Chapter Fifteen
Lawrence groaned as he turned over onto his back, his eyes blearily opening to gaze up at the ceiling. There was still the same crack in it, the same horrible damp patch in one corner that he really was going to have to mention to his landlady.
He swallowed. His mouth was dry—but there was still a smile on his lips. Why in God’s name—
Then it all came rushing back to him. The laughter. The pleasure. The feel of Julia curling into him, her soft skin warm and—
Lawrence’s eyes snapped open.
“Now love me, Lawrence. Love me. Don’t fight this anymore—I want this. I want you.”
Well, no one could blame him. What man could manage to keep his hands from such a woman? And though she had not precisely offered herself to him…
“Lawrence Madgwick. If you do not see to my pleasure, I will have to take matters into my own hands.”
A wry grin crept across Lawrence’s face. Not exactly. But it was not as though he’d needed much persuasion. Not when faced with the beauty and elegance of a woman he had been in love with for some time.
Not that he had been able to admit it to himself.
But that didn’t matter—at least, no longer. Because, Lawrence reminded himself, you have made an agreement with a woman under false pretenses…
“You’ll really marry me? With nothing for me to offer you?”
“Are you not worth anything?”
A hint of guilt marred the joy soaring through his heart.
He had been in earnest when he had offered marriage, and it was not his fault if Julia did not know precisely what she had agreed to.
In a way, he tried to reason with himself, she was to be applauded. Julia was under the impression she had promised herself, after all, to a boxer with no prospects.
A poor decision for any woman, let alone a lady of the ton.
When he could tell her all… when Miss Julia Dryden would discover she was about to become the Duchess of Penshaw…
Lawrence grinned as he pulled himself up in bed, leaning against his pillow and the headboard, trying to clear his head.
It was difficult to imagine Julia’s response to such a revelation, and in truth, he hoped to goodness he would be able to do so soon. It could not continue, this secrecy, this lying, this hiding in plain sight in the hope of discovering a criminal.
The sooner he could find John Mortimer, the sooner he could reveal all to Julia. Then it would not merely be a romance between them, but a full-blown love affair.
Not that, he thought with a snort, they had held back much last night.
It was almost like a dream, what they had shared together. Lawrence closed his eyes, images flashing before his mind of kisses trailing down shoulders, the little gasps of pleasure they tried to keep quiet, the way Julia squirmed in delight under his touch.
Lawrence opened his eyes. The squalid little bedchamber appeared once more around him.
There had been moments, last night, when he had almost been able to believe he was back in Penshaw. That was the power of a good woman, he thought ruefully.
Besides, it was impossible to consider the entire thing a dream, not when he could see a note on the floor by the door, in what appeared to be a delicate woman’s script.
Lawrence half lunged, half fell out of bed, such was his eagerness to see what she had written.
Words of adoration? Perhaps a promise, and here he had to swallow in an attempt to keep his body from stiffening, to return tonight?
Oh God, if this started to become a daily habit…
As it was, the note was far shorter than he had hoped. Lawrence’s heart fluttered as he sat on the end of his bed and scanned the few lines.
Well, I was certain you’d know how to please, and I judged right. J
Lawrence read the scant words again, hungry for any connection to the woman who had so entirely upended his plans to lay low under cover while fighting at the Almonry Den.
Well, I was certain you’d know how to please, and I judged right. J
His fingers traced over the initial at the end of her note. Julia. Was such a woman ever seen?
A clock struck somewhere down the street, and Lawrence carefully counted the bells before groaning loudly. Ten o’clock. Blast. He was already late.
It took a full twenty minutes or so, judging by the chimes of the quarter hours, to scrape a comb through his hair, make an attempt at a shave—he still wasn’t very good at that—and dress himself in a sufficiently presentable manner.
So when Lawrence stumbled into the Almonry Den at half-past the hour, he was only—
“Thirty minutes late!” Alan roared with a scowl. “And don’t tell me you were attending to your toilette, you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”
Lawrence chuckled, shaking his head as he clapped a hand on the older man’s back. Nothing could dull his spirits today. “And it’s wonderful to see you, too, you old dog.”
Alan glared, then broke into a ruddy smile. “It’s a good thing you’re a better man than I, Penshaw,” he muttered. “For else I would give you such a hiding—”
Lawrence knew it was coming. He dodged the thundering punch that would have made contact with his shoulder, ducking out and snorting with laughter as the older man almost tumbled to his feet with the follow through.
“Why don’t you let me worry about the fighting, Alan,” he said with a grin, looking around to see who else was practicing that morning. “I see there are few about so early. They aren’t forced out of bed at this ungodly hour.”
Alan snorted.
Lawrence ignored him. “So, what are we practicing today?”
This was the trouble with living undercover, he thought darkly, though ensuring to keep a smile on his face as he and Alan discussed footwork in loud voices.
It required a hefty commitment of time and manners, ensuring everyone around you was certain they knew who—and what—you were. Why, this time would be so much better spent if he could simply return to his digs and catch up on the sleep he had lost out while edging Julia to—
“I said, are you listening?”
Lawrence blinked. Alan was snapping his fingers before his eyes. Had been, it appeared, for quite some time.
He smiled weakly. “Yes?”
Alan raised a heavy eyebrow. “Oh, really? What have I been saying?”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes, willing his mind to creak into gear.
It had been so much easier when he was younger.
Chatting away under his breath with the other boys at school while keeping an eye out for the master, hoping he’d be able to answer any questions, even if he had not technically been paying attention…
“Footwork,” Lawrence said, the vague memory slotting into place. “You are concerned my left foot is weaker than my right, you recommend a swifter balance change when retreating from an attack.”
It was impossible not to feel a certain pride in the astonishment on the man’s face. Well, he was right, wasn’t he?
But it was not astonished that Alan’s expression remained. When he leaned forward, a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder, he looked serious. Far too serious, in Lawrence’s mind.
What could possibly be wrong? He was engaged to be married to Miss Julia Dryden, the most beautiful woman in the—
“You’re forgetting why we’re here, boy,” said Alan darkly under his breath, his eyes fixed on Lawrence’s. “You came here because of your brother. Your brother and that blaggard. Are you…well, forgive me for saying so, but are you getting a little comfortable? Living like this?”
Lawrence’s smile vanished.
“Because there are people relying on you, Lawrence,” Alan continued, his voice low but every word weighty. “People will die if we do not succeed. The safety of this country is no jest, and I wish you could consider it with more care.”
Lawrence stared into his eyes, guilt burning his lungs, every breath increasing it.
He could not deny it. Every word was true. It was just unfortunate it had to be said.
He was a Penshaw. A duke. He knew the responsibility he had to his people, his family, his nation. Was it really only a pretty face that was required to make him forget—
“There he is! Lawrence!”
Lawrence’s stomach turned over in a most complicated somersault.
There she was. Julia. Standing there, right in the doorway of the Almonry Den, waving happily as though she were naught but a milkmaid, and their engagement had already been announced…
Another, slightly painful this time churn of his stomach rumbled through Lawrence’s body as he saw who Julia was standing with.
Ah.
“Look, Donald, there he is!” Julia said clearly from several yards away, tugging her brother’s arm. “I’m just going to say hello to…”
Lawrence glanced at Alan, fear now rushing through him. “I haven’t told—”
“I know you didn’t,” said Alan quietly as both Julia and Donald started toward them. “But do you really think you can tell her why you’re here, the cover you are living under, the danger we are in? Do you want her mixed up in this? For you to become distracted?”
Lawrence swallowed hard, his heart pounding.
Damn. Damn and blast.
But the man was right. Julia’s face was beaming as she and her brother approached, all innocence—well, not entirely innocence, Lawrence reminded himself. She still believed he was nothing more than a poor man from the north looking to make a better life in the south.
And in a way, it was true. He had never been happy up there in the gloom of that big house, the heavy weight of his familial expectations weighing on his shoulders.
But there was so much more to him than Julia could possibly know…
“Hullo, Lawrence,” said Julia slightly breathlessly as she and her brother stopped up before himself and Alan. “And how are you this fine morning? Did you have a good night’s rest before your match today?”
Lawrence flushed to hear her say such things—and right before her brother, too!
It did not help that she grinned most mischievously as she spoke, a sparkle in her eyes telling him she knew precisely what she was doing!
The little minx!
How inconvenient that it made his heart beat faster, his shoulders stiffen…
And that was not the only thing that was stiffening.