Page 137 of A Modest Independence

Tom followed after her, ducking through a gap in the trees. On the other side was a clearing of sorts. Small and surrounded on all sides by dense, curving oak trees, maples, and pines. He looked around. “What is this?”

“It’s privacy, is what it is. Absolute, unequivocal, privacy.”

His eyes found hers. “Ah. I see.”

Warmth crept into her cheeks. She backed another few steps into the clearing. “I’m tired of us avoiding each other.”

He advanced upon her slowly. “It has been rather wearing, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve found it so.” Jenny’s heartbeat quickened as he came to a stop in front of her. “So many times, I’ve wanted…”

He gazed down at her. “What have you wanted?”

“To do this.” She curved a hand around his neck. There was no cravat to impede her. His skin was bare and warm beneath her fingers. With a gentle pressure, she urged him down to her at the same time she stood up on the toes of her half boots, reaching to meet his lips.

Tom bent his head, his eyes closing as she kissed him. For several seconds, he let her take the lead, and then, with a low groan, his arms closed around her and he kissed her back, so fiercely it took Jenny’s breath away.

Her fingers slid into his hair, clenching there as his mouth moved on hers. He was holding her so tightly, pressing her against him from shoulders to knees. She couldn’t tell if the hammering she felt in her chest was his heart or her own. They were that close. That fundamentally connected. It seemed, for those precious moments, that they shared everything; their pulse and heat and breath. The thought of parting was an agony.

But kisses couldn’t go on forever.

Eventually, his lips drifted from hers, pressing gentle kisses to her cheek and temple. Conciliatory kisses. Sweet, masculine apologies for putting an end to something that had shaken her so deliciously in heart and limb.

“We don’t have to stop,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said. “I must.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop at all. And then where will we be?”

She knew he was right. Nevertheless…

Her lips grazed the curve of his ear.

“Jenny,” he growled.

“This mountain air has made me wonderfully reckless. I feel as if I could devour you.” It was probably the most nonsensical thing she’d ever said in her life, but when she nipped at his earlobe, the sound he made low in his throat sent a frisson of such excitement through her that she knew it didn’t matter. “Kiss me back, Tom. Kiss me back.”

He did.

And he did.

Until his spectacles were discarded and her shawl was cast off over a nearby boulder. Until his hair was wildly disheveled and her own was half falling from its pins. Until she was nothing more than a mass of melted treacle in his arms, weak at the knees and clinging to his neck and to his lips.

Until he broke away from her at last, setting himself as far apart from her as he had that night on the Valetta.

Jenny’s legs trembled beneath her. She sank down onto the boulder on which her shawl was draped, staring up at Tom in stunned silence.

He raked both hands through his hair, turning away from her on a muttered word.

“What’s that about a chaperone?” she asked, still breathless.

“Having one here might have helped.”

She waited for him to turn around, but he made no move to do so. Without seeing his face, she couldn’t fathom whether or not he was irritated with her or angry or—even worse—simply embarrassed by her boldness. “Tom, are you—”

“I’m quite all right. I’m just going to stand here for a moment. If you wouldn’t mind—”