Mrs. Brodie’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies

by Galen, Shana

  “Of course not. I wasn’t thinking. I apologize.”

  “Don’t. You’ve made me remember how it once was and how it could be again. I’d lost sight of that.”

  “You’ve had other worries. It may not be safe for me to be part of James’s life, but you can be assured you both will be taken care of. I have some money saved—”

  “Caleb, I don’t want your money. That isn’t why I asked for help finding him.”

  “And what if I want to give you money for him? If that’s the only way I can be part of his life, at least it’s something. I left you to fend for yourself all those years ago. I was well paid for my service, and this is the least I can do.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He didn’t press her any further. Instead, he paid for the food and escorted her back to Mrs. Jacobs’s. At the corner, where they wouldn’t be spotted by the lady herself, he pulled Bridget aside. “I wish I could take you to a museum or Hyde Park.”

  She looked up at the gray skies and the persistent drizzle. “The park? It’s raining.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I wish I could escort you anyway, but I’ve risked almost enough for one day.”

  “Almost?”

  “Take one more risk with me?”

  Years ago, she would have said yes immediately. Now, she hesitated. “What is it?”

  “Come to my room after supper tonight. I have something for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come to my room and find out.” He looked about, then back at her. “Go now. I’ll wait a quarter hour and come in after you.”

  “You should go first.”

  “I won’t have you standing on the street in the rain. Go now, so I can see that you return safely inside.”

  Bridget nodded and started for the boarding house. She knew there was no point in arguing with Caleb. He was as stubborn as he was honorable. But if he normally took as many chances as he had today, it was a wonder he hadn’t been spotted. The city was full of men and women looking for easy money, and Caleb was probably worth more money than she would ever possess.

  Bridget greeted Mrs. Jacobs when she entered and went straight to her room. She dropped a few more pieces of the small ration of coal she’d been allotted into the stove and huddled by it for warmth. Later in the summer, it would probably be uncomfortably hot in the room, but today, in her damp clothing, she was cold.

  She stripped off her dress and hung it to dry, then did the same with her stays and chemise, wrapping herself in a blanket. She had another chemise that was clean and dry, but it was her best one—a fine lawn with delicate lavender ribbons. She didn’t like to wear it often. She took it out of its tissue paper for special occasions.

  Did going to Caleb’s room qualify as a special occasion? Could she even risk going? It wasn’t a ploy to trap her in his chamber and take advantage of her. She knew him too well to ever expect such behavior from him. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be tempted to kiss him if she went. And if she kissed him, she did not know if she’d be able to stop. Or if she’d want him to stop.

  Then she might be glad she’d worn her pretty chemise.

  The very thought of Caleb seeing her in nothing but the chemise made her throat go dry. She wouldn’t decide now. It was still afternoon. She had plenty of time to decide. Instead, she crossed to her bed and pulled out a box from underneath. She opened the box and lifted out several sheets of paper. They were torn and stained from all the times she’d looked at them, all the times they’d been exposed to the elements in Fleet Prison. This was the only possession, other than the clothes on her back, she’d kept in prison.

  She lifted the top sheet of paper and stared into the face she’d drawn there. The charcoal sketch depicted a baby smiling sweetly in repose. She remembered watching James sleep and sketching him in the morning light. She’d wondered what he dreamed about when his little brow furrowed or his pink bow of a mouth pursed. He’d been such a beautiful child with his wispy blond hair and large blue eyes, though as an infant, as he was in this sketch, he’d been bald and rosy-cheeked.

  The next portrait captured those curls and the eyes. This one was watercolor, and looking at it now, she still didn’t think she’d captured the eye color correctly. She’d looked into those same eyes all morning, and paints could hardly do it justice. In the painting, the little boy was reaching for an apple and smiling. His stance was a bit ungainly, as though he might lose his balance and plop onto his bottom at any moment. She traced a hand over the plump cheeks and the dimple in his chin.

  The last picture had been difficult to draw and still hurt to look at. She’d drawn it in prison with pencil. It depicted James’s head and shoulders as he was carried away from her. One hand reached back as though to grasp her. His face was the picture of misery and terror. Her heart ached when she thought of that day, to know that she’d failed him. Her choices had failed him. She’d thought marrying Robbie would give James a better life. Instead, it had doomed her to prison and sent James to an orphanage.

  The room had grown dark, and she put the pictures back into the box and slid them under the bed. She could hear the scrape and click-clacking of silver against china below. Those who had paid for meals were eating downstairs.

  Bridget retrieved the bread and cheese Mrs. White had wrapped up for her and ate it slowly, trying to make it last.

  When she was done, she lit a candle and read for a while by the flickering light. The house had grown quiet by then. If she was going to go to Caleb’s room, now was the time to do it.

  She didn’t have to go. He would help her regardless. But if she didn’t go, she wouldn’t know what surprise he had for her. And she’d never know if he still wanted to kiss her, and if she still liked it.

  Rising, Bridget took a deep breath and unwrapped her fine chemise.

  Chapter Five

  CALEB OPENED THE DOOR at the first knock. He’d been waiting and wasn’t too proud to let Bridget know it. He pulled her inside and quickly shut the door, then stepped back so he wasn’t tempted to take her into his arms. That wasn’t why she’d come.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. The walls were thin, and the house was quiet now.

  “I thought about not coming.”

  “I know. If you hadn’t, I would have given you this tomorrow.” He lifted a small package from the table and presented it to her.

  She took it gingerly and opened the top. “Oh!” The sound came out on a breath. She looked up at him, her brown eyes shining. “I haven’t had these since I was a child.”

  “I thought the same thing when I saw them in the confectioner’s. But they’re too sweet for me now. They’re yours.”

  “The whole bag?”

  “If you can stomach them, yes.”

  She withdrew a little white piece of sugar fashioned into the shape of a pig and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed as she sucked on the sugar. When Caleb’s breeches began to feel tight, he had to look away.

  “They’re just as I remember them,” she said. “I could eat the whole bag, but I’ll save them for James. It will make a lovely treat when I have him back.”

  Of course she would save them for James. She never thought of herself. “You eat them, and I’ll buy him his own bag.”

  She set the bag on the table, but didn’t release it for a long moment. “I don’t mind saving them. Thank you.”

  “There are at least ten left in the bag. Have one more.” He didn’t know what made him do it, but he reached for the bag and extracted one of the sugar pigs. Then, though he knew he was playing with fire, he lifted it to her lips.

  She didn’t part them right away. He touched her lips with the confection, rubbed the sugar against her rosy mouth. Her gaze lifted to his, and he saw the hunger there. Her lips parted, and he slipped the little pig between them. Her pink tongue darted out to take the treat inside. This time, as she sucked it, she didn’t close her eyes. Her gaze was hot on his as she stepped cl
oser and slid her arms about his neck. His own arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. The feel of her was so natural, so familiar. It was as though no time whatsoever had passed since the last time they had stood like this.

  He lowered his head as she angled hers up, and when their lips met, the tremor of desire was palpable.

  This! his body screamed. This is what I seek.

  Their mouths fit together as naturally as their bodies, and when his tongue swept inside her mouth, she was as sweet as the confection. He didn’t know how long they stood beside the table, feasting. It might have been minutes or hours. But eventually, she broke the kiss and murmured, “Bed.”

  It took him a moment to comprehend. He stared at her swollen lips, perplexed, then dragged her across the room, lifted her, and placed her on the narrow bed. He had little choice but to come down on top of her. The furnishing was not large enough to accommodate two side by side. Her hands were on his coat, pushing it off his shoulders as he kissed her jaw, her neck, behind her ear.

  After several moments of struggling with his coat, she shoved him back. “Take that off.”

  He sat and she beside him. He stripped off the coat, then loosened his neckcloth. He would have stopped there, but she yanked at his shirt and unfastened the buttons at his neck and sleeves. She stood to pull it off, then looked down at his bare chest. “You have a scar here now.” She touched his right shoulder.

  “Pistol ball. It went right through.”

  “And here.” She swept her fingers across his left flank.

  “Bayonet. I didn’t feint fast enough.”

  Her hand brushed over his abdomen, making him inhale shakily. “You’ve more muscle than before.”

  “Staying alive when everyone wants to kill you is hard work. I’ve been running, fighting, and climbing for years. Give it a few more years and I’ll be soft and doughy again.”

  She smiled, obviously remembering their game. They’d lay in bed for hours, and she’d rest her head on his chest, pretending to mold his belly into dough for bread. Now, he pulled her between his legs. “Kiss me again.”

  “You don’t want to investigate whether I’ve changed?”

  “That depends on whether you want to show me.”

  She stepped back and reached for the pins holding her bodice together. She wore a dress of cream with pale blue stripes every few inches. The bodice was modest and edged with lace that parted as she removed the pins and dropped them on the floor. The bodice soon followed and then her skirts, until she stood in her chemise and front-lacing stays.

  Caleb couldn’t sit patiently any longer. He could see the outline of her legs beneath the thin lawn of the shift. The garters of her stockings were purple, like the ribbons of her chemise. He put both hands on her hips and drew her closer. “You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Her body had changed. He could feel the swell of hips that had been narrow before, and her breasts all but spilled from the stays when they had been but a small handful when he’d known her years ago.

  “I do.” He reached up and unlaced the stays, pushing them down over her hips. The hard points of her nipples stood out against the thin fabric of the shift. Caleb’s hand skated up her belly to rest between her breasts. Her heart beat fast under his hand. “I’ve missed you, Bridget. I didn’t know how much.”

  “Show me.” She perched herself on his knee and put her arms around him, kissing him slowly and thoroughly. Her lips traced his, then nudged his mouth open. She teased and taunted until he was so hard he had to lean back to alleviate some of the pressure. She tumbled down with him, pushing her hands through his hair and locking her knees about his hips.

  He didn’t reach for the fall of his breeches. He’d got her with child once, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Instead, he ran his hands up and down her shift, learning the new curves and revisiting the old. Loosening the ribbon of the chemise, he tugged it down and bared her breasts. As he’d imagined, they were larger, the nipples plumper. He took one in his mouth, and she moaned and pressed her sex against him. It was his turn to moan. As he licked and sucked, she ground against him, causing the sweetest torment.

  He took her other breast in his mouth and slid his hands to the hem of her shift. His fingertips grazed her calves and her knees, then up her silky thighs to her plump buttocks. Her eyes opened as he cupped her thighs, and she met his gaze as he slid his hand to the junction of her thighs and the dewy curls nestled there.

  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 afte
r 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.