Chapter 33
Bridget’s body was damp with sweat and flushed with color.
She stretched over the bed linen and cast him a coy smile.
His young wife looked like a nymph, elegant and mischievous.
Bridget pressed her thighs together, and Lewis saw the arousal glistening on her bare skin.
It seemed impossible that he had married such a charming lady. He could not possibly deserve her.
A soft feeling overcame him. “Let me clean you,” he said.
Bridget’s eyes grew wide. “Clean me?” she whispered.
“Is that too intimate?” Lewis asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have been inside you, my dear.”
“I…I find it a charming gesture,” she said. “It is only that I am a little startled by—by everything.”
Lewis’s lips twitched into an amused smile. For how scandalous Bridget allegedly was, it was quite apparent that no one had ever given her pleasure before Lewis, much less engaged in a proper amorous congress with the young woman.
He went to his pitcher and basin. After pouring water into the basin, he wet a cloth with it and wrung it out. Lewis glanced over his shoulder. Bridget lay in bed, watching him with a bright smile.
“I did not hurt you?” Lewis asked.
“No,” she said. “You did not.”
“I am pleased to hear it.”
He settled between her thighs and gently wiped the damp cloth over her legs and sex. Bridget sighed contentedly and stretched like cat. “I enjoyed it,” she said. “I am a little cross that you made me wait so long for it.”
It was as torturous for me as it was for you, Lewis thought.
He placed the cloth by his basin and returned to the bed, allowing himself another long look of Bridget’s beautiful body. “If you had behaved yourself earlier in our marriage, I would have not made you wait,” Lewis said.
“You must not make me wait so long to do this again,” Bridget said. “I am certain that I shall expire for want of you if you do.”
Lewis lay on his side beside her and planted his elbow into the mattress. He let his cheek rest in the palm of his head and gazed at her. “It does not befit a duchess to lie.”
“Even if she lies to ensure that her husband knows how virile he is? How accomplished?” Bridget asked, grinning slyly. “How adored?”
“Even then,” he said. “A lie is a lie, regardless of the intent behind it.”
And his wife was rather adept at spinning schemes. Lewis considered her. Somehow, he could not quite make himself think that Bridget was a liar.
Bridget hummed and closed her eyes, stretching her arms above her head. “Did you enjoy it, too?”
“Yes,” he said. “Did you have any doubts?”
“I thought you did,” she said. “You—you shouted, and I felt you inside me. Y-you were wet.”
There was something charming in how she clearly wanted to speak to him but did not quite know the words to express what she wanted.
Lewis rather suspected that husbands and wives did not discuss their consummations in this explicit detail, but he ought not be surprised that headstrong Bridget was so eager to discuss the experience.
“I did enjoy myself,” he said. “As much as you did, I am certain.”
“I am glad.” She paused. “No books ever mention this aspect of marriage.”
Some did, but certainly not the kind that a young lady would be allowed to read.
“Maybe that is for the best,” Lewis said. “Not all consummations are enjoyable.”
“Maybe ladies should know that,” Bridget pointed out, “so they know what to expect.”
“But it would make for a terrible novel,” Lewis said. “I imagine some of the charm is lost once the lady marries her beloved only to have a disappointing wedding night.”
Bridget stifled a yawn. She curled her body towards him and edged closer. “I suppose that is true. And ladies would likewise be disappointed if such scenes all went well, and they learned that their own marriages were lacking in happy consummations.”
“And of course, such material is quite vulgar,” Lewis said.
Bridget grinned. “Of course.”
It was impossible not to be charmed by Bridget when she gazed at him like that, her green eyes wide with wonder and her face softened.
He could almost make himself believe that she was fond of him, but that was preposterous.
This marriage of theirs was convenient and nothing more.
Her better behavior indicated only that she had finally learned what was expected of her.
It was not fondness, certainly not love. Lewis doubted that it was even respect. Maybe they had come to a mutual understanding, though. That was more than many marriages had.
His thoughts were disturbingly close to sentimental, so Lewis sat upright and put his back to her. Now, came the awkwardness of banishing her from his bed. “You are tired,” he said. “You should rest, my wife.”
“Is that what you want to do?” she asked. “I could join you.”
The mattress creaked, and fabric rustled behind him.
Bridget had moved. He resisted the impulse to look over his shoulder at her, for fear that she might have arranged herself into another alluring position.
As if she needed to arrange herself. She was beautiful, young, and naked.
Any man with eyes would have felt his blood stir at the sight of her.
She had asked to join him. A lump rose in Lewis’s throat.
It was too easy to imagine himself rolling over in the bed and pulling her flush against him.
They could fall asleep holding one another, their limbs entangled, and her warmth and softness pressed against him.
Bridget likely wanted that, too. She adored pleasure. That was all this was.
“That is not what our marriage is,” Lewis said.
Bridget let out a sharp laugh. “What do you mean?”
If he stayed in bed with her, if he slept beside her, Lewis would become more attached to her.
He might start to develop some tender feelings for her beyond what he already felt, and that could not happen.
Even if Bridget had not used his grandmother in her schemes, that did not mean she had ceased all her deceitful behavior.
He could not let himself be vulnerable ever, but especially not with her. Lewis had survived because he was in control of everything and everyone around him, and he could not let Bridget tear that all down.
“Lewis?” she asked softly.
Of course, she would not take his silence as an answer. “Our marriage is one of convenience,” he said. “Neither of us really wanted it.”
“What does that matter?”
“We must be vigilant,” he said. “Husbands only sleep with wives who they love. If we forget what we are, for even a moment, we risk ruining everything.”
“But how?” Bridget asked softly. “One night together would not—would not be some catastrophe, would it?”
He could not bear to look at her, for fear that the dejection in her voice might be mirror in her lovely face.
“It would be,” Lewis said. “Because if you let yourself forget for just a little while, you will find it all the more difficult to remember.”
“So you want to destroy any fondness or intimacy that we might have,” Bridget said.
He did not want that at all, but he could not trust her. Or himself.
Lewis sighed. “This is my fault. I erred in thinking that you would ascribe no meaning to our amorous congress tonight, but clearly, you have.”
“I—I did not,” she said, her voice quivering. “I only made the offer out of…”
She was a terrible liar. If he kept reminding himself of that, he would not care if Bridget was upset with him.
“Besides,” Lewis said. “I have work that I need to finish.”
“Of course.” Her voice was as cold as the Arctic. “I shall not keep you.”
“Very gracious.”
Lewis left the bed and seized his trousers, hastily pulling them on. Behind him, Bridget huffed in frustration.
“A becoming sound,” Lewis said dryly.
“You do not get to criticize me at the moment,” Bridget said. “I—I offered you an ounce of kindness—”
He laughed. “Kindness? What about it was kind?” The remark was so silly that he turned around and stared incredulously at Bridget, who lay on the bed with an arm thrown over her face.
“Do not mock me,” she said. “I thought you might like some affection. I have solved you.”
He retrieved his shirt from the floor. “Solved me? What does that mean?”
“When we met, I thought you were simply a cold and heartless man,” Bridget said. “Then, I saw how you spoke to your grandmother, and I realized you are not heartless at all.”
“That proves nothing,” Lewis scoffed.
“No?” Bridget asked. “How is that?”
Lewis pulled on his shirt, eyes snapping to his wife’s face. “Because I am heartless. I am not a good man, Bridget, and if you have mistaken me for one, you are a fool.”
“If you wish to see a fool, I suggest you look in the mirror,” Bridget said. “You visit your grandmother every day at the same time, so as to not disturb her. Those are not the actions of a heartless man.”
“You know nothing,” Lewis scoffed. “I have had so many uncharitable thoughts about her. I can scarcely count the number of days where I have wanted to miss our meetings. Sometimes, I am exhausted by her. So, you see? I am not good.”
“You are human,” Bridget retorted. “Everyone finds their relatives frustrating on occasion. You are not special in that regard.”
The words were like being doused in icy water. “What?” he hissed.
“You heard me.”
For a moment, they merely stared at one another. Bridget’s gaze was fierce, her eyes blazing with disapproval.
“You are ridiculous,” he said.
“No,” Bridget said. “Do not dismiss my feelings! I know this from experience!”
“Oh, yes!” Lewis snapped, his temper fraying. “Because our situations are precisely the same, are they? You have your lovely family! Your brothers and sisters, who are strong and independent! Poor you.”
“You cannot speak to me as if my feelings are worthless. I know what it is to suffer!” Bridget exclaimed.
Lewis shook his head. “So theatrical! You have no idea what it is like having someone who is so entirely dependent on you. I have shaped my entire life around her, and I have to manage the crushing weight of upsetting her any time I wish to deviate from our set schedule.”
Bridget inhaled sharply. Dozens of emotions flitted across her face, too quickly for Lewis to identify them.
“So you see,” Lewis continued, grabbing his jacket from the floor. “I am not a good man. I am not a kind man. And if I indulge you too much, romantic girl that you are, you will become too attached to me.” And me to you.
Bridget scowled. “I can assure you that there is no danger of that happening in the foreseeable future!”
“Good.”
He did not bother to put on his jacket, instead throwing it over his arm. Lewis stormed away, refusing to look at Bridget for a moment longer. She unsettled him in a way that she had not before. Bridget spoke as if she understood him, and she could not possibly know who he really was.
“I will leave your bedroom!” Bridget said after him. “You do not have to pretend to work.”
But Lewis did not even want to spend the night in his own bed, for it would doubtlessly remind him of the union with Bridget and worse, her request.
“I do have work,” he said.
Lewis left the bedchamber, closing the door behind him, so any servants still awake would not see his wife in such an immodest state. He trudged to his study, his chest tight and his thoughts a tempest.
Bridget’s request had been so very simple. So sweet.
And even if it was for the best that he not let her be so affectionate with him, Lewis found that regret settled uncomfortably in his stomach. He sat behind his desk in the dark and sighed. What was he going to do with her?