It had been two days. Two days where she alternated between constantly thinking of the kiss and pretending it hadn't happened. She had more trouble with the latter rather than the former.
She couldn't help but remember the look in his eyes, the way he held her and most importantly, his lips. Of course Charlotte had been kissed, but Dear God, never like that!
What she thought most of all was her guilt.
She had kissed a man who was not her husband. She had kissed a man who was not her husband and liked it. If she were honest with herself, she hadn't just liked it, she'd loved it.
She'd sunken into the kiss. She'd given into it. There had been no coercion, no persuading, no manipulating. She had willingly given it and damn it, if she didn't want to give it again.
That was what plagued Charlotte the most. She had kissed a man other than her husband and one day, she would make her peace with it, but what plagued her most was she was ready to do it again.
As far as she was concerned that was where her guilt, her crime, her shame lay. She had erred once, but she was ready - and willing - to do it again.
With that single thought, she grabbed her bonnet and walked out of the parsonage to meet the Colonel.