Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance. Laurie Benson

feminine voice came through the thick shrubbery in the wooded area with views of the Royal Crescent that Lane found himself walking in almost an hour later. After living in London all his life, he felt more at home on cobblestones or on horseback than he did walking along a wooded path. But the wide promenade in front of the Crescent was so congested with finely dressed people of all ages that Lane grew weary of the slow pace of those walking in front of him as they strolled along under their parasols and in their beaver hats. Something told him that he was better off heading out into Barton Fields, the huge expanse of lawn opposite the long curved row of honey-coloured terraced stone residences that formed the Royal Crescent.

      The air was fresher and cleaner here in Bath and being outside exerting oneself through a brisk walk felt invigorating. Because of that, when he reached the end of the field, Lane uncharacteristically decided to continue on to the wooded area beyond. And it was there that the voice of the unknown woman caught his attention. The tone she used to address her companion had him slowing down. What behaviour had this gentleman committed that warranted such exasperation?

      ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she continued. ‘You know that I am right.’

      The privet hedgerow between them was about ten inches higher than his six-foot frame and too lush to peer through the leaves to the other side.

      ‘Honestly, I would have stayed at home if I knew this was your intention.’

      The gentleman in question remained silent. Or, if he spoke, it was too low for Lane to hear. He stepped closer to the hedgerow and listened intently for any response. He heard a bit of rustling, like the sound of the fabric of a lady’s skirt being moved. Although he devoted his attention to business, Lane wasn’t a monk. He had lifted a skirt or two...or three or four, in his time. That was a sound that a man didn’t forget.

      ‘Oh, now you have me in a tangle. I do wish you would stop.’ The woman’s tone had shifted from that of exasperation to pleading.

      It was in really bad form to listen to what was happening a few feet away from him. He should walk away. He should not be picturing the escapade those two were having in the woods—in the very public woods.

      His thoughts flashed to an image of the woman from the Pump Room and how he had been picturing the two of them together yesterday—in the very public bath. At least his fantasy involved an empty building, after it had been closed for the day.

      ‘Humphrey, no! Don’t you do it. Humphrey!’

      There was an urgency in her voice that gave him pause. Perhaps the silent Humphrey was manhandling her. Suppose she did not want him to lift her skirts here in a public garden. Lane’s right hand drew up into a tight fist.

      ‘Is everything all right?’ he called through the hedge. ‘Are you in need of assistance?’

      The rustling stopped and there was a marked silence. The only sound now was the faint chirping of birds in a far-off tree.

      ‘Now do you see what you’ve done?’ Her voice dropped and, if he hadn’t been standing with his ear practically in the bush, he wouldn’t have heard it.

      ‘What am I to do about you?’ Her faint voice continued. ‘You are incorrigible. I should give a swat to that backside of yours.’

      Lane’s brows rose. They were more of a daring couple than he had originally thought. Perhaps she wasn’t coming to any harm after all. Perhaps he should just go on his way and forget he had ever said anything. This would teach him to venture out into wooded areas. No one would be having these types of assignations in the middle of the day on public pavements. He turned to walk further down the path when the woman called out to him.

      ‘Sir, are you still there? I could use your assistance.’

      What had the silent Humphrey done now? And did Lane really want to see? This was what he got for having no tolerance for brutes who thought they could exert their power over others.

      Shoving his hands into his pockets, Lane made his way around the hedgerow and stopped.

      ‘It’s you.’ It came out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself.

      There, before him, was the woman from the Pump Room wearing a jonquil and white dress with a deep blue shawl draped over her right arm, her brown eyes widened with apparent surprise when she saw him. ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘You said you needed assistance.’ He scanned the surroundings for the persistent Humphrey, but the man must have had the sense to leave before Lane made it around the hedge or he was hiding somewhere while he set his wardrobe to rights.

      Apparently, this woman would probably think nothing of having a scandalous encounter in the public baths. And that thought only served to have him picturing her smooth skin glistening with the steaming bath water once more.

      * * *

      It was bad enough Clara was in the predicament she was in. Did she really need to be stuck like this in front of the handsome gentleman from the Pump Room?

      Humphrey’s leash had got tangled in the privet hedge and, if that wasn’t annoying enough, when she went to try to untangle it the back of her dress had got caught on a branch as well. She had tried to release it, but that particular section of lace was at a point of her back that she couldn’t reach.

      When the gentleman called out to her through the hedgerow, she hesitated at first to answer. A scoundrel could take advantage of her very precarious predicament. She could be robbed, or worse. Hoping that if he tried anything, her small puppy would bite his ankles and scare him off, she accepted his invitation of assistance. Only now her puppy had disappeared into the hedge and the possible scoundrel turned out to be the man the Dowager wanted her to introduce to her neighbour.

      ‘How can I help?’ he asked, tilting his head a bit as he looked at her with a furrowed brow.

      ‘I’m stuck.’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘On the hedge.’ She motioned to her back with her gloved hand. ‘The lace on my dress is caught on a branch and I can’t move. Would you be so kind as to release me?’

      He glanced around the small wooded area she was in and even appeared to peer over a few of the lower hedges as he made his way closer to her. When he stood a few feet away, the faintest scent of his cologne drifted across her nose as it travelled on the soft breeze.

      Clara was petite in stature and had to look up at him as he stood less than two feet from her. Facing him, without the busyness of the Pump Room, she was able to get a better look at him. His firm and sensual lips rose a fraction in the right corner, softening the angles of his square jaw. Although he was clean shaven, there was a hint of stubble on that jaw and on his cheeks. She appreciated impeccably groomed men so it was surprising that she had the urge to brush her fingers against his skin to see what that stubble felt like.

      He leaned over her and her breath caught as his lips drew closer to her eyelids. His finely made arms, defined through the linen of his blue coat, came around hers. He could have easily stood to the side of her to free the bit of fabric, but being surrounded by all his quiet masculine presence, she was glad he had decided not to.

      ‘You truly have got yourself caught.’

      He looked down at her and flecks of gold were visible in his blue eyes. ‘I know I haven’t spent much time in your presence, however, this is the quietest I think I have seen you,’ he said with a slight smile.

      ‘I don’t want to distract you.’

      ‘You already have.’

      She lifted her chin and now their mouths were a few inches apart. The warm air of his breath brushed across her lips. The last time she had kissed a man was ten years ago. And even then, she couldn’t ever recall her pulse beating like this at the thought of kissing her husband.

      Just a few more inches and their lips would be touching. Just a few more inches and she would wrap her arms around his neck and let herself sink into