Bedchamber Games Page 17

  “You must think I’m the stupidest woman alive,” she said.

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  “The most naive, then.”

  He stretched out beside her and leaned in to kiss her. “The sweetest.” He touched his lips to hers again. “You’re sweet. And very trusting.”

  “A ninnyhammer. Yes, I agree.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s my job to look after you and see to such matters. After all, I am the one with the experience, as you so rightly pointed out. Which is why I’ve already taken the liberty of obtaining some herbs from a chemist I know. You should begin taking them immediately. The compound won’t absolutely prevent conception, but if we’re careful, it should do the job.”

  “So we’re going to continue . . . seeing each other, that is.”

  He stilled. “Well, of course we are.” A scowl creased his forehead. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  She ran a hand over the length of his arm. “Yes, I want to. I just didn’t know if you would.”

  A peculiar glint shone in his eyes. “So you thought I’d lured you here today to steal your maidenhead, then callously send you on your way?”

  “No . . . well, I wouldn’t put it like that exactly. I just wasn’t sure how long you’d . . . if you’d want to continue seeing me past today.”

  He rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Remind me to always be brutally honest with you so there are no misunderstandings.”

  Claiming her mouth again, he left her in no doubt of his continued passion. “Believe me, Rosamund, I plan to fuck you well and thoroughly every chance I get. You must be sure to send me your schedule and I’ll send you mine so we can make the necessary arrangements.”

  She quivered at his blunt talk, knowing she ought to be scandalized. Instead reawakened desire curled inside her like tendrils of hot smoke.

  “Oh, look,” he said, “it would seem I’m ready again right now.”

  She glanced down at his heavy erection. “You haven’t even finished washing.”

  “I haven’t, no.”

  She hesitated for only a moment. “Lie back. I’ll do it.”

  Smiling, he did as she instructed, folding his arms beneath his head.

  She sat up and reached for the cloth. After wringing it out, she turned back.

  “You know, if you’re sore,” he said conversationally, “there are other things we can do.”

  “Really?”

  He chuckled at her obvious enthusiasm. “Definitely.” Reaching for her hand, he guided her fingers and the wet cloth around his shaft. “Let me show you.”

  • • •

  The remainder of the afternoon passed in a curious blending of fast and slow—or at least that was how it appeared to Lawrence—with some moments so intensely gratifying they seemed to move in a kind of delirious, syrupy haze while others flashed by, quick as lightning. Yet far sooner than he would have wished, he and Rosamund were dressed again and he was kissing her good-bye.

  She’d refused to let him accompany her home in his coach, insisting on taking a hack in case her brother had arrived back earlier than planned. He’d wanted to argue but had given in, knowing her caution was well advised.

  Afterward, he’d gone to his study, intending to work. But he’d soon realized it was no use, his mind drifting back to Rosamund again and again.

  All told, it had been a day unlike any he’d ever known, filled with passion, pleasure and discovery. In some peculiar respects, it had almost felt like a wedding night—or wedding afternoon, he thought with a bemused smirk.

  After another highly satisfying bout of lovemaking, during which he’d taught Rosamund a couple of new tricks that had left them both limp with blissful exhaustion, they had roused themselves long enough to slip into robes—she’d borrowed one of his—and adjourn to his private sitting room.

  There, they’d feasted on the cold meal awaiting them, eating every last crumb with great gusto. While they’d dined, they talked, conversation flowing easily from one topic to another with nothing too abstruse or out of bounds to mention, the natural rapport between them stronger than ever.

  In the past, he’d never had much inclination to converse overly long with his mistresses, since their idea of good conversation tended to focus almost exclusively on the latest fashions, how he thought they might look wearing them and the juiciest social gossip. Not that those couldn’t be amusing subjects at times, but as a steady diet, he preferred weightier topics. No, his mistresses provided him with energetic, mutually satisfying sex, while he provided them with clothing, housing and gifts—jewelry being a particular favorite.

  Yet somehow he didn’t think Rosamund would take kindly to him giving her a diamond necklace. She’d just as likely throw it at his head, followed by a burst of her finest invective. No, she most definitely was not his typical mistress, assuming he could call her his mistress at all. He supposed “lovers” was the best way to describe this new relationship of theirs, their affair entirely unique, exactly like Rosamund herself.

  When he told her he’d previously confined himself to sexually experienced women, he hadn’t been lying. Yet as he thought about the afternoon just past, he couldn’t deny the deep, almost visceral pleasure he felt in knowing he’d been her first. She belonged to him now in a way she never would to any other man.

  The knowledge alone was enough to turn him hard as a pikestaff again; he wished she hadn’t needed to leave. Then again, maybe it was for the best, since she needed time to rest after her enthusiastic initiation today. Had she been closer at hand, he wasn’t sure he could have resisted the temptation to take her again no matter how sore she might be at present.

  A part of him wished he could set her up in a house here in London. Somewhere nice—Half Moon Street perhaps—where he could come and go as he pleased and make love to her as often as both of them desired.

  But she wasn’t that sort of woman, and to offer her such an arrangement—even if she weren’t currently disguising herself as a man and practicing law as a barrister—would debase the very essence of what and who she was.

  Instead he would have to confine himself to clandestine rendezvous and stolen moments when and wherever they could manage them. Considered in those terms, he supposed, the uncertain nature and delayed sexual gratification of the arrangement would only serve to heighten the pleasure when they did manage to meet.

  He only hoped he could stand to wait out the times in between.

  Before she’d left, she’d promised to meet him again soon, but they hadn’t agreed on the particulars. She would contact him, she’d said, since that way they ran less risk of alerting her brother to their affair. Lawrence had wanted to pin her down then and there but realized he would have to leave the ball in her court, so to speak.

  Deceiving her brother bothered her, though, he knew. He’d glimpsed the guilt in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned. But keeping this from Bertram Carrow was essential, since Lawrence knew the other man wouldn’t take kindly to his dallying with his sister, no matter whether she was past the age of consent or not.

  And so Lawrence would be patient.

  He only hoped he didn’t need to be patient for long.

  Chapter 18

  “Feeling better?” Bertram asked her the next morning from across the breakfast table. “I missed you at dinner last night. Mrs. Banks said you came home with a headache and took supper in your room. You’re not coming down with a c-cold or anything like that, are you?”

  “No.” Rosamund busied herself spreading butter on a piece of toast. “It was only a headache, but I’m much recovered now.”

  She kept her eyes lowered as she reached for the strawberry jam, pushing aside the guilt she felt for lying to him.

  “That’s good.” Bertram ate a forkful of sausage and eggs. “Summer colds are the ve
ry devil.”

  “They are, yes.” She bit into her toast and concentrated on composing her features. “So, did your business go well yesterday?”

  She sipped from her cup of hot tea and continued eating her toast while he launched into a lively recounting of his journey and the day’s events. Idly she listened, nodding at appropriate intervals as her thoughts spun backward to the hours she’d spent with Lawrence.

  Somehow, in the bright light of day, it all seemed rather fantastical, as if she’d dreamed the whole thing.

  Only she knew she hadn’t.

  For one, she could never have imagined half of the shocking, intimate details that kept playing in her memory: the glorious slide of his hands roaming everywhere over her body; the dark, forbidden bliss of his mouth and tongue as he kissed her; and most convincingly of all, the stunning fulfillment of having him lodged heavily inside her as he brought her the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever known.

  Still, if that weren’t proof enough, there was the lingering soreness between her legs that not even a hot soak in a slipper bath had been able to completely relieve—the undeniable physical proof that she was no longer an untouched maiden.

  Yet shameful as she supposed some might deem her behavior, there was nothing she would change about yesterday. Lying in Lawrence’s arms had been beautiful, one of the most wonderful experiences of her life and one she could not wait to repeat.

  Her only regret, if she had one, was the necessity of having to keep it all secret from Bertram. She hated deceiving him, since they had always been honest with each other. But he wouldn’t understand or approve, and she wasn’t about to break things off with Lawrence, not now, when everything was so new, so good.

  Later, at some point, she and Lawrence would have to part. It was inevitable and not even she was naive enough to think otherwise. But for now she planned to enjoy herself to the fullest, revel in the thrill and sheer, unbridled intensity of the passion she knew she would discover in his arms.

  At least he’d already proven himself to be a conscientious and considerate lover. Even now she felt like an utter cloth head for not thinking of something as obvious as the possibility that she could find herself with child. She was usually so practical, so rational. But apparently Lawrence drove all such considerations straight out of her mind.

  She was grateful for the herbs he’d pressed into her hands before she left his town house yesterday. It was one less thing over which she would need to worry.

  She’d taken the first dose last night, brewed into a tea per the instructions. She would take a cup every night from now on for however long she and Lawrence remained lovers. Luckily she was already in the habit of taking tea in her room each evening, so no one would think anything of her new herbal concoction.

  As for her and Lawrence’s next tryst, she had yet to figure out a good day and time. He’d mentioned exchanging schedules. She would take a few minutes to copy hers out; then she would need only to figure out how to get it into his hands.

  “—don’t you agree? Roz?”

  “Yes?” She looked up with a start. “What?”

  Bertram cocked his head. “I asked what you think about my taking Talbert on more permanently. Were you not attending?”

  She sent him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m afraid I wasn’t.”

  He frowned. “You’re sure you’re not coming down with something? If you need to spend the day abed—”

  “I’m well, honestly. Mayhap just a little residual tiredness, that’s all. Again, I apologize. Please tell me what you were saying about Mr. Talbert and I promise to listen with all attentiveness this time.”

  Bertram studied her quizzically as though he weren’t entirely convinced by her explanation. Then, just as abruptly, his expression cleared.

  She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he began repeating the salient points of everything she’d missed. This additional layer in her new life of deception was going to prove challenging, she realized, particularly here at home.

  But she would manage.

  Somehow.

  • • •

  Lawrence thumbed to the reference page he needed, then compared it to a point of law in a brief he’d recently agreed to take on.

  The four rooms that made up the law library at Lincoln’s Inn were quiet for a Friday afternoon with only a handful of other attorneys scattered about. It wasn’t surprising, since most of the courts had let out for the day, which meant his compatriots had either gone home or else nipped off for drinks and a round of convivial conversation with their friends.

  Lawrence could have done so as well, but he’d decided to take advantage of the lull to get ahead on some of his cases, given that he was promised at a number of entertainments over the next couple of days. There was also his agreement to take Miss Templestone driving in the park—a commitment he’d nearly forgotten about until he saw the notation scrawled in his engagement diary.

  He’d noticed it yesterday when he sat down to write out a schedule of his free time. He’d considered sending it to Rosamund but had erred on the side of caution and tucked it into his work folio instead. He had it with him now, in fact, though he didn’t see when he’d ever have a chance to pass it along to her—not if she didn’t contact him.

  But he supposed he was being unduly impatient. Only two days had passed since she’d spent the afternoon in his bed.

  Letting him sheath himself in her body.

  Giving him her innocence, her absolute trust.

  Scowling, he tapped the edge of his pencil against his notes, wondering where she was and what she was doing.

  Has she been thinking about me? God knows I’ve been thinking about her.

  Far too much, as it would happen. Far more than he could remember thinking about any woman for a very long time—perhaps ever, come to that.

  Looking down at the brief, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  He’d been at it for perhaps five minutes when he sensed someone standing behind him. He startled as the person leaned close and blew lightly in his ear.

  “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “Rosamund.” He whipped his head around.

  “Ross,” she admonished in a whisper. “We’re in public, remember?”

  Lawrence scanned the room, which contained only three other lawyers now, all of whom were seated at tables some distance away. “Don’t worry. They can’t possibly have heard me.”

  “Maybe not.” She dropped onto the chair next to his. “But it won’t do to let down our guard.”

  He gazed into her silvery eyes. “Right.”

  She gave him a slow smile.

  “That won’t do either, you know,” he said, his tone warm with amusement.

  “What?”

  “The way you’re looking at me. Like you wish I was inside you this very moment.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. Then she surprised him. “Maybe I do.”

  He turned instantly hard, his fingers tightening dangerously around the pencil in his hand. “So, are you here to do research or did you come just to torture me?”

  “Actually I came in hopes of arranging our next meeting.” She shifted in her seat and reached for the leather binder that he only then noticed she’d laid on the table. “I asked in your chambers and they told me you were here, so I thought I’d take a chance and see if you might remember your schedule well enough to decide on something.”

  “I can do one better.” Thumbing through his folio, he brought out a page covered in his own strong, dark handwriting. “All the dates and times I have free for the next three weeks.”

  She slid a page out of her binder and placed it beside his. “This is mine.”

  They both bent their heads and began to compare.

  “You’re frightfully busy.” She sighed.

  “You are as well.
I thought the last of your father’s old cases were going to be resolved in the near future.”

  “They’re supposed to be, but the few that remain are rather involved. You know how these matters can drag on for far longer than anticipated.”

  “Indeed.”

  They resumed their analyses.

  “Thursday afternoon seems most likely,” Lawrence said a brief while later.

  “Yes, I don’t see anything sooner. Shall I come round at half past one that day?”

  “Why not make it one? Unless you think you’ll have trouble slipping away sooner. No point wasting half an hour. There’s any number of pleasurable things we can get up to in half an hour’s time.”

  Heightened spots of color dusted her cheekbones, her rosy lips parting on a silent inhalation.

  “God, you’ve no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he whispered.

  “You’ve no idea how much I want you to.”

  He glanced around, then got to his feet. “Delay a minute, then follow me.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  Without giving her a further chance to react, he strode away.

  “Lawrence,” she hissed quietly after him.

  Rather than looking back, he kept walking, then disappeared into an adjoining room lined floor to ceiling with books. He was pleased to find it empty, even if it wasn’t his ultimate destination. As soon as Rosamund appeared in the doorway, he moved on, leading her through the room, past a portrait of a scantily clad woman holding a bleeding heart pierced through with a dart, then out into a hallway that led to the benchers’ rooms.

  He stopped several doors down on the right, then turned the handle. Waiting only long enough for Rosamund to slip in after him, he closed the door and shut the two of them inside. As soon as he did, he cradled her face between his palms and crushed his lips to hers, pressing her back against the door as he kissed her with impassioned zeal. She responded instantly, matching his ardent embrace, touch for touch, kiss for kiss, as she wove her arms around his back to draw him closer.