message he wanted to create. Pru hadn’t told him exactly the process for writing using Ecriture Nocturne, but he could improvise until she finished her lessons.
Though, in truth, he rather hoped she never finished her lessons.
Somewhere in the house a clock chimed the hour, and Nash counted the light bells as they sounded ten, eleven, then twelve.
He’d lain awake, pistol clenched in his sweaty hands, many nights listening to that chime, wondering if he would ever have the courage to just end it. He would have broken the damn clock if he knew where it was. He couldn’t remember, and he’d tried to follow the sound but couldn’t quite pinpoint the location.
A soft tapping drew his attention to the door. “It’s open,” he said. He looked toward the door as it opened, and a slight figure stepped hesitantly through. He stood. “Lock it,” he said. “You can hold on to the key.”
He wasn’t interested in keeping her here if she didn’t want to be. He heard the lock click and then her intake of breath as she drew closer. He realized he was wearing only his dressing gown, and it was open at the chest, revealing the bare skin beneath. He didn’t draw it closed.
“You came,” he said. “Did Mrs. Blimkin say anything when you left?”
“She was snoring as loudly as a coach and four,” Pru said. “She didn’t notice my absence.” She moved closer to him again, obviously not put off by his state of undress. “What are you doing? Are you writing?”
He shrugged. “I’m trying. What do you think?” He held the paper out to her.
“But we haven’t even finished learning all of the rows of Monsieur Barbier’s matrix.”
Nash smiled. “You haven’t finished drilling me on them. You told me where every letter was located, and I don’t need to be told more than once.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
“And end our lessons early? I don’t think so.” He gestured toward where he thought the paper would be. “You haven’t shown me exactly how to write yet, but I tried it on my own.”
“May I use your desk?” she asked.
“Of course.” She moved past him, the fragrance of her floating on the air and teasing him. He didn’t move back, and she didn’t avoid his touch. Their bodies brushed against one another, and he felt a powerful wave of desire. He assumed she had placed the paper on the desk and was running her finger along the dots he had made in order to read the message. He knew when she had finished because she made a soft sound.
“Did you read it?” he asked.
She turned toward him. “Yes. It says, Kiss me.”
He felt a surge of triumph that he had written it correctly. And then she took hold of his hand and moved closer to him. And he felt a surge of a different sort. She placed her other hand on the back of his neck and drew his mouth down slightly to her own. Her lips brushed against his, and he did not hold back. He pulled her hard against him, rewarded by the feel of her body under the thin shift she wore. Of course, she had no wrapper or dressing gown. She’d come in what she’d worn to bed, and he could feel that she wore nothing underneath the light garment.
He ran his hand up from her waist, the softness of her hair tickling his skin as his mouth teased hers until she was kissing him back as fervently as he was kissing her. And then he swept her up into his arms. She made a sound of protest, but he knew his chamber well enough to feel secure. He carried her to his bed and set her down before coming down beside her and kissing her again.
His hands moved over the thin linen of her shift, feeling the curves of her breasts and the delicate indent of her waist. Then his hand dipped lower until he felt the bare skin of her knee. Her legs were long, the skin soft, and he wanted to kiss every inch of them.
“Wait,” she said.
Nash stilled, removing his hand and drawing back. “I apologize. I thought—”
She wrapped her arms about him, keeping him from pulling away. “You weren’t mistaken. I want you, Nash, but if we’re to do this, I want more from you.”
His brows rose. “I’ve only just begun. If you give me a moment, I can give you more.”
She laughed quietly. “That’s not what I