To her relief, only one footman was waiting in the foyer when Bridget and Stephen made it back to Berkeley Square. Dismissing him as quickly as possible, she led Stephen upstairs.
He was right on her heels when she stepped into the drawing room. He closed the door swiftly behind him and turned the key in the lock.
His large frame filled her entire field of vision as she turned to face him. She sensed a momentary hint of danger but quickly pushed all worries aside. For this man’s touch, she would risk it all.
“Bridget.”
Just hearing him speak her name in such a sultry manner had heat pooling in her loins. Her nipples pressed hard against the fabric of her chemise. And from the look on his face, it was clear that Stephen was standing right alongside her on the edge of desire. Any moment now he would take hold of her hand, and together they would leap into the abyss.
His fingertips brushed over her cheek and he smiled. “You are blushing again. Tell me, Bridget, what is it that has your blood so heated?”
She swallowed deeply. “You. Every time you look at me, I ache for your touch.”
A large hand cupped the back of her head, and he leaned in, placing a soft, barely there, kiss on her lips. Bridget shivered as a frisson of lust raced down her spine. It was still tingling in her toes when Stephen leaned in and kissed her a second time.
This kiss, while still tender, was more certain. More controlled. His lips worked slowly over hers, gentle at first, almost as if he were asking for her permission. For a man of such determined action, this was most unexpected, but also very welcome.
She was no wilting and timid virgin. In her first year or so of marriage, Bridget had experienced many long afternoons of passionate lovemaking. She knew exactly what she wanted from a man—what she craved from Stephen.
He blazed a trail of hot, delicious kisses down the side of her neck. Bridget groaned.
His hands settled on the front of her gown, lightly cupping her breasts. Her already firm nipples instantly peaked, aching for his attention. When his thumb stroked over the hardened bud, she trembled.
Thank heavens I wore my light stays.
She was still fully invested in the kiss when Stephen broke it off and took a hurried step back. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It isn’t right.”
All of Bridget’s hopes for a night of wild, passionate sex evaporated in an instant. Her lust-fired body cooled.
He doesn’t want me.
Stephen slowly shook his head. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Bridget. I don’t mean we shouldn’t ever share a bed. Lord knows you are a beautiful and tempting woman. It’s just that the timing is not right. You are my client. I don’t sleep with people who are paying me. I am a rake not a fancy man.”
“I understand, and that makes perfect sense. I would never wish for you to feel that you were anything other than a full partner in any sexual encounter,” she replied.
What a pity. I might struggle to pay for the coal, but I could easily find the money to keep you at my beck and call. My own private fancy man.
Her wicked thoughts were shameful, but Bridget didn’t care. She wanted Stephen to know that she desired him. That she was prepared to bend or break as many rules as possible to get him into her bed. “So, if I was not your client, you would consider a relationship with me?”
“Yes and no. Once we get this case closed, I am open to you and me sharing your bed. But as for a relationship, that is completely out of the question. I am not seeking a long-term lover. We have one night together, and, in the morning, you shall find me gone.”
Of course, he wasn’t offering anything more than a discrete liaison. He was Sir Stephen Moore, master of the ballroom and the bedroom. While she was the Barren Baroness, and most men wouldn’t consider her to be anything other than a short-term carnal conquest.
But isn’t that what you want? No strings attached. And no one crushing your heart because you cannot give him a child. Naomi was right. You should take a chance.
She held out her hand. “I agree to those terms. When this is all over, you and I shall spend one night together. A shared passionate embrace with no boundaries, and—no breakfast.”
He glanced at her outstretched fingers, and for a moment Bridget wondered if he might have changed his mind.
“Good,” he said.
And then he kissed her all over again.