Page 51 of The Lyon Rampant

Pushing open the door to the costume room, he discovered the usual post-performance chaos. He would be obliged to have a word with his thespians—it was unfair that they should leave everything to the dressers to sort out, and it was bad for the costumes not to be hung up immediately.

Reaching into a heap, he pulled out an antiquated-looking gown. “This has cross-lacing, so it can adjust to your figure. There should be an under-shift around somewhere—here it is! There’s a screen over there, for privacy.”

She took the items and stared at him uncertainly. “What about you?”

“Don’t wait for me—there’s only room for one person behind that screen—unfortunately. I’ll get the fire going. If you throw your things out to me, I’ll drape them by the fire as best I can.”

As soon as she disappeared behind the screen, he flung off his clothes and hunted through the heap for some men’s garments. Aha! There were some breeches and stockings, and a shirt and doublet. They’d do.

He crouched down by the hearth, grateful to have something to do. The fact that both Belinda and he had been, however briefly, naked in the same room, was doing something to his body that did not befit a gallant gentleman. As he raked up the cinders and piled some kindling and coal on top it was impossible not to imagine a naked Belinda behind the screen.

When the fire was lit, and the first flames began to lick up the chimney, he then started picturing an unclothed Belinda in front of the fire, with the golden light sliding across her naked breasts. He must stop thinking like this—he was having trouble breathing! Backing away from the fire, he glanced toward the screen and saw a heap of feminine clothing draped over it.

Think of nothing! Think of nothing! Stepping across, he nobly averted his face from the screen, scooped up the clothing, and spread it over a clothes rail near the fire. It was as much as he could do not to stare at it, and imagine himself stripping off each item, one at a time, with a luxurious laziness that would prolong his ardor.

How optimistic the male body was! He had just undertaken a lengthy and wearying journey from the far west of England into the capital and had his plans overturned and been soaked to the skin. He should be tired and cross, but the presence of a divinely attractive female in the same room had overtaken every other thought but that of making love to her.

“I’m almost ready but I need some help.”

Help? That sounded promising, considering the direction his thoughts had been taking.

“Come out—the fire’s alight.”

“I won’t be a moment.”

He remained hunkered down by the fire, staring into the leaping flames and enjoying the spreading warmth. He ran a hand through his limp hair and brushed it away from his forehead. There must be a towel somewhere—she’d need it for her hair. Would she need any help with that? With brushing and untangling those curls? His fingers ached to perform the task.

Aside from the wafting whisper of the flames, the room was quiet. He held his breath, awaiting Belinda’s grand entrance. There was a metallic scraping sound behind him. It took a moment for the realization to hit, and when it did, Piers was at the door instantly, shouting and banging.

There was no response. He tried the handle, but already his heart was sinking, knowing what the result would be.

Phillips had just completed his nightly routine and locked all the doors.

Piers and Belinda were imprisoned until morning.