His voice held no laughter, now. A new, deep resonance stole Philomena’s breath away. She stood quite still for a long moment, her pulse racing. Slowly, knowing she should not, not caring if this was a terrible mistake, she turned to face her master. She took a step forward.

Lord Thatcham met her halfway. “Philomena, my dear,” he said, his voice gentle, a caress. He enveloped her hand with warm, strong fingers and drew her closer. His face was only inches away. Philomena felt warm breath tickle her cheek. She held her breath and waited. He did not move.

Philomena knew that this time she alone must decide what happened next.

Blue eyes met grey and held for a long moment. Then, Philomena’s gaze swept over his face, encompassing the faint, ever-present frown lines, the strands of wet hair, a tiny mole at the corner of the firm mouth. Her eyes rested there, watching as his lips parted in a crooked smile.

“Am I still the wicked Lord Thatcham?” he asked softly. Gently, unable to prevent herself, Philomena reached out and softly touched his mouth with her fingertips. “You were never wicked,” she breathed.

He bent his head, then, and his lips, soft, warm and dry, touched hers. Philomena tasted rain and fresh air. His lips moved, slowly, gently. Philomena’s own mouth stirred in response. Lord Thatcham pulled back, looked deep into Philomena’s eyes and smiled. She melted under his gaze. He kissed her again, harder. Now, his lips were no longer gentle but urgent, demanding. Philomena stroked his hair and the blanket fell away, unheeded, leaving her in a simple shift.

Lord Thatcham lifted his head. Philomena traced his crooked smile with one finger.

“Philomena,” he whispered.

“Hugh.” She spoke his name for the first time, releasing her breath in a long sigh.

Hugh pulled her to him and kissed her again, long and hard on the mouth. Philomena responded, tasting his breath. A soft whimper of delight escaped from her soul and she shuddered. If only this could last forever.

Hugh’s heart thudded against her chest. His hands laced through her hair as he held her face close. Her lips opened as his tongue entered her mouth.

Long, long moments later, he pulled gently away. “No.” He held her a little away and kissed her eyes, one by one. He shuddered. “My beautiful girl.”

The warmth of his voice wrapped Philomena in bliss.

He groaned aloud. “No. It must not be like this. You are no milkmaid. I cannot bear to let you go. I long for you. But not today, like this, in hiding.”

Tears sprang to Philomena’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

Hugh kissed them away and smiled. “Salt. You taste of heaven, my dear Philomena.”