Mr. Thurlowe’s kiss set her heart pounding madly. He tasted sweeter than honey. She wanted to bury her fingers in his hair—and a memory came back to her.
Years ago she’d asked her gran why, if she missed her daughter so much, she had let her go away with a man to Manchester. And her granhad said, “I had to let her go. When she kissed him, she told me she saw stars.”
Gemma had forgotten the story, and yet here it was—shewas seeing stars. Bright, beautiful, exploding ones. She could kiss Ned Thurlowe all day, all night, all—
Abruptly, he broke the kiss. He stepped back. Gemma wasn’t ready to let go. She started to follow. He held her at arm’s length.
Cold air brought her to her senses. They had been kissing out in the open. If anyone had seen them, if the matrons caught wind of this, or worse, Miss Taylor...
The expression in his eyes appeared just as confused as she felt. He spoke first. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Then he added, “I have no regrets.”
Neither did she. Stars. She’d seen stars—
She found her voice. “We can’t do that again.”
“It wouldn’t be wise.”
“No.”
He dropped his arms and looked to the pond, turning from her. “Take Hippocrates. I’ll help you up. He knows the way to the village. When you reach The Garland, throw the reins over his head. He’ll go home on his own.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I need to stay here a bit.”
Gemma didn’t move, her hands at her sides, her palms against her skirts. “I think perhaps we should talk—”
“I think we shouldn’t,” he answered, cutting her off. He turned completely from her now. “There is nothing to say. I should not have done that. I was out of bounds. This is not like me.”
It was not like her, either... and yet, Gemma knew she’d not forget that kiss. Ever.
She drew a steadying breath, released it. “You have nothing to worry about from me. Clarissa is a friend. I would never betray that friendship.”
“I know. The fault is mine alone.”
That was not true and they both knew it.
He broke the silence between them. “Let me help you mount.” He didn’t meet her eye as he passed her. Almost woodenly, she fell into step behind him.
He picked her up and put her in the saddle, his touch gentle—protecting her. Caring for her.
“There is something I don’t understand,” she said, picking up the reins.
He was adjusting the stirrup. He looked up at her.
“You don’t truly have any feelings for Clarissa, do you?”
He stiffened. Didn’t answer. Instead, he walked around the horse to lift the other stirrup so it wouldn’t bump the horse as she rode sidesaddle. Finally, “I admire her.”
She had no doubt that was true. Everyone in the village admired Clarissa. “Why did you offer for her?”
The corners of his mouth tightened.
“I understand,” she said. “Weshouldkeep a distance from each other.”
