Bedchamber Games

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “About five fifteen.”

  Her head whipped around. “Five fifteen! Oh dear Lord, how far away from my town house are we? What if we don’t make it there before Bertram?”

  “Don’t take on so. Everything will be fine.” Lawrence met her gaze, his eyes calm as he tucked his shirttail into his trousers, then fastened the buttons. “I told my coachman to travel in your general direction, so I expect we aren’t more than ten minutes away.”

  “Well, that’s some relief. Still, we’re cutting it rather fine.” She put her feet and ankles inside her drawers and pulled them up, arching her hips off the seat to shimmy them into place. She reached next for her trousers.

  He leaned back in the corner and crossed his arms, clearly enjoying the show. “A miss is as good as a span, or so they say.”

  “I hope it’s a miss. I’d rather not have to make up excuses.” She tugged up her trousers but didn’t button them, reaching under her shirt instead to rewrap the cloth she used to bind her chest. She wrestled with it unsuccessfully before yanking the shirt up and securing it under her armpits so she could try again.

  “A little help would be appreciated.” She glanced up to find his eyes riveted to her breasts, which jiggled a bit with the motion of the vehicle.

  “Of course. Beg pardon.” Leaning forward, Lawrence took hold of the cloth and unwound it. “Pull your shirt higher please.”

  She wiggled it up, holding her arms over her head, exposing herself even further. “Stop that. We’ve no time for ogling.”

  Caught, he grinned. “Now, that’s a phrase no man ever likes to hear. But you’re right, we do need to get you dressed even if it does seem a pity to cover up such beauty.”

  Still, he made sure that his fingers not only brushed across the plump undersides of her breasts but grazed her peaked nipples as he wrapped the binding around her and secured it.

  As soon as he was through, she pulled down her shirt and stuffed it into her trousers, then fastened them. He assisted her with her waistcoat buttons, and more important, her cravat, which she would never have managed half so well in so short a time. Her coat came next and shoes.

  Then all that remained was her hair.

  He finger combed the strands so they were as neat as could be managed, setting her scalp a-tingle as he retied her queue.

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Absolutely breathtaking.”

  “I’m not supposed to be breathtaking,” she corrected, despite the glow she felt at his words. “I’m supposed to look like a man.”

  “Yes, but I know what’s under those clothes, don’t I? And it’s all woman.” Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms and crushed her mouth against his for a quick, yet amazingly thorough kiss. “I wish it didn’t, but I guess that will have to hold us until next week.”

  “I suppose it must.” She fought to slow her frantically beating heart.

  He tugged the window curtains back just moments before the coach began to slow, and then they arrived, pulling up before her town house.

  She frowned as she looked out.

  “If he’s home,” Lawrence said, “tell him our paths crossed at the library and I gave you a lift. It’s nothing but the truth, after all.”

  Yes, but everything else that had happened in between . . . She only hoped she could keep from blushing if her brother was already inside, waiting.

  “I would assist you down,” he said, “but I guess that would look odd, given that men don’t generally assist other men down from coaches.”

  “Not unless they’re foxed and in danger of falling flat on their face,” she said, reminding him of the time they’d returned from the boxing match and he’d helped her down despite his confusion and suspicions.

  “You had me in a tumult even then.” He gave her a crooked smile that sent her heart racing faster. “Well, until Thursday.”

  “Until Thursday.” She wanted to kiss him again but couldn’t, not here where anyone might see.

  She turned the door handle.

  “Wait. Don’t forget this.” He was holding her leather folio.

  Gratefully she accepted, then climbed out of the coach.

  She jogged up the front steps and opened the door, then glanced back, expecting to find him gone. But he was still there.

  Is he home? Lawrence mouthed.

  She listened for a moment but was met with silence. “I don’t think so,” she called softly.

  He smiled again and lifted a hand in farewell. Only then did he give the signal for the driver to move on.

  Humming quietly under her breath, she went inside and up the stairs to her room.

  Chapter 20

  The next three weeks flew by in a heady rush, her days consumed with either work or Lawrence.

  When she was with him, it was nothing short of heaven, each sweet, stolen hour better than the one that had come before. She’d already realized that he was an inventive, demanding, yet imminently considerate lover, who always took care to make certain she was thoroughly and astonishingly well satisfied. What she hadn’t known was the sense of confidence he would evoke within her, the freedom to be wholly, unabashedly herself with no boundaries or restrictions. As he’d told her more than once, there was no intimacy they could not share and no desire too deep. He fulfilled her every need and taught her to crave ones she hadn’t even realized she might have.

  In bed, they were totally honest, completely themselves. Outside, well, she wasn’t always sure what they were.

  Friends, yes.

  Lovers, most definitely.

  But anything more . . . well, anything more was impossible, wasn’t it?

  Not that she wanted more. She didn’t. They were having fun, that was all, their fling a kind of temporary insanity that would pass soon enough. Yet each time she kissed him farewell, her mind was already skipping ahead to their next interlude, her emotions tangled with an inescapable wish that they not be parted at all. When she wasn’t with him, she did her best to put him from her thoughts, burying herself in work that needed to be done, particularly given the hours she was carving out of her schedule in order to be with Lawrence.

  Luckily Bertram was busy with his own clients, most of them new with often complex issues that required his full time and attention. To her relief, he didn’t seem to take note of her unusual, sometimes erratic schedule or her tendency to drift off into her own world on occasion.

  But neither her affair nor her work as a barrister would last forever, since both were destined to end whether she liked it or not. Even so, she had a little time yet remaining, time she planned to use to the fullest extent.

  Regardless, it came as a cruel surprise as she sat in the courtroom on that warm July day and listened to the judge render his decision.

  “After weighing the evidence and testimony presented on both sides and having given the matter all due deliberation, this court finds on behalf of the claimant.”

  Quiet exclamations rang out, followed by handshakes of congratulations and a single, bitter curse of disappointment.

  Rosamund stared blindly down at her notes for a moment, the fingers of her right hand curling into a fist against her robes. She tossed a glance over her shoulder and saw the dark-eyed glower of her client, who looked none too happy at having just lost. Rosamund wasn’t terribly happy either, especially since she now had the less than pleasant duty of dealing with the aftermath.

  Pulling in a breath, she turned and approached him. “Mr. Parum, I know it’s not the result we were hoping for, but as you are aware, this was a difficult case that we always knew could go either way.”

  Parum turned his glower on her, the wool merchant’s lower lip protruding at a pugnacious slant. “Alwa’s knew, did we, now? Well, it’s not yer blunt wot just got chucked in the piss pot, now, id it?”

  Actually Rosamund had put in a great
many extra hours of work on the case for which she would never be fully recompensed, so Parum was mistaken when he said he was the only one who had just suffered a financial loss. But considering the choleric hue of her client’s skin, she decided now wasn’t the best moment to bring up that particular point.

  Without warning, he jabbed a thick finger her way, coming within an inch of striking her chest.

  She took a prudent step backward.

  “Knowing you lawyers,” Parum continued, “I’m sure certain you’ll still be sending a final reckoning my way, wanting ter be paid even though it’s you wot cost me. I ne’er should ha’ stayed on after old Elias Carrow turned up ’is toes. Ought to ’ave taken me business elsewhere. If he’d been on the case, I’d be sittin’ in catbird seat now rather than having that so-called gentleman farmer preening over his victory.”

  She forced herself not to flinch, his words comparing her unfavorably to her father striking home as no others could possibly have done.

  She might have argued in her own defense. Could have told him that she’d tried every available means of winning the suit and that it was doubtful even her esteemed father would have prevailed. She might also have explained that they’d had a bad draw when it came to the presiding judge and that His Honor had been set against the defense’s side from the outset.

  But what was the point in even trying when Parum was so angry? When he was clearly already beyond listening to explanations, however reasonable they might be?

  “I understand you are disappointed with the outcome,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “I am disappointed as well. Unfortunately the law is often less than perfect no matter how we might strive for it to be otherwise. Should you wish to discuss matters further, please send word to my chambers.”

  He glared at her for several blistering seconds, his mouth opening and closing rather like that of a fish that had been plucked out of a stream, before he spun on his heel and stalked out of the courtroom. It was only after he’d gone that she allowed the tension to give way, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she reached out to gather her belongings.

  “What was all that about?” asked a smooth, reassuringly familiar voice from just over her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Despite a part of her brain having already identified him, she startled anyway. “Lawrence!”

  “Sorry.” He sent her a rueful smile, his white barrister’s wig and black robes casting his features into sharp relief so that he looked even handsomer than usual. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

  “It’s nothing. I just wasn’t expecting you to turn up out of the blue.” Reaching out, she slipped her notes inside her leather folio, then gathered up a pair of pencils. “What are you doing here? I thought you had an appearance before Judge Typps today.”

  “I did, but it finished early.” He turned around and leaned back against the table, hands braced so that he faced her, his shoulder near her own. “I thought I’d come down here to see how you were faring.”

  He grinned, his gold-green eyes twinkling with intimate warmth. She had a sudden urge to kiss him, but resisted, wishing they were alone rather than inside an open courtroom. Based on his look, she guessed he was thinking the same.

  After a moment, his expression changed. “You never did tell me what was going on when I came in. I didn’t much care for the way that fellow was behaving. It’s a good thing he left when he did. Otherwise, I might very well have given his arm a good twist to move him along.”

  Her eyes widened. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. He’s angry enough as it is without adding a charge of assault and battery to the equation.”

  “Justified assault and battery, since he was clearly harassing you, an officer of the court. Who was he, by the by?”

  She sighed. “My client. Or rather my former client. He’s not at all happy that his lawsuit didn’t prevail today.”

  “You lost?” He arched a brow in clear surprise.

  “Yes, I lost. And you needn’t look so smug about it.”

  “I’m not,” he denied, wiping the hint of a smile from his lips. “Well, maybe a wee bit, since you never lose.”

  “You don’t either.”

  “Only on very rare occasion. Although I do recall receiving a rather stinging defeat at your hands.”

  A faint smile played over her lips this time. “Hmm, I seem to recall that myself.”

  “Be careful,” he murmured, keeping his voice low despite the fact that they were now the only two people left inside the courtroom. “I just might demand recompense.”

  She met his gaze, one hand coming to rest on the side of the table next to his. “I’ve already given you recompense for that, remember?”

  “Ah, but that was before I took you to my bed.”

  “Don’t,” she hushed. “This isn’t the place.”

  “No.” He inched his hand over so the side of his palm touched the side of hers. “I wish it was, though, so I could strip you bare and take you on this table.”

  Her blood heated. “Shh, you’re going to get us into trouble.”

  “I can think of all sorts of places I’d like to get into when it comes to you.”

  Her breathing quickened and she looked away.

  “You know,” he said huskily, “I’m finished for the day and if I’m not mistaken, you are as well. Why don’t we repair to my town house? After all, it is your first time losing in court and I’d like to offer you an appropriate measure of consolation. Or should I say inappropriate consolation?”

  She met his eyes again, her eyelids heavy with barely banked passion. “You are a wicked, wicked man, Lawrence Byron.”

  He hooked his pinky finger around hers so they were entwined. “Yes, and you love it.”

  He was right; she did.

  Suddenly she found herself wondering what else about him she might love.

  She frowned, then tugged her hand away. “Sorry, but I can’t. I promised Bertram I would meet him this afternoon to review one of his cases.”

  He scowled. “Can’t you send him a note and postpone?”

  “And give what as a reason? I’m already making up half a dozen excuses a week to explain why I’m away so often.”

  “Very well.” His eyebrows drew down with a displeasure that made her want to lean up and kiss it better. “What about Friday?”

  “Don’t you have a hearing most of the day?”

  “Blazes, you’re right. Saturday, then? I know we don’t usually meet that day, but surely you’re allowed to go shopping or some such.”

  “I do, of course, but this Saturday is difficult.”

  “Difficult how?”

  “It’s my father’s birthday, or at least it would have been his birthday.” A wave of sadness overtook her. “I’m going to the cemetery to lay flowers on his grave.”

  “I see. Your brother will be with you.” He said it as a statement.

  “No. Bertram and Father . . . their relationship was complicated at the best of times, so he is not coming.”

  “In that case, I shall.” He laid his hand over hers.

  “But—” Her eyes met his.

  “Unless you don’t want me there.”

  Suddenly she realized that was exactly what she wanted, quite badly, in fact. She flipped her hand over and laced her fingers with his. “I do. Want you, that is.”

  In far too many ways to mention. In ways she had no right to expect.

  “Then it will be my privilege to escort you.”

  Quickly they decided on a time and place to meet, since he insisted on taking her in his carriage. As for any plans afterward, he made no mention and neither did she.

  Aware how it would look if someone walked in, he let go of her hand; the loss left her oddly bereft.

  “I wish I could kiss you,” he whispered, gazing deep
ly into her eyes.

  “I wish you could too.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to rely on dreams until Saturday.”

  “Yes,” she said. “See you in my dreams until then.”

  And as he walked away, she realized how easy her last promise would be to keep, since he was the only thing she ever dreamed of these days.

  Chapter 21

  Lawrence stood within the burial grounds of Bunhill Fields in Islington that Saturday, waiting silent and respectful as Rosamund bent over the final resting places of not only her father but her mother as well.

  He watched as she tidied the graves, carefully plucking weeds and leaves from the thick grass before she arranged bouquets of fresh white lilies and purple lilacs, whose perfume drifted sweetly in the warm summer air.

  She’d given him a bit of a shock earlier when he drove up in his curricle to find her waiting at their prearranged meeting spot, wearing a black walking dress, an unadorned straw bonnet on her head and her arms filled with flowers.

  For a first few seconds, he hadn’t recognized her, scanning the crowd until she’d approached and spoken his name. He knew he’d stared, wondering now if he’d looked a fool, as he’d found it nearly impossible to look away from her.

  He’d always considered her a beautiful woman, but seeing her in a dress for the first time, looking indescribably soft and feminine, had produced a strange effect inside him. It was almost as if he didn’t know her, and yet he did—quite intimately, in fact.

  He’d helped her up into the curricle, vitally aware that he could do so now without anyone so much as glancing in their direction. Then, before he’d given himself a chance to think, he’d leaned over from his side of the seat and kissed her, nearly crushing the flowers between them as he claimed her mouth in a way he’d never openly been able to do before.

  She’d laughed when he let her up for air, her cheeks burnished, her silvery eyes aglow. And that was when she’d become his Rosamund again, the two images of her merging inside his head to form a single, unique whole.