“We stand in urgent need of a sound scheme.”
“What is required is nothing short of a miracle.”
“You cannot impose order upon a miracle.”
“Observe me, then.”
She stood, brushing dirt from her skirts, and Gabriel rose with her. They were alone in the garden, hidden from the house by hedges, and the temptation was overwhelming.
"Clara…"
"No," she said, but she was already swaying toward him. "We can't. Not during daylight. The staff…"
“I pay no heed to the staff.”
"Gabriel…"
He pulled her against him, crushing his mouth to hers with a heated urgency. She made a sound of protest that turned into a moan as he backed her against the garden wall, his hands tangling in her hair.
"Someone could see," she gasped when he moved to her neck.
"Let them."
"The scandal…"
"I don't care about scandal." He pressed closer, feeling her breath hitch. "I care about the fact that I've wanted to do this all morning and couldn't because Peter was serving breakfast with the dedication of someone polishing silver at Westminster Abbey."
"He's very thorough."
"He's very present."
"That's his job."
"His job is interfering with my life."
"Your life is complicated enough without me adding to it."
"You don't add to it. You are it."
Clara went still. "Gabriel…"
"One month," he said against her throat. "You promised one month of honesty."
"This feels like more than honesty."
"What does it feel like?"
"Like falling."
"Then fall. I'll catch you."
"You always do."
She kissed him then, sweet and desperate, Gabriel was quite undone by the realisation that he desired her with an intensity that threatened to break his heart entirely. His hands roamed her back, her waist, carefully respectful but desperately wanting more.
"Your Grace?"
They sprang apart to find Mary, the housemaid, standing at the garden entrance, carefully studying the sky.
