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He stared down at her, her eyes wide and receptive, her lips pink and parted. How he’d kept himself from her for so long was beyond him.

With her hair wet from the rain, her cheeks rosy from the cold, he’d never seen anyone so alluring—so stunning. His greatcoat draped over her shoulders caused her to appear even more petite, and his desire to protect her, to defend her, amplified.

Learning what she’d endured as an impressionable young woman had been almost unbearable to listen to. And now, Henry simply wanted to hold her. To cradle her. To show her how a true man treats a woman for whom he has feelings.

But he could not continue. Not unless he knew she was absolutely certain this was what she wanted, as well.

“Miss Fernside…”

“Yes?” she breathed, her eyes fluttering as she looked at his lips.

Desire for her swirled in his stomach. “I cannot proceed unless I know…this is what you truly wish for.”

The stalwart look in her eyes ended any remaining concerns.

“It is,” she stated.

His heart tripped. That was all he needed.

He stepped toward her, using every ounce of strength within him to move slowly, to prolong the moment he’d dreamt of for weeks.

He reached up, sliding his right hand across her lower jaw, ending when the tips of his fingers reached the nape of her neck. She raised her chin to maintain contact with his eyes, and he bent low to do the same, so drastic was the difference in their height.

He leaned closer. She wet her lips, and he was gone. Their eyes closed, and he pressed his lips to hers. He was finished fighting his desire, fighting his thoughts, fighting his longing for Miss Fernside. Instead, he breathed her in.

She was soft, though warm. Gentle, yet sure. He leaned his head to the side, pressing his lips more firmly upon her own, and she responded with a sigh that caused his legs to tremble.

This woman was everything. And he was nothing without her.

Lark had never known such euphoria as being kissed by Henry Branok.

Henry Branok, of all people. Never in her wildest dreams, never in her greatest desires, would she have ever guessed this would occur. Not only that she would get to kiss him, but that he would want to kiss her.

For he did. She could feel it in her very soul. His right hand cupped her jawline and neck, his left slipping beneath his greatcoat still about her shoulders. As his fingers slid along her waistline, the warmth from his hand seared through her pelisse and dress to heat her skin.

She’d kept her hands to herself, not wishing to pressure him further, but as he drew her closer, his fingers pulling gently at her side to move her nearer, her heart raced, and she leaned against him, resting a hand upon his chest where the rain made his shirtsleeves so thin, she wondered if it was still there.

Their mouths remained still, moving occasionally as one, though they remained present, deeply aware of one another. His breath tickled her cheek—warm, comforting, living—just like the heat radiating from his rapidly beating heart against her fingers.

She opened her eyes for but a moment, slowly moving her fingers up his chest and noting his brow flinching with emotion as she did so.

This was what she’d wanted for so long. Not only his kiss, not only the affection, but the attention—and the sure knowledge that Mr. Branok felt something for her. Something beyond friendship.

And it was the same for her. Unfortunately, that knowledge frightened her as much as it excited her.

What were they to do now?

Mr. Branok must have felt the change come over her, her question coming through her kiss, for after another lingering moment, he pulled back, slowly, yet intentionally.

He moved his hand away from her neck first, then his fingers from her waist, and the cold enveloped her.

Lark didn’t know what to say. Neither of them spoke, neither of them looked at one another. Only the sound of the rain surrounded them.

Finally, she dared a glance up at him, his brow no longer furrowed, though raised in a somber manner. She did not have to ask why, for deep inside, she felt the very same.

Their time together had ended.

“You must be cold,” she said, motioning to his wet shirt.