XXVI

Jean pulled back and gazed up at him, smiling but questioningly. Lucien was in slight shock. He'd not expected her to kiss him. Not anticipated the feeling of her soft lips against his, the slight tickle of her breath on his face. And he could not resist her.

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her again. This time it was she who was surprised. A little whimper escaped her, but her free hand came up to hold the back of his neck, anchoring him to her.

Their lips moved together fervently. Lucien could barely breathe. All he wanted to do was stay just like this with her forever, to hold her and kiss her and pour every ounce of his love for her into this moment. That damnable love. He burned for her, here and now, and he would burn for her for all eternity, surely. But it was worth it to love her. It did not cross his mind as he felt the caress of her tongue in his mouth that they should stop, that what they did was wrong. It was, of course. It was wrong. But it did not matter to him now.

Jean took his bottom lip between her teeth and lightly sucked on it. His stomach flipped inside him, and he held her even tighter. His hands wandered the expanse of her back. She was so lithe and delicate in his arms. His two hands seemed to cover her completely. He could probably encircle her slim waist between his fingers. But she was so warm and soft like this, pressed up against him.

"Lucien," she moaned against his mouth. The sound of her lovely voice only caused him to redouble his efforts. But she turned her head away from him. "Lucien," she repeated, slightly more firmly.

He had to stop, then. It was murder to stop, but he had to. He still held her in his arms, still needed to keep her close. He looked down at her, seeing the way her lips were swollen from his attentions, feeling the way their heavy breathing kept them pressed together. But he also saw the sadness in her eyes that reminded him of the truth.

"We can't," she said regretfully.

Lucien nodded. "I know." But neither of them made any attempt to move or to let go of each other.

"I'm so sorry," Jean apologized.

"No, don't be," he replied. Lucien gently stroked her soft cheek with his fingers. "Please don't be sorry."

"But we can't do this, Lucien," she reminded him. "Especially not here, not in the church, where anyone could see us."

"No one's here, and even if someone walked inside right now, they wouldn't see us here," he pointed out. "But I know you're right. You're right but I wish you weren't."

"Me too," she said sadly. And just for good measure, she leaned in and rested her cheek against his chest. Her face was turned outward, conspicuously away from his collar.

If he could, he would have ripped that collar off right then and there. He'd have stripped off all priestly garb and set fire to the lot of it. Anything to have her. "Jean, I want to be with you," he said softly as they held each other.

"But you can't," she said.

"I could," he dared to venture. "If I left the church. If I resigned and renounced it all, we could be together."

Jean pulled back from him completely now, leaving the warm circle of his arms. She wrapped her own arms around herself, as though to protect from pain inside and out. "No, Lucien, you've made vows. You made them for yourself and to God long before you ever met me. And the parish needs you. You can't turn your back on everything because of me."

"But I love you." The words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. It was a cruel and desperate thing to say, he knew. But the world felt very cruel right about now and he himself quite desperate.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "You can't say that. Please, don't."

"I can't help how I feel, Jean."

Her eyes opened, shining with unshed tears. Her chin wobbled. "Neither can I."

Lucien felt his heart breaking in his chest. She as good as told him that she loved him, too. But she was right, of course. She was right in pointing out the impossible situation in which they'd found themselves. She was right to tell him not to sacrifice his livelihood and his very soul for her. For even though they had fallen in love and had shared so much, including that passionate kiss, he had not gone so far as to break his vows. Not yet, anyway.

Jean was doing everything she possibly could to keep from crying. She did not want to do that here and now with him. He needed her to be strong for him. Just as she had been from the moment they met. It was Jean who looked after Lucien, Jean who cared for him, Jean who made sure he could be alive and able to carry out his duties. It had always been her role, to take care of others. Even as a young girl, she took care of her younger brother. And her older brothers. She took care of her husband and her children, took care of Doctor Blake. And now Lucien. Another man who needed her.

But things were so different than they had ever been before. She'd made difficult decisions, having to curb Christopher's wild habits to make sure the bills were paid—barely—and there was food on the table for the children. She'd needed to be strong then to take care of her family and ensure they could survive and prosper. Well, they'd never really prospered, but they had survived as best they could. She'd done everything she could possibly think of to help lead Jack down a better path and failed to save her son. He was on his own now, and there was nothing more she could do.

Lucien, though, had survived all his life without her. He'd even managed to survive and carry on as a drunk for years and years before they'd met. But he had asked for her help. The only person who had ever asked for her help ever before was his father, Doctor Blake. He'd hired her as a housekeeper because he needed help with the cooking and cleaning and managing the surgery as he got older. But Lucien needed her for something altogether more serious. Jean did cook and clean for him, but that wasn't what he'd wanted help with. No, Lucien, had asked her to help him manage his own misery. He'd not said it in so many words, of course, but that's what it was. It was no wonder they'd fallen in love with the emotional intimacy that duty entailed.

Standing here in the side chapel of St. Catherine's, wrapping her arms around herself to keep from flying apart, Jean could still feel the scratch of his beard on her cheek and the soft tingle of his kiss. Everything in her screamed out for him. She wished more than anything that he would leave the church so that they could be together, but it wasn't fair. It wasn't right. She had a responsibility to keep him functioning as a priest, to help him in that work. And instead, she was leading him astray.

It was just that it had been so bloody long since anyone had wanted her. Truly wanted her. She had been needed before. She had been appreciated before. She had even been courted and admired before in the years since she'd been a widow. But no one had ever known her as Lucien did. And how could anyone ever want her or love her if they did not understand her? But he did. Lucien did. Lucien loved her, though she felt absolutely sick because of it.

Eventually the silence had to break. "You asked me to help you," she said, pushing through the shaking cracking of her voice. "And I think I've done quite the opposite."

Lucien's eyes widened in dismay, and he stepped toward her, gently putting his hands on her upper arms. "Jean, how could you ever think you haven't helped me?"

"You're a priest and offering to give up your calling because of me."

He shook his head. "I only have this calling because I would have died otherwise. Being a priest gave me a reason to force myself to be alive. And all these years, that is all I've done. I have forced myself to stay alive, to get up each day and carry on. But you, Jean, you've given me a reason to live. Not the sorry excuse for existence I've muddled through all this time but a true reason. I somehow managed to stay alive through the camp and all the years after to be able to be here with you."

Those were the words that broke her. The tears flowed down her cheeks and she quickly pressed her hand against her mouth to keep from sobbing too loudly. She hadn't realized that she'd still had the dried sprig of mistletoe in her hand, and it fell to the floor unnoticed now.

Lucien pulled her back into his embraced to soothe her as she quietly cried. It wasn't fair that he should care for her this way. It wasn't fair that he should love her and see her as his reason to live. She was not more important than the Church, and it was not fair for him to think she was.

But now he held her in his arms and gently rubbed her back and softly whispered words of comfort, telling her everything would be alright. He couldn't possibly know that. He had no right to say such things. For how could everything be alright when the choice before them both was to love and be loved while ruining the lives of those around them or else do what they should and be damned to suffer apart?

They stood there in the shadows, each of them lost and clinging so desperately to the other. After a while, Lucien did not speak. He just held her. Jean knew it might have to be one of the last times he ever did. It was wrong of her to let things go this far. It was wrong to love him. And it was her job to take care of him. To be strong and to make the right choice for them both. She just didn't know if she could.