She came into his arms, pressing her wet face against his. Her lips twisted against his, burning, devouring. Her arms slid around him, her hands stroking his neck. He could feel her pulling at him as he held her and her legs gave way.
He knew they were going to have each other and could not help themselves.
He pressed his hand on her breast, loving its softness, feeling her risen nipple push against his palm through silk and calico.
Footsteps crackled in the shrubbery at the bottom of the hill.
He froze, all his senses straining.
The hot blood in his veins turned in an instant to icy water.
"Auguste, for God's sake," she whispered.
"Someone's coming," he said. He felt her shiver against him.
He heard many men. They were trying to move quietly, filtering up the hill through the woods. But few pale eyes could walk unheard among shrubs and trees and piles of fallen leaves, especially at night.
Along with fear, he felt a sudden anger at himself that made him want to pound his fist on his head. He'd heard the voices before, farther off, in the village. He should have listened. He'd have known who and what they were.