She wavered, and moved toward the carriage.

“But I shall be at Granny’s—for the present that is,” she added, as if conscious that her change of plans required some explanation.

“Somewhere where we can be alone,” he insisted.

She gave a faint laugh that grated on him.

Incensed, Newland grasped her arm and drew her near. “I need you.”

“Let go of me.”

He stared deeply into her eyes. “And you need me.”

She feigned struggle, but her eyes told him she wanted exactly the same, to be in his arms. Their bodies to be joined. To make love, to kiss, to breathe the same air. It was what their hearts, minds, and flesh craved when they were near one another. Because only then could they truly exist as one.

Desire took over reason. Talk could wait. Newland would express in passion the words that he felt. She would understand. It was nothing new, no revelation. They would make their plan tomorrow and finally be free to love each other.

Her shoulders relaxed and he felt her go limp in his arms. Her head fell back, waiting for his kiss. He drew her near, held her tightly, and began kissing her. The kiss was not delicate, but hungry. Their tongues swirled deeply and with insistence. And he soon found that his hands wandered to her bosom. He needed to feel her flesh, to undress her, and hold her in his arms.

“Come,” he said, breaking suddenly from the kiss. “We must away from here before we are discovered.”

She glanced to and fro as did he.

“Where?” he said, glancing between the houses. They had stolen away to a private terrace before, but now, there was no place to hide. The plants had succumbed to the winter trials.

“No, it’s too cold,” she said, as if reading his mind.

“A room above the tavern,” he said breathless, desperate.

“Never.”

“The Inn.”

“No.”

“I must have you.”

Because his grasp around her had lightened as he searched diligently for a place to go, he was shocked when she suddenly broke away from him. She ran swiftly toward her waiting carriage, calling out to the driver.

“Ellen,” he cried stunned at her parting from him. “Wait.” He reached for her, but she was no longer near.

He hurried to the side of her carriage. “Forgive me, my darling. Forgive my impatience. You know how I feel about you ... ”

She spoke quietly to him so that the driver would not hear. “Go home to your wife, Newland.”

Her words stung his heart. “Meet me tomorrow. I must speak to you in private,” he said.

“In New York? But there are no churches … no monuments.”

“There’s the Art Museum—in the Park,” he explained, as she looked puzzled. “At half-past two. I shall be at the door … “

She turned away without answering and got quickly into the carriage. As it drove off she leaned forward, and he thought she waved her hand in the obscurity. He stared after her in a turmoil of contradictory feelings. It seemed to him that he had been speaking not to the woman he loved but to another, a woman he was indebted to for pleasures already wearied of: it was hateful to find himself the prisoner of this hackneyed vocabulary.