Free Cross the Ocean by Holly Bush

the top of fashion, Blake,” Elizabeth said.
    Blake’s hands flustered and flew, gesturing in Miss Finch’s direction. “Her bosoms are hanging out, Elizabeth.There isn’t a man in town who won’t be staring.”
    Anthony quivered with laughter until his wife’s looks stilled him. “Anthony would not deny he noticed her décolletage,” Elizabeth said. “But I doubt the men of London would drool the way you are.”
    “I am not drooling, Elizabeth.” Blake desperately tried to convey nonchalance as he straightened.
    Miss Finch undid the clasp of her reticule and pulled a white, lace-edged hanky from inside. She met Blake’s eyes and patted her chest with the hanky as if to trill, ‘oh my’ as she walked across the foyer towards him.
    Blake flinched as she touched the cloth to the corner of his mouth. Naked dancing women could never be as erotic as this act. Never before did he feel so completely undone. Mesmerized by a bit of lace as it flittered to his face. From those vast breasts, his mind thought and his eyes saw, to dab ever so lightly at his now, twitching mouth. He no longer heard Tony laughing or Elizabeth’s attempts to hush him. Or saw the assembled servants gape. Nor did he hear the clatter of William and Melinda’s steps on the marble staircase. Blake Sanders existed in a private vacuum, consisting of lips, breasts and a hanky. He grabbed the arms beside those breasts and crushed the body attached against his chest. His lips clamped over hers and held on.
    “Father. You’re doing it again,” William said from the steps.
    Blake and Gertrude flew apart. He ran his fingers through his hair as he scanned the faces in the room.
    He ran up the stairs, past servants and his wide-eyed children.
    “Off with everyone now,” Mrs. Wickham said as she patted her flushing face. “Much to be done.” The servants scurried behind her.

    * * * *
Anthony found Blake in his study, staring. He stood patiently. Finally, he clapped his hands together in front of Blake’s face.
    “Come on, old man,” Anthony said.
    Blake jumped and righted himself. “Tony,” he said, bewildered.
    Anthony sat quiet for a while, sipping scotch. “Anything you want to talk about, Blake?”
    Blake swallowed. “My father would die if he had seen my display today.”
    “Your father is dead. Over ten years now.”
    Blake nodded blankly. “I don’t know what came over me.”
    “You don’t?” Anthony asked.
    Blake shook his head. All his private, well-guarded thoughts tumbled from his mouth in a flurry. “I couldn’t resist her. I couldn’t see anyone but her. I ... I thought I’d die if I didn’t kiss her.”
    Anthony harrumphed and looked away. “Consider yourself doomed. A sweet death, perhaps, but doomed all the same. Tis the same way I feel every time I look at Elizabeth.”
    “Yes, but you love Elizabeth,” Blake whispered.
    Tony glared over his glass. “And why would you consider yourself immune?”
    Blake laughed without humor. “I am not in love with Gertrude Finch. Desire is one thing, love another.”
    Blake crossed his legs and looked away. “Desire is bad enough.”
    Tony studied his friend. “So you are saying, if Helena had run a hanky over her bosoms you would have kissed her. In front of me, your children and the servants?”
    “No, I, no,” Blake stuttered. “Displays of affection of that sort are private. Mistress or wife. It’s why I glare at you when you drape yourself over Elizabeth.”
    “There was nothing private about the way you nearly ate my houseguest in your foyer today, Blake. I thought you meant to suck the woman’s lips right from her face,” Anthony growled.
    Blake groaned.
    “I was waiting for you to drop your pants and take her right there on the steps.”
    Blake covered his face with his hand as Tony repeated his innermost thoughts.
    “Throw her skirts up and claim her in front of your children, my wife and Mrs. Wickham, for God’s sakes.”
    “Enough,” Blake