He licked her nipple again. “May I touch you here?” His hand brushed over the curls.
“Yes.”
Suddenly, he rolled her over. She gave a little shriek before covering her mouth. Then he had her under him. He looked down at her large, dark eyes, her pink cheeks, and her rosy nipples. His hand found the dewy curls again and skated over them. She moaned.
“Shh.” He kissed her and moved against her again. She pressed back, welcoming his touch and bringing him into contact with her slick folds. He found her nub of pleasure and, sliding one finger down and over it, entered her. She tightened around him almost immediately, arching to bring him deeper.
He repeated the exercise until they found a rhythm. She was panting, and a sweat had broken out on his brow as he struggled to keep himself in check. He used his tongue to mimic the movements of his hand. Her own tongue tangled with his quickly or slowly, deeply or shallowly, showing him what she wanted.
When her hand clenched on his back, her fingers pressing into the flesh there, he knew she was close. Her hips pumped, and she turned her face into the pillow, and her muscles clenched around his finger. Her climax seemed to last for minutes until she finally took a hitching breath and her hands fell to her sides.
He withdrew his hand and tried not to crush her. He would have liked to lay beside her, but the damn bed was too narrow. He pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her eyes. She opened them and gave him a lazy smile.
“It’s been a long time, I think,” he said.
“A very long time.”
“For me as well.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I should do something about that.”
He shook his head and held her in place. “Not tonight. Tonight, I just want to hold you.”
She gave him a look of surprise, but didn’t protest when he shifted to lie on his side. She turned on her side and pressed her face against his chest. He knew most men would have taken her up on her offer. It was tempting. He’d taught her how to use her mouth, and he knew she could please him—more than please him. But he’d been alone for so long. He’d been running for so long, and he hadn’t realized how much he missed holding a woman. How much he missed the companionship of a long conversation. How tired he was of his cold, lonely bed.
She was warm and smelled faintly of orange blossoms. Her skin was soft where he rubbed a hand over it. Soon, her breathing grew deeper and more even. She slept in his arms, and he was more content than he’d been in years.
BRIDGET AWOKE IN HER own bed. She remembered Caleb waking her, helping her dress, and escorting her back to her own room. It wouldn’t do for her to be seen coming out of his chambers in the morning. But she hadn’t slept well after she’d come back to her room. She’d slept much better pressed against him in the tiny bed. She liked the way the hair on his chest tickled her cheeks and the way his hands kept her nestled close and safe.
Today was Sunday, and she usually attended church services in the chapel at the academy. A few eyebrows might lift if she did not attend, so she dressed for church in a gown of white with peach ribbons at the bodice and sleeves and made her way to Manchester Square. She found Valérie and sat beside her just as the girls began to sing the first hymn.
“Did you find him yet?” Valérie asked.
For a moment, Bridget thought her friend meant Caleb, and then she realized Valérie meant James. “Not yet,” she whispered, “but I am close.” That was true enough. She would go to see Merceron again after church today. Perhaps he would not be as busy on the Sabbath.
Valérie squeezed her hand, clearly excited for her. After the service, Bridget hugged Valérie and started for the front door. Irene Chalmers called out to her before she could reach the door. With her curly black hair, light brown skin, and dark eyes, she was truly lovely. She was also amazingly intelligent, teaching history, geography, and pocketpicking.
“Mrs. Chalmers, it was a lovely service, wasn’t it?”
“It was. You’re not leaving without dinner, are you?” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “I know Mrs. White is still finding her footing, but she’s made some delicious meals recently.”
“I’d like to, but I have business to attend to.”
“I see. Then I’d better mention this now. I have a cousin with a daughter of about nine. She thinks the little girl shows some aptitude for drawing. I told her you would be giving lessons on Saturdays soon. Do you still plan to do so?”
Bridget smiled. “Yes! And thank you for thinking of me. I think in another week or two, I will be ready to begin lessons.”
“I’ll tell her. She may have friends, and if her mother likes you, I’m sure she’ll refer them to you.”
“Irene, you’re an angel. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. At least grab a slice of toast from the kitchen before you go. You have to eat something.”
Bridget took her advice, smiling all the way back to Covent Garden. If she could find just four or five regular art students, she would be able to supplement her income from the academy nicely and afford clothing and shoes for James and perhaps pay her debt to her great-aunt more quickly. She hadn’t yet decided if she would accept money from Caleb, but if she did, that could be used to pay for tutors and schooling, though she was in no hurry to send her son off to school. He could attend a school here in London and live at home, as many of the sons of merchants and tradesmen did.
Caleb had told her to wait for him near the theater, and she spotted him almost immediately. It might be more apt to say she spotted him as soon as he allowed it. She’d been looking for him outside the theater as she approached and thought she had arrived early. Then he seemed to appear from nowhere. He joined her, falling into step beside her.
Seeing him again brought the memories of the night before rushing back. The way his kingfisher-blue eyes had looked up at her as she’d disrobed, the way his mouth had looked when he kissed her breast, the way his hands had felt as they touched her. She felt her cheeks heat at the memory.
“Are you feeling suddenly shy?” he asked after the silence had gone on and he’d glanced at her face.
“Just remembering last night.”
“I’m sure you repented this morning.”
He turned in the direction of Bethnal Green. “Did you?” she asked.
“Hell no. I’m not a bit sorry.”
She laughed. “You are incorrigible.”
“I am. I see you in that pretty dress and jaunty hat, and all I can think about is taking it off you.”
Now her cheeks heated for another reason. She swallowed, eager to change the subject. “I have good news.”
“Tidings of great joy? Isn’t that in December?”
She punched him lightly. “Not that good news. A young girl is interested in taking art lessons with me. If her mother recommends me to her friends, I could soon have a number of pupils.”
“And what will you do with all that blunt?”
“Buy James clothes and shoes and pay for schooling.”
“Are you still determined not to accept my money?”
She ducked her head. “I suppose if you are determined to give it to me, I won’t refuse. I could move to better accommodations or buy James some toys.”