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 closer 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 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.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll find him today. I can feel it.”

She nodded, not wanting to allow her expectations to rise too high. At the Hog and Hen, she knew where to go and what to do. She entered right before Caleb and made her way to the back room. She waited until Caleb took a seat at a table nearby, then approached the entrance to the room, where the same sentry as the day before stood.

“Can I help you, missus?”

“Yes, you can. I’d like to speak with Mr. Merceron.”

He scratched his bald head. “Do you owe him blunt?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“But I’ll pay him for information.”

The sentry’s brows went up. “What sort of information?”

“I’ll discuss that with Mr. Merceron.” She tried to move past the sentry, but he blocked her path.

“Come back tomorrow. Maybe he’ll see you then.”

“That’s what you told me yesterday.” She rose on tiptoe and spotted a well-dressed man sitting at a table with another man and speaking in hushed tones. “Mr. Merceron!” she called, hoping he was the man at the table.

He looked up, glancing from her to his man, then back to her.

“I need to speak to you, sir.”

“Oy!” The sentry moved to block her vision. “I say who sees Mr. Merceron.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her around, and immediately Caleb was at his side.

“You’ll want to release the lady,” he said, voice low and menacing.

“And who are you?”

“A friend of the lady.”

By this time, Merceron had risen. As she’d observed, he was well-dressed, though his clothes were too bright and too flashy to be those of a nobleman. His dark hair was pulled back into a queue, and he had a high forehead and a large, flat nose. It had obviously been broken a time or two. “What’s this about, Digsby?”

“I told this wench to be on her way, but her cull is giving me trouble.”

Merceron’s gaze flicked to Caleb, then back to Bridget. He gave her a quick once-over. “I must apologize for Digsby, missus. Is there something I can help you with?”

Digsby scowled, but stepped back and out of the way.

“I’m looking for Joseph Merceron.”

“You’ve found him.” He gave a half bow. “Come sit.”

Caleb made to retreat, but Merceron pointed at him. “You too, fellow. Come and have a drink.”

Bridget shot Caleb an apologetic look, then took the seat Merceron offered. His previous companion was gone. Since he hadn’t passed Bridget on his way out, she surmised there must be a back door. Caleb took a seat as well, keeping his hat pulled low over his brow.

“Do I know you?” Merceron asked Caleb. “You look familiar.”

“I’ve lived here and there,” Caleb answered.

Merceron lifted the bottle of wine on the table. “Thirsty?” he asked Bridget.

“No, thank you. I actually have a question to ask you. I’m told you’re familiar with Spitalfields.”

He nodded. “I was born on Brick Lane. I know every inch of that street, from Spitalfields to Bethnal Green. You want to open a business?”

“No. Actually, I’m looking for someone. He was left at the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, but that building has burned down.”

“Happened about three years ago. One of my men was injured in the fire. He was trying to help the women and children escape, of course.”

“Of course,” Caleb muttered.

“But it weren’t called St. Dismas. That rum mort who took over named it something else.”

“What’s that?”

Merceron crossed his arms and smiled. “I don’t rightly remember.”

Caleb put a penny on the table. Merceron looked at the penny, then tapped his forehead.

Caleb put two more pennies on the table.

“Now it’s coming to me. Sunnyvale or Sunnybrooke Home for Boys.”

“Where is it located now?” Caleb asked.

“Not in my jurisdiction, so I don’t care. But the rum mort...what was her name?”

Caleb sighed and put another penny on the table.

“Lady Julia. That’s right. She was the daughter of a duke or an earl or one of them nobs. I assumed she either went back to her ballroom or moved the orphanage somewhere a bit to the west.”

Caleb stood, and Bridget followed. “Thank you.”

Merceron looked up at Caleb. “Sure I don’t know you?”

“I’m sure.” He hurried Bridget through the tavern, and when they stepped outside, he muttered, “I shouldn’t have come with you. He knows who I am.”