"This is overwhelming. I always thought Westminster and St. Pauls were beautiful, but this is another beast altogether."
Hugh chuckled, walking them leisurely up the middle of the nave, he too looking about the great space. "It's a feast for any historian or antiquities collector. You can understand why so many people come to admire this church."
"Oh yes," she said, squeezing his arm a little. "Take me to the Sistine Chapel. I cannot wait any longer."
He nodded slightly. "I'm at your service, Miss Clare." He pulled her back out into the portico and, turning left, they headed up some stairs before turning left again and climbing stairs that worked their way up one side of a building separate to St. Peter's Basilica.
"I had always thought the chapel was part of the church. From where you're taking me, this is not the case?" she asked, staring ahead to the door that loomed before them.
"It's a chapel off to the side and separate. I did not know this either until I visited for the first time. I'm glad I have a companion who appreciates history and beauty as much as I do."
She met his gaze as they made the top landing, and she beamed at him, her body thrumming with expectation. "I'm delighted you're here with me too. Had I done this alone or with Miss Sinclair, who dislikes travel and anything different to what she is used to, it would not have been the same. Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Armstrong. You're truly a good man."
"I wouldn't go that far, Miss Clare." His laugh held an edge of mocking, and she wondered at it. He was a good man and had been a wonderful friend to her these past days.
"I would," she disagreed as they walked through a small door into a rectangular room full of painted murals. Molly bit her lip, speechless by what she saw.
"Michelangelo, for all that he proclaimed to be a sculptor and not a painter, certainly had talent when he held a brush."
Gaping, Molly closed her mouth with a snap, arching her neck to look upon the roof that she'd read so many books on, but had never beheld in life. The famous making of Adam stared down upon them, grand and celebrated. She blinked back tears at finally being here, at seeing this treasure from a master of art.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, swiping at her cheek and yet not embarrassed by the fact she was emotional before Hugh. One could not look at such art and not be moved, to be indifferent to what adorned the walls could only mean the person had no soul.
"I quite agree," he whispered.
Molly glanced at Hugh and found him staring at her, his eyes heavy with an emotion she did not recognize. She tore her gaze away, calming her racing heart. This was not the place for her to throw herself at him. They were friends, he did not mean anything by his words, merely that the paintings were beautiful. Not that she was.
She stepped forward, taking in the images of the popes drawn on a higher level of the room, of the arched windows and floor that was some sort of mosaic of a circular pattern, seemingly more modern than the historical room and paintings that stood within.
They studied the paintings for some time, a guide coming over to them and telling them a little of the painting's meanings, of how long it took Michelangelo to paint the room.
Several hours passed before they exited St. Peter's Basilica, their carriage waiting patiently outside The Square. "Are you pleased that you traveled thousands of miles to see Rome and all of this?" Hugh asked, pulling her close to his side as they strode across The Square.
Molly breathed deep, feeling at home in this city, this country. Although she had friends that she adored and loved in England, they were all married now, on paths of their own. Her family no longer circulated in town, not after what happened to her cousin. Even though they never circulated in the sphere in which her friends now enjoyed, it still allowed Molly to have her family in London and not be isolated.
She was alone quite a lot now that Evie had married and moved out of the townhouse they once shared with Willow.
Molly pulled Hugh to a stop. He glanced down at her, a small frown line between his brow marring his perfect visage. This close, she could admire his long obsidian eyelashes, the slight shadow of stubble across his cheeks and jaw. An ache thrummed deep in her belly, and for the first time in her life, she acted upon her feelings.
Her fingers slid up behind the lapels on his coat. She clasped them tight, pulling Hugh close before leaning up and kissing him in the middle of St. Peter's Square.
Molly ignored the gasps from those passing them by and viewing their public display of affection, but she did not stop. His lips were as soft as silk just as she imagined them to be. His arms wrapped about her waist, pulling her close, and he deepened the kiss. taking her mouth in a kiss like she'd never imagined before. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she gasped, having not expected such intimacy when she'd started this foray into passion.
The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, but she liked it. Liked having him kiss her with abandon and without care of who saw them. They were in Rome, after all. The eternal city that had seen millions of love affairs just like the one she was embarking on.
Molly held on to his shoulders, mimicking him as much as she could. Her first kiss was all heat and deliciousness, and she couldn't get enough. She never wanted to stop kissing him.
He reached up, clasping her face with his hands. He tipped her head a little, and the world stopped spinning. At this angle, somehow, he made her open to him like a flower, blooming from his warmth. Before she knew what she was about, she slid her tongue against his, marveling at the friction.
Hugh moaned, his hands spiking into her hair as he wrenched her closer. His body, hard against hers, made her breath hitch, her most private of places ache. Their kiss turned desperate. Distantly, as if a million miles away, she could feel her hair unraveling under his onslaught. She cared little. All she heeded was this sweet, kind, virile, handsome man who was kissing her within an inch of her life.
The sound of a gentleman clearing his throat nearby impinged on their kiss, and Hugh pulled back, staring at her as if he didn't know who it was in his arms. Molly refused to glance about to see who was watching, judging them. They could all go to hades as far as she was concerned.
"That was…" he said, his words breathless against her lips.
"It was, wasn't it?" She grinned and stepped out of his hold. Molly took his hand and started toward the carriage. Her hair fell about her shoulders, and she didn't try to fix it before they made the carriage. There was little point. Half her pins were scattered about St. Peter's Square, after all.
Along with her reputation should anyone have recognized her.
* * *
Hugh helped Molly up into the carriage and followed her inside, slamming the door behind him to mask his shaking hands. Damn it all to hell. What had just happened? Never in his life had he ever acted in such a scandalous way. And in St. Peter's Square to boot. The Pope would disapprove should he have seen such a public kiss between two people not even married.
What had he been thinking?
As to that, not a lot. Nothing at all except how perfect Molly felt in his arms. How her sweet, soft lips felt pressed up against his and how much he wanted to feel them again.
Right now.
He pulled the blinds down in the carriage, giving them privacy. "You kissed me, Molly. Does that mean you want to kiss me again?"