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“You’re hopeless.” Her voice came in a whisper, her eyes drifting shut.
Drake kissed her lightly on the lips, covered her better and watched her fall asleep. For a long time, he kept his gaze on her as her breathing slowed, the shape of her soft body lit by the fireplace after he blew the candle she had by the side-table. He buried his face in her fragrant hair, inhaled deeply in her scent, marvelling in her precious presence filling his arms.
Because she’d wrung him dry literally, he fell in an exhausted slumber.
He awoke to the fire nearly extinguished and soft hands roaming his shoulder and biceps. He looked down at her. She lay half over him, one leg between his, hair falling everywhere. Her lips lowered to place a kiss on his collarbone.
And there was no resisting her. He flipped over her, cradling himself between her thighs, seeking her mouth, his hands sliding over every piece of skin he could reach. Her hips moved and took him in her tight, petite channel. From there, they were two lost souls haunting the night away.
In the morning, both sat at breakfast though Hester had little appetite. Her cheeks flooded at the thought of the reason. As Drake had promised, she'd gained very little sleep, the result being that now she felt more tired than hungry. But the memory of what they'd done the whole night became enough to dispel any droopy eyes and elicit an excited response from her. They'd sought each other so much she lost count. Upon leaving the bed, he'd ordered baths, and she took hers in her usual chamber.
With light pouring in the morning room, she found it hard to hide the effects of the night as well as its delights.
“I’ll have Mrs Walters send your things here.” His tenor washed insidiously over her.
Hester had to be a phenomenally wanton woman to stir at his mere voice, even after their sensual explorations in the dark.
The meaning of his words registered though, as she snapped her eyes to him. And froze because his entire focus lay on her and it had nothing to do with what he said. It spoke of shared secrets and sated bodies.
“Why would you do that?” Her blurted question caused one of his brows to quirk up.
“You’ll be staying here evidently.” He answered meaningfully.
Her attention focused around to see he'd dismissed the footman who'd been waiting on them. "No, I will not." Her reply came firmly. "I'm leaving as soon as your friend the duke forgets his nonsensical grudge."
"That's out of the question." He retorted, crumpled features.
Her lungs filled with air as she stored herself with patience. “Drake,” she started. “I’m not going back to being your mistress. Ever.”
If she lowered her guard, he’d walk all over her. Worse, he’d have her eating out of his hand with just a faint caress of his expert hands. She’d not fall in that trap again, the trap of his physical gratification or the one in which he’d place her in a box labelled ‘for bedding whenever the mood strikes’. In her deliberation, accepting that situation anew would be a huge step back. And it had been a year of too steep a learning curve for her to do that. What drove her was the fact she had been in awe at him and the sultry world he unveiled for her. But it was past time to grow out of it and move on.
“No need for that.” He stated. “We can just carry on as we’ve been doing.” But the way he said it, in that lord-ish tone of his, indicated he’d make sure everything went back to his way of doing them.
Exhibiting a calm, she was losing, she took a sip of tea. “Precisely.” Her hand rested the cup delicately on its saucer. “I’ll carry on working and living in the house I inherited from my mother.” Her fingers laced before her on the table. “And you’ll go about whatever it is you do with your life.”
The vexed glint darting from his brandy eyes told what he thought of her plans. “Fine.” His nostrils flared with his intake of air. “Until Haddington is out of the way, you remain here. And then we’ll see.”
She found no way of countering that simple logic; she nodded and made herself eat a toast. The day ahead promised to be challenging, for they’d be doing rehearsals.
Hester sent a note to Miss Bolton inviting her for luncheon in a nearby tavern. Bruce on her heels, she headed there and found Amelia sitting at a corner of the busy place, a maid in tow.
Since she’d been staying in Worcester House, Bruce didn’t need to watch her house at night and retired to sleep when she did. Now, he followed her during the day.
Despite this being lofty West London, the surrounding areas of the theatre lodged many shops and its taverns served meals for their owners and those who worked there, men or women. Ton ladies didn’t have access to public life as those of the working stations did, another reason Hester considered them underprivileged in the way they enjoyed less the city they lived in.
As soon as Amelia spotted Hester, she smiled. "I'm so thrilled to be in a tavern," Amelia said as Hester neared the table. "My first time." Their hands connected in greeting. Hester nodded at the maid who kept her own counsel.
As the daughter of a rich mine owner, Amelia also had a sheltered existence even if she had limited access to the higher echelons of society.
“And finding it pleasant, I hope,” Hester answered as she sat across from her friend. Bruce had stationed at a discreet spot.
“Indeed.” Her voice came enthusiastically. “In Northumberland, everything is so black and white.” Her tone lost a little of its cheerfulness. “There are the mine owners and the miners, mostly. Makes for a rather polarised society.”
"I can imagine." And Hester could. The gated mansions and the sooty slums. "Here in town, there is more of the middle ground." With clerks, shop-owners and other businesses that afforded standards that were neither too high, nor too low.
“And that’s so positive. Gives you more interesting friends, and—” the girl paused for a few seconds, “matches.” And lowered her gaze shyly. She referred to marriage, naturally.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Hester didn’t know if she should have asked, but the question just flowed out.
