Emma Longmore's first dalliance, after she leaves her husband, involves the seduction of a naive young clergyman . . .

Soon the pair were walking along the river bank, admiring the wild flowers that were raising their timid heads to the spring sunshine.

'That bank of daffodils over there reminds me of William Wordsworth's lyric,' Emma said. 'Do you read poetry, Robert?'

He shook his head. 'To me, the finest poetry is to be found in the good book, Miss Emma. The psalms, for instance.'

Emma smiled. 'Or the 'Song of Solomon', perhaps: "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine".'

Robert cleared his throat and stared hard at the path. 'Yes, quite. The poem is an allegory of spiritual love, of course.'

'Is it?' Emma feigned surprise. 'I had always thought of it literally, as a beautiful tribute of a lover to his beloved.'

'Of course physical love may be beautiful,' Robert went on, pompously, 'provided it is pure and holy, sanctified by the sacrament of marriage.'

'Ah yes! My late husband and I greatly enjoyed celebrating that sacrament over and over again. I was fortunate that my husband was experienced in the ways of love, since he had made love to many women before he met me.'

Robert's eyes widened in astonishment. 'Are you saying your husband was... a degenerate libertine?'

Emma smiled. 'No, just an experienced lover. There is a difference. A libertine cares nothing for the pleasure of women, only for his own. My Henry always made sure that his partner was as satisfied as he.'

Robert looked decidedly uneasy. His pace quickened, suggesting he wanted to get back to civilisation as soon as possible. 'I think one should not talk of such things,' he muttered.

'What, of women being satisfied? It is not fashionable, I know, to admit that women also have desires. However, I can assure you it is true. And if a man does not recognise that fact and try to please his partner, you may be sure she will find another who does.'

'I think a woman may be pleased with a virtuous and chaste husband, Miss Emma.'

'Do you intend to marry, Robert?'

'Perhaps. When I can get a Living.'

Emma could feel her pulses quickening, and decided to press home her advantage. She was aware that while the curate was extremely embarrassed by her talk, he was also filled with curiosity. She took his arm as they came to the bridge over the river, pressing close to his side.

'Perhaps you should start 'living' a little more yourself, Robert!'

He drew back from her, his cheeks scarlet. 'I took you for a modest woman, Miss Emma, but our conversation so far has been very immodest. Shall we change the subject?'

'If you wish,' she sighed. 'What shall we talk about - the weather?'

'I fear you mock me. Perhaps we had better cut short our walk and postpone your visit to the vicarage.'

Emma sighed. 'I see that you are afraid of life, like too many of your fellow clerics.'

'Afraid of life? How absurd!'

'You fear the vital urge, Robert, that wonderful wellspring of ecstasy that is the province not only of saints but of ordinary men and women, if only they would throw off the shackles of so-called civilisation. Church doctrine has labelled sex sinful to deprive us of that right to pleasure.'

'I repeat, love is not sinful within the frame of marriage...'

Emma realised that all this argument was futile. A more direct approach was needed to break their impasse. There was a small copse nearby, and she drew him into the shade of the trees on the pretext of gathering some early bluebells.

'They wilt in a day or so,' she sighed. 'But they are so delightful while they last. Like love.'

He was watching her, obviously excited by the sight of her bending low so that her rump was thrust into the air. She knew he wanted her, but he would never make the first move. She must be bold. Bringing the flowers to him she invited him to smell their delicate scent.

'They were created for us to enjoy,' she smiled. 'Like our bodies.'

So saying, Emma stood on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his. She perceived that conscience and curiosity fought in him for a few seconds, but then curiosity won. Roughly he pulled her close, thrusting his mouth onto hers with a low moan, and she pushed his lips apart to allow access to her questing tongue. She could feel his soft lips tremble, fluttering like the wings of a nervous butterfly, as she ran her tongue lightly between them, tasting the violet scent of a cachou he had been chewing earlier. He did not pull away but moaned, softly, so she reached down and felt his hardness through his trousers, making him moan all the more.

'Pray stop, temptress!' he gasped at last, pulling back.

'I would not be a temptation if you did not desire me,' she murmured.

'It is true, I do desire you, wretched woman! But tempt me no more, I beg of you!'

She pushed him away from her. 'Well, that is enough for now, Robert. Perhaps we should walk on?'

Smiling to herself, and filled with elation at giving the man his first kiss, Emma let him lead her back onto the path. She knew she had him well aroused, and this delay would work to her advantage.

'I do not know what came over me,' Robert declared, in a daze, as they resumed their progress.

'It is quite natural. I think you will be more compassionate towards your fellow men and women when you understand the true nature of their desires. After all, passion and compassion are close bedfellows, are they not?'

'So are sex and sin!' he retorted.

They walked in silence until the spire of the church and the slate roof of the vicarage were in sight. Once the maidservant had left the tea things and Emma had him alone in the drawing-room, she realised that she must again make a bold approach. Ignoring his small talk she began unbuttoning her blouse, watching his flushed, stunned face all the while. Soon the naked bulge of her cleavage was clearly visible and Robert's eyes fastened on it helplessly. She knew she could take complete command of him now. He was in thrall to his own desires, forced, for the first time in his restricted life, to acknowledge that he wanted a woman. She took his hand and placed it on the cleft, murmuring encouragement.

'Feel how soft my skin is, how warm and inviting. You may kiss me there if you like.'

Impelled by sudden hunger the curate plunged his face between her breasts and began to kiss them greedily.