“Surprise, it’s me,” she murmured huskily into his ear. “Where would you like to tup me first? Upstairs in your bedchamber? Or should we try out this table, since it’s so big and long and hard like you?”
“Both sound equally intriguing,” he said with an amused tone as he reached up to loosen her hold. “But I fear my wife might object to your saucy plan.”
His wife?
It was only then that she became aware of something different about him, something very un-Lawrence-like. She lowered her arms and stepped back, staring as he turned in his chair to face her. He looked like Lawrence, even sounded like him, and yet there was a peculiar discordance, as if she were observing a copy—albeit an exceptional one—rather than the original.
And his eyes. They were the usual mix of gold and green, only they weren’t.
These eyes were greener.
Much greener.
Yet at the same time she was puzzling him out, he seemed to be doing the same with her, his eyes widening as one golden eyebrow arched high, in obvious disbelief as he stared at what must look to him to be a man.
Just then a footstep sounded from somewhere above them and she looked up to see Lawrence—another Lawrence—standing on a railed platform above, a thick book cradled in one hand. “Rosamund?” he called down.
The first Lawrence—who clearly wasn’t Lawrence at all—glanced back and forth between her and the real one, then smiled. “Rosamund, is it? I must say that’s a relief. I was worried for a moment he’d taken to batting for the other side.”
Suddenly everything fell into place, mortified heat rushing into her cheeks, hot as a volcano. “Dear God, you’re his twin!”
His eyes twinkled in a way that was disturbingly familiar, yet wasn’t. “Lord Leopold Byron at your service.” He executed a short bow. “Not to worry, you’re far from the first to mistake me for Lawrence. Even now some of our relations can’t tell one of us from the other.”
She could understand why; the resemblance really was uncanny.
“Been a while, though,” he continued, “since I entertained such a tempting suggestion from anyone other than my wife. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with her and unerringly faithful as a result, I’d be thinking up ways to steal you from my brother. Either that or share.”
He winked, chuckling quietly as she opened and closed her mouth without so much as a sound coming out.
“That is quite enough from you,” Lawrence reprimanded his brother in a hard voice, appearing suddenly at her side.
She glanced up at Lawrence and watched an unspoken message pass between him and his twin.
A flicker of surprise crossed Leopold’s face, followed by a kind of introspective curiosity. Abruptly his flirtatious demeanor disappeared and he returned his gaze to her. “Your pardon, ma’am. It was not my intention to offend. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Yes, of course, my lord,” she said, wishing her cheeks would quit burning like a bonfire. “I can hardly blame you when I am every bit as much at fault for our misunderstanding.”
“No,” Leopold said slowly, as his gaze traveled briefly between his brother and her. “The blame is entirely mine. Perhaps we might begin anew. Lawrence, will you do the honors and make a proper introduction?”
“I’m not so sure I will,” Lawrence grumbled. Then he relented. “Rosamund, my brother, Leopold, as I believe you already know. Leo, Miss Rosamund Carrow.”
“A pleasure.” Leopold made her another brief bow, his demeanor as refined and gentlemanly as if they were meeting in a ballroom. As for the fact that she was wearing male garb rather than a dress, he showed no signs of disapproval, not outwardly at least. “Carrow?” he mused. “Any relation to the barrister Ross Carrow whom my brother has mentioned a time or two?”
Now it was her and Lawrence’s turn to exchange speaking glances.
“You might as well go ahead,” she said with a shrug. “I’m the one who botched everything up by deciding to drop in on you unannounced. I just wanted to surprise you and look where it’s landed me.”
Lawrence smiled and took her hand. “Don’t worry. He’s irritating on occasion but amazingly trustworthy.”
She smiled back before the enormity of the whole situation settled over her again. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“Trust me with what?” Leo looked between her and Lawrence.
“With the fact that Rosamund is Ross Carrow,” Lawrence confided.
Leo frowned, looking so much like Lawrence it was unsettling. “What do you mean she’s Ross Carrow? But that would mean that she . . . that she has . . . that—it’s impossible.”
“Improbable perhaps,” Lawrence said, “but far from impossible. She fooled me for a good long while and she continues to fool everyone else.”
“So she’s actually practicing law? And appearing in court?”
“She is,” Lawrence declared, voice brimming with pride. “And with splendid success. Bloody brilliant if I do say so myself. She’s won every case save one, and that was a likely loser from the outset.”
“Didn’t he—I mean she beat you?” Leo continued. “You were dashed vexed about it, as I recall.”
“I’ve since recovered.”
Leo crossed his arms over his chest and looked between them again, a far-too-knowing expression in his eyes. “Yes, I can see that you have.”
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” Rosamund interjected, “but you do realize that I am standing right here. If Lord Leopold has questions, I would appreciate him asking them of me directly.”
“Oh, she does have a good barrister’s voice,” Leo remarked. “Nice and authoritative.”
“You ought to hear her in court.”
Rosamund loudly cleared her throat.
The sound got through this time, the brothers turning their keen green and gold gazes her way. Having clearly been caught out, they sent her a pair of sheepish grins that were mirror images of each other.
“Sorry, my dear.” Lawrence squeezed her hand in apology. “Leo and I tend to get carried away sometimes.”
“Rather more than sometimes, as it happens,” Leo added. “Drives our friends and family mad, especially when we don’t bother to finish our sentences. Twin-speak. Learned in the cradle, perfected over the years.” Leo showed her his white teeth, smiling with such good-natured yet unrepentant warmth that she couldn’t find it within herself to stay angry—particularly since he looked just like Lawrence.
“But you are quite right, Miss Carrow,” Leo said. “He and I are being unconscionably rude. I do beg pardon. Again.”
“Accepted. Just see you don’t make a habit of it, my lord.”
Leo’s smiled widened, his gaze meeting his brother’s once more. “She’s a firecracker.”
“Isn’t she just?”
“So, Miss Carrow, where did you train in the law, if I might be so bold? It’s not the usual thing for a woman.”
“No, it is not. I assisted my father and earned an education at his side.”
“And your father is?”
“Elias Carrow. Bertram Carrow is my brother.”
“I see,” Leo said. “My condolences for your recent loss. Even I, who hold a barrister’s credential in name only, was familiar with your late father’s work and accolades.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Leo, please. Not much point standing on formality now; don’t you agree?”
“I suppose so.”
“So how did you ever come to take up a disguise and become a working member of the bar?”
“That,” Lawrence said, breaking in to the conversation, “is an interesting story but far too long to tell right now. If you don’t object, Rosamund, I’ll fill him in on the details later.”
She turned toward Lawrence. “Yes, of course. And I really am sorry to have
dropped in on you today unannounced.” Not to mention her lingering embarrassment over whispering lewd suggestions into his brother’s ear believing it was him. “I ought to have realized that you might be otherwise occupied.”
“I’m not sorry.” Lawrence took her other hand in his, lowering his voice as Leo retreated to give them some semblance of privacy. “I’m delighted to see you. I only wish Leo had chosen another afternoon to surprise me with a visit as well.”
“Did his wife come with him? Is she here? I should go. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to . . . well, I doubt she would be pleased to make my acquaintance.”
“Of course she would. Thalia doesn’t stand so high in the instep that she would refuse to know you. But no, she isn’t here. She’s back at their country home. Apparently they discovered a foundling. A newborn left in a basket under a tree on the edge of their estate. Leo and I are looking into the legalities of their keeping her.”
He cast a glance over at his brother, who had resumed his seat at the table. “They’re childless, you see. And although Leo is perfectly content with their family never being any bigger than the two of them, Thalia longs for a child. Now one has come into their lives. He wants to make sure if they adopt the baby, she can’t ever be taken away again. He fears such a loss, after a bond had been forged, would devastate Thalia beyond repair.”
“Of course it would,” she said fiercely. “No woman could come to love a child as her own only to see it torn away from her later. If there is any way I can help, just say the word. Bertram is acquainted with a couple of solicitors who have dealt with such matters. I can give you their names.”
“That is very good of you. But then, you are good.” He sent her a warm smile. “At so very many things.”
She looked into his eyes with their preponderance of gold amid the green and knew him for the man she loved. Never again would she have difficulty distinguishing him from his twin.
Yet when he leaned forward to kiss her, she shifted away fractionally, all too aware that they were not alone. Obviously intuiting the reason for her reluctance, he paused and sent his brother a quick glance before turning to lead her to the door. He ushered her out into the hall, where he dropped her hand and had her follow him.
The moment they were inside his study with the door closed, he pulled her into his arms and found her mouth. She kissed him with a sweet, fiery passion as she lost herself inside his ardent embrace. Far too quickly she pulled away. “We can’t. Not with your brother here.”
“Believe me, he won’t mind.”
“Maybe not, but I will. He already thinks . . .” Her words trailed off.
“Yes, what does he think?
“Nothing good.”
He cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing over his lips. “What did you say to him exactly?”
Her cheeks warmed again. “Please, don’t make me repeat it. I thought he was you,” she added with a hint of accusation.
“Oh, come, now. It cannot have been that bad. Whisper it in my ear.”
“Lawrence—” she complained.
“Go on.” He bent closer. “I won’t be cross whatever it might be.”
She wanted to resist, but lately it seemed she could refuse him nothing. Standing on tiptoe, she told him.
His eyes widened and he smirked. “No wonder he looked like he’d just been jabbed with a hot poker.”
She swatted his shoulder. “It’s not funny.”
“It is a little.” He chuckled.
“No, it isn’t. I’m sure he thinks me a harlot.”
All of Lawrence’s humor vanished. “He most certainly does not!”
“But, Lawrence, how can he think anything else? Obviously he knows I’m your lover.”
He took hold of her arms, waiting until she looked up and into his eyes. “Just because we’re lovers doesn’t make you a harlot. And I don’t ever want you to say such a thing about yourself again. Do you understand?” When she didn’t respond, he asked her again. “Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
But it changed nothing, she realized. Whatever Lawrence might say, she was no more suitable for him than if she really were a harlot.
“I should go.” She sighed, running a hand over the smooth silk of his waistcoat.
He frowned. “No, don’t. Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll tell Leo to push off.”
“You can’t tell him to push off. From what you’ve said, this is his home too. Besides, he needs your help, he and his wife.” She caught him around the neck with a hand and stretched up for a warm, passionate kiss. “I shall see you soon, when we can be alone. Until then, go be with your brother.”
For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to argue. Then he nodded. “Damned waste of a good surprise if you ask me.”
This time she did laugh—warmth, and something far richer and more precious, spiraling inside her.
They shared one final kiss, and then she preceded him out to the entry hall and went on her way.
• • •
“I like her,” Leo said a while later. He and Lawrence were seated across from each other at the library table, books and notes scattered between them. “She’s unique, your Rosamund.”
Your Rosamund, Lawrence repeated in his head. Yes, she is mine and no one else’s.
So why did he feel unsettled somehow, as if an imperceptible shift had occurred, a turning point from which there could be no return?
“She is exceptional. The most remarkable woman it’s ever been my privilege to know.” Lawrence did nothing to hide the pleasure and pride in his voice. “I am glad you had an opportunity to meet her even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.”
Leo gave him a look. “A shame Thalia wasn’t able to accompany me today so she could have met her as well.”
“It is, yes. Although Rosamund needs to keep her identity secret for a while more.”
After Rosamund’s departure, he’d told Leo the pertinent parts of her history and the reasons for her deception; how she’d done it for her brother and that once the last of her father’s old cases were concluded, she would be hanging up her shingle as a barrister.
“And then what?” Leo asked. “When she goes back to being plain Miss Carrow?”
“I don’t know.” Lawrence rolled a pencil between his fingers. “We haven’t really discussed it.”
Until now he and Rosamund had been too caught up in the thrill of their affair to think much beyond the immediate future. But Leo was right. What was going to happen once she went back to being herself? Would she be content when she was no longer able to do the work at which she excelled and so obviously loved? Or would she be miserable? And where would that leave them when Ross Carrow couldn’t drop by to visit him anymore?
He scowled, not liking the direction his thoughts were taking him.
“So?” Leo leaned back in his chair. “Still going to Baron Judge Templestone’s for dinner this evening?”
Lawrence looked up. “Of course. I am promised to attend.”
“I presume Phoebe Templestone will be there.”
“And her mother and the judge.”
“Anyone else?”
“I really couldn’t say, since I wasn’t asked to consult on the guest list.”
Leo made a humming noise in his throat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just that I’d beware. Any invitation where you’re outnumbered by Templestones constitutes a family dinner.”
“Well, this isn’t one. His Honor and I have business to discuss, and the baroness was kind enough to invite me to share a meal with them.”
“Are you sure they know that? Just don’t come away engaged, not unless you mean to be. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself, Mama. Now, shouldn’t we be g
etting back to your issue?”
“Quite right.” Leo shifted forward in his seat again. “Do be sure to give Miss Carrow my best when next you see her. I’ve always been a great admirer of clever, resourceful women. A man could spend a lifetime with one such as she and never grow bored. A shame she lacks breeding.”
“There is nothing wrong with her breeding.” His fingers tightened dangerously on his pencil.
“Oh, she has education and manners to be sure. I’m merely pointing out that she’s not an aristocrat. Nor does she come with the sorts of familial connections that could be of benefit to furthering one’s position or career. But then, I’ve never cared about such things.”
“You married an earl’s daughter.”
“A disgraced, divorced earl’s daughter who people still gossip about behind her back. But I love her and she loves me and that’s all that matters.”
“Rosamund and I are lovers; it doesn’t mean we’re in love.”
“Of course not.” Leo’s eyes gleamed in a way that set Lawrence’s teeth on edge.
“When did you turn into such a meddler?” Lawrence demanded. “I think that fiction writing of yours is going to your head, imagining things that don’t exist.”
Leo laughed and bent his head to concentrate on his reading.
It took Lawrence some while before he was able to do the same.
Chapter 23
“You simply must come visit us in the country at Templestone Manor this autumn, Lord Lawrence,” declared Lady Templestone from where she sat at the end of the long formal dining table inside the Templestone House dining room. “We run a fine covey of birds on our land; do we not, Templestone?”
She cast a glance at her husband, who sat opposite her at the table’s head, but didn’t pause long enough to let him answer—assuming he was even inclined to do so. Lady Templestone was a master of never letting the conversation lag, no matter how mundane the topic.
“It’s nothing to compare to what your brother, the duke, can provide, I am sure,” she continued on, “but we’ve a decent collection of game nonetheless. I think you will find the shooting quite to your liking and you would be most welcome to join our party of friends next month. Would he not, Phoebe?”
Bedchamber Games Page 21