my lower lip, and my eyes closed. “Or until you tell me to stop trying.”
My eyes fluttered open. Morning light filtered through the leaves, taking advantage of tiny pockets between the foliage. The sunlight left spots on Mr. Hill’s hair and jacket, but lacked the strength to fill our entire space between the trees. My mind ordered me to tell him to stop, but I was even weaker than the morning sunlight. I hesitated for too long.
His lips lowered to mine again, and his hands gripped my waist. My heart hammered, and he must have felt the same knocking against his chest. His kisses were more confident now, more fervent, as if he realized I was not as fragile as he thought—as if he no longer worried I would push him away. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Not when he was kissing me the way he was—as if he really did want me. Not just for now. Forever.
With each touch of his lips, I believed him more. Reckless abandon swelled inside me, and I let myself forget all the reasons why he shouldn’t want me. A lady’s maid may not have gotten what she wanted, but here in the trees with the sun rising around us, I could. I could be who I wanted. I could kiss Mr. Hill for as long as he would let me. I did not have to give him to Miss Downsfield or Miss Taplow or Miss Benham or Miss Coppins because they wanted him first. I did not have to curtsy and step away from him if they demanded it. The only thing I was capable of listening to at the moment were the demands of my heart, and it demanded more.
Reason was gone. Logic abandoned. Responsibility lost in the feeling of Mr. Hill’s lips against my own. If not for the blackbird, our kiss might have never ended. I might have never realized my mistake.
Lurkey, lurkey, lurkey.
Our kiss broke abruptly. My cheeks burned with the realization that I had not been the aloof bystander I should have been. I had kissed him just as thoroughly as he had kissed me, and my heart had been completely exposed by it. My hands still clung to his jacket. His eyes followed mine to the sky, and I held my breath, schooling it back to a normal rhythm.
“The blackbird,” he whispered. “Just as I said.” He smiled with a hint of mischief. But his eyes were still heavy, filled with the same awe and emotion that flooded my chest.
“This cannot continue,” I whispered. “I cannot marry you.”
My heart stung at the way his smile fell. “You cannot or you will not?”
I shook my head, turning away.
“Please, Sophia.” He took hold of my arm, stopping me.
My senses came back to me in one harsh blow, striking my chest and pounding that one dreadful word against my skull.
Sophia.
A tear slipped out the corner of my eye, and I wiped it away before he could see it. “I’m not Sophia.” It took me a moment to realize I had said it aloud, and I clamped my mouth closed, my heart thudding. Before he could question me, I pulled my arm away from his grasp, hurrying out of the thicket and back to the place where we had almost been seen.
To my relief, Mrs. Ollerton stood nearby with Miss Benham, both staring up at the trees. I glanced back just as Mr. Hill joined us. I tried to correct my expression, but Mrs. Ollerton seemed to notice my distress.
“What is the matter, Miss Sedgwick?” She raised her pale eyebrows in alarm.
“Nothing is amiss.” I forced a smile to my face. My heart still thudded in my ears, drowning out all the birdsong. Had Mr. Hill heard me say I wasn’t Sophia? I didn’t dare look at his face and find out.
She seemed satisfied enough with that response, turning her attention to Mr. Hill. “Oh, I am most pleased to tell you that Miss Benham has identified my bird. I suppose you will have to take her on a ride this afternoon.”
Miss Benham smiled proudly, her large brown eyes enhanced by her red bonnet.
Mr. Hill’s footsteps crunched behind me, and I kept my gaze fixed on the ground. Surely he had questions to ask me, but I couldn’t give him that chance. My tongue had slipped, and I would pay for revealing that secret, one way or another.
“I look forward to it, Miss Benham.” Mr. Hill’s voice was hoarse