Apologies for the gap in updates, work and real life really kicked my butt!

On the story front, as always, I'm so grateful for your comments and glad you're enjoying it! It was a happy surprise to see how many people loved that little background for Crowe! Thank you Claire and the other reviewers for your lovely comments!

This chapter was one of the first ones that came to my mind when I outlined this story (yes, as hard as it is to believe, there is an outline I'm following). Naturally, I wanted it to be perfect, and naturally, the chapter gave me as much trouble as it could. But I think it turned out okay (crosses fingers).


That night, Charlotte couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed for hours.

She was still anxious about her family's safety, but this was mitigated by the knowledge that Crowe had gone to Willingden to warn them about Mrs. Campion's threats; he might have even reached by now if he had made good time. And she trusted Crowe to carry out his task because Sidney hadn't raised a single objection to his plan. She knew that if there was even the slightest danger to her family by having his friend go, Sidney would not have allowed it. He would have either gone himself or made safe arrangements for her to travel there.

So, worry for her family had become secondary — ever present but moved to the back of her mind. And now that she was not obsessing about it, her mind was freed enough to allow that dreaded topic to take over: Mrs. Campion's comments about herself and Sidney.

That lady's words played in Charlotte's mind in a litany in her smug voice — "He certainly did not withhold his attentions towards me when he was last in London… He was accomplished enough ten years ago, but I must say he has now surpassed all my expectations beyond my imagination."

She turned on to her side, miserable. Her own arguments, which she had been making to herself ever since she had shut herself in her room, ran in a loop over and over in her mind.

She was aware, of course, that she and Sidney had made no promises to each other at the time. He had been free to dally with other ladies as much as he wished. But when the other lady in question was Mrs. Campion, whom Sidney had loved in the past, it was rather more difficult to accept than a harmless flirtation with some lady she did not know.

Were her feelings influenced by her own enmity with Mrs. Campion and knowing what kind of woman she was? Most certainly.

But, Charlotte reminded herself, it was her Sidney loved and not Mrs. Campion. It was her he had asked to marry and not Mrs. Campion. And if he had accepted her for who she was — naïve, free with her opinions, and more inclined towards reading and other unconventional interests — then she had to accept him too, unsavoury past and all. After all, it had made him the man he was today.

But she could not forget the smug look on Mrs. Campion's face as she'd imparted this crushing piece of news.

Of course, the thought had occurred to her that Mrs. Campion might be lying, in which case she was obsessing over this for nothing. The best course of action would be to ask Sidney directly. But she was afraid that he might dismiss it or even refuse to discuss it precisely because it happened before there was any understanding between them.

Charlotte groaned and buried her face in her pillow, as if hoping it would stop her from overthinking. She was not a jealous person by nature, and not only was the emotion unfamiliar to her, she felt it was also unbecoming. She did not know how to handle herself like this.

Finally, she could take it no longer. With a frustrated exclamation, she sat up in bed and lit the candle on the bedside table. She reached for the book she kept there, which she read every night before going to sleep, only to remember that she had finished it the previous night but had not replaced it yet with a new one.

She threw off the covers, and swung her feet off the bed. If she could not sleep, she was determined to lose herself in a book. It was possibly the only thing that might distract her from the thoughts that persisted in plaguing her.

Pulling on her soft woollen robe over her nightgown and grabbing the candlestick from the bedside table, she quietly eased open the door to her bedroom. She tiptoed out of her room, closing the door behind her, and slowly descended the staircase, taking care to avoid the stair tread she knew creaked.

The house was quiet at this late hour as she silently made her way to the library and let herself in. Just being in the presence of so many books was a comfort and she inhaled deeply, breathing in that special scent of hundreds of books and pages. But what caught her attention almost immediately was the soft glow of candlelight coming from the adjacent study. She set the candlestick she was carrying down on one of the tables and walked cautiously to the door that separated the two rooms.

Her heart stuttered when she saw Sidney. He was seated at his desk, elbows resting on the surface, his eyes shut and his head in his hands. There was half a glass of drink at his elbow, and a decanter of the same amber-coloured alcohol before him on the table. A single candle in its brass stand cast its light on a small area around the table, leaving the rest of the room plunged in darkness.

He must have sensed her presence — her feet had made no sound in her slippers — because he suddenly raised his head from his hands and looked straight at her.

"Charlotte." His face became wary as he got to his feet. "Are you alright? Why are you up at this time of the night?"

"I couldn't sleep."

He sighed and dropped his head. "Nor I."

He was dressed in a crumpled linen shirt, rougher and more worn than the fine lawn shirts he wore during the day, and a pair of rough trousers — no cravat or waistcoat. But it was his expression more than his clothes or the time of the night that told Charlotte all was not well with him. There was a bleakness to him and he looked miserable, his eyes dark and unhappy. It sent a pang through her heart.

"Is everything alright? Has something happened?"

"No, no. Everything is fine," Sidney assured her, which was not untrue.

He had spent the rest of his day after Crowe's departure sending missives back and forth between himself, Babington and Lady Susan regarding the next day's meeting, and sorting paperwork related to Sanditon as well as his own business affairs. It had been the only way he could keep his mind from obsessing about what Charlotte hadn't told him about her conversation with Mrs. Campion that had distressed her so.

The banks had also sent in their loan foreclosure notices, which although he had been expecting, had still caused dread to settle over him. Everything would depend on whatever happened the next day with Babbers' and Lady Susan's financial advisors. If they couldn't come up with a plan, the Parkers faced dire times indeed. On the other hand, he curiously felt more determined than nervous, which he had not expected. In fact, he viewed the upcoming as more like some of his tougher business negotiations.

"We are to meet Lady Susan and the Abbots tomorrow morning at Babington's house," he told her. "We are all to go. Lady Susan specifically asked for you and Mary to both be there."

"I am glad it is fixed, then."

There was a pause. Charlotte noticed Sidney looking a little lost and distracted again, as if something heavy was weighing on his mind. "Sidney, are you sure you're alright?"

He sighed. "Yes... I just– It was– I had a dream and it woke me up."

Whatever he'd dreamt of, it seemed to have disturbed him and no matter how confused her feelings were regarding his past actions, her heart went out to him. "Not a happy one, from the looks of it."

He hesitated. "No, it wasn't."

Charlotte just tilted her head encouragingly, letting him know he had her full attention.

Sidney wondered if he was being silly; it was just a dream after all, even if it was a bad one. He occasionally had strange dreams and even the odd nightmare, usually brought on by some or other cruelty he had witnessed in the course of his life. But even now, even when he was awake, he could still feel the after-effects of the dream, and it unnerved him.

"Sidney?"

"We were on the clifftops," he began haltingly, "where I met you for the first time when you were walking with Mary."

In his dream he had watched himself and Charlotte almost as if he was outside his own body, a bystander, a mere observer of the scene. They had had a conversation — he could not hear what they said, but it left her crying, and he had to fight to stop his own tears from falling too. There was a sharp, intense pain in his chest.

Charlotte had got into a carriage — alone. Sidney had said nothing, done nothing but stand back next to his big black stallion and watch as the carriage carried her away, even as his heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice, even as he felt as if he couldn't breathe, even as the voice in his head and his heart screamed at him to go after her. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't — though he did not know why.

But as the carriage pulled away, something had seemed to snap inside him. He'd leapt up on his horse and taken off after it, knowing he could not allow her to get away, knowing he had been foolish to think he could let her go. But no matter how hard he drove his horse or how fast he raced after her, the carriage continued to move faster and faster, the distance between them only increasing further and further. He'd screamed his throat hoarse calling after her, ridden his horse almost to exhaustion. But in the end he could only watch with tears pouring from his eyes as the carriage disappeared into the distance.

The excruciating sense of loss he had felt in the dream was so powerful that it had jolted him awake in alarm and confusion, her name a panicked cry on his lips.

He did not know what had triggered such a dream. He did not know if it was a warning or a premonition or just a result of the anxiety of the past few days. All he knew was that he had no desire to experience it in real life. And he would do anything to ensure the dream never became reality.

Sidney could still feel the bone deep despair and devastation he'd felt in his dream at watching the carriage take Charlotte away from him. He had never felt such intense grief, except perhaps at his parents' deaths, and he had been quite young then. He had known both heartbreak and loss before, but the strength of these sensations was almost frightening. The dream had badly shaken him, and he lifted the glass and downed its contents. But even the warmth of the alcohol spreading inside him did nothing to dispel the chill that had settled in his chest.

Charlotte did not quite know what to make of this. She was not one to put much stock in dreams, but then she had never had any particularly significant ones. Hers were usually just an incomprehensible jumble of images and scenes that she barely remembered the next morning. They never held much meaning for her.

Sidney's dream, however, was worrying, not just for its contents but also for the degree to which it seemed to have affected him. She had witnessed plenty of his moods, but never before had she seen him so rattled.

"It was just a dream, Sidney. It's not real. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She reached out and placed her hand over his, hoping a tangible action might bring more comfort than just words. He turned his hand so that their palms faced each other and tangled his fingers through hers. He squeezed, lightly at first, then clutching more desperately, as if her hand was the only anchor tethering him in a sea of stormy emotions.

But it was no use. His emotions had already been battered by the afternoon's events, not to mention the considerable strain of the past few days. And this damnable dream on top of Charlotte's continued distance after her confrontation with Mrs. Campion was the final straw. His emotions would not settle, would not calm. Instead, his despondence transformed into sudden anger.

He gently withdrew his hand from hers and turned away, seething, breathing hard to control himself.

"I am sick of this, Charlotte," he said in a low voice that did nothing to disguise his suppressed rage. "No sooner than we reach a point where we might have a small respite from the mountain of troubles before us, that a new obstacle rears its head. I just want a few days of happiness with you, damn it! Is it too much to ask that people stop making things difficult for us?"

Charlotte's heart ached for him. He had shouldered everyone's burdens for so long, and she understood his frustration and fear every time something new threatened their already precarious circumstances. But she knew the real cause and target of his ire, and this was not a conversation she yet felt confident about having with him.

"What did she say to you?" he demanded, turning around again.

His face was half in shadow, and what she could see held a grim expression. Normally, his tone would have put her back up and she might have retorted with something scathing. But she hesitated because she knew what she had to tell him would only rile his temper further.

"Please speak to me, Charlotte." The words were a request but the tone verged on a command. His patience had finally worn thin. "You promised to stand by me and not let me shoulder my burdens alone. Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

He forced himself not to sound accusatory. After all, it was not her fault he had a nightmare that had shaken him. He did not want to browbeat her into telling him, but he was upset she hadn't shared with him what was troubling her. After his dream, he felt raw, exposed, as if some deep wound had been ripped open again.

Charlotte sucked in a breath as she raised her eyes to his; she hadn't expected him to be so hurt. The dream had obviously amplified his emotions — Sidney was more the type to lash out at people when he was hurt than to openly vent his feelings. But he was right in that if Charlotte expected him to share everything with her, she owed it to him to do the same.

She hesitated. "You might think me silly," she began.

"More assumptions, Miss Heywood?"

He felt like a hypocrite the moment he said it; had he not hesitated to tell her about his dream for the exact same reason?

Charlotte gave him a speaking glance — and he ducked his head sheepishly — but she spared him, for she had no wish to get into a childish argument. Instead, she sighed and moved to the window behind Sidney's desk, staring outside at the darkened back garden it overlooked. And related everything Mrs. Campion had said to her.

Her comments about Sidney's success in Antigua, her allusions to their intimacy, her remarks on Charlotte's unsuitability as a wife for Sidney, her accusations of Charlotte seducing Sidney, that his attentions towards Charlotte were a charade meant to punish Mrs. Campion for jilting him a decade ago, that the only reason he would consider marrying Charlotte was as an act of charity.

By the end of it, Sidney's jaw was clenched tight with rage. "She had no right saying such things to you! By god, if she were a man, I'd call her out and avenge your honour!"

Charlotte sighed. "I have had half a mind to challenge her to a duel myself. But I cannot and neither can you, so please put it out of your mind. Besides, what good would it do?"

"I cannot let her insults to you go unanswered! And she threatened your family! What possessed her, for God's sake? What did she imagine any of this might accomplish?"

"I cannot speak as to her motives. But on the day of the regatta, she told me she didn't see the point of entering a race unless it was to win it. I should have known that she would not have given up on you so easily."

"I am not some kind of prize to be won!" he sputtered.

"I do not think Mrs. Campion sees it that way."

Sidney clenched his fists, itching to take some action. He felt like an impatient, angry bull wanting to charge at something. But more, he was furious at himself for being so nearly taken in by Mrs. Campion once again when he had already experienced her cruel and deceitful nature before. He felt ashamed that he had been foolish enough to even consider rekindling his relationship with her.

It took a vast amount of discipline to bring his anger under control. Only then did he remember Charlotte had still not told him what exactly had upset her. She would not meet his eye, and he watched her with a slight frown, mentally sifting through everything she had related.

"Charlotte, you don't believe the things she said, do you? About you being unsuitable to be my wife? Or that I'd only marry you to help pull your family out of poverty? Because I could have never thought her capable of such tripe, but I seem to have overestimated her intelligence."

"No. It did give me a few bad moments at first," she admitted. "But I know it was her way of trying to undermine my confidence. I'm sorry to say it worked, even if for just a little while." She grimaced.

"Ah... So… that's not why you're upset?"

"No…"

"Good, good." There was an awkward pause where Sidney just looked at her cluelessly. "Er... forgive me, but what…?"

Charlotte hid her face in her hands and groaned.

"Charlotte, what is it?"

"Mrs. Campion said you had… that you and she had–" Oh god. She had never felt so small and gauche in her life.

Realisation dawned on Sidney. "Are you… That Mrs. Campion and I might have…"

He trailed off and shuffled his feet, and the awkward silence between them made Charlotte cringe in embarrassment.

"We didn't," he hurried to explain. "We weren't… intimate, that is. I danced with her a few times when we attended the same parties. And she made advances. Not at first, although she made it clear she welcomed mine. But I couldn't bring myself to– to–"

Even trying to say the words made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

"She kissed me. Once. But it felt wrong, Charlotte, it felt as if I was betraying you, betraying myself." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Everything about that entire week felt wrong."

The low candlelight threw his face into angles and shadows. He looked… tired.

Charlotte yearned to comfort him, her own emotions a complete whirl inside her. But she was curious to hear what he had to say. And she instinctively knew they had to have this conversation, as painful as it might be for both of them.

"For ten years, I lived with the idea that Mrs. Campion represented the happiness I had lost."

After his initial downward spiral, and especially once he'd reached Antigua, he had not spent every day pining for the woman who had thrown him over. In fact, as the years progressed, he had gone weeks and then months without thinking about her. Time and distance had dulled the pain of broken heart and hurt pride, and work had kept his mind off it.

But Sidney had met no one that challenged this perception of Mrs. Campion in his mind, no one who had managed to provoke feelings of a romantic inclination in him and thus dislodge her from the position she occupied. No one, that is, until Charlotte.

"I thought, with Mrs. Campion widowed and free to marry again, I was finally getting my chance at happiness. That everything I had wanted for so long was within my grasp. How wrong I was. The more time I spent with her, the less joy I felt at the prospect of being married to her. But more, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Brown eyes met brown, both sets vulnerable.

"That whole week, I thought of little else but you. I couldn't understand why, if I had wished to be reunited with Mrs. Campion for a decade, it was you who consumed my thoughts."

His confusion over his feelings for Charlotte had wreathed through his mind and heart like tendrils of smoke, colouring his every interaction with Mrs. Campion.

"I found myself wishing you were still in London so I could talk to you. I wanted to tell you about my day and I wanted to hear about yours. I wanted your opinions, your advice. Hell, I would have been happy to be arguing with you if it meant you were in London with me. I didn't realise it but I was miserable without you."

His deep voice was husky and heavy with emotion.

Charlotte's eyes widened. Her opinions and how free she was with them had once been a major point of contention between them.

"But when you left London to return to Sanditon with Tom and Georgiana, you were so distant. You wouldn't even look at me."

"How could I dare to look at you?" Charlotte blurted. "I'd just realised I had fallen in love with you. But you forgot I existed the moment you saw Mrs. Campion! I was afraid you'd see my feelings for you and pity me. Or worse, mock me. I couldn't bear the thought of it." She turned away from him, her arms wrapped protectively around herself, but her voice gave away how very close to tears she was.

Sidney felt as if a hand had closed around his heart and squeezed it painfully. He stared at her back, guilt flooding him.

"Charlotte," he said, hating how helpless and pathetic he felt, "I thought you still had a poor opinion of me… In the carriage, you said–"

He stopped, the memory both too painful and a shameful reminder of how he had behaved. But Charlotte turned to him, looking stricken.

"Do not apologise!" he warned before she could say a word. "You were right. Your words… they kindled something inside me. I had closed myself to everyone. But your good opinion mattered to me, more than anybody else's. I did not want to be unknowable to you."

He swallowed once to calm his nerves, steady his voice, then spoke, because she deserved an explanation and he deserved to have his say.

"The realisation that I'd been a fool and wasted ten years of my life because I thought I loved Mrs. Campion — it was a hard truth to swallow. When she came to Sanditon for the regatta — on Tom's invitation, not mine — I still couldn't reconcile myself to the idea of marrying her. But I was getting a second chance with her, and I thought I would be a fool if I threw it away. If nothing else, her connections and influence in London society would be useful for Sanditon."

He took a deep breath but his gaze was steady and did not waver from hers.

"I didn't know then that I was already in love with you, that I had been in love with you for quite some time. I think I had no hope you might think favourably of me, so I didn't want to examine my own feelings. But at the regatta — after our conversation in the boat — I couldn't ignore it any longer. When I tried to picture my future, it was not her I saw myself loving, marrying, having a family with, growing old with. It was you."

Charlotte visibly softened and Sidney felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"It was Mr. Stringer who gave me hope that you might return my feelings."

"James Stringer?" she asked, confused.

"Yes. He's in love with you."

He had not meant to bring up the other man. But just as Charlotte — understandably — needed reassuring about Mrs. Campion, perhaps he too felt a little insecure and needed to be sure he was not competing with another for her heart.

Charlotte's shock surprised him. "You did not know?"

"He– he can't be… Are you sure?"

"Charlotte, he's positively besotted with you."

"Oh. Oh."

Charlotte's memories of the day of the regatta were dominated by Sidney and the various incidents involving Mrs. Campion. But she was easily able to recall her walk with Mr. Stringer. Indeed, at the time, it had been the one peaceful moment in an otherwise emotionally tumultuous day. But the more she remembered of their talk, the more the memory of it distressed her.

"At the regatta, I think– I think he was trying to tell me… Oh god, I think he tried to declare his feelings for me and I wasn't even aware of it!"

She recalled their walk, how Mr. Stringer had wanted to have a "substantial conversation" with her. He'd been trying to tell her how he felt about her and she'd nattered away to him about her futile attachment to another man. How callous he must have thought her!

Sidney was remembering the same incident, but his was a much different recollection. He remembered the hot burn of worry he'd felt at watching Charlotte and Stringer walk away together, engrossed in their conversation. He'd noticed how easy and relaxed they were in each other's company, unlike his and Charlotte's more precarious relationship. He hadn't identified the emotion as jealousy but that was what it had been, at the regatta and even before, at the cricket match. Perhaps even as far back as old Mr. Stringer's accident, when she had comforted Young Stringer. Sidney had a distinct memory of rushing out of the house to send Young Stringer to his father the moment he'd spotted him clasp Charlotte's hands in his.

"Would you have preferred–?" The words shot out of his mouth before he could bite them back.

"Him? To you?" She studied his guarded expression.

"He's a good man," he said quietly. "Closer to you in age than I. And he has always treated you with honour and respect and kindness… unlike me. He would make you a better husband than I."

"Perhaps. But it's not him I love."

Sidney almost shuddered inwardly with relief.

"After he won the gentlemen's boat race, he said it was not the prize he'd been after."

There was a flicker of annoyance in her beautiful brown eyes. "I am not a prize to be won," she echoed his earlier words.

"Unlike Mrs. Campion, I think he was referring to your heart. Any man who won your heart would know it is a treasure, invaluable beyond one's wildest dreams. I know I do."

She blushed.

"Charlotte," Sidney took a step closer. "I must apologise for the way I behaved at the regatta. I know it is a poor defence, but it was dawning on me that I was in love with you and I scarcely knew what to make of it. I was terrified of my feelings and even more terrified that you would never return them. And there was Mrs. Campion and Mr. Stringer." He sighed deeply. "Everything was beginning to unravel around me and the more I tried to hold things together, the worse I made them."

"It's alright, Sidney." She reached out and gently squeezed his hand. "I've already forgiven you for all of that. We would not be here today if I had not."

Her tone held a hint of teasing and he tentatively returned her smile.

A pause.

"So, it helped?" Charlotte asked hesitantly. "Seeing her, spending time with her," she clarified. "Did it help you to understand your feelings for her? And for me?"

"Yes, of course." His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Then I can be glad she came into our lives now rather than after we were married."

At Sidney's puzzled expression, she explained, "If you had met her after we married, you would have spent the rest of your life wondering whether you might have had your second chance with her if not for me." Her voice trembled a little and she fought to rein in the tears welling up in her eyes. "I would not be able to live with myself if you realised you loved her and regretted marrying me."

"Charlotte, I would never regret it!" There were tears in his eyes too. "I love you! You believe me, don't you?"

"I do," she assured him, sniffling a little. "If I thought you still loved Mrs. Campion, I would have freed you from our engagement. I would never stand in the way of your happiness, Sidney."

"You are my happiness, my dearest dearest Charlotte." He reached for her hand and drew her into his arms, "And I will spend every day of the rest of our lives together proving it to you if I have to."

She put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest, revelling in the warm comfort of his arms around her. The strength he exuded was not just physical and Charlotte, who had never before felt the need to lean on anyone, could not deny how much she appreciated the safety and security of his embrace. She sighed happily and burrowed closer into him, smiling when he rested his cheek on the top of her head and let out a similar sigh of contentment.

Her gaze fell upon his desk, on the gloves and the seashells she had spotted the previous day. "Sidney?"

"Hmm?"

"Those are my gloves, aren't they?"

"Er…"

"How did you come to have them?" She pushed back from his chest to look up at him. "Did you find them at the cove?"

He nodded, and she could see his cheeks begin to redden even in the light of the single candle.

"Why did you never give them back to me?"

"There never seemed a good time," he replied a little defensively. "There was always someone around; I couldn't just return them to you in front of everyone. They would certainly have questions as to how I came to be in possession of a pair of your gloves. I never had the chance to give them back to you."

He fidgeted a little, to Charlotte's secret amusement.

"They stayed in my coat pocket and I began carrying them everywhere because it felt like I had you near me, with me." He blushed.

She was both delighted and touched by his admission. But when she went to pick up the gloves, he stayed her hand and laid his own on them like a possessive magpie with a shiny object.

"I'll buy you a new pair."

She had to smother a giggle at the expression on his face. "Could I not at least have the shells back?"

"Ah, you want a souvenir to remember that day, do you?" he asked cheekily, grabbing the chance to tease her back. He had seen her amused little smirk.

"I do not think there is any way I could forget that day," she replied, blushing hotly. The image of him rising naked from the waves, his sculpted body revealing itself like some god of the sea, was permanently etched on her mind. She cleared her throat. "On second thought, keep the shells. I was collecting them for my brothers and sisters but it seems… wrong to give these to them now. I shall find new ones."

He blushed too, but was grinning when he tugged her close again.

She leaned into him and he nuzzled her forehead, and they both closed their eyes, affected by the simple sensation. He stroked his hand down her hair. It was a moment of sweet closeness, and they each seemed to crave it as much as the other. But it all changed in a heartbeat. When their eyes met, they both felt the shift at the same time. Her breathing quickened. Her gaze went to his mouth at the same moment as his eyes dropped to her lips. When she looked up at him again, his gaze had darkened.

He leaned down but paused with his brow touching hers, their mouths a mere hairsbreadth apart. His eyes roved over her face, her features, taking her in. For a moment, it felt as if they were suspended in time. Then, she felt his warm breath on her lips and her heart began to race. The sheer depth of the emotion in his eyes was too much. Both of them surged forward at the same time, closing the gap between them.

They had kissed before. But the instant their lips met, it felt more glorious, more breathtaking, more utterly right than it ever had.

For Sidney, nothing could ever equal the perfection of having Charlotte in his arms. He savoured the sensuous press of her mouth against his, the lush softness of her lips, her sweet taste. His hands moved up and down her back, gently caressing, before tightening around her waist and drawing her closer until she was flush against him. Her lips parted under his and the kiss deepened. The stroke of her tongue against his made his head spin.

Charlotte clung to him. From the kisses they had shared so far, she knew the wild thrill of being in his arms. Now, she was discovering delightful new sensations. The taste of him, the smoky flavour of alcohol on his tongue. His scent, which even in London, reminded her of the Sanditon sea. She slid her hands up his arms, admiring the flex of his muscles under her fingers, then up to his broad shoulders before sliding down his chest and gripping his shirt. The warmth of his body enveloping her made her feel both wanted and cherished, and she followed his lead, trying to show him she desired him just as much.

The heat between them gradually built and they swayed together, kissing fervently.

They broke apart only when the need for air could not be ignored any longer. Her lashes fluttered open as he leaned his forehead against hers and they stared at each other, taking in deep breaths. He dazedly registered the rise and fall of her breasts against his own heaving chest.

Charlotte's fingers were curled in Sidney's shirt, clutching, her heart pounding inside her chest. A sudden wave of possessiveness surged through her, a need to be close to him, to hold him, to be held by him and never let go. She wanted him to forget the woman who had only ever made his life a misery and focus on her, the woman he loved and who loved him in return and who would never be so foolish as to let him go.

She rose on the tips of her toes and wound her arms around his neck, pressing herself even more into him, and claimed his mouth with hers.

Sidney needed no further invitation. He immediately tightened his hold around Charlotte and kissed her back ardently. He had no defences against her. She was like an enchantress who had bewitched him and he happily surrendered to the spell she had cast over him.

They sank into the kiss, quickly becoming lost in each other.

Sidney felt his knees wobble and feared they would buckle, making him collapse to the floor, taking Charlotte with him. Chair, his brain managed to supply through the fog of her kisses, behind you. He staggered the necessary couple of steps back, drawing her with him, and fell into the chair, pulling her into his lap.

The new angle and somehow closer proximity had a profound effect on them, and they resumed kissing with renewed ardour.

She slid one hand into his hair, holding him to her, while the fingertips of the other traced over his face, happy to explore. She stroked his brows, his cheek, his strong jawline, down to his chin, feeling the rasp of his stubble against the soft skin of her palm.

She wriggled and twisted in his lap, trying to fit more comfortably against him, and he inhaled sharply. "Charlotte," he groaned against her lips, tightening his hold around the warm weight of her in his arms. "God."

He broke the kiss and trailed his lips over her cheek to her ear, where he pressed a kiss just below her earlobe, earning a soft gasp. The scent of her skin was intoxicating. His lips moved down, pressing warm open-mouthed kisses against her throat. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot at the crook of her neck, and she shivered at the barrage of sensation.

"Sidney," she moaned breathlessly, pressing herself closer to him.

His lips found hers again and they were soon moaning and sighing into each other's mouths. His hands coursed over her body, caressing her full yet lithe figure through her clothes, up and down her back, her shoulders, her arms. It was only as he drew his hands up her sides that he became aware of what was different. She wore no stays. She was in just her nightgown and robe.

This discovery had the effect of abruptly bringing him back to his senses. He pulled back and stared at her, trying to even out his breathing. It was a simple nightgown, its modest neckline visible beneath the overlapping layers of her robe. It did not reveal much except for a slight glimpse of her cleavage. There was nothing particularly enticing about it, except of course the fact that she wore it, which immediately made it a thousand times more tempting.

Sensible, responsible Sidney was already reminding himself why he could not go any further. She was his betrothed, but more, she was an innocent. He could not get carried away and debauch her in his study — or anywhere — until they were married. Despite the late hour of the night, one of the servants — or worse, Mary — might discover them. As it is, they were flirting with scandal by living under the same roof; he could not allow her to become indelibly stained by it.

Sidney the rascal, the rogue… sighed regretfully. And accepted that he had to be content for a few more days with imagining all the ways in which he would ravish her after they were married.

"What is it?" Charlotte whispered. He had paused, fingers splayed over her ribs, tantalisingly close to her breast. She shifted in his arms, not sure whether she was glad or sorry that he stopped.

He ran his eyes over her, taking in her flushed cheeks, her big dark eyes looking a little dazed, her curls falling about her shoulders, her soft pink lips. And questioned his own sanity in deciding to stop. But it was obvious that going any further would be too much for her, no matter how willing she seemed.

He shook his head in response to her question and leaned forward to kiss her — a sweet, soothing, gentle kiss, more loving than passionate, which she returned just as tenderly.

They smiled at each other, shyly at first, which turned into giddy grins. After the madness of the past few days, especially this morning, and the lack of any unchaperoned time together, stealing an intimate moment to themselves felt like an incredible and much-deserved prize.

She nudged his nose with hers and they nuzzled each other affectionately. He was just leaning in to kiss her again — he wasn't going to start anything he couldn't finish, but kiss her he could — when the loud creak of the stairs cut through the silence of the night.

"Mary!" they both exclaimed at the same time.

Mary was the only one, other than the children, who always forgot about the noisy stair tread. Even Charlotte had remembered from her previous visit to Bedford Place. But Mary, who seldom visited London, was unfamiliar with the house and never remembered to avoid it as everyone else did.

Sidney surged to his feet, setting Charlotte on hers. "Quick!" he whispered, "Pretend you came to the library to get a book!"

"I did come to the library to get a book!" Charlotte whispered back, making him snort with laughter.

She turned to leave but he caught her wrist, spun her around and hauled her back into his arms, and kissed her soundly. He set her on her feet again, making sure she could stand, before turning her around and propelling her out of his study and into the library with a hand on her lower back.

He blew out the candle on his desk and hid behind the connecting door, leaning his head back against the wall, his heart pounding a mile a minute. He fervently hoped Mary would think Charlotte was just mussed from tossing and turning in bed, and not guess that her dishevelled hair and plump lips were a result of being halfway-ravished by him.

In the library, it took Charlotte a moment to pull her reeling senses together. Her lips were still burning after Sidney's bruising kiss and she hoped Mary wouldn't notice how flushed she was or that she felt like she'd run for miles and was yet to get her breath back.

She had just picked up the candle she'd set down on the table earlier and raised it to one of the shelves, pretending to look at the titles on the spines of the books, when Mary walked in.

"Charlotte?"

"Mary!"

"What are you doing up at this time of the night?"

"I couldn't sleep," Charlotte explained, "So, I thought I'd borrow a book to read in bed."

Mary's expression instantly filled with sympathy. "Yes, it has been a rather trying day for you, has it not?" she said, her eyes full of guilt. "I hope you found something exciting enough to distract you?"

Mary certainly had a knack for making suggestive statements without having a clue as to what she was doing, Charlotte thought, trying not to blush at the memory of what she and Sidney had been up to in the adjoining study mere moments ago. She forced herself to think of something else, but the only thing that popped into her mind was another suggestive conversation with a clueless Mary about impressive seashells.

"Oh yes," she gushed, blindly pulling out a thick volume from the nearest shelf.

Mary took it from her. "'A treatise on the seashells of Great Britain & Ireland'."

She looked doubtfully at Charlotte, who valiantly smothered her rising laughter and managed to look eagerly interested about her chosen book.

Mary peered at her. "Charlotte, my dear, are you sure you're alright?" she asked, concerned. "You look a little flushed. I do hope you're not coming down with something?"

"On no, I'm perfectly fine, Mary!" She replied, a little too spiritedly, her eyes involuntarily darting towards the half-ajar door that led to Sidney's study. "That is, this morning was certainly upsetting, but I feel much better already."

Mary stared at her. Her eyes flicked towards the door connecting to Sidney's study. But it was in complete darkness and she detected nothing suspicious or untoward.

"I couldn't fall asleep either," she told Charlotte. "I was just on my way to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. Would you like to join me?"

The mention of the kitchen made Charlotte's stomach rumble quietly. She remembered she had missed dinner because she hadn't wanted to face Sidney or Mary and so had stayed back in her room. "I would like that very much."

They proceeded out of the library, Charlotte clutching her weighty reading material. A step ahead of Mary, she did not notice the way her friend's eyes swept the room and lingered one last time on the study door.

Sidney waited a full five minutes before leaving his hiding spot. He slipped out silently via the library, his ears straining for any sign that Mary and Charlotte might be returning from the kitchen. Hearing none, he swiftly crossed over to the staircase and made his way upstairs to his room, skipping the creaky stair tread and silently thanking it for warning him and Charlotte of Mary's arrival.

He sniggered inwardly at having to sneak about in his own home, but acknowledged that he would do so a hundred times over if it meant stealing a few private moments with Charlotte.

As he got into bed for the second time that night, his mind dwelled upon their… meeting in the library. He could still feel the lingering touch of Charlotte's lips on his, the warmth of her palm through the thin fabric of his shirt, the soft brush of her curls against his cheek. He mentally groaned but could not help but grin widely. Unlike before, he knew he'd be having only the most magnificent dreams for the rest of the night. That is if he managed to fall asleep!


Thank you for reading! Leave a review, let me know what you think!