Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

56

They had to leave. He knew this. And yet, he couldn't say a word.

His fingertips followed their path along her spine again, the simple act of breathing still lost to him as his lungs tried to appease his racing heart — his mind so utterly focused, so completely aware of the palm that lay against his chest.

It had gone still at last, along with her small frame tucked against his shoulder. And Sidney's mind had turned from its disquieted state to one of acute awareness.

His chest dipped as he exhaled, as her palm moved from its place, flat against him, ribs splintering as she pressed, checking him still.

"We have to go." The words floated up to him as buttons were released on his overcoat — as he silently cursed Linton for insisting upon extra bandages. Surely it might have been worth a bit more pain to have felt the hand move over him now. He was practically mummified. He breathed faster, knowing that he had only seconds left before she would walk away. Seconds to build up the nerve.

He felt the added pressure over his wound, the unexpected relief that came with it. "Are you—?"

"Fine," he said, too quickly, as he met her eyes, "And you... you weren't—"

"No," she sniffed. She had placed a hand on his chest as it expanded, making way for his lungs — for the oxygen his body so desperately needed. "You're sure..." she said with a note of trepidation, "Sidney... you're practically hyperventilating."

His heart leapt, caught, as her hand moved upwards, skating along his chest, fingertips at his neck — and he found that he had to grasp for any words to say — any words at all to explain the heady blend of emotion that coursed through him now. "Charlotte, I-"

Her gaze had turned back to the carriage, eyes searching as he watched, "What possessed you to do such a thing?"

The hint of agitation was enough to bring him to. "—What?"

He had not expected this — could sense the disapproval in the air between them as she pieced together precisely what he had done.

"Did you not even consider your condition—"

He felt the blood rise to his head in a rush.

"Of course I—"

"That something might have happened when you—"

"It... has nothing to do with-"

"—leapt onto a moving carriage—"

"—my ability to control—"

"—with such reckless—"

"Charlotte—"

He gripped her by the shoulders — had moved in before he knew — unable to wait a moment longer as he drew into her, close enough to feel the flutter of eyelashes against his cheek, the brush of her brow against his.

Her breath caught as he dipped closer, testing until he felt the warmth of an exhale, then another.

"Can you not see that I..." He was short of breath again as his heart raced onwards, but it was her proximity — Charlotte not an inch away — that caused his breath to hitch, "...I cannot be calm."

She exhaled, cut off by a sob that dissipated as quickly as it arrived, ending in something indecipherable as she breathed against him again. "Never do that again."

And despite all, he smiled, his lips brushing against her, the anticipation intoxicating as he felt the rush of warmth again, short and fleeting this time. He lifted her hand from its place and tucked it inside his overcoat, "It caused me no harm," he assured as he brought her hand back to the bandages, pressing into them as he spoke in hushed tones, gently, "Not a stitch out of place."

He let go of her hand, felt the faint pressure of her fingertips running down his side, and focused with all that he had left on the increasing warmth of her exhales, hearing them over his own as her hand crossed his torso.

He opened his eyes to take in this abstract view of her, bathed in gold, the view ever-changing, knowing with certainty that he would have leapt onto a moving carriage a thousand times over if it meant a chance at seeing her in this light, captivating him with a single touch.

They had to leave, he thought, as the seconds passed, as her breaths matched his. There was much to be done. And yet he clung to her, still.