(To kiss her again.)
To kiss her again.
He pressed his lips closer to hers and pulled her close against his body.
A noise came out of her, like a gasp for air after she’d been under water. She kissed him differently this time, less carefully, like she needed him for sustenance.
Oh, how good that felt. How good to be needed in such a way.
And then she stopped, like she’d been pulled back by someone’s hand. Her eyes were fierce. “Tell me if I imagine it,” she said. “You must tell me if I imagine it.”
Her voice was anguished, and all he could do was answer truthfully. “I want you,” he whispered. “You.”
Her lips were back on his then, and her face was wet, either with rain or tears, and he pulled her onto his lap and let her know, with every muscle that he had, that he wanted this embrace. He wanted it.
His body felt like it would overflow from recognition. This, this. Yes, this.
He collapsed upon the organ bench and she clambered up onto his lap, her body pressing into his, his into hers. It was so much, so new, that he scarcely knew where she ended and he began, only that neither of them could seem to get enough of the other’s breath or heat, that he felt like he was plunging, tumbling deep into the earth. And then she was rocking, moving her hips in a way that made the hollow between her thighs press back and forth against his cock, and they were clothed but he somehow felt her heat, that it matched his own, that every pang that rocked through him answered in her—
“Who’s there?” a masculine voice bellowed from the church below them.
They froze. Footsteps boomed across the floor.
Henry met Alice’s eye, about to speak, but she shook her head.
Slowly, she slid off his body, arranged her dress, and leaned over the railing of the balcony.
“You know who it is, Vicar,” she called, her voice ringing out and echoing through the church. “It’s Alice Hull.”
Chapter 26
He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, his expression sour.
She curtsied low, ironically. “Vicar Helmsley. How very unexpected to see you here at your own church.”
“Miss Hull,” he sneered, looking at her muddy gown, her dripping hair, her swollen lips. “I heard the organ playing. Not you, I hope. I thought I made it clear that you are not to play in this church.”
“You did, sir. At my own father’s funeral.”
She would not apologize for playing now. It had reminded her of something sacred she had lost. Something this man, this vicar, had stolen from her.
She might never have known what that loss had cost her if it were not for Henry.
It was the deepest, realest, purest part of her, this music. More her birthright than a pipe organ fit with her father’s ivories. She didn’t need her father’s instrument to remember him; he lived every time she played.
At the sound of Henry’s footsteps coming down the stairs, the vicar gave her a knowing look. “Ah, Miss Hull has company. I should have suspected. Who is he this time?”
His face changed as Henry reached the landing, derision melting into outright shock. “I know you,” he said in a strangled voice. “You’re—”
“Lord Lieutenant Henry Evesham,” Alice supplied.
“—Charles Evesham’s boy,” the vicar finished
“Indeed, sir,” Henry said. He put his hand on Alice’s shoulder, as if his touch could protect her from the scorn in the vicar’s voice. “Reverend Helmsley is a friend of my father,” he explained.
“Who would no doubt be appalled at your being here with a girl of Miss Hull’s character. And who evidently insists on disrespecting our rules.”
“Miss Hull came here to pray, and played at my request. We meant no disrespect. And I would ask you not to speak of her that way.”
“Anyone who knows how Miss Hull comported herself as a girl would find the description more charitable than she deserves. Unsurprising, I must say, to find her in the company of a man who spends his time with whores.”
“What exactly are you implying, sir?” Henry asked sharply.
“He’s implying he once caught me with his son’s hand between my legs in the vestry,” Alice said serenely. “How is dear Richard? I remember him most fondly.”
She winked as the vicar sputtered.
“Leave here,” he finally got out.
“Gladly. But if you have any decency, sir, you’ll pay my mother a visit and invite her to return to worship here. She is a woman of great faith, no thanks to you. Good day.”
She took Henry’s hand and sailed out of the church without sparing the vicar another look.
“Pleasant fellow,” Henry muttered.
“I hope he doesn’t cause trouble with your father.”
“Yes,” Henry drawled. “Not now, when things are going so well between us.”
She burst out laughing. It felt wonderful to laugh, after the awfulness of every aspect of this rotten day. “Oh, Henry. We are cursed, I think.”
Henry snorted, which made her laugh harder still. Her mirth became contagious, and soon they were both helplessly chortling in the churchyard.
Henry offered her his arm. “Let’s leave before the good vicar comes to accuse of us of further heresies.”
She took it, and together they trudged back down the hill. It was harder climbing down than going up. They had to shuffle to keep from tumbling face first down the steep incline, and every step left them splattered with droplets of wet muck.
“Bother!” Henry said, stumbling over a patch of mud. He went veering wildly, his heel skating over the slippery slope. She reached out and caught him by his sleeve to steady him, but succeeded only in sending him toppling, downhill on his arse.
“No!” she cried, leaping to catch him.
But of course, she did not catch him. She slipped onto her own backside and went sliding in his trail.
They landed in a muddy heap outside her mother’s henhouse.
A curious rooster flapped over to her, and pecked her hair exploratorily.
“Scabby, putrid bollocks,” Alice cursed, wiping mud and feathers off her face with her sleeve.
Henry groaned. “Are you all right?” he asked, without bothering to rise from the puddle he was splayed in. She looked at him, and down at herself, and over at the chickens, and collapsed into laughter again.
“Oh, Henry Evesham,” she sighed. “What a pair we make.”
“I think,” he said, wiping ineffectively at his hair, “that I have chicken shit in my—”
“Don’t say it,” she giggled. “I shall cry.”
He shook his head, grinning despite everything. “I must say, Alice, I will remember this week all my life.”
She smiled at him fondly. “What will I do without you?”
“Oh, you are not rid of me yet,” he said decisively. He stood up and offered her a filthy hand to help her to her feet. “You are going to come with me, and I am going to get you very far away from here.”
She raised her brow at him, such affection blossoming in her bosom that she felt warm despite the raindrops falling in her eyes. “Is that wise, Reverend? To undertake another of our fateful trips?”