She Whom I Love by Tess Bowery

Author:Tess Bowery
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency;actor;corsets;ménage;historical;British;English;love triangle;FFM;lesbian;queer romance;playwright;actress
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2015-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Walking home to Bruton Street, arm in arm with James, came close to perfection. A faint mist hung in the air. It wasn’t heavy enough to fall like rain, but just enough to turn the street lamps into shining stars and add an incandescent glow to the lanterns of the link boys guiding their clients along the city streets. It was almost enough to make her forget that she was still a servant, that these stolen moments were fragments of a life not honestly hers.

But oh, those moments when she’d had Meg in her arms, and James kissing her as though he could draw her soul out through her lips. When he’d put his mouth to her body the same way Meg had done before and sent her mind into the sweetest sort of oblivion.

Any amount of sneaking and lying was worth it, in order to find those moments of bliss in their arms.

That made her the worst kind of unrepentant sinner. But then, who was being hurt by it, if three people freely decided to make passionate love to each other? She’d seen far worse, once upon a time.

Even now, her shawl and bonnet growing damp from the evening air, far grander lords and ladies lining the walks as they passed from Covent Garden into Mayfair, that burst of pleasure faded. No, not faded, but changed by some alchemy, into contentment, deep and abiding. James stopped and pointed out funny things every moment or so—a very round man with a very thin wife, a small monkey on a lead, a group of laughing young men in fine black suits humming a chamber music piece, one playing conductor with a still-leafy broken twig.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was wonderful. And perhaps her best chance still for something solid, something real. She glanced up at James, a full head and a half taller than she, his honey-gold hair curling beneath the brim of his hat. His beard was starting to grow in along his jaw, fine and light enough that only she could see it from this close. He must have caught her stare for he looked down and smiled at her again, that quirked-corner, wonder-filled look that seemed reserved for herself and for Meg alone.

If she had to share, at least it was with Meg, who loved her and whom she loved so deeply in return.

If anyone in the world could make such an arrangement work, why could it not be them?

Because you’re a fraud, for one. How long do you think he’ll stay by you once he learns the truth?

“Penny for your thoughts,” James offered, his voice so rich and warm that she could let herself be wrapped up in it forever.

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing important.”

“Liar.”

He knows.

She stopped walking, whirled about and looked up at him, expecting scorn or hatred or—or—

James cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. “Your thoughts are important to you, so shall they be important to me. I want to know your mind, Miss Sophie Armand.

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