Simply Sinful (21 page)

James grunted, his movements fast, slamming Abigail into Peter’s cock.

“I’m going to come.”

Peter redoubled his efforts on Abigail’s sex, felt her tense, almost cried out as she climaxed and bit down on his shaft, forcing him to come too.

When Peter finally opened his eyes, James was grinning at him and Abigail was apparently asleep, squashed happily between them.

“I believe that went well, Mr. Howard.”

Peter smiled back. “I believe it did, Lord Beecham.”

“Perhaps tomorrow night will prove to be even better.”

Peter’s smile faltered as he contemplated what the morning might hold. He held James’s gaze.

“God, I hope so.”

15

I
t seemed rather fitting that the skies were low, sullen and threatened rain. Peter sighed as he put on his thickest outdoor coat and hat. The Reverend William Howard had replied to his message and requested that Peter meet him at his hotel at eleven. Peter glanced at his pocket watch before he stowed it away. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t up yet and James was nowhere to be seen. He headed down to the hall.

To his surprise, James paced the black-and-white tiled entrance hall, hands behind his back, expression impatient. He glanced up when he heard Peter’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Are you ready, then?”

Peter mock-frowned at him. “I’ve already told you I don’t need an escort.”

James glared right back. “I’m not coming with you. I’m taking a walk. A gentleman is perfectly entitled to take a constitutional stroll in the park whenever he likes.”

“In this weather?”

The butler held open the door and both men stepped out into the chilly fog. Peter pulled on his gloves and glanced sideways at James. Despite not needing company, it warmed his heart that James wanted to be there for him. Valentin would probably have assumed he was coming and be damned with asking.

“I appreciate your concern for me.”

“No, you don’t. You think I’m being an overbearing nuisance.”

Peter smiled, his attention fixed on the corner of the square where a small lone figure swept the muddy crossing. “Actually, I do. It will help me greatly to have people I can confide in afterward.”

James snorted. “I’m surprised Lord Sokorvsky isn’t here to ensure you do as he says.”

Peter kept moving as the wind rose and the trees in the center of the square swayed in unison like the corp de ballet. “Lord Sokorvsky and I are at odds at the moment.”

“And what happens when you aren’t at odds? Do you kiss and make up?”

Peter stopped walking and simply stared into James’s anguished brown eyes.

James grimaced. “Christ, I apologize. That was uncalled for. The last thing you need at this moment is a jealous lover.”

“Exactly. Can we discuss this at another time?”

James bowed. “Of course. Now do you intend to get a cab from here or continue to walk?”

Peter paused at the entrance to Grillon’s and took a deep breath. Regardless of what happened next, he would maintain his dignity. He’d spent half his life simply existing, waiting to find himself. He also knew it was possible to still be alive and breathing after the most exquisite torture. Those harsh lessons in the brothel had always stood him in good stead. He hoped to God they would now.

When the desk clerk ushered him into a private parlor, Peter quickly scanned the room. A small fire burned in the hearth and two wingback chairs were drawn up close to the heat. An elderly gentleman stood by the mantelpiece. In the silence, the sound of the door clicking shut behind the clerk was loud. Peter bowed.

“Mr. William Howard?”

His bow was returned and a pair of eyes, the same pale blue as his own, regarded him over a pair of half-spectacles. There was a distinct similarity between their height and build. The man gestured at the two chairs.

“Please sit down, Mr. Howard; I’ve ordered tea.”

Peter took off his hat and gloves and laid them on the scarred table. He took the chair opposite the older man and settled back, aware of the unabashed scrutiny he was being subjected to, more than willing to allow it if it helped his case.

“You do have a look of my daughter.”

Peter let out a silent breath at the grudging admission. “Did your daughter have a child, sir?”

“She did, but we believed that child to be dead.”

“In reality, sir, or just because she had a child? Some families prefer to pretend such a child never existed. I assume your daughter wasn’t married.”

“She, Lily, certainly wasn’t married. At the age of sixteen, she ran away from home on a foolish whim.”

“A foolish whim?”

“She believed herself in love with a young soldier who was stationed at the local barracks.”

His expression grew pinched, the calm disdain on his face for his daughter, more than apparent, even after all these years.

“Ah, foolish indeed.” Peter studied his boot cap before again raising his head. It wouldn’t do for him to stare constantly at this man who might be his only living relative. “How did you find out about the child?”

“She came back, of course, after the rogue discarded and ruined her.”

“And you welcomed her into your house?”

“I am a man of the cloth. I couldn’t allow her to live in my house and pollute the thoughts of her siblings with her immoral ways.”

A thousand heated responses flooded Peter’s mind but he held them back, determined to hear the truth and finish this before he lowered himself to lose his temper. Perhaps Abigail had a point when she’d suggested his mother might’ve had good reason to run away.

“So what happened to her, to me?”

William Howard sat forward, his expression harsh. “Don’t judge me, sir. I was put in a very difficult position.”

Peter managed a thin smile. “I’m sure you were. Please carry on.”

“I arranged for her and the child to be boarded out with a family about twenty miles from where we lived.”

“How very generous of you.”

“As I said, it was the best I could do. She had a comfortable home, someone to help take care of the baby and enough money to see her through each year.”

“So what happened?”

William sighed. “After three years, she ran away again.”

“Without me?”

“Yes, luckily, she left you at the cottage with the Mudsons. The next letter we had came from London, where I assume she took up her old ways.”

“You mean she became a prostitute?”

“I can’t confirm that, but that is what I suspect. We didn’t hear from her for several years then.”

There was a knock at the door and a smiling maid appeared with a coffeepot and some tea. Peter blindly took a cup of coffee, held it in his hand, simply for something solid to hold onto.

“When was your last contact with her?”

“She came to tell us she was leaving the country with her latest protector, a man she swore was going to marry her. You would’ve been about ten or eleven at the time.” William grimaced. “She seemed delighted at the prospect of leaving the country.”

“Did she speak of me?”

His gaze slid away from Peter. “We assumed she was taking you with her.”

“But she didn’t. She took me to the docks and signed me up as a cabin boy aboard the
Queen Henrietta
bound for Russia.”

“So Lord Sokorvsky said in his very detailed letter.”

Peter put down his cup. “I was also told that I was expected to meet up with a party of religious missionaries in Russia who would take care of me.”

“I had no knowledge of this. But then Lily was always an excellent liar.”

“But do you believe I am her son?”

The silence lengthened as William studied Peter. His expression had reverted to a calm mask that reminded Peter eerily of himself. “I would assume so. As I said, you have a look of her and she was the image of me.”

Briefly Peter closed his eyes. “I promised myself I would not offend you and that I would be grateful for anything you had to tell me about my family, but how can you sit there so calmly and talk about my mother and me as if we meant nothing to you?”

“I grieved for my daughter and for you many years ago.” William paused, fumbled with his spectacles. “It was a great shock when we received Lord Sokorvsky’s letter.”

Peter tried to relax. “I can understand that. Did you receive news that my mother and I were dead?”

“I received news of her death, yes, about four years after she left England. She succumbed to an infection of the lungs whilst residing in Italy.”

“And what of me?”

William sighed. “I have a question of my own, if I may. Why didn’t you contact me directly after your return to England at the age of eighteen?”

“Lord Sokorvsky told you about my capture and release from Turkey then?”

“He told me that you two were enslaved together and rescued, yes. Why didn’t you come to me then?”

Peter gritted his teeth. “Because after the battle on the ship, I was knocked unconscious. I have no knowledge of my life before the age of eleven.”

“Some might say that the sudden return of those memories is very convenient for you.”

“The memories have not returned. All I know about are the records left at the shipping office and the testimony of a man who met my mother and me at the docks.”

“And do you believe that information?”

“There were only two children registered on the ship, Mr. Howard, and since I was one and Valentin Sokorvsky, the person I spent the next seven years with, was the other, there seems little doubt that I am who I think I am.”

William nodded. “And the ship’s records led your business partner back to me and my family.” His shrewd gaze swept Peter. “You appear to have done well for yourself despite everything.”

“Meaning despite being an unwanted bastard I have prospered? Or are you suggesting my business partner and I deliberately decided to contact you now? For what reason?”

“At first I thought you might need money, but I can see now that you do not.”

Peter rose slowly to his feet and stared down at the old man. “You are correct. I do not need your money, and it seems that I do not need you, either. Thank you for your time and goodbye.”

He picked up his hat and gloves and turned for the door, the ache of betrayal rolling in his gut, the need to leave no longer an option but a necessity.

“Mr. Howard, you misunderstand me, I did not mean to imply…”

“Ah, but you did, didn’t you? You’d already decided that I was somehow out to cheat you, or blame you for my state. I told Lord Sokorvsky that this was a waste of time and I was correct.” He bowed. “I wish you good day, sir.”

He escaped out into the lobby of the hotel, pushed through a group of elderly matrons and out into the street. Rain fell in a steady stream, making the gutters overflow, creating a filth-ridden flow of water down the center of the road. Peter breathed in the damp air and kept walking.

As dusk fell, he found himself standing outside Madame Helene’s discreet house in Mayfair. With hands that shook, he fumbled for the key that allowed him access through the more private areas of the house. He opened the door, and his teeth chattered as a wave of warm perfumed air surrounded him.

The thick carpet muffled the sound of his soaked booted feet as he found his way to Helene’s private apartments. He tapped on the door, heard her seductive response and went in. She lay on her bed, a white whisper of a negligee wrapped around her luscious body. She sat up and her eyes widened as she stared at him.

“Peter,
mon dieu
, I was not expecting you. What on earth happened?”

He tried to smile, found he couldn’t, simply stood there shivering like the child he’d once been, afraid, alone and desperate. She came to his side and drew him into her arms.

“Come and have a bath,
cheri
, then we can talk.”

He allowed her to take him by the hand and lead him into her fragrant bathroom, content to allow the minutes to flow by in the mechanics of cleaning and warming himself. Perhaps after that, he would be able to decide what in God’s name to do next.

“Thank you for your help, Helene.”

Peter straightened his clean cravat and pinned it in place with a diamond stud. Helene had arranged for a clean set of clothes to be delivered from his house. She studied him now, her anxious face reflected in the mirror beside his.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to talk about this, Peter?”

He managed to smile. “I merely got soaked in the rain. There is nothing to discuss. And now I must hurry. I have arranged to meet the Beechams at the Lowerstoft’s ball.”

“The Beechams?”

“Yes, they are both in town.”

“I heard that rumor. I also heard you were seen dining with them last night.”

Peter caught her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t fish, Helene, it doesn’t become you.”

Her soft laughter warmed him a little. “I’m not above a little gossip, my friend. In truth, it is one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Is that why you introduced Lord Beecham to me then?” He turned to face her as he shrugged into his tight-fitting blue coat. Helene helped him adjust the shoulders.

“Did I do the right thing for once?”

He held her gaze. “You know you did. He is exquisite.”

“And his wife?”

“None of your business.”

She winked at him. “I’m glad to see you are feeling better.”

He kissed her hand. “I’m not, but at least, thanks to you, I’m able to pretend otherwise.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Thank you, Helene; I appreciate everything you have done for me this evening.”

She pouted. “I have done very little except wash your hair and your back. You wouldn’t let me bring you sexual relief or tell me what is really wrong.” She patted his cheek. “Please take care of yourself. You are one of my oldest friends. I would hate to see you hurt.”

“You gave me what I needed and that’s what a true friend does, isn’t it?”

She sighed. “I suppose so, although I feel quite inadequate.”

Peter picked up his hat, gloves and cloak. “I will come and visit you properly soon and tell you anything you want to know.”