Her palm settled firmly against the back of his head to hold him steady, and James nearly growled with pleasure. Tamping down the response with all his might lest he scare her off, he stayed completely silent while she wet his jaw.
She dropped the washcloth on the towel she’d placed beside him on the bed, picked up the soap, and slowly massaged it between her fingers. God help him but he found the simple task seductive. Or maybe it was just the scent of roses that fogged his brain. One thing he did know, and that was that he had to keep his hands to himself at all cost or she’d be straddling his lap in a heartbeat.
Christ. Perhaps the shave had been a bad idea?
He could have managed it on his own if he’d taken extra care, but he’d wanted to bond with Mrs. Lawson in a way he’d never bonded with anyone else. For some peculiar reason, he wanted more from her – a shared experience intended to bring them closer. Not even Clara had been this intimate with him. She’d been his wife and they’d shared the same bed until he’d learned of her unfaithfulness, but she’d always thought the task of shaving him to be beneath her.
Mrs. Lawson’s fingers began working over his cheeks, forcing her nearer as she leaned in. Her leg pressed up against his, prompting him to grab the edge of the bed and hold on tight while need spiked through him. Perhaps it was because he was starting to see her for who she truly was that he wanted to craft this pointless memory with her. Initially, she’d been alluring, exactly the sort of woman he would have chased after if she’d been available. But then she’d become the villainess, the very antithesis of what he wanted. Until fate had thrown them together and forced him to see.
He wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to go along with her husband’s claims or why she continued insisting she was a fallen woman, but with each new experience James shared with her, it became increasingly clear to him that she’d never taken a lover in her life. Hell, even sharing a room with him for the evening had put her on edge.
He took a deep breath and breathed in her scent, not of rich perfume but rather of honey and lemons. His heart answered with a hard thump. More homely woman than crafty temptress, she was exactly what he’d always wanted, and it pained him to think she’d ruined their chance of being together for any reason. But at least there could be this.
“Hold still,” she murmured, her breath teasing over his skin right before the edge of the blade scraped his jaw.
James tried not to shudder as her fingers raked through his hair at the back of his head to adjust his angle. It wasn’t easy. Least of all with her bending at the waist in a manner that brought her breasts down to his eye level. He told himself not to look, but hell, he was only a man. He’d be a fool to squander the chance he’d been given to admire her lovely attributes this closely. So he boldly committed the shape and size of her curved perfection to memory while secretly hoping he’d one day see her completely bared to his gaze.
Arousal gripped him on that thought. He closed his eyes, did his best to bank the sensation while praying she would not notice his inappropriate response. But God help him, she sparked a craving inside him unlike any he’d ever known. And it had been an eternity since he’d last lain with a woman. He didn’t care for brothels and had only made one attempt at having a mistress years ago after learning of Clara’s deception. In spite of it all, bedding a woman who wasn’t his wife had just made him feel more wretched.
And then she’d died and… Well, there had been a widow once while Michael was still away at university. But it had been a passing affair and James hadn’t been with anyone since.
Mrs. Lawson wiped the blade clean on the wash cloth and adjusted her position, bringing her around to his other side. “I trust you’ll tell me if I hurt you, Mr. Dale?”
He made a gruff sound in answer. It was all he could manage at this point.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this so my skill may not be what it once was.” She chatted away with a nervous lilt to her voice. The blade scraped James’s cheek. “And with the dim light from the oil lamp it’s not so easy to see. I hope you won’t have random tufts of hair showing tomorrow.”
He was about to form a response when she tilted his head back and went to work on his neck. She angled herself to one side as if attempting to get at him from the front. Eventually she moved so she stood directly before him. Her knees bumped his as she tried to reach him, and James instinctively parted his legs, allowing her to step between them.
It wasn’t clear to him whether or not she noticed the lack of resistance she suddenly found or the reason for it. Perhaps she was too caught up in her task to realize what he’d done, or that she’d moved in closer – so closer she’d sit on his thigh if she sank a bit lower.
“I have to say,” she whispered while she worked, “I’m surprised you were willing to trust me with this.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, still gripping the bed sheets so he’d not grab her.
“Because it allows me to hold a knife to your throat?”
He could hear the smile in her voice and felt an answering chuckle roll through him. “My coachman would not help you find your daughter if you were to harm me, Mrs. Lawson.”
“No, but given your low opinion of me, it still makes me wonder.”
Without thinking, James reached up and grabbed her wrist. She stilled on a gasp and James eased his hold though he did not let go. “My opinion of you is rapidly changing. I’m starting to think you’re a much better person than I ever thought.”
She swallowed. A broken laugh rushed past her lips. “Why, Mr. Dale, if you’re not careful, you might start to like me a little.”
He already liked her a lot, but since he wasn’t sure saying as much would be wise, he just allowed a wry smile and told her, “God forbid.”
She grinned in response, easing much of the tension that had been between them since they’d been alone in the room. James relaxed and she finished the shave, completing it by wiping his face clean with the washcloth before patting it dry with the towel.
“There.” She stood back, adding distance and leaving him with an odd sense of loss. Using the washcloth, she cleaned the blade and returned it to its box before tidying up the rest of the items.
“I’ve a question for you,” James said. He stood and waited until she faced him before he asked, “Would you mind if I removed my breeches?”
She blinked in rapid succession. “Um…”
“It’ll be more comfortable for me that way. Of course I’ll leave my smalls on, but if you prefer I can—”
“It’s fine.”
She spun away from him and made all sorts of quick movements with her hands. James grinned as he pulled off one boot. Even in the dim evening glow from the oil lamp, her blush burned bright red. Mrs. Lawson was no more a scandalous harlot than he was Chinese.
Immensely pleased by this certainty, James pulled off his second boot and discarded his hose while she continued to busy herself with something or other. Aware of her discomfort, James tried to think of something to take her mind off the fact that she would soon be climbing into bed with him.
“Have you ever visited Vauxhall?” He wasn’t sure where the question had sprung from, except he could clearly see her there, gazing up at the night sky while colorful fireworks burst overhead. Pushing down the bedcovers, he settled himself on the narrow mattress.