Bedchamber Games

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Phoebe Templestone looked up from her place directly across the table from Lawrence. Daintily she swallowed the spoonful of crème caramel she’d just put in her mouth, then patted her lips with her napkin. “Yes, very welcome.”

  She fluttered her pale lashes and smiled.

  Phoebe was looking particularly lovely this evening, her blond beauty enhanced by the pale pink of her stylish silk gown, her blue eyes startlingly brilliant in the candlelight. Yet for all her exquisiteness, he felt only an abstract kind of appreciation rather like a connoisseur who could see the value of a fine work of art without investing anything emotionally in the piece.

  As for a certain darker beauty, she had no trouble evoking a strong emotional reaction. Straight, shoulder-length dark hair. Determined chin. And a pair of clever gray eyes that had a way of seeing through a problem or a person, perhaps to the very heart of a man’s soul. Some might say she couldn’t compare to the incomparable perfection of one such as Phoebe Templestone, but to his way of thinking hers was the beauty of real worth.

  With a sharp inner jolt, he returned to the present and forced a pleasant smile. “My thanks for your generosity, ladies. It sounds a most excellent diversion. Regretfully, however, I am promised here in the city. Business matters, you understand.”

  Lady Templestone’s mouth tightened; clearly she was not about to be done out of his agreeing to accept her invitation. He, however, had no illusions as to what such a visit would signal to the Ton. As Leo had warned him, this dinner tonight, with only the four of them present, was significant enough. A week spent at their country home would be as good as taking out an engagement notice in the Morning Post.

  He ought to have listened to Leo and cried off tonight, he realized now. Yet it wasn’t so long ago that he’d all but decided to offer for Phoebe Templestone, convinced she would make him an excellent wife, sure that an alliance with her and her family would offer him unparalleled opportunities to advance his legal career.

  So why was he hesitating rather than sealing the deal? Why resist when he would clearly be welcomed into the Templestone fold with open arms?

  There was only one answer.

  Rosamund.

  “Come, now, my lord,” Lady Templestone pressed, drawing him back into the conversation. “If the judge can afford time away, I am sure you can do so as well. The law cannot always take precedence no matter how much you men try to convince me that it should. Even the most dedicated among us needs to indulge in a bit of fun every now and then.”

  He’d never been one to deny himself pleasure, no matter how demanding his work. He’d been especially committed to such indulgences since Rosamund came into his life and into his bed. He only wished he could have her there tonight—and every night—rather than for a few stolen hours in the afternoon whenever they could manage. He ought to have taken her this afternoon, kissed and caressed aside her reservations and locked her inside his bedchamber where they could have slaked their mutual passions at length.

  In the past, with his other lovers, such carnal cravings would have been lessening by now, the initial rush of lust and longing starting to fade gradually until their affair came to its inevitable conclusion. Instead the more he had of Rosamund, the more he wanted. It was almost as though she were becoming an obsession, one he could not seem to shake.

  One he wasn’t even sure he wanted to shake.

  But most worrying of all was how much he enjoyed simply being with her. He could talk to her for hours and hours on end and never once grow bored. He could probably spend the whole of his life doing nothing but talking to her and never have cause for complaint.

  His gaze moved to Phoebe Templestone. Sweet and pretty and pliant with a brain that was, while not necessarily unintelligent, stuffed with a great deal of useless nonsense nevertheless. Just the memory of some of their conversations made him want to sigh.

  Mentally he gave himself a poke and fought to recall what Lady Templestone had just been saying.

  That’s right. The invitation.

  He smiled. “You are quite correct that no man can live solely for the law, dear ma’am,” he said smoothly. “And although I cannot promise to join you next month, I shall endeavor to do my best.”

  Lady Templestone looked as though she wished to press him further, but unbent instead, an almost girlish smile on her lips. “You are too charming by half, Lord Lawrence. It’s no wonder you are so successful in everything you do. Phoebe was telling me only the other day how expertly you drive a carriage, while Templestone says you command a courtroom by your mere presence alone. I predict great things in your future. Very great things.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Lawrence said. “But you are all that is kind.”

  With a wave of his hand, Lord Templestone indicated that the servants could clear the dessert course. A look passed between him and his wife, and then she laid her napkin gracefully aside.

  “If you and Templestone will excuse us,” she said, “Phoebe and I shall retire so you gentlemen can enjoy a libation at your leisure.”

  Lawrence and the judge stood while Phoebe and her mother made their way to the door. At the very last instant, Phoebe turned back and gave Lawrence a shy little smile.

  A hopeful little smile.

  It sent a frisson of unease over his skin.

  “Port?” Templestone asked, once the women had gone.

  “Yes, please.”

  Lawrence waited while the butler poured, accepting one of the glasses proffered on a silver tray. The servant withdrew, leaving them alone.

  “I crossed paths with Stifton a couple of days ago,” Lawrence began, “and he was telling me about a rather intriguing argument he used recently. It seems he—”

  “Yes, yes, you’ll have to tell me all about it, as well as that other bit of business we needed to discuss,” Templestone interrupted. “But first there’s another matter I would like to address.”

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  “The Season, as I’m sure you are well aware, has all but come to an end. Aristocratic families are returning to their country estates by the day with only a few balls and parties yet to be held for those of us staunch London sorts.”

  Rather than comment, Lawrence downed a mouthful of liquor, not sure he liked the direction he suspected the conversation was heading.

  “My Phoebe has taken well and has had a marvelous time of it these past few weeks from everything I’ve observed.” Templestone drummed his fingers against the table. “Cost me a damned great stack of blunt too, I’ll tell you, what with all the dresses and bonnets and feminine folderol the ladies insist they require. But I don’t mind, not really, since she’s my girl. My one and only child who deserves the best of everything and whatever it is her heart desires.”

  Templestone pinned him with a pair of blue eyes that were the exact shade of his daughter’s but infinitely shrewder and not nearly so sweet.

  “Here’s the thing, Byron.” The judge’s jaw tightened in the same implacable way it did when he was about to render a verdict. “You’ve been squiring my girl about all Season long, dancing attendance on her and giving her the impression that your intentions went a great deal deeper than a simple flirtation. So I’m going to ask you straight out, what are your intentions? And before you answer, there are a couple additional points on which you ought to be briefed.”

  “And those are?”

  Lawrence kept his voice and expression even, refusing to reveal his sudden inner turmoil. Leo had warned him that his hosts were hoping to pin him to the wall tonight, and apparently he’d been right.

  Bollocks.

  Templestone steepled his fingers against his trim stomach, his white-blond eyebrows drawn into sharp lines. “First, I know you’ve got a reputation with women, and to some that would make you a less than ideal matrimonial candidate. But I don’t hold that against you. A man’s entitl
ed to his pleasures—only means he’s a man. Frankly I’d think less of you if you hadn’t been with your fair share of whores and fancy women by your age. Once you marry, you’ll be ready to settle down, all those wild oats well sown and ready to be left in the past.

  “My wife, as you saw tonight, finds you charming and your pedigree all the more so. You may not be titled, but you’re brother to one of the most powerful peers in the country, so an alliance between our families would prove highly beneficial to the Templestone line.”

  The judge ran a finger along the base of his glass. “As for your own aspirations in the law, you’re a damned fine barrister with a keen head on your shoulders. There’s no telling how far you could rise given the right assistance and connections. With my own wise hand to guide you, I have no doubt you will soon find yourself on the bench in a position of immense authority. Who knows, you might even rise to the high court so rapidly you’ll find yourself serving at my side.”

  Rather than respond to such overt blandishments and temptations, Lawrence sipped his port and waited to hear the rest, whatever it might be.

  “And so we come to the crux of the matter,” Templestone said. “She might not want me telling you this, but my Phoebe’s got her heart set on you. She received three perfectly respectable offers of marriage this Season and turned them all down, including one from Viscount Fallows. Eight thousand a year and a winter home in Italy, he’s got, and she tossed them away along with a chance to be a viscountess. So long as he’s suitable, I promised to leave the choice of husband up to her because I want her to be happy.”

  The judge locked eyes on him again; Lawrence forced himself not to look away. “So, then, Byron, I ask you again, what are your intentions toward my Phoebe? And keep in mind that my assistance with your career can launch you into the most elevated circles imaginable. On the other hand, if you disappoint my girl, the opposite effect may well occur. A shame if your brilliant legal ascent were to take an unfortunate downward turn. Solicitors are a fickle lot and often change their minds about the capability of certain members of counsel. Steering their clients in the direction of other barristers happens all the time, if you catch my meaning.”

  Yes, Lawrence thought grimly. Meaning more than caught.

  The judge smiled, showing his teeth with foxlike cunning. “What do you think, then, Lord Lawrence? Will our families soon have good news to celebrate?”

  Lawrence forced down the churning bile in his gut. Whatever he’d been expecting tonight, it hadn’t included being blackmailed by a respected high court judge. What he wanted to do was to tell Templestone to take his threats and go bugger himself. Instead he fought for control, wishing again he’d listened to his twin.

  Not that it would have made much difference in the grand scheme of things. Templestone had obviously been working up to this for a while, no doubt hoping Lawrence would voluntarily ask for Phoebe’s hand so he wouldn’t have to resort to threats. But Templestone had obviously grown tired of waiting and decided to have it out with him.

  So now what?

  Clearly an alliance between him and Phoebe would be beneficial for them both. He’d once thought in such calculating terms, willing to marry her as a stepping- stone to greater things.

  Then he’d met Rosamund.

  “I’ll need a short while to consider,” he said, pushing his glass of port aside. “And while we’re being so plainspoken, I have to tell you that I am not the sort of man who responds well to threats. I may say no solely to make that point clear and let us see which one of us prevails.”

  Templestone opened his mouth, but it was Lawrence who forestalled him this time. “Let us say no more on the subject tonight. I’ll let you know my decision soon.”

  Chapter 24

  Rosamund sat at the breakfast table two days later, clear July sunshine pouring through the windows of the dining room. She breathed in a fragrant tendril of steam from her cup of morning Assam before taking a long, satisfying sip.

  Across from her Bertram sat reading the newspaper while he applied himself to his plate of eggs, ham and toast. She’d just taken a bite of buttered crumpet spread with her favorite blackberry jam when he folded the paper into neat quarters and slid it into her line of sight. He said nothing, just tapped a fingertip atop a story, then returned to his meal.

  She looked, curious to see what it was he wanted her to read.

  Only the other evening, a certain extremely eligible gentleman bachelor was spotted visiting the Kew home of none other than His Honor Baron Judge T and his esteemed wife. The legally inclined Lord LB, who curiously enough serves as a barrister despite his ducal connections, was apparently the one and only guest invited to dine en famille with the Ts. During much of this past Season, he’s been observed innumerable times in the company of Baron and Lady T’s Incomparable daughter, Miss PT, dancing with her at balls, escorting her to fetes and taking her for fashionable drives in Hyde Park. So what are we to make of this intriguing evening out? And can an announcement of a much closer sort be too far behind?

  Rosamund’s jaw slowed as her eyes moved across the page, the crumpet turning to paste in her mouth. Somehow she managed to swallow, struggling as she forced the lump past her throat.

  She set the no-longer-appealing crumpet on its plate and reached for her tea, taking a long swallow as she worked to compose her shaken nerves. Without looking up, she pushed the newspaper toward Bertram, careful not to let the teacup rattle when she placed it back on its saucer.

  “When did you take to reading the Society column?” she asked in as casual a tone as she could muster. “I wouldn’t have thought such foolishness would interest you.”

  “Ordinarily it w-wouldn’t.” He laid his fork on his plate. “But in this instance the names caught my eye.”

  “The initials, you mean. Hard to tell who they’re even talking about.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded brittle.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I think y-you and I know exactly to whom they refer. Let us stop dissembling, Roz. I believe we’ve been doing that f-far long enough.”

  Finally she looked up and into Bertram’s eyes that were filled with a combination of sympathy, anger and hurt. “How long have you known?” she said.

  “About the affair you’re having with Lawrence Byron?”

  At his blunt confirmation, she felt her heart drop into her stomach. She nodded.

  “Almost from the beginning, or at least what I presume was the beginning. I may s-stutter, but I’m not blind or s-stupid. All those trips to court and hours spent at the l-law library. Not even you can do that much research.”

  She hung her head, ashamed. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I hated doing it, but I thought . . .”

  “Yes? What did you think?”

  “That you’d try to stop me from seeing him,” she said on a near whisper. “Why didn’t you, by the way? And why tell me now when you’ve had so many chances to before?”

  He stuck his teaspoon into his cup and stirred, then set it aside. “Because you’re an intelligent, adult woman who’s capable of looking at all sides of an issue and making up your own mind. I’d already c-cautioned you against Byron. You knew my thoughts regarding his character—which hasn’t improved, by the way—yet you continued to put yourself into his orbit. Once you’d decided in his favor, I doubt there’s little I could have done or said to have p-prevented you, short of physically locking you in the house, and I wasn’t going to do that. I spent my entire life being d-dictated to by our father. I didn’t want to do that to you. You’ve a right to live your life, even if I might have urged you to choose a different path.”

  “So you think I was wrong? That it’s sinful for me to be with him?”

  He met her gaze. “Not sinful, no. Only human. It’s just that . . .”

  “What?”

  He sighed. “I worry you’re going to be d-dreadfully hurt when it ends.
And it is going to end, Rosamund.”

  “I know that,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Do you? Do you really? You asked me why now?” He nodded toward the newspaper with its damning bit of gossip. “He’s never going to marry you. He’s a b-bloody nob and he’s going to marry another b-bloody nob like Templestone’s daughter or one exactly like her, and when he does, where will that leave you?”

  She skimmed a fingertip across the tablecloth. “I never supposed he would marry me, so you needn’t entertain any fears on that score. I’ve always known my relationship with him would be of a short duration.”

  “And did you also know you’d fall in love with him?”

  Her eyes flew to his, then quickly away. “What makes you think I’m in love?”

  “Rosamund,” he said knowingly. “I thought we were done with the lies. You’ve been positively floating these past few weeks, so happy even Cook has noticed and she hardly ever even leaves the kitchen. It pains me to spoil it.”

  “Then why have you?” she demanded, voice catching on a near sob.

  He flinched. “Because I’ve seen your work and know that your final case is about to conclude. When it does, you’ll have to go back to being yourself, your real self. Without the disguise, it won’t be so simple to see him anymore.”

  He reached for the teapot and refreshed both of their cups.

  She picked hers up and used the porcelain to warm her fingers, which had grown frigid despite the summer heat.

  “I blame myself,” Bertram said. “I should never have coerced you into this b-blasted deception in the first place. It was wrong and cowardly of m-me and I must b-beg your pardon. If I’d just t-taken Father’s cases on myself, none of this would have happened.”

  “No, don’t berate yourself.” She reached out and laid a hand over his. “I knew the risks and agreed to the plan. I did it of my own free will and have had not so much as an instant of regret. These past weeks have been the most exciting, fulfilling time of my life. It’s been beyond brilliant and I would never wish it away, not for anything.”