They undressed and he positioned himself between her legs, taking her into his arms. He kissed her lips, and they held each other as if they would never let go. He lowered himself so that his manhood slid between her intimate folds and stopped at the entrance to her feminine delta.

“Make love to me,” she said softly.

“I’ve been making love to you all of my life.”

“Oh my darling, yes.”

And before she finished uttering those words, he slid only the crown of his staff inside her creamy vessel and began moving ever so slightly in and out of her. Her hips moved encouragingly, urging him to enter more fully. He closed his eyes and basked in the pure pleasure of her silken moist orchid as he gladly fulfilled her desire. When he reached the end of her vessel, he paused for a moment to open his eyes and stare into hers. His heart was filled with love, his body with desire, and he knew they were, once again, the same body and soul.

They made love, leisurely at first, until the carnal desires of the flesh consumed them with the overwhelming need to release. Their hips met with perfect synchronicity, and their breathing hastened. Their hearts beat rapidly, their bodies slid with moisture from their breasts to the tips of their toes. And finally, they sprang to that heavenly height of passion, and together released.

If only they could run away, he thought, wanting this moment to last forever. But reality was cruel, so very cruel. Taking what was given, they lay in one another’s arms, not speaking, just breathing, and savoring those last few precious moments they had been offered.

Love had stolen their hearts, if only for a sliver of time, and all too quickly, Newland found himself helping her into the brougham with her bags, and had afterward the vague recollection of having properly reassured her about her grandmother and given her a summary of the Beaufort situation (he was struck by the softness of her: “Poor Regina!”). Meanwhile the carriage had worked its way out of the coil about the station, and they were crawling down the slippery incline to the wharf, menaced by swaying coal-carts, bewildered horses, dishevelled express-wagons, and an empty hearse—ah, that hearse! She shut her eyes as it passed, and clutched at Archer’s hand.

“If only it doesn’t mean—poor Granny!”

“Oh, no, no—she’s much better—she’s all right, really. There—we’ve passed it!” he exclaimed, as if that made all the difference. Her hand remained in his, and as the carriage lurched across the gang-plank onto the ferry he bent over, unbuttoned her tight brown glove, and kissed her palm as if he had kissed a relic. She disengaged herself with a faint smile, and he said: “You didn’t expect me or any of this today?”

“Oh, no.”

“I meant to go to Washington to see you. I’d made all my arrangements—I very nearly crossed you in the train.”

“Oh—” she exclaimed, as if terrified by the narrowness of their escape.