Mary can't stop thinking about him.
At night, as she flops boneless and exhausted into her narrow little bed in the room above Lady Trentham's, she presses her face into her pillow and remembers Robert's lips on hers. She dreams of him, alternating between hazy, candlelit romantic scenes and cold, grey, iron-barred prison cells and hangmen. She relives that moment for weeks, just the weight of his hand against the small of her back and the warm slide of his tongue against hers, as she irons her ladyship's blouses and retrieves endless pots of chocolate and misplaced correspondence. In the bath, she glides a washcloth between her legs and feels his fingers digging into her soft flesh.
When she stumbles over the threshold of a shop in Bond Street, hands catch at her shoulders and hold her upright. She feels every nerve in her body catch fire. She looks up into a pale face she doesn't recognize and stammers her thanks, face ablaze with embarrassment and a rising excitement she can't control. Lady Trentham, when she finally notices the lingering flush nearly an hour later, clamps a lacy handkerchief over her nose and mouth. She presses a note into Mary's hand and directs her to take a bus or a cab back to the townhouse and to stay far away for the rest of the day. Mary starts to protest but an extra half-day off is an enticement she can't deny, even if it will mean a deduction from her pay packet later.
She opts to walk instead of catching a bus, hoping the cool early spring breeze will chase the last of the blush away from her face. As she walks down Berkeley Street, she hears someone call her name. She turns, and nearly stops breathing when she sees Robert lounging against a letterbox at the other side of the street. He grins and his whole face seems to light up with delight at seeing her. Before she can think, she runs across the road without a care for the traffic and throws herself against him.
His hands fly up to hold her against his chest, her feet dangling above the ground. She wraps both arms tight around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder, weeping without really understanding why. He tries to shush her, dropping soft kisses against whatever parts of her face he can reach.
When she brings herself under control, she whispers against the side of his neck, "I thought I'd never see you again." She punctuates this with a kiss directly over his pulse and he tightens his grip around her.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. They sit side by side in a small cafe, hands entwined below the table, and whisper to each other of dreams and plans for a future. Robert tells her that he's left service, with a healthy bonus from Lord Stockbridge as reward for his discretion in several matters. A friend, Reggie, who seems to have connections everywhere, has helped him secure a new position as clerk in the City, and a small flat in Streatham. Mary surprises them both when she asks him to see it.
The note Lady Trentham had pressed into her hand is more than enough to pay for a cab, and Mary can hardly make herself speak for the length of the ride. Robert holds her hands in his lap and studies her face as she looks nervously out of the window. At his door, he squeezes her hand. She fights back her doubts and smiles in return.
His flat is clean and neat, even if the furniture is mostly threadbare. He offers her a cup of tea and she declines. The drinks they shared in the cafe are starting to make her uncomfortable so she retreats to the lavatory. As she washes her hands, she studies herself in the small mirror. There's a round, pale little face looking back at her, with flags of color riding high on its cheeks and a sparkle of something wicked in its eyes. She watches a slim white hand lift up to unfasten the buttons that march down the mirrored blouse. Cool air from somewhere brushes against her bared shoulders and she feels the flicker of arousal she has nurtured for months as it flares and rises up through her.
When she emerges into his bedroom, he is standing at the window with one hand gripped tightly around a curtain. She waits for him to turn to her this time. She can see the girl from the lavatory mirror in the pane of glass in front of him, a halo of light around her. Short, dark hair lies flat against her head and curls between her legs.
Robert half-turns, the curtain rings jangling against the rail when he forgets to let it go. "Are you this sure of me?" he asks. His voice is rough and heavy and she thinks of him in his undershirt in a narrow servant's room, telling her she'd best go back to her own.
"I am," she says, and holds out a hand to him.
She's ready for him, she thinks she's ready for this, but the speed with which he sheds his clothes and bears her down onto the bed makes her head spin. More disconcerting still is the way he looks into her eyes as his hands move over and into her. She cries out and he laughs, covering her mouth with his own. She clutches at his back, then his arms. When she digs her nails into his skin, he groans into the sweat-dampened skin of her neck and presses his thumb into her. Mary throws her head back as the room swirls around her and stars burst at the edges of her vision. Robert's mouth is hot and wet on her breasts and his fingers push her higher and higher until she breaks with a choked-off gasp.
Her breathing has barely begun to slow when he rolls to his back and steadies her above him with one hand on her hip and the other low on her belly. He presses up into her, a long slow push that drives all the air from her lungs and an "I love you" from her lips. He lets go of her hip long enough to grip the back of her neck and pull her mouth down to his. His evening beard is rough against her cheek and chin but his lips and tongue are soft and wet. His fingers move back and press hard into her hips as he moves her until she begins to catch his rhythm. She feels awkward and ungainly over him, her thighs spread wide and breasts bouncing against his chest, until he slides a hand between her legs. She concentrates on holding the rhythm he's taught her, and the feel of him against and inside her. A wave of joy washes through her as the starbursts reappear, and Robert pulls her in for another kiss and groans her name against her lips. He stiffens and rolls his head to one side as his hips buck against hers in a short, syncopated rhythm.
Mary has no idea how long it is before she has the energy to move and flop boneless and exhausted beside him in his narrow little bed. She dozes for a while, barely registering when Robert rises from the bed and returns. He brushes a hand over her hair and presses his lips against her temple.
"I love you, too," he whispers, and she smiles.