It did not matter, either, that Hetty had fallen in love with him.
One really could not blame her, what with the way he charmed her mother, and befriended her future brother-in-law, and threw his back into whatever work her father found for him. Hetty was slightly ashamed to admit that she liked that last bit the most, the way his strong, sinewy frame moved as he easily shifted pews and lifted boxes and pushed wheelbarrows.
Apparently, working on a merchant ship made one very strong.
Strong enough that when they found themselves caught in a particularly soggy bit of pasture while walking the vicarage grounds, Edward didn’t hesitate to lift Hetty up into his arms and carry her through, setting her down on solid earth before offering, “Your dress is too pretty to muddy the hem, I think, Miss Bates.”
“Thank you.”
“That blush is all the thanks I need,” he said, reaching out to pass a thumb over her rosy cheek.
She leaned into the touch, giving them both what they wished, his palm warm against her face, cradling it carefully as their gazes met, and two weeks of daily walks and conversation and longing surfaced, and Hetty felt like she might go mad if she did not tell him what was in her heart.
Edward spoke first, however. “That’s not true, though, is it? The blush isn’t nearly enough. None of this is.”
She recognized the emotion in his words. Longing. Desire. Frustration. “Edward,” she whispered, lifting her hand to the back of his, wishing she could ask him to stay. Forever. “Don’t…”
“I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he said, his thumb still moving, stroking over her skin, setting fire to her.
“I am afraid,” she replied.
His brows shot together, his jaw going hard as marble, readying for battle. “Of what?”
Pleasure thrummed through her at the warning in the question, like he’d defend her from whatever enemy appeared. “It’s silly.”
“Nothing about you is silly, Hetty Bates,” he replied. “Tell me what ails you, love. I shall fight it off.”
Love. He’d taken to calling her that over the weeks, and every time, it set Hetty’s heart to racing. She knew it didn’t mean anything. It was an endearment that some used so easily. He didn’t mean it the way she did. The way she would if she said it to him. She pushed the thought away. “I know you’re leaving,” she said. “I know you’re headed to the wide world. To adventure.”
He didn’t speak, but his warm brown eyes watched her with utter focus.
“But a part of me,” she pressed on, “a part of me hopes you’ll remember me. This. Even after you’ve seen the world. Even when the adventure is over.”
“Hetty,” he whispered, his other hand rising to cup her cheek, so he was cradling her face, tilting it up to the sun. To his gaze.
“I’m afraid you’ll forget me,” she whispered.
He was silent for a long moment, long enough that she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. When embarrassment threatened to consume her, he shook his head. “No. Never.”
And he kissed her.
If she were being honest, Hetty had been waiting for Edward to kiss her since the moment she’d met him on the balcony at the Woodhouse ball. She’d lain awake long after the candles had been snuffed, staring into the darkness, wondering what it would be like if he did, how it would feel if he touched her, whether the scent of him, cedar and spice, would wrap itself around her. Whether she’d like it.
She hadn’t really had to worry about that last bit. Of course she would like it. She couldn’t imagine Edward Harris doing anything at all, ever, that she didn’t like. Except leave.
But he wasn’t leaving. Not in that moment. In that moment, he was kissing her.
And it was magnificent.
Oh, she liked it. Very, very much. He was tall and warm and everything she’d imagined, and the kiss he gave her, it was everything kisses should be—at least, everything Hetty thought they should be. A taste of temptation. A taste of something else, something a vicar’s daughter absolutely should not be able to identify.Sin.
Not that she was going to stop.
Instead, Hetty reveled in him, loving the way his hands slid into her hair, mussing her tightly pinned curls as she matched his caress, threading her own fingers through his soft, sandy waves.
And then he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her closer, tighter, sliding his tongue over her lower lip, a question she quickly answered, eager for more of him. Eager to be a part of him.
This kiss was dangerous. The kind that ruined a girl for all others. But Hetty didn’t mind, for she was already ruined. Already gone for Edward Harris.
