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Clara’s back was pressed against the cool stone of Westminster Bridge, the sensation pairing nicely with the warmth of Ernest’s body against hers. Her breath hitched in her throat as he carefully inched towards her. He was so close and his eyes are so blue. She could see every facet that made him the illustrious Mr. Sinclaire. The clean shave, the thin nose, the piercing eyes and long blond eyelashes. The only things keeping them apart were the thick wool of their clothing and the mountain of decorum.
Ernest confidently brushed a stray lock of raven black hair away from the center of her delicate face. The action so simple. The electricity flowing from the tip of his finger so heady.
Her eyes flitted up to his.
The next thing she knew, his hand was cupping her face. His palm met her cheek and the world stopped spinning. There was just her and Ernest and no prying eyes of Edgewater. They were completely alone on this bridge in the cloak of night, the gaslight streetlamp illuminating them just enough. Her cheeks flushed immediately and Clara instinctively leaned into his touch.
Her deep brown eyes locked onto his clear blue’s.
Invigorated by her simple reaction, Ernest began moving towards her slowly, inch by inch, just as Clara leaned towards him hardly breathing. The anticipation built up higher and higher the closer their lips moved together. Did time even exist at all?
She could feel his small, bated breath caressing her features as he leaned in, supple pink lips parted.
One small push and they would have met for the first time.
As if the universe was punishing them for taking so long, rain began to pour buckets, soaking them. For the first time in minutes their eyes broke apart, Ernest looking up at the sky in disbelief and Clara down at the stone in hot disappointment.
Ernest did the only thing he knew he could do in a moment like this - he wrapped his arms around Clara, shielding her from the rapid fire. Keeping Clara protectively under his arm, Ernest flagged down the only passing carriage. He wasted no time lifting her into the dry carriage.
He gave the address to the driver and once settled into the seat across from her, he looked at her. His eyes were wild, desperate and concerned as he asked, “Are you alright?”
She laughed, water streaming down her hairline and into her face. The jovial sound had his heart dancing in his chest.
Mr. Sinclaire fished out a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He leaned forward and her heart stopped once more. He gingerly smoothed the little square of fabric over her face, drying up the dots and running a ticklish line down to the back of her neck. Her eyes closed as she let the intimate sensation of his ministrations wash over her.
The air between them unmoving and silent. The thrumping of the wheels on the road seemingly miles away. Ernest hoped she couldn’t hear as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
But then she opened her eyes to him and he felt like he could fly. She’s so beautiful and absolutely brilliant and he wanted to try again.
So Ernest leaned in again.
But the carriage goes into a rut in the road, jolting the two out their seats.
Ernest’s arms immediately fly to steady her, catching Clara before she hit the floor of the carriage. His arms tightened around her waist, holding her close to him. Their noses a hair away from one another, eyes fliting to their lips and up to connect eyes.
There was no decision. Their bodies took over.
And, finally...
Their lips meet wordlessly.
They hung in the moment as long as they dared. Hands static in place, letting their lips convey all - moving, touching, tasting.
Eventually they broke for air. Ernest let himself rest his forehead against hers as oxygen filled his lungs. Clara was in his lap, her hands resting flat against his chest and she was staring at him.
And what he’s just done clicked.
Ernest pulled away swiftly yet without jostling her. “My apologies, Lady Edgewater. That was forward of me and I shouldn’t presume -”
Clara shook her head and cut him off with another, deeper, kiss.
“I don’t regret a moment of this evening with you,” she whispered against his skin when they broke apart once more.
Any tension left in Ernest Sinclaire’s body vanished with her assertion. He was so giddy and delighted he couldn’t speak.
“Though...” Clara trailed, the look on his face completely unreadable to the naked eye. “Am I alone in my affections?”
The two stared at one another longer than they should have. Clara patiently waiting for an answer and Ernest struggling to find the appropriate words to express how much she means to him.
Ernest’s mouth opened to speak;
The call of the driver drowned out his words, “Grosvenor Square!”