Michael shook his head, exhaling what seemed to be a laugh, though torment lay in his features rather than humor. “You still don’t see. After all this time, you still don’t…” He shook his head and strode forward, jaw set.
Charlotte stuttered back a step or two, her breath hitching in the face of his determined approach.
Then his mouth was on hers, his hands on either side of her face, his body flush against hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could not comprehend that Michael… Michael…
Instinctively, Charlotte relaxed against him, began to move her lips against his, sighed against the exquisite pleasure such an action gave her. Michael held her closer, kissed her deeper, and Charlotte felt her pulse begin to pound in her ears and her lips, taking over everything else she could feel. She snaked her hands up to his neck, tugging him closer without thinking.
Michael groaned and began to kiss her as though life itself was at an end, wild and intense, overwhelming her with passion and need, sending her thoughts and emotions swirling in a thousand different directions. She would never breathe again, would burst into flame on the spot, would forever crave this madness… Would never feel herself whole without it…
With a gasp that sprang from one or both of them, Michael shoved away from her, causing them both to stumble.
Charlotte panted in a haze of desire and confusion, staring at him, waiting for the fog to lift, wondering if they might continue the foray…
Oh, blessed saints above…
A hand went to her mouth as realization dawned, cold and terrifying. Michael’s eyes were wide and staring back at her, his chest heaving, horror rampant in his expression.
He shook his head quickly, swallowing. Blinked. Shook his head again, much more firmly.
Charlotte mouthed his name, not sure what she meant by it. Apology? Pleading? Assuring?
All of them at once?
She’d never been kissed in her life before this, and instinct had taken over. That it happened to be Michael was both the best and the worst possible option. He would never tell, would never think less of her, would never see her ruined for it.
But nothing could be as it had been after this.
Not ever.
Michael slowly backed away from her, his fingers again fists, then turned and strode from the square room at a clip that she could not hope to match while her legs continued to tremble.
Inhaling deeply, exhaling the same, Charlotte glanced down at the floor, willing her pulse to slow and steady, waited for her face to cool, and tried for logic. She had been kissed by Michael, and she had kissed him back. Attacked him, really. Rather unfair to lay that upon her with her inexperience.
Still, now she knew what a kiss was like, and knew that she was weak to it. Rather susceptible, if she could kiss Michael in such a way, of all people. She’d have to behave with more care in the future.
Another insight in her journey to love.
That was all.
It had to be.
Chapter Sixteen
It is often said that how one reacts to adversity is rather telling. In this author’s opinion, it is not the reaction itself that is telling, but the intention. Intention is the root of all things.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 30 August 1816
Michael hadn’t been to church this much since his sisters fancied the young clergyman in their youth, and he’d been forced to escort them to any service they attended.
His heart was in a far better place now than it had been then, but a desperate need for repentance would do that for a man.
He had kissed Charlotte.
Well, that was putting it a bit mildly, considering he had practically attacked her, but the distinction really wasn’t all that necessary.
Years and years of wondering what it would be like, and in one reckless moment of desperation, he’d given in and kissed her. Kissed her soundly while the woman he was planning on courting sat watching the opera, no doubt wondering where he had gone.
He couldn’t even remember what excuse he’d made for following Charlotte, likely some simple line about checking on her, which was true.
What was also true was that he could not help himself.
He had spent nearly the entire first half of the opera completely ignoring Charlotte. He’d kept his back to her and focused entirely on the opera and on Diana. He’d begun to feel rather proud of himself, thinking his efforts had been a success, when a rustling behind him had drawn his attention there, seeing Charlotte disappear out of the box. No rush of emotions, no evidence of distress, she’d simply left the box before the interval had begun.
Michael had shared a look with Riley, who had shrugged, and with Georgie, who looked after Charlotte almost at once.
It was enough to force Michael to leave, as well.
A habit borne from years of following Charlotte. Observing Charlotte. Caring for Charlotte.
Loving Charlotte.
But how could he have known that she would express such feelings about his behavior? That he had been disappointing her, hurting her, and she still did not comprehend his motivation. She could do exactly the same to him, had been doing so for years, and he had accepted it as his lot. As his fate, knowing she would never love him.
When he began to live independent from her, she erupted in a tower of indignation. And in response, he had confessed something he had kept from her for years. It should have settled everything, but instead, she had been shocked by it.
What had he been doing with his life? How could he have spent all this time with her, around her, and thinking about her, and yet never make it clear that he had been doing it for love of her?
The moment had taken over his sense and his control, there was no other explanation for it. Heady, passionate, and stunning though it
