* * *
Esther snuggled into Doug’s shoulder, unable to get close enough, wishing she could crawl inside him. One arm came around her waist to hold her in place; he moved the hand that held her cheek to the back of her head, his thumb caressing her neck. He paused for a moment as if asking for the permission he must surely know he had, lowered his mouth to hers, and covered her lips with his. He moaned when she opened for him with no encouragement and deepened their kiss, pulling her with him to lean against the wall for support. All thought of what had happened fled, and she kissed him in earnest, intoxicated with his scent and the feel of his hands.
Long moments later, Doug pulled his mouth from hers, leaned back in for one swift kiss and then another, and finally, tipped his head to lean, head and shoulders, against the wall facing her, his arm still pulling her close.
He sighed deeply. “Battle madness,” he said.
“What?” she jerked up. He soothed her back.
“Men go a bit mad wanting release after battle,” he explained, staring into her eyes. “Apparently women do, too. We could call this battle madness.”
Her lips curved upward. “We could, Sergeant Marsh, except I have wanted you to do that for a very long time.” His shocked expression gave her pause. “I’m sorry. That was forward.”
“Esther, please don’t apologize for your sweet words. I fear I’ve wanted that kiss—and more—for days now, and I’m ashamed at the effrontery. You have ‘lady’ in front of your name, and I—”
She silenced him with one gentle finger. “And you, Douglas Marsh, have honor in your heart where it matters.”
“You would let me court you?”
“I am impatient for you to start.”
He kissed her then, well and thoroughly, the kiss of a starving man that she felt to the tips of her toes. When they finished this time, his cravat was loose, her gown mussed, and her hair in disarray.
“Are we finished courting?” she breathed.
“Will you marry me?” he asked against her mouth.
“Yes, oh yes.”
“I’ll be a good father to Dougie,” he began, as if she needed reassurance. She didn’t. “But Esther, I’ll probably lose this contract. I can’t offer you fine gowns, or—” He gestured toward the door behind which the musicians had begun again, “—or balls.”
“I’ve had both, Doug. They don’t hold a candle to you.”
He picked up his cane and offered her his arm. “We’ll manage,” he said.
The warmth in his eyes filled her with joy and hope for their future. “Besides, Fowler won’t dare scorn your business,” she said, leaning against his shoulder and prodding him with her elbow. “He won’t want to face the wrath of Mrs. Marsh again.”
He laughed, and she laughed with him.
* * *
Doug led her to the door, ready to explode with love and pride.
When they opened the door a crack, the strains of a waltz flooded in. “There is one thing I would like, though,” she said.
“Anything,” he replied.
“Waltz with me,” she told him.
Waltz? With this leg?His heart sank.
Esther turned toward him, and her dainty fingers came up to stroke his cheek. She didn’t say another word. When she set his cane to the side, placed one of his hands at her waist, took the other hand in hers, and began to sway to the music in the flickering candlelight, he found it easy to join her. Soon, they lost themselves in the melody. It was not the dance society expected, but their own special movement, its hopeful steps leading them into a future neither would have dreamed of but both of them craved.
THE END
