Page 20 of Loving a Dowager
“Yes, exactly.” She beamed him a smile.
Before she eloped with George, they were more than just close friends. He had made it no secret, he was infatuated and in love with her. She had even hinted a time or two that she too shared such feelings. But neither of them were brave enough to confess or act upon those undercurrents that still existed. He picked up his knife and fork and cut into the piece of lukewarm chicken.
“Agreed. We shall simply begin where we left off all those years ago.” He winked at her, causing color to return to her cheeks once more.
At least she wasn’t tossing him out. He might still have a chance this eve to formulate a plan to divest Henrietta of her gown and perform all the illicit acts he’d imagined doing with her before she ran off with George.
Chapter Eleven
Focused on the congealed chicken on her plate, Henrietta waited for her pulse to resume its normal even pace. Decades had gone by since she had last experienced the heart-stopping effect Walter had on her. As a lad, his enthusiasm and clever insight had set her heart and mind racing. In their youth, on multiple occasions—too many to count—they had set out and solved mysteries that at the time were deemed to be life altering. Her lips curled at the memory, at the numerous preposterous hypotheses they had formulated as to how animals reproduced. Countless hours of monitoring the farmer’s bull that more often than not stood alone in the corner of the paddock.
Walter broke her reverie. “Pray tell, what is so amusing?”
“I was merely recalling the summer we failed to solve the mystery as to how cow Belle managed to get her belly full.”
“Ah, that was a rather long summer.” Walter lifted his fork loaded with cold chicken and popped it into his mouth.
Henrietta stared at the lips that caused her blood to stir once more. She lowered her eyes to her plate, but her appetite fled her. Knots gathered in her stomach as George’s visage formed amongst her meal. The blood drained from her face.
The scrape of a chair alerted her to Walter’s movements. Kneeling beside her, he reached for her hands. She snatched them back from him.
“Henrietta. What is the matter?”
Head shaking, she mumbled, “I shouldn’t have… We shouldn’t be…”
Walter rested his hand upon her knee and squeezed to gain her full attention. “I apologize for my advances. It was not my intent to cause you distress—ever.” His gaze was filled with remorse. Walter rose and walked over to where she had placed his outer garments.
She rushed to him. “Walter.” What was she to say? She didn’t want him to leave.
George had always understood her need to be a mama first. Her devotion to her boys and her oath as a PORF meant they came before all else. Having never been tempted by another’s kisses, Henrietta had been blissfully content—until now. Long ago, there had been fleeting moments when Walter had held her hand and led her about that she’d imagined kissing the man, but that had all occurred in her imagination. Her girlish thoughts paled in comparison to the searing kisses she had experienced with Walter earlier.
Slowly pivoting, Walter faced her with masked features. “I should take my leave. I…”
“Please don’t go.” Henrietta rested her hand on his arm.
Walter had always stirred within her a powerful urge to leap to action before considering the ramifications. She also had unfailing faith he would never let her come to harm, which stemmed from an unexplainable feeling deep within her from the day they met—her perched in a tree, him lost in the woods. During their childhood years, he had relentlessly pushed her to question the boundaries she imposed upon herself. And earlier, in his arms, she wanted to smash the invisible walls she had erected about her, explore the invigorating surge of energy that had once again resurfaced.
“My dear Henrietta. Tell me what it is you want from me.”
“I…” The turmoil within her was mirrored in Walter’s gaze. How was she to articulate these new confounding thoughts and emotions, when she hadn’t muddled through them herself? “I wish for us to become reacquainted as we were once.”
Walter’s amiable smile returned. “You wouldn’t know this, but I often ask myself ‘what would George do or say’ and have done so for years. He was a remarkable man and a loyal friend. I would never wish to betray his memory.”
“Do you believe he’d condone our…earlier actions?” Never before had she skirted topics. She preferred to be direct to avoid misunderstandings, but the words to admit to having a desire for a man other than George caught in her throat.
“I’ve thought long and hard about the matter—for years, in fact.” Walter squeezed the muscles at the back of his neck. “His voice echoes in my thoughts.”
“What do you believe he would say?”
“I can’t be certain. However, he extracted from me a promise to see to your happiness.” He rested his hand upon her waist. “Did my kisses bring you joy?”
Her heart leapt at his touch. She leaned in closer and raised her lips mere inches from his and rasped, “Yes.”
Dipping his head, Walter leaned in to press his lips to hers. It was a sweet, gentle brush of his mouth. His tongue slipped between her lips, entangling with her own. Unlike the passionate kisses earlier, this kiss was languid and filled with a depth of emotion that rocked Henrietta to her core. She didn’t want it to end. Encircling his waist with her arms, she pressed herself closer. The cool metal button of his jacket pressed into her chest and she snaked her hand between them to divest Walter of his clothing. At her back, Walter’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of her dress, and then stilled.
Walter released a half groan, half chuckle. “Blasted contraptions.”
“I seem to be out of practice.”
