As the afternoon began to wane, and the picnic was packed away, Benedict and Emily walked back to the house side by side, their steps slow and measured, as though neither wanted the moment to end.

Eloise had run off some half an hour before, apparently having many matters to attend to. But Emily found that she did not mind being alone with Benedict once again.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting golden light over the path ahead, filtering down through the treetops. The warmth of the day lingered in the air, though Emily wasn't sure if her flushed skin was due to the weather or the proximity of the man beside her.

She snuck glances at his profile but he seemed deep in thought. Twice she took a breath in to begin conversation but found her words were trapped inside.

It wasn't helped that every so often they walked just slightly too close to one another, causing the backs of their hands to brush together ever so slightly. Each touch sent an oddly warm surge through Emily, as though a small fire had been lit in her stomach.

"Thank you for today," Emily said softly, breaking the silence.

Benedict glanced sideways at her, his gaze intense and unreadable. "You're very welcome, Miss Hawthorne."

The sound of her name on his lips stirred something deep in her chest, a mix of longing and nervous energy.

"I do hope," she began, cautiously, "that we are friends once again?"

"I do not believe we were ever not friends," he responded, glancing at the ground.

Emily steeled herself. She took another deep breath.

"Does this mean…as a friend…you will show me your artwork?"

Benedict hesitated just a moment too long before answering, "If that is something you still wish."

She felt the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff staring to the abyss below.

In a small voice, she asked, "All your artwork?"

Benedict stopped walking. It was unquestionable which pieces she was referring to. Emily, who had continued walking, stared determinedly ahead, not brave enough to meet his eye.

"I do not think…" he sounded embarrassed. Nervous maybe? "I do not think that all of my pieces would be suitable."

Emily cleared her throat slightly but her voice still sounded strained.

"I do not know why. It is art after all. I am sure the galleries across England have many varied pieces in their collections."

"Well…yes. But…"

"But what?" She finally turned to look at him, clearly catching him off guard. Emily was not sure if it was her imagination but she believed there was a faint blush climbing his neck. What was unexpected was the fire now burning in her own stomach.

It was the oddest sensation. Her legs felt weak, as though they could no longer hold her weight. There was a pull, deep in her stomach. A need. A longing.

She realised her breath was coming quick and shallow, as though she had been running a great distance.

But she stood in place, taking in Benedict, their eyes locked.

"Why?" He asked her softly. Emily turned her head towards -

"No. Look at me."

It was said with such command, Emily could not stop herself from turning to look back at Benedict. He took a step towards her.

"Why do you want to see those drawings?"

He took another step.

"What is it about them?"

He took another step.

"What do you see in those drawings?"

He stood barely a foot away, looking down at her. His breath was as ragged as her own. She wanted to close the distance, so feel the warmth of his body against hers.

"What do you see in those drawings, Emily?"

She did not realise how badly she needed to hear her name fall from his lips until that moment. The blood pounded in her ears as the world around her faded away and all that was left was him. A deep, aching need for him.

"Tell me."

"Freedom."

It was evident her answer surprised him. Benedict raised his eyebrows for just a moment, his eyes searching her face for the deeper meaning. His hand reached out, towards her waist.

"Well, aren't you two cosy?"

They both snapped their heads around. Lord Fife was almost on top of them and they had not even realised.

Emily quickly stepped back, letting out the breath she had not even realised she was holding.

"You best be careful," He called as he walked away, "People might talk."

Emily felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Lord Fife smiled widely but it did not seem to reach his eyes. It was…chilling.

Benedict, seemingly having collected himself, turned back to the path.

"Come, we should get back."

And Emily followed him unwillingly back to the house.