that when it comes to certain sickness, the patient knows what will work best for them, so tell me, Miss Luthor, what do you think will cure you?”

“Convince my mother I’m a helpless case,” Lena demanded forcefully, so quick and eager with a plan that the color was restored to her cheeks. 

She sat upright and folded her hands in her lap, determined to look the picture of innocence while she exploited the good doctor’s kindness. Her round, pleading eyes seemed to persuade him best. Placing a hand over his, Lena coyly used Clark’s attraction against him. 

“Tell her I’m the worst you’ve ever seen, that I’m uncorrectable, and there’s no hope for me in a marriage,” Lena urged. 

Clark’s eyes conveyed sympathy. He appeared to be reluctant to speak, but then he sighed and clasped Lena’s hand in his own. “Miss Luthor, if I were to say that, then some would argue that you ought to be taken to the asylum. I would not inflict that horror upon you, or any woman. So much of the treatment is focused on reinforcing how the physicians think women should feel or behave. There is nothing wrong with not wishing to marry.”


He paused to make sure she was listening intently, and continued passionately, “You have a strong will and a mind of your own. Someone such as Mr. Mathews is likely to find that intimidating. Surely your mother has raised you to be smart and form your own opinions. If that is the case, she can be reasoned with—”

Lena had no patience for Clark’s good natured efforts to talk sense into her. She knocked his hand away instantly when it was clear he wouldn’t do as she wanted. 

How could she explain to him that she would rather be forcibly restrained than have to indulge a man’s every desire? 

“My mother is a Luthor, and trust me, there’s no reasoning with us,” Lena insisted. 

She considered Clark for a moment, his weak-willed personality and his obvious hope to help her. 

That was when she had an idea most devious and awful. 

“Why don’t you marry me?” Lena asked suddenly. “I can see very well that you find me attractive, and isn’t that all men care about in a marriage? Granted, my mother wouldn’t be happy about the match. I can’t say I’d be happy, either, but I wouldn’t have to move across the country. You plan to set up your practice here—”

Lena wisely held her tongue before she rambled too much. It wouldn’t help if she insulted Clark, although his simple and earnest behavior made it all so easy. 

“We’ll make my mother think I’ve bedded you,” Lena declared and began to fuss with his necktie. “She’ll do whatever it takes to protect our family name. We’ll be married in no time. Of course she’s vindictive, so you’ll need to be sure you never drink a cup of tea that she prepares, but other than that, I think the arrangement could work out quite well for both of us—”

“Wait!” Clark’s voice came out much higher in his apparent panic, and he pulled Lena’s hands away as her fingers snared the buttons of his shirt, popping a few free before he had untangled himself. “Wait,” He gasped, then cleared his throat in an attempt to regain some composure. “Miss Luthor, I came here to do good, not to spend the rest of my days avoiding poison. Though I — I suppose I would detect it better than most.” He reluctantly reasoned, the corners of his lips tugging downwards.

Unbeknownst to Clark, with his shirt in disheveled states, the clothes beneath it were now visible. It drew Lena’s eye immediately and she squinted with intrigue.

“You barely know me, and while I do find you fetching, I—”

Clark reddened with his confession, and pressed on while he avoided eye contact. He addressed the bed instead of Lena as he spoke frankly, ”Well, I doubt you’d be any happier with me than you would be with Mr. Matthews. For all his flaws, he truly does have a dollar to make up for each of them.”

“Trust me, I really don’t have higher expectations of you,” Lena intoned meaningfully, mussing up Clark’s hair until he looked convincingly like a man who had ravished a woman. “The only quality I truly care about is that you’ll keep your hands to yourself, but give a good performance when you’re around my mother.” 

This whole arrangement could work out to Clark’s advantage if Lillian was shamed into paying for his new practice. 

Lena doubted her mother would tolerate the sight of him on a daily basis after discovering their affair. They would have to be married in a rush and Lillian would do everything in her power to make Clark seem rich and successful, simply to save face.

“I should give you a token of my affections,” Lena offered. She scrambled away from the bed to search through her belongings for a handkerchief. It was the one she least liked, with little embroidered flowers at the corners, but she had owned it for a long time and most of the staff would recognize that it belonged to her. 

Pressing the handkerchief into Clark’s hand, Lena stepped closer and stared appreciatively into his eyes.
 

“You haven’t made friends yet, have you?” Lena asked. “I know you’re the shy and awkward sort, but do make an effort to slip me into conversation as much as possible. It will help if we’re the subject of a little sordid gossip, but not so much that your business suffers because of it.”

“Miss Luthor, that is quite enough.” Clark’s voice was positively shrill, and his eyes were wide and alarmed as he hurriedly pushed the handkerchief back into Lena’s hands. “I will not pretend to know the misery you must feel, but I will not go along with this lie.”  

With hasty hands, Clark tried to smooth his hair into some semblance of order while he kept his distance from Lena’s manic charms. “You speak to me as though I am beneath you.” He hissed under his breath, his warm complexion even brighter with the heated embarrassment that climbed up his neck. “And while you do so with a smile, it is hardly beguiling. I have no doubt you could fool another man into filling this role, but I will not marry someone who wishes me to spend the rest of my life alone, without affection.”  

“I never said you would be subjected to that,” Lena protested, although her resolve to force Clark into marriage wavered. She realized that he would be as unhappy as she would in a loveless union.


Humility brought a pink blush to her face. She hung her head and withdrew from Clark, turning away from him as she sat in a chair at the window. 

“What is it you want in a marriage?” Lena asked seriously, with intentions of bargaining until Clark was satisfied with his end of this deal. “I’ll give you more money than you ever dreamed of having. I’m certain you’ll be able to find exactly the kind of affection you want. You can select a different type for every day of the week for all I care.” 

 This especially seemed to offend Clark, and Lena wished she had never intimated that he could get affection from loose women who would accept pay for it. She hurried back to him, took both of his hands and spoke to him honestly.

 “Wait, I’m sorry,” Lena whispered in a hoarse, small voice. “That was rather rude of me. Please, forgive me. I can see very well that you’re a good and kind person, and that you would desire a genuine connection with someone.”

She chewed at her bottom lip and her pitiful eyes drifted down to his mouth. It occurred to her that she could use seduction to get her way and impulsively she risked kissing him.

Her expectation was to find it repugnant, but Clark’s soft lips surprised her. The tender kiss did much more for her than she ever would have believed possible. It made her step back in confusion and distrust. 

It was then that her mother came back into the bedroom to check on her, finding Lena not only upright and breathing perfectly well, but also entirely flustered. 

“Mr. Danvers,” Lillian rasped out in slow-growing approval. “Whatever you’ve done to my daughter to get these results, please continue.” She shut the door firmly behind her, and Lena opened her arms as she spun towards Clark—daring him to deny that Lena needed a drastic way of dealing with her mother.

Clark appeared to be in shock. He recovered when Lena cornered him, by backing up with a harsh clearing of his throat.  
 

“I can hardly fault your mother for being pleased that you aren’t sick.” Clark muttered, though he was staring at Lena’s mouth instead of her eyes, and his fingers appeared to have a mind of their own as he quickly made sure that his shirt buttons were fastened and that his tie was straight.
 

“Perhaps the better question, Miss Luthor, is what do you expect from marriage?” Clark didn’t scowl so much as frown with a slight pout that he covered by pressing his soft lips together until they appeared as a stern, white line. “You sprang at me with your devious plans, but you clearly do not wish to have a husband.” 

Once the words were out Clark’s eyes widened and he looked rather aghast at the fact that he had breathed them to life. “Not that I find anything wrong with that. On the contrary, I understand why--”

“No, you don’t,” Lena countered fiercely, almost shouting at him because he could never understand. She wondered what the consequences might be if she told him about her attraction to women. Too harsh for her to consider.  
 

Speaking to him at all was pointless, and she impulsively seized Clark’s medical bag.  Dumping it onto her bed, she began lifting his instruments one by one and frowned.
 

“How do you treat women like me?” Lena asked. “Isn’t that your area of expertise?” 

Scandalized to have his possessions taken and so carelessly scattered, Clark must have forgotten to watch his tongue as he grabbed for his instruments.
 

“Women like you?” He asked. “Am I to imagine you mean the kind who wish to maintain their independence, or perhaps those which care for the fairer sex?” In his agitation, he wrested a pair of tongs from her hands to thrust back into his bag.

He moved with a frenzied speed, picking up everything that Lena had spilled out and placing it back where it belonged. Clark must not have sensed Lena’s volatile emotions.

Her eyebrows curved inward until a small stress line appeared between them. Mouth opening and shutting, she gasped for air, unable to express herself. Hearing Clark’s open discussion of her preferences struck up a great fear in her of being exposed. 

“I meant women who wish to remain single,” Lena clarified, and with a jittery hand placed another of his instruments back into his bag.

Clark seemed to recognize how deeply he had upset her, and he slowed in his haste to stow his instruments away. 

“I will give a mind to what I can do to help you,” He muttered at last, and Lena finally breathed in and out with a sharp nod of agreement to that. 

“I should go,” Clark added, although he seemed to yearn for some sign from her that she wished him to stay. 

She was too distracted by the panic in her breast to do him that kindness. “Yes,” She whispered and settled down on the bench near to the hearth. “Go and consider my treatment.”

It was Clark’s turn to nod, and then he slipped out from her bedroom, leaving her in a shiver, despite the blaze of heat in front of her.