“What is there to explain? A man insulted me, and you punched him. I suppose I should thank you for defending my honor,” Bridget said. “I know how important your self-control is to you. It was selfless of you to break that for me.”
He shook his head. “There was nothing selfless about it. I did not even think about punching him or my honor. I was thinking aboutyouand only you.”
Their eyes met.
“Me?” Bridget asked. “Do you care so much about me that you would risk a scandal? I know that gentleman; he is a cousin of Lord Arlington, and he will be upset with you.”
“I know. But you have—you have—I do not know,” Lewis said. “I suppose you have gotten to me, and I could not endure those vicious remarks about you. Not while you enjoyed yourself so much today.”
When he tried to explain it all, Lewis felt ridiculous. He imagined that the image he presented to thetonat the theater was even more absurd. The comments had not even been that terrible. Certainly, Bridget had heard worse.
“Well, I thought it was rather romantic,” Bridget said after a heartbeat, “even if you should not have done it. Sir Gawain himself could not have thrown a better punch.”
Lewis doubted he came even close to being Sir Gawain, who was undoubtedly one of Bridget’s admired romantic heroes.
“Sir Gawain would have used his sword,” Lewis said.
“Details,” Bridget said, waving dismissively. “I am certain the good knight would have punched someone if it was warranted.”
Lewis tilted his head, considering her fair face through the inconsistent light of the streetlamps. “I suppose I can see how that scene might be misconstrued as romantic.”
“I find that romance and societal rules do not always match,” Bridget said. “That is most unfortunate.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But,” Bridget continued. “What happens next? After the valiant knight has defended his lady’s honor and they have both ridden to his beautiful castle together, what happens?”
“I am certain that you know,” Lewis said. “I will confess that I have not read so much as you, but the texts about knights and ladies make it abundantly clear what happens next.”
“They make each otherpassing glad,” Bridget said. “I know, but what does that mean? The specifics?”
His eyes darted to Bridget’s chest and lower, to the place between her thighs. Was it presumptuous of him to assume that she was as aroused by him as he was by her? His body ached for her, and he wanted…
He wanted to make her happy, like she had been in the theater watching Shakespeare’s play.
Lewis’s eyes darted to her full lips. “Perhaps I should show you what it means.”
With every word, his control threatened to snap. He had never needed anyone as badly as he needed her, and Lewis was prepared to do anything to please her.
Bridget audibly gasped. “You do not mean…”
“Why not?” he asked. “No time like the present. Bridget,please.”
CHAPTER 32
Bridget fought to maintain her composure, even as her blood roared in her ears and her body warmed in anticipation of the coming consummation. Lewis appeared eager, striding quickly as if impatient to continue. She affected him as much as he affected her.
They hastily reached the bedchamber, lit by the midday sunlight steaming through the window. Bridget’s breath quickened, as her eyes roamed over the massive bed with its gold and scarlet bedding. She had never been in this room before and seeing it for the first time was like the sun dawning after weeks of dreary rain and overcast skies.
Lewis closed the door behind him. “Now,” he purred. “Shall we?”
She scarcely knew what he meant, but the anticipation of this new kind of pleasure set her body ablaze with need. “Yes,” Bridget breathed. “Yes, I am ready.”
“You shall have it.”
Lewis drew her into his arms with such force that all air fled from her lungs. He held her flush against his chest. Her hands rose instinctively and grasped the lapel of his jacket. Then, he dipped his head and pressed his lips hard against hers. Bridget moaned into his mouth and kissed him back. Lewis filled all her senses. He tasted of honey cakes and coffee, and he smelled of Bay Rum cologne and something masculine and woodsy. His touch was hot and strong, and Bridget marveled that she had lived an entire life without this newfound and glorious pleasure.
When Lewis broke the kiss, a small and wanting whimper escaped from between Bridget’s lips. “Please,” she whispered. “More, please.”
