CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
As luck would have it,the day after I discovered I’d forcefully kissed an unwilling woman, I found myself sitting next to her in church.
For once it wasn’t her fault we sat together. Miss Blackwell had tried to make Harriet shift closer to her so I could take the seat beside Harriet, but Harriet had misunderstood and shifted closer to Brookhouse.
Listening to a sermon while sitting between the woman I planned to marry and the woman I’d kissed only two weeks ago was a lesson in humility I would not soon forget.
Lack of sleep did not help the situation. I’d spent most of the night tearing my linens off and on in turns, stuck somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, between Blackwell and the shepherd’s croft, between shamefulness and heady fascination, and always, a woman with gray eyes and dark hair falling in cascades down her back watched over me. Several times I’d almost drifted off to sleep only to remember something else, like the grit in her gaze when she hefted Scout’s saddle onto his back because even though I’d already left her, she hadn’t been ready to relinquish her care over me.
And that had been after I’d kissed her.
And her scent.
Citrus had haunted me all through the night.
And now I was close enough to Miss Blackwell to be haunted by it through the opening, grand confessional, liturgy and second service. By the time the vicar stood to start his sermon, I was ready to put my handkerchief to my nose and walk out.
“Who are we, truly?” the vicar asked, his voice resonating through the congregation. “Are we the men we are here, in the light, before our neighbors? Or are we the men we are in the dark, when no one is watching but God?”
A strangled cough that sounded suspiciously like a truncated and swallowed snort of laughter escaped Miss Blackwell's mouth. I clenched my fists together. This was going to be a very long sermon.
“Gentlemen,” the vicar continued, unaware of the joy and mortification his words were causing in the seventh pew, “I put it to you—those two men ought to be the same.”
The next half hour passed in agony. Mrs. Wickerton would no doubt be plying Miss Blackwell with tea and honey to aid her newfound and persistent cough.
At one point, the vicar leaned forward, looking us all in the eye, and warned, “Be wary of temptation when you are weak, for that is often when our baser nature rears its head.” This earned me a coughandan elbow in my ribs.
I left the church the moment the sermon was over. I was certainly weak and knew better than to tempt my baser nature with any sort of a sparring match with Miss Blackwell after the night and morning I’d had.
Carriages from Blackwell and other nearby estates lined up outside, but I didn’t dare enter one until I knew which carriage Miss Blackwell planned on taking. I paced at the base of the church steps waiting for the rest of the party to join me.
Harriet was one of the first to exit the church. She dashed down the stairs with a smile on her face. I couldn’t hold her gaze, but I put my arm out. “Would you like me to escort you to a carriage?”
Harriet pursed her lips together in thought. “It is a lovely day, and Blackwell is only a few miles from here. I was actually considering walking. Would you care to join me?”
My shoulders straightened. Walking had always been our pastime, and I needed to be in Harriet’s company. I needed that smile of hers to chase away visions of storm-cloud eyes.
“I would be honored.” I put my arm out again.
Both of her dimples blossomed on her cheeks. “Wonderful,” she said and pulled me away from the carriages and to an ancient oak tree at the side of the church. She dropped my arm and started back. “I’ll go gather the others.”
My shoulders dropped as she strode away from me with a bounce in her step. Of course I knew we wouldn’t be walking home alone together, especially not after the vicar’s sermon. But it was still disappointing to have her on my arm and then off it again so quickly.
The first person she gathered for our walk was Miss Blackwell. She approached her at the base of the stairs and Miss Blackwell’s face lit up with the invitation, but when Harriet motioned toward the oak tree and me underneath it, Miss Blackwell’s smile faltered.
Harriet pushed her cousin in my direction and then left to find more victims to join our party. Miss Blackwell’s steps were slow but she didn’t have far to go, so she reached me sooner than either of us would have preferred.
“It was an interesting topic today,” she said. “Timely.”
I stifled a groan, because of course she couldn’t let the irony of our situation pass without harassing me. “A few weeks ago might have been even more timely,” I said gruffly.
Miss Blackwell’s face transformed with surprised delight and a laugh burst from her throat. She once again resorted to trying to cover it with a cough.
She shook her head, making a concerted effort to return her face to the calm control she’d had when walking in my direction. “Think of all the trouble we could have saved ourselves.”
Had that kiss troubled her? Angered, that I could believe, but troubled? Her hair was perfectly coiffed this morning and nothing about her person seemed to imply she hadn’t slept well after our conversation.
Harriet returned a moment later on Brookhouse’s arm. “Let’s go,” she said with a grin and started down the lane.
