Bedchamber Games Page 20

  So now he waited while she knelt at her parents’ graves, witnessing yet another side of the interesting, intelligent, complex woman he knew her to be.

  With her eyes closed, she whispered a few words so quietly he could not hear; then she sniffed and got to her feet. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose. Only then did she look up at him.

  He opened his arms and after only a second’s hesitation, she moved into them, burrowing close as if they had been doing it forever. He held her, once again enjoying the freedom to embrace her openly, as they stood together here beneath the trees with the summer sun shining down upon them.

  “He could be a hard man sometimes, but I miss him,” she murmured.

  “Curious how that works, isn’t it?” Lawrence mused. “No matter how stern or disapproving they may have been, there’s still that connection, parent to child. He was your father. That’s all that needs to be said.”

  She tipped back her head. “And your father? Was he stern and disapproving?”

  “He died when I was only a boy, so I have few actual memories of him, but I suppose to me he often was a stern figure. My strongest recollection of him was the way he would catch Leo and me, and sometimes our sister, Mallory, playing where we weren’t supposed to be. He’d scowl reprovingly and tell us not to run in the corridors and staterooms at Braebourne. He was always sure we’d break something.”

  “And did you?”

  He gave her an impish grin. “A time or two. When Leo and I were six, we escaped our nanny and set off to play chase with one of the dogs. While we were in full pursuit, we bumped into a table and sent a marble bust toppling to the floor. It broke the fellow’s nose off in the most alarming way.”

  “Oh no, you must have been in dreadful trouble.”

  “I thought we were done for, but Mama reminded Papa how little fondness he’d ever had for that particular relation and hadn’t we done him a very great favor by giving him a reason to toss out his likeness? Of course, we were still punished. Restricted to the nursery for the next two weeks with no pudding and set to the task of composing formal apologies, which we were marched down to the drawing room to recite aloud. But all told, it could have been much worse.”

  “A great deal, I would say. Your mother sounds lovely.”

  “Oh, she is. You’d like her. You’d like all my family, I think.”

  A tiny frown developed between her brows. “Yes, I’m sure I should, though I rather doubt my path and theirs shall ever have the opportunity to cross.” Glancing away, she gently stepped out of the protective circle of his arms.

  That was when he realized what he’d said and the sad reality that she was right. The Byrons and the Carrows moved in very different social circles. What was more, Rosamund was his lover, and a gentleman did not introduce his mistress to his family. So why did some part of him wish he could?

  “How soon must you be back?” he asked, reaching out to take hold of her hand.

  “Not for a while,” she said. “Bertram has plans with some friends. He told me not to count on him for dinner, so I suspect he’ll be late.”

  “Then what say you to our taking a meal together? I know a rather pleasant inn not too far distant that serves a marvelous chicken pie. Shall we sample a plate?”

  He caught her look of surprise. Obviously she’d expected him to suggest they steal away somewhere for a heated tryst. But that could wait for now. She needed food and emotional comfort. Anything beyond that would be up to her.

  “That sounds nice,” she murmured.

  “Good.” Bending, he dusted a soft kiss over her lips.

  “Lawrence,” she said, her eyes luminous. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For coming here with me today. I’m glad I didn’t have to do it alone.”

  “Nor would I have wished you to.” He kissed her again, then took her arm and threaded it through his own. “Now, shall we be on our way? I, for one, am famished.”

  She laughed. “Then by all means, let us not delay, my lord.”

  With an answering grin, he steered her in the direction of his curricle.

  • • •

  Rosamund sipped her glass of lemonade and watched as Lawrence polished off his third helping of chicken pie, which really had been as delicious as promised. He’d eaten with the enthusiasm and appetite of a boy, all the while regaling her with one entertaining story after another.

  She knew he was trying to cheer her up and he’d succeeded, making her laugh and smile and not dwell on the earlier sadness of the day.

  As the meal proceeded, she’d found herself simply watching him, relishing his gestures, both large and small, and the well-rounded tones of his baritone voice as he spoke. He had an endearing habit of tipping his head slightly to one side, a lock of his golden brown hair falling forward as he listened to whatever she was saying. Yet even more appealing was the way he focused his attention on her, as if she were the single most important thing in the world.

  And as the minutes slid past, as they chatted and relaxed and partook of the meal like a pair of intimate old friends, she found herself wishing for more. Wished they could sit just so each day and share the small, insignificant details of their lives alongside the big, grand happenings—trials and triumphs both. Wished they had the luxury of time—weeks and months and years—without the need to ever be apart, day or night.

  She nearly choked on her lemonade when the truth stole through her, gentle as a whisper. It was so simple and easy, as if it had been waiting there for her to discover all along.

  I love him, she thought, hastily lowering her eyes in case he could see the knowledge shining in their depths. I love him, this man who will brighten my life for a brief while and then disappear again like a star come the dawn.

  Carefully she set down her lemonade and prayed he didn’t take note of her sudden silence. But she ought to have known better; Lawrence was nothing if not observant.

  “Sad again about your father?” He laid his fork and knife neatly across his plate and gave her an understanding smile.

  Guilt assailed her. Until that moment, she’d forgotten all about her father and the purpose for today’s outing. “A bit,” she prevaricated. “It’s been an emotional day.”

  “Maybe I should take you home.”

  Her eyes flew to his. “No, not yet. We still have some time. Besides, you haven’t had pudding yet.”

  “Nor shall I.” He patted his waistcoat and the lean stomach underneath. “But you should enjoy something sweet. I suspect they have a treat good enough to tempt your palate.”

  “I’m sure they do, but I couldn’t eat anything more.”

  “Tea, then?”

  “No, I . . . I’d rather just be with you.” She laid a hand on the table and reached toward him.

  Something shifted in his gaze and he leaned forward to weave his fingers through hers. “We don’t have to be intimate today, not with so many other things on your mind.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly why we should be, so I won’t have to think at all, except about you.” She moved her thumb in a slow circle against his palm. “Unless you don’t want me.”

  Naked desire flashed in his eyes. “I always want you. Surely you know that by now.”

  “Then I’m yours for the taking. Shall we go to your town house or get a room here?”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “We’d have more time together if we stayed here. Unless you object.”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  He stood and bent to kiss her hand. “I’ll be back straightaway.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing against the wooden floors as he went below to speak to the innkeeper.

  He returned as quickly as promised, then took her hand to lead her down a
hallway and up a flight of stairs to a room at the end. He fit the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

  The bedroom was neat and clean with a large wardrobe that dominated one wall and an even bigger bed spread with a blue-and-yellow chintz coverlet. Clouds that promised rain were visible through a pair of windows that overlooked a small, quiet back garden. They’d been opened a few inches to let in a breeze, a pair of sheer white half curtains across the bottom panes billowing with the air currents.

  Yet she and Lawrence paid little attention to their surroundings as he locked the door, then took her into his embrace. She looped her arms around his neck and stretched up on her toes to kiss him, softly at first, then more deeply until he eased her away and reached to unfasten her gown.

  He undressed her slowly, as if they had all the time in the world instead of only a few short hours, pausing to scatter random kisses over her body as each new area of skin was exposed.

  She returned the favor, searching out buttons and sliding fabric free to reveal his long, leanly muscled body whose beauty never failed to steal her breath and make her heart speed faster.

  Then they were in bed, the covers pushed haphazardly to the foot as she and Lawrence twined their naked bodies together, each kiss, every caress more enthralling, more ardent than the one that had come before.

  In those moments, Rosamund gave herself over to him completely, saying with her body what she could not allow herself to say in words, silently declaring her love in the only way she dared.

  And when he sheathed himself inside her, she sighed from the sheer majesty of the sensation, her fingers tunneling deep into his thick, silky hair to draw him closer as she answered his demands with demands of her own. She slid one leg high over his back, urging him on, her hands gliding across his skin in long, lingering strokes that made his muscles ripple beneath her touch.

  He took her mouth with a feverish zeal that drove her own need higher, her thoughts scattered, her heart and body open and utterly abandoned to him as he linked their fingers together above her head. She arched upward, dizzy and drunken, as she accepted him fully, taking more, taking everything, while he thrust faster and more fully inside her. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over, letting her love pour forth, heady and powerful.

  She hardly recognized her own keening cries of pleasure as the air filled with sound, thunder crashing and lightning sparking match-bright to illuminate the room’s now shadowy interior.

  When he moved to pull out, she instinctively held him inside her, wrapping her legs tighter and mindlessly refusing to let him go. He thrust harder, faster, as lost to their mutual hunger as she, as he pushed her over the edge into a soul-shattering release.

  And the clouds burst open, a deluge of rain pouring from the sky, while inside the safety of their room, he poured himself into her. The two of them shook, their mutual cries of completion muffled by the storm raging outside. But neither of them noticed, too caught up in their own storm to care.

  • • •

  Some while later, Rosamund lay with her head against Lawrence’s shoulder, listening to the rain drumming outside. Earlier, he’d gotten out of bed and closed the windows to keep the wetness from blowing in before hurrying back to enfold her inside his arms again. They’d dozed briefly, then awakened to lie warm and comfortable beneath the sheets.

  “I wish we could just stay here,” Rosamund sighed, idly skimming her fingertips over his chest. “It’s too wet to go back out.”

  “Hmm, that’s a tempting thought. Though if you don’t stop what you’re doing with those fingers of yours, I may decide never to let you out of this bed again and damn the consequences.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She tipped back her head and met his gold-green eyes. “We could just go on living here in this room and do nothing but sleep and eat and make love.”

  “I wouldn’t object in the slightest, though I believe I’d reorder the list so that ‘make love’ comes first.” He kissed her forehead and cheek before moving on to nuzzle a sensitive spot underneath her jaw and another behind her ear.

  She shivered, her fingers gliding across his stomach. Before she could go any lower, he captured her hand and linked their fingers together as his mouth took hers in a leisurely joining she wished would never end.

  When he raised his head again, she willed her heart to slow, pressing her cheek to his chest again before he saw more than she wanted him to see. She sighed. “I suppose if we don’t want to be found out, we need to dress and be on our way, rain or no rain.”

  “It will probably stop soon or at least slow to a drizzle. You said your brother won’t be home until late, so we should have a little more time to wait it out.”

  “Yes, a little more.”

  But not enough. Forever would not be enough for me.

  And suddenly, despite her wish to stay with him, she knew she needed to leave, needed a chance to be alone and find a way to get her emotions in check.

  “Even so, I should go,” she said, freeing herself from his arms and sitting up. “The servants will wonder what’s become of me if I don’t return soon.”

  He reached out and caught hold of her arm before she could leave the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “Nothing.”

  “Clearly that is not the case. What is amiss? I haven’t done something to upset you, have I?”

  Her heart beat painfully in her chest, throat tight. “No, of course not. What could you have possibly done?”

  He sat up beside her. “I don’t know. Rosamund, what is it?” Taking her in his arms, he laid a hand against the side of her face and gently forced her to look at him.

  To her horror, tears welled in her eyes. Furiously she tried to blink them away. But it was already too late.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she told him in a hurried rush, searching for an excuse, any excuse rather than the truth. “It’s just been an emotional day, that’s all. Exactly as you said. Forgive me, I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m just being silly.”

  “It’s not silly.” He brushed a thumb over the dampness on her cheek. “Not silly at all.” Then he pulled her close inside his arms and rocked her, letting her weep quietly against his chest.

  She wrapped her arms around his back and held on, grieving for herself and her father and everything that had been lost. But mostly she grieved for Lawrence and for all the things she would never have with him.

  He didn’t love her, nor did she expect him to. Yet what a fool she’d been to think she could have an affair with him and come out unscathed. Because he was going to break her heart someday soon . . . and she was going to let him.

  She had let him already.

  Yet she was wasting their precious time, she realized, as she huddled against him, blubbering away like a ninny. He was here with her now, so why was she squandering this opportunity? Why be miserable today when she would have weeks and months and years in the future to miss him once he was gone?

  Sniffing, she leaned back and wiped the back of one hand across her cheeks.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Everyone needs a good cry once in a while.”

  “Even you?” she asked with a watery smile.

  He chuckled and winked. “You just might be surprised.” Picking up the sheet, he used a corner to dry her eyes and nose.

  “I must look awful,” she said.

  “No. You look beautiful, just as you always do.”

  She gazed into his eyes, tracing their bands of gold and green. Then, without giving herself time to think, she set her hands on his shoulders and pushed, but he barely budged. “Lie back.”

  “I thought you were worried about the time.”

  “Not anymore.” She gave him another small shove; this time he complied, stretching
out across the mattress. She followed, straddling his hips to find him already erect. Taking him in her hand, she slid his hard length deep inside her, then leaned forward to claim his mouth.

  “No,” she murmured, as she began to move against him. “I’m not worried anymore.”

  Chapter 22

  A week later, Rosamund stepped out of the hackney cab and onto the pavement in front of Lawrence’s town house on Cavendish Square. Disguised in her masculine attire once again, she quickly paid the driver, then jogged up the stairs, a smile on her face. Lawrence wasn’t expecting to see her today, but when her meeting with a client concluded early, she’d decided to surprise him. According to his schedule, he was at home, working on a case this afternoon.

  She greeted Griggs when he opened the door.

  In the past month, she’d come to know a few of the servants. They were always pleasant and respectful, each one the epitome of what a proper servant ought to be, helpful when needed and all but invisible the rest of the time.

  If any of them suspected the truth of her relationship with Lawrence, they didn’t let on, not by so much as the extra flicker of an eyelash. Yet occasionally she wondered if a couple of them might have seen through her disguise, the butler in particular. When she’d mentioned her suspicions to Lawrence once, he was unconcerned, assuring her that even if his servants had figured out her ruse, they were too discreet to say anything.

  “Is His Lordship in the library?” she asked, handing Griggs her hat and gloves.

  “He is.”

  “There’s no need to announce me.” She motioned for the servant to remain where he was. “I know the way.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She didn’t slow to listen further, already making her way along the corridor that led to the rear of the house. Since her coming here was an unexpected surprise, she hoped to surprise him even more.

  Luck was on her side as she walked silently into the room to find Lawrence seated at a long table, his back to her, his dark golden head bent over a book. After closing the door soundlessly behind her, she crept up with the stealth of a cat and leaned forward to wrap her arms around him from behind. He startled as she nuzzled his neck, then caught his earlobe between her teeth for a playful nip.