SEBASTIAN WAS LATE, AS USUAL. Margaret stared out of the study window, which faced onto the street, her heart lifting when she saw his familiar figure hurrying towards her. Just before he turned into the rectory, a thick-set man dressed in an ill-fitting tweed suit jumped out in front of him, bringing him to an abrupt halt. The man had his back to her, but she could see from Sebastian’s set expression that they were not exchanging pleasantries. The dispute lasted several minutes before the stranger extravagantly and deliberately spat at Sebastian’s feet, pushed past him, and strode off.

“Sebastian!” she said when he entered the study. “What on earth was that all about? I saw that man—”

“Jake Briggs. He’s a local debt collector. He reckons I’m bad for business.”

“Because you prevent him getting his claws into decent people,” Margaret exclaimed indignantly. “I thought he was going to punch you.”

Sebastian grinned. “You needn’t worry; he’s not daft enough to do me actual harm. Doesn’t want the peelers sniffing about. He feels obliged to threaten me every now and then, but I’m not going to let some thug or anyone else drive me away from here.” Taking her hands between his, he smiled warmly at her. “Tell me, how were the coven today?”

“Oh, they had their moments. Sally Jardine’s little boy, Alfie, has a tummy upset. So naturally she asked me to change his napkin.”

“Don’t judge Sally too harshly; she has not had her troubles to seek. Anyway, I’m sure you handled her admirably.” Sebastian lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

The touch of his lips made her breath catch. Their eyes met, and she sensed that he, too, felt the almost irresistible urge to close the distance between them. In her other life, the world across the Thames, handshakes were fleeting, hand clasping unheard of. Sebastian’s world was full of casual touches, arm brushing, helping hands, but only his touch made her skin tingle like this, made her feel like her corset was laced too tight, making it difficult to breathe.

Time and again over the last weeks, lying wide awake in the dark, replaying his every glance and word, Margaret tried to convince herself that he was simply being kind, friendly, that her growing affection for him was not returned. One could not come to care so deeply for a person in such a short time, she told herself. But it had been there from the moment their eyes had first met in the market, that tug of awareness, that breathless excitement. And it grew stronger every day. When they were apart, she could convince herself that it was one-sided, a result of her overheated imagination. But when she looked into his eyes, when their hands were tightly clasped like this, she knew beyond doubt the attraction was mutual.