“One month,” he echoed.
“We should establish some boundaries.”
“I thought we were eliminating boundaries.”
“Some boundaries,” she insisted, voice unsteady. “For sanity’s sake.”
“Such as?”
“We shall not engage in physical acts that are for the bedroom chambers. We also maintain propriety in the presence of others.”
“Others being the new staff?”
“And Edmund. And Mrs. Potter.”
“So essentially, we can only be ourselves when completely alone?”
“Indeed.”
“That, I must confess, promises to be excessively vexing.”
“Yet it is, indisputably, the path of practical safety.”
Gabriel shut his book and set it aside. The decision to move was not a decision at all; it was gravity. He crossed the room and perched on the arm of her chair. He didn’t touch her, but he leaned close enough to smell her rose-scented soap, close enough that the fine hairs on his arms stirred with her nearness.
“I have a term,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Every evening, after the staff leaves, we spend time together. “To any place that takes your fancy. But in company.”
“That promise holds the distinct air of recklessness.”
She considered, the firelight flickering over her face. “And what would we do during these evenings?”
“Talk. Read. Play music.” He paused deliberately, his voice dropping. “Let us kiss with such fervor that all need for breath is wholly forgotten.”
“Gabriel…”
“You said honesty.”
“Honesty and restraint.”
“Those might be mutually exclusive.”
“We must endeavor to do so.”
“Must we?”
“We must?”
“Precisely. For if we do not, I shall be consumed by self-reproach upon my departure. And you, will never forgive yourself for allowing my presence only to endure my loss a second time.”
The undeniable truth of her assertion sliced through his longing like a blade.
“You speak with perfect sense.”
“I am rarely mistaken.”
