and peasants. Now he was different, like a creature from mythology, filled with complexities that she could not begin to untangle. Exuding an allure that she could not resist. Wrapping her in a heat that felt instinctively comforting and safe.
She curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat and sank into the kiss as if it could last forever, and in that instant, she wanted it to. She wanted to stand here for all eternity with Sebastian’s hand cupping her neck and his mouth caressing hers because once he stopped, once he lifted his head away from her, Clara knew the anguish would swamp her once again.
Her grip on him tightened. His kiss deepened. Her blood exploded with colors and light, born from the memories of who they had once been—a girl holding fast to the good in the world, and a young man of such patience and kindness.
That man would help her now, if he still existed. Clara grasped the truth of that belief as if it were sacred, and a spiral of hope filled her. She spread one hand over his broad chest, feeling his heart thump against her palm through the material of his shirt and coat. His teeth closed gently over her lower lip, whisking heat over her nerves.
The middle of Clara’s soul softened at Sebastian’s nearness, the warm strength he exuded, at the nascent longing that he might prove her ally in the desperate pursuit to reclaim her son.
Andrew.
Coldness swept down her spine at the unbidden thought. Shame cut through her desire like a blade ripping into silk. She yanked herself away from Sebastian, holding her hands to her blazing cheeks as she turned away. Her heart hammered in her throat.
She had forgotten. For one brief, aching moment she had forgotten her son.
Clara inhaled a deep breath to quell her turbulent emotions before she turned back to face Sebastian. His eyes sparked with both lingering heat and wariness, as if her abrupt withdrawal had incited his own confusion.
Her heart still pounded. Oh, heavens. As a young woman, she had imagined what it would feel like to be kissed by Sebastian Hall, but she had never dreamed it would be like this.
And never had her imagination conjured the intricate weaving of emotions binding her now, all securing the strange but firm knowledge that Sebastian Hall could somehow help her.
“I…I think you’d best go now,” she stammered.
“Shall I return tomorrow?”
“My uncle should be back in the morning. If you’d like to speak with him, you are welcome to return.”
“My card.” His composure again intact, Sebastian removed a card from his breast pocket and placed it on the table. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Winter.”
Clara nodded and watched him leave. Her heartbeat began to calm. She moved closer to the door so that she could hear his voice rumble from the foyer as he exchanged a few words with Mrs. Fox, and then the front door closed.
Clara hurried to the window, ducking into the shadows as she watched his tall figure descend the steps. He moved with ease and a masculine grace, as if he were comfortable in his skin. He spoke to the footman, then clapped the man on the shoulder before climbing into the waiting carriage.
Odd behavior to bestow upon a footman, but such familiarity seemed suited to a man like Sebastian Hall. He’d never appeared to be the sort concerned with propriety or the opinions of others—though clearly something had happened in recent months to fray the edges of his character.
He is still the son of an earl. Powerful, surely, in his own right.
Anticipation flared in Clara’s heart, burning away the shame of the thought. For so many years, she had tried so hard to be good, to be the woman her father and husband wanted so that, God willing, their lives would be free from turmoil.
She had agreed to marry Richard Winter, a man thirteen years her senior, because her father wanted to seal a business partnership and because her father’s status would aid Richard’s bid for a parliamentary seat.
And while the marriage had allowed Clara to escape her father’s house, she remained firmly within his domain. Only by being an exemplary wife and daughter—quiet, practical, polite—could she avoid inciting her father’s anger.
But when Andrew was born Clara discovered how love could overwhelm all practical thought, like a waterfall thundering over a rocky cliff. She learned how emotion could fill her heart to bursting, how joy and fear could tangle her soul