Bedchamber Games

by Tracy Anne Warren

  She drew her hand back, then turned her head to stare out the window. “But you are right. It is time for it to end, all of it. I’ve been living in a fantasy and I need to come back to the real world.”

  “So you’ll break it off with Byron?”

  Panic rose in her chest, squeezing painfully beneath her ribs as she considered his question. She wasn’t ready to break it off, not yet. She could stretch out her work awhile longer despite what Bertram said. A few more weeks. A couple of months, even three, four . . .

  She suddenly stopped herself, realizing, as she had done not so long ago, that no amount of time with Lawrence would be enough; even forever would be too soon.

  “Yes,” she said hollowly. “I will break it off.”

  Bertram nodded. “I really am sorry, Rosamund, but it’s the right thing to do.”

  Perhaps so, she thought. But if it is, then why does it still feel so wrong?

  • • •

  Lawrence paced the floor of his study, his thoughts filled with uncertainty and indecision. Nearly a week had passed and he still hadn’t made up his mind whether to offer for Phoebe Templestone. On the surface, it seemed a simple enough matter, the only logical choice really, particularly in light of her father’s edict.

  So why was he still hesitating?

  He didn’t love Phoebe, but then, love had never factored into his calculations concerning a potential match between them. Theirs would be a marriage of convenience and suitability, a union that would provide benefits to them both. She would gain social entrée as his wife that she did not enjoy now, while he would be in line to achieve even his loftiest career goals. As Templestone had pointed out, with the judge’s assistance there was no door within the law that would remain closed to him, including the high court. Conversely those dreams would be all but dead should he refuse.

  But he didn’t want to think any more about it right now. Rosamund was due to arrive any minute and he longed to forget everything but her for a while and lose himself in her silken embrace.

  He went to the liquor cabinet and had just poured himself a glass of Madeira when his butler appeared at the door.

  “Your pardon, my lord, but a caller has arrived. I told her you were not receiving this afternoon, but she insists on seeing you.”

  “She? Are you certain this person isn’t looking for Lady Leopold?” He took a drink of his wine.

  “Quite certain, since she asked for you most specifically.”

  “And her name?”

  Griggs’s face took on an expression of quiet disapproval. “She prefers to remain anonymous. Shall I show her out?”

  Rosamund—or rather Ross—would be here shortly, but he was intrigued now. Whatever this woman wanted, he was sure it wouldn’t take long. “No, show her into the drawing room.”

  Once his butler withdrew, Lawrence quaffed more wine, then set the glass aside.

  He was already in the drawing room when the mystery woman was shown inside, her identity rendered even more mysterious by the wide bonnet and heavy veil that obscured her face. She was dressed all in black, including her gloves and shoes. Given the way she was clothed, she could have been almost anyone.

  “I am afraid you have the advantage of me, madam,” he said, waiting to speak until after Griggs departed. “Perhaps you would be good enough to reveal yourself so we might converse more comfortably.”

  Rather than answer, she stepped closer. As she did, a sense of familiarity came over him.

  She reached for her veil. “I should think you would know me by now, my lord, considering the intimate nature of our relationship.”

  “Rosamund?”

  Her lovely face came into view as she folded back the veil, her silvery gray eyes entrancing as a moonlit sea.

  He stared for a few long seconds, then took her hand and pulled her after him into the study. He shut the door, closing them inside. “What are you doing here dressed like that?”

  “Surprising you again or so it would seem. Although considering your reaction, I think it safe to assume Griggs didn’t recognize me either.”

  “And a good thing too. So why the gown? I thought you were visiting me this afternoon as Ross.”

  Moving to the side table where he’d left his glass of Madeira, she picked it up. “Yours?” At his nod, she drained the half that remained.

  “Should you be doing that?” he asked, well aware of her low tolerance for alcohol.

  She set down the glass with a quiet clink, then reached up and took off her hat and gloves. “I’m not worried, seeing that I have all night with you.” She moved to stand in front of him and laid her hands against his chest. “Assuming you want me to stay the night. Or are you otherwise engaged?”

  “I’m not, and even if I were, I’d send my apologies.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “But what has happened? Why can you suddenly stay? Has your brother gone out of town?”

  She shook her head and stretched up to feather her lips across his jaw. “No, he’s at home.” She repeated her sensual foray along the other side of his jaw. “What’s changed is that he knows.”

  “Knows? Knows what? About us, do you mean?”

  “Exactly.” She located a spot just beneath his ear and swirled the tip of her tongue in a tiny circle.

  He tightened his hold and pulled her back enough that he could look into her face. “And he isn’t furious? He’s not planning to storm in here to confront me and demand we meet on the field of honor at dawn, pistols drawn?”

  “Of course not. He’s a lawyer, remember? Dueling is illegal.”

  “So is having one’s sister pretend to be a man so she can try cases as a barrister, but that didn’t stop him.”

  She gave a small sigh. “Apparently he’s known about us for some while. He doesn’t approve, but says I’m a grown woman and that it’s up to me to make my own decisions.”

  He arched a brow. “How surprisingly enlightened of him. I’m not sure I would be so forbearing.”

  “Oh, don’t mistake me. He still doesn’t like you and he’s not happy about it. But he’s decided not to stand in our way, so why look for problems where there aren’t any?”

  He frowned, something about her story not sitting quite right with him. But then she went back to nuzzling his neck, and the thoughts grew indistinct in his mind, especially when her hand slid downward to find his already thickened shaft through his falls.

  She stroked his eager flesh. “I want you, Lawrence. Take me upstairs to your bed.”

  He pulled her closer and found her lips, kissing her with a fiery intensity that left both of them shaking. “I’m not sure I can wait that long.”

  Her eyes grew lambent with desire as she kissed him back. “Then don’t.”

  Lifting her off her feet, he carried her across the room to his desk. He shoved books and papers to the floor, uncaring where they fell as he set her on top, then parted her legs and stepped between.

  Her mouth was lush and satiny, sweet with the flavor of the wine she’d drunk as he kissed her with ever-deepening intensity. She answered each sweeping foray of his tongue with an equally enthusiastic response, her own tongue swirling and darting and gliding against his in ways that drove his need higher. She tunneled her fingers into his hair and kissed him harder, kissed him as if she never wanted to stop.

  He reached for the buttons on the back of her gown, unfastening enough of them that he could tug her bodice down. To his immense delight, he discovered that she wasn’t wearing stays, only a thin cotton shift. A ribbon and a few buttons more and her naked breasts were exposed, her warm, creamy flesh trembling slightly as she awaited his touch.

  He found her nipples first, fingering them in exactly the way she liked so that the tips drew up hard as berries. Taking hold of her arms, he set her hands flat on the desk behind her so that her back was arched, her breasts
extended toward him like an offering. Bending low, he took her into his mouth, suckling hard, then pausing every so often to press one of her engorged nipples between his teeth and tongue.

  She cried out, her head hung back as he feasted.

  Straightening abruptly, he reached for the skirt of her dress and pushed it up over her legs to her waist. She was bare there as well, no pesky drawers to get around this time. Heat roared through him, his erection hard and pulsing. His nostrils flared at her delicious feminine scent, his gaze moving to the dark triangle of curls between her legs that was moist with obvious arousal. He stroked the satiny length of her legs, slowing to tease her inner thighs with a diabolical purpose that made her moan and tremble before he slid a pair of fingers into her wet, clinging core.

  But she had devilish plans of her own, his thoughts turning dark and half-dazed as she unfastened his trousers and drawers and took him into her hand. He’d taught her well, perhaps too well, he realized, as she stroked him with a finesse that nearly brought him to his knees.

  They began kissing in a frenzied mating of lips and tongues that presaged the mating they ultimately craved.

  And suddenly he had to be inside her, had to make her totally and completely his own. Taking hold of her bare hips, he eased her back across the desk and thrust possessively into her, sheathing himself as far as he could go.

  Yet somehow it wasn’t far enough.

  He needed more.

  He needed everything.

  Everything that she was.

  Everything she could give until he had all of her, so no secrets remained, no truths hidden or questions that lay unanswered.

  Hooking her legs over his arms, he inched her forward and opened her wider, holding her so that she was his to take, his to control. She didn’t resist, her body absolutely enslaved. Her eyes opened, glassy with passion as they looked into his.

  He looked back, not breaking contact, as he began to thrust heavily inside her, letting her know with each powerful stroke to whom it was that she belonged.

  “Say my name,” he demanded.

  “Lawrence.” She moaned, her breath coming in rapid pants between her parted lips.

  “Tell me that you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours.”

  “And only mine.”

  “Only yours.”

  “Will you ever want another?”

  “No. Only you. God, Lawrence, only you. Always.”

  Thrusting faster, he plunged in and out, struggling not to claim his own satisfaction as he drove her onward toward hers.

  Suddenly her velvety inner muscles began to convulse, milking his shaft with a power that left him helpless. And as her keening cries rang in his ears, he gave himself over to the bliss, spilling himself powerfully inside her with a hoarse shout.

  Chapter 25

  Rosamund awakened to early-morning darkness, momentarily startled to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings. Then, almost in the same breath, she became aware of the large, extremely comfortable mattress beneath her and even more so of the large male body curved along the length of her back.

  Lawrence slept next to her, one deliciously heavy arm hooked around her waist, one of his calves nestled between hers. The sheets were a tangled mess around them—no surprise, considering all the times they’d made love since they’d come upstairs so many hours earlier.

  After their first coupling in his study, he’d helped her dress, taking care to put her bonnet and veil back on so her identity would remain a secret should they encounter one of the servants. Once inside his bedchamber, they’d stripped each other bare, then tumbled onto his bed, where he’d taken her with a feverish hunger that even now had the power to make her heart skip a beat.

  They’d slept for a while, then awakened to share an evening meal of ripe cheeses, cold meat, yeasty bread and succulent summer fruits. When she bit into a whole fresh peach and juice dribbled over her chin and down onto her naked breasts, he’d insisted on licking her clean. But he hadn’t stopped there, kissing and laving his way over her entire body, paying especial attention to her most intimate parts.

  He brought her to a peak so many times over the next few hours that she’d lost count, while she’d done her best to pleasure him in return, relishing the sounds of his fierce need and his even fiercer satisfaction.

  Finally they’d slept, entangled in each other’s arms. It was a night she knew she’d never forget—their first together and their last.

  She lay still now, memorizing every detail, listening to the soft rhythm of his breath as he slept, his warm body spooned around her own. She found his hand and wove her fingers ever so gently between his, then pressed his arm tighter against her, wishing she could stay like this forever. Wishing somehow she never had to leave.

  Behind her she felt him stir. She held her breath for a moment as he quieted again, then ever so softly shimmied back, unwilling to lose even a fraction of their closeness.

  “You know if you keep doing that I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” he murmured groggily. “Go back to sleep.”

  She waited until he settled, then shimmied again.

  This time when he stirred, a particular part of his anatomy did as well. He groaned. “Didn’t I tire you out enough last night?”

  “You did, but I’m awake again now.” She moved his hand so it cradled one of her breasts.

  With his thumb, he stroked an already sensitized tip. She moaned softly and arched her bottom against him. “Go back to sleep. I’ll just lie here.”

  He grew harder. “Sleep? How could I possibly sleep now? You’ve turned into a siren, the sort who leads good men to their doom.”

  “Then isn’t it lucky you’re not a good man?” she teased in a breathless voice.

  He chuckled and kissed her shoulder. “Hmm, yes, lucky for you.”

  She started to turn around to face him, but he kept her where she was, sliding his leg higher so his thigh was now wedged between hers.

  “Lawrence?”

  Rather than answer, he parted her thighs even more and thrust deeply inside her, penetrating her fully with a single stroke. She felt him everywhere, surrounded as he began rocking them together. He tightened their clasped hands, his rhythm slow and easy, as if they had all the time in the world. She bit her lip and gave herself completely to the moment, losing herself to him one final time.

  And as the dawn light began to break over the horizon, he brought her to an exquisite climax, her cries drowning out the sorrow waiting like a shadow in her heart.

  • • •

  “It’s still early yet,” Lawrence said a while later as he stroked his fingers down her arm. “Why don’t you stay? We’ll have breakfast together.” Catching her hand in his, he brought it to his mouth and caressed her palm. “You could even stay for lunch. I have work but nothing so pressing it can’t wait.”

  Rosamund leaned up from where she lay beside him and pressed her mouth to his, lingering for several long bittersweet moments before she forced herself to roll away and sit up. “It’s better if I leave now. I need to get home.”

  She stood and padded naked across the soft Aubusson carpet. Her shift lay in a messy heap on the floor, next to her petticoat and a solitary stocking. It took her several seconds to locate the other one dangling from atop his shaving stand. As for her garters, one was hooked around the doorknob, while the other had quite improbably landed on one of the fireplace irons. Luckily her dress had fared better and was draped with relative neatness over a nearby chair together with her hat and gloves.

  She began with her undergarments first, bending to retrieve them from the floor, her back—and backside—turned toward him.

  “You know,” Lawrence drawled, “if you persist in doing things like that, I may just lock the door and never let you out again.”

  She turned her head and gave him a faint sm
ile before straightening to slide her shift on over her head.

  He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said with casual denial. “Why would anything be wrong?” She reached for her petticoat. “Did I tell you that my last lawsuit is nearly finished? The clients have indicated a willingness to settle, so I won’t even need to appear in court again. It should all be over in the next couple of days.”

  “Ah, I see.” He left the bed, pausing to put on his trousers and fasten them.

  She collected her stockings and garters from their various locations and moved toward a chair. Before she could sit down, he was there before her.

  Gently he wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “I’m sorry, Rosamund. I know how much you love the law.”

  She shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “I always knew it was a temporary situation. And I certainly won’t miss having to bind my breasts every day. I don’t find my stays nearly as oppressive as I used to.”

  Rather than comment, he drew her into his arms.

  She stood stiffly for a few seconds, then gave up and leaned into him, breathing in the warmth of his skin and the delicious, underlying scent that was pure Lawrence. She buried her nose against his chest and inhaled, wanting to memorize him so she would never forget.

  He rubbed a slow hand along her back. “Are you sure you have to give it up now? I know what I said before about you stopping, but you’re such a good barrister. Somehow it doesn’t seem right to make you quit solely because you’re a woman.”

  “And a fraud, since the legal world at large believes I’m a man.” With a sigh, she straightened. “No, I’ve pushed my luck as far as I dare. It’s time I went back to being plain, ordinary Rosamund Carrow.”

  He met her gaze. “There is nothing plain or ordinary about you.”

  When he bent to kiss her, she pulled away and retreated to the bed, where she took a seat and began to put on her stockings. He stared, brow creased, his fists on his hips. “And what of us? Once you go back to being yourself?”