“I understand.”
Apollo clopped toward the garden gate of her home, and Caleb leaned over the side to unlatch it. Once inside, he led the horse back to his spot beside the cottage and helped Miss Clemens dismount. Remembering her earlier request to stop flirting with her, he made a deliberate effort to minimize their contact and stepped away quickly, as soon as she was on the ground.
“Allow me to walk you to the door.” Light from behind the kitchen window served as a guide.
“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea or a glass of port?” she asked. Reaching the door, she stopped to look up at him, and in spite of the darkness, expectation and hope were visible in the depths of her eyes.
“Perhaps another time, Miss Clemens.” He saw the disappointment before she looked away. “It has been a trying evening, so I think I’d prefer to retire early and get some rest.”
“Yes. Of course.” She opened the door, paused for a second, and swung back toward him. Before he was able to determine her purpose, she placed a swift kiss on his cheek. “Thank you once again, Mr. Crawford.” Her words were soft, whispering across his skin in the sweetest caress. And then she was gone, back into her house, leaving Caleb more alone than he’d ever felt before in his life.
He stood there for long moments after, paralyzed by Miss Clemens’s innocent show of affection. Pressing his hand to his cheek, he imagined still feeling her lips, warm against his skin. When he finally managed to move, it was with an urgency he could not explain. He had to get back to the cottage before he did something foolish, like tear the kitchen door off its hinges in order to have her.
Miss Clemens with her golden hair, inquisitive gaze, and boldness had lit a fire inside him that could not be quenched. It strained his nerves and threatened his temper, resulting in nothing but pure frustration. And her chaste little kiss only made it worse.Damn!It had quickened his pulse and hardened his muscles in ways that could not be healthy.
Yanking the door to his cottage open, he strode inside, located the tinderbox, and lit an oil lamp to light the small room. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wall and struggled to gain some measure of control. Blood thrummed through his veins, and his mind played tricks on his senses, conjuring images of what could be if they’d both just surrender to their desires. He’d have her out of her gown in a trice, naked on the bed and with her hair fanned out across the pillow.
And then he’d taste her. Every inch of her perfect body.
Yes, that was what he wanted. Something no other man could claim to have had with her. Something that would only ever be his. Groaning, he snuffed out the light and collapsed on the bed fully clothed, anxious for sleep to claim him.
“There’sa dance at the assembly hall on Saturday,” Cassandra announced a few days later at breakfast. “I’d love for us to attend.”
She’d always enjoyed dancing and socializing, but there had been little time for it in recent years with the children to look after, since it did require getting someone to watch them for a few hours. The village teacher, Mrs. Durham, and her husband had helped with this a few times before. In exchange, they’d received ten pounds, so it went without saying that it was a luxury the three women couldn’t afford too regularly.
“It has been a while since the last time we went out to such an event,” Cassandra said. “And just imagine how thrilled all the ladies will be if we bring Mr. Crawford with us. I daresay most will swoon at the very sight of him. Don’t you agree, Mary?”
Mary licked a bit of jam off her fingers and tried not to cringe at the idea of every woman within a five-mile radius competing for Mr. Crawford’s attention. “He may not know how to dance,” she said, but as she did so, she knew he probably did. After all, he had a talent for surprising and impressing her in the most unexpected ways.
“A man who climbs about on a roof as nimbly as he does is bound to possess some skill on the dance floor,” Emily said with a meaningful look directed at Mary.
When she’d returned from dinner with the Townsends on Friday, she’d told Cassandra and Emily everything. They’d both been just as appalled by Mr. Townsend’s and his sister’s behaviors as she was, but of far greater interest to them had been the kiss she’d given Mr. Crawford. Both had questioned her about it relentlessly, drawing all manner of conclusions and insisting she must be in love with him already.
She’d denied it and claimed that the kiss was intended as nothing more than friendly appreciation. Which was nonsense, of course. She’d been meaning to kiss him properly, but had lost her nerve on her way to his mouth and had consequently settled on his cheek instead.
“I have to go to the village today to buy some more flour and milk,” Emily said. “I’ll stop by the school while I’m there and ask Mrs. Durham if she and her husband are free to watch the children on Saturday.”
“What’s happening on Saturday?” Mr. Crawford asked in a low tone as he entered the room.
His voice sent ripples of awareness through Mary’s body and filled her head with the memory of him after she’d kissed him, staring back at her as if he wished to shove everything between them aside and pull her into his arms. But then he’d returned to his cottage, snuffed out the light and gone to bed, and she’d done the same. Disquieted by a peculiar state of unrest, she’d found sleep eluded her every night since. Exhausted, she would drift off hours later and be up once again at dawn.
“There’s a dance at the assembly hall,” Emily said while Mary stifled a yawn. “We hope to attend.”
“Sounds like fun,” Mr. Crawford said. He pulled out a chair next to Peter and poured himself a cup of tea. Smiling brightly, he grabbed some toast and started buttering it while humming a merry tune.
He’d adopted this cheerful demeanor for the past three days. Since Saturday morning, to be exact. And just like on each of those days, Cassandra and Emily both raised their eyebrows while looking at Mary. Clearly, they thought this was all due to the kiss she’d given him, but that couldn’t possibly be true because he’d grown even more distant than usual since then, addressing her only when absolutely necessary. For the most part, he worked, ate his meals, and retired to the cottage without staying for story time after dinner or even to enjoy a glass of port once the children were put to bed, as he had done before.
Which had to mean that he feared she wanted an attachment, and this was his way of telling her he wasn’t interested. She accepted that, because she had to. What she did not like was how much she missed his company. Chatting with him had become the best part of her day. She’d cherished each conversation, even though they’d brought her closer to heartbreak.
“You must join us,” Cassandra said. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. “Do you dance by any chance?”
Mary coughed and took a quick sip of her tea.
“On occasion,” Mr. Crawford said slowly. “Depends who I’ll be partnering with.”
“Ho! What a fine answer that is,” Emily hooted. “Will I do for the reel?”
Mr. Crawford grinned. “It would be an honor, Miss Howard.”
