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Pepper inhaled—quiet, startled—and his body reacted as though he’d touched something dangerous.

He should stop.

Impossible with her.

He brought his thumb to his own mouth and tasted it.

Sweet. Sharp lemon. Butter. And the faintest salt from her skin.

His throat went tight.

“Research,” he said, because if he didn’t speak he might lean in and forget the rest of the world existed. “Quality control.”

“Of course,” she managed, breathless in a way that did not sound like comedy at all.

Something in his chest pulled, low and insistent. He didn’t name it. He only curled his fingers around the crumpled paper and forced himself to look away before he stared at her mouth like a starving man.

A gust of wind swept sand across the shore and stung her bare wrist. She flinched and glanced along the beach. Families were gathering their things now; parasols snapped shut as the sky shifted toward gray.

“We should go back,” she said, but she didn’t rise.

“In a moment,” Chester said. He stood and caught the basket before it tipped. “Come—there will be less wind farther along.”

He didn’t take her hand. He wanted to but didn’t trust himself not to take more of her.

They walked toward the quieter end of the shore where the sand was firm and dark with damp. Above them, the promenade threw a long shadow; the last of the bathers trudged toward the steps, hunched against the cold.

In a hollow beneath the wall, the dunes dipped and the sea sounded louder, swallowing the noise from above. The nearest figures were only distant shapes.

Chester set the basket down between marram grass and stone.

No one was close enough to hear or see them now.

“Chester,” she said.

He flexed his fingers once, hard, as if he could shake the feeling out of them. It didn’t go. His heart kept insisting on her.

“May I?” he asked, voice low. “If I am a fool, tell me now.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth—just once. When she looked up again, her expression had changed. Not soft exactly. Decided.

“You’re not a fool to me,” she said.

He leaned in.

The first touch was careful. A question. Her lips were cool from the wind, tasting of lemon and salt air. He meant it to be brief.

Then she answered and forgot all coherent thought.

She rose toward him, the space between them clearly intolerable. Her hand slid up between them to catch at his loosened cravat, fingers curling in the linen. A small sound escaped her—surprised, relieved—and her mouth opened under his with trust that hit him like a blow.

He deepened the kiss, still gentle, but less cautious now. He learned her mouth in small increments—the way her breath caught, the way she pressed closer, the way she made a quiet sound against him that he felt in his bones.

Her other hand found his shoulder. Chester could feel the tremor in her fingers through linen and waistcoat. He didn’t know whether it was the cold or nerves and he wanted to be careful with ... her. Always careful.

She’s so precious.

The sea roared and hushed. Gulls cried. The world stayed mercifully far away.