The Cornish Heiress (45 page)

“He will not be much company,” Philip said sourly. “He can’t
talk much.”

“Ah,” the good-natured man replied, “poor child, but I see
he is well fed and warmly dressed. You’re a good man to be kind to the
afflicted. Go, and don’t hurry. I’ll see him safely through the gates. Does he
know where he’s to go after that?”

“Yes, of course.” Philip could feel his lips stiff, but he
managed a smile. “Where are you going?”

“To the market.”

“Could he wait there with you?” Philip asked, seeing a new
possibility. “I have an offer for the horse, but—well, I do not trust the man
and he might take advantage of the boy if I were delayed and he brought the
horse there himself.”

“Gladly. Gladly. Come along, boy, there’s nothing to fear.
Jean Sabot will take care of you.”

Philip had no choice now but to canter off down the road in
the opposite direction. He went only until he was sure he was out of sight,
then turned and sat chewing his lips undecided whether he wanted to kiss or
kill Jean Sabot. If the man was honest, he had solved most of Philip’s
problems—a guide for Meg, who could not ask questions, and a clear meeting
place for them. If he was not what he seemed—and he was unusually friendly for
a French peasant—they were in really deep trouble.

None of these worries touched Megaera. She assumed that if
Philip had left her with Jean Sabot, he had reason to believe she would be safe
with the man. She smiled at him sweetly and trustfully, and he smiled back and
handed her a piece of cheese that he dug from his pocket. It was rather crumbly
and sharper in flavor than Megaera liked, but she bit into it with goodwill,
listening to a rather rambling monologue on the state of farming. To her
surprise she understood nearly everything he said—her French had been
enormously improved by this stay in the country—and twice barely stopped
herself from asking questions about farming methods that were different from
those used in Cornwall.

Fortunately they came to the gate before she gave herself
away. Here her heart sank for the first time. The guards were examining each
person who passed. Megaera looked back down the road, but Philip was not yet in
sight.

“What the devil do they think they’re about?” the farmer
asked.

Megaera gaped at him, wordless, hoping he would think she
didn’t understand, but fear must have shown in her eyes, for he patted her
consolingly. Then Megaera was afraid to look back for Philip again. She knew he
intended that they seem separate travelers. She wished she didn’t feel so lost
without him. Both guns were in her pockets at half cock, but she knew she would
never be able to fire them. All she could do was rely on Philip’s trust in the
old farmer and hope for the best.

This decision was the safest she could have made. Old Jean,
although friendlier than most, was a redoubtable opponent when crossed and,
fortunately, he was well known at this gate, which he had used to enter and
leave Dieppe for some fifty years. By the time they got to the guardpost, he
was already annoyed by the delay. The sheep had broken away twice and Meg had
run after them, giving the horse to the old man to hold. Thus, when the guards
asked him for his papers, he burst into loud abuse, calling them idiots and
asking them whether they had become blind and deaf that they could not remember
him from the previous day. Since of course they knew him quite well, the asking
had been half a joke, even though it was in accordance with their orders.

Next, of course, was Megaera. She had papers, but could not
show them since they were for a woman. When asked, she looked piteously at the
old man and mumbled, “
Quoi? Quoi?
” Before he could answer, a guard had
gripped Megaera’s arm. She cried out, more actually in nervousness than in pain,
but this roused Jean to a new fury. He called the guards several improbable
things, interspersing explanation that the boy’s master was down the road and,
obviously, would not entrust identity papers to a simpleminded creature who
would lose them. To the order that the boy must then wait Jean suggested that
they shoot
him
, since he was not going to wait and had promised to bring
the boy to the market and care for him.

The crowd behind by this time was growing restive at the
delay, and loud abuse began to rain on the guards. A few knew Jean Sabot, but
most simply were opposed automatically to authority. So, when Jean put his hand
on Megaera’s back and pushed her past guardpost, telling her to drive the sheep
ahead, the guards glanced at one another, shrugged, and did nothing. They were
looking for a man and a woman traveling together, not for a dirty,
feeble-minded boy accompanying a farmer whom they had known for most of their
lives.

The decision, although they were unaware of it, saved their
lives. At the edge of the crowd Philip sat silently astride his horse with his
pistol at full cock concealed by a flap of his overcoat. At that distance he
could have picked off both men before either could have seized his weapon and
returned fire. When Megaera passed through, Philip carefully eased his weapon
back to half cock and waited his turn. If they stopped him, he could shoot one
and strike the other unconscious with the discharged pistol—if they were close
enough. If that did not work, there would be other opportunities.

However, the contretemps between the guards and Jean Sabot
stood Philip in good stead also. He showed the papers that Hawkesbury had
prepared for him in the Foreign Office. All d’Ursine had been able to discover
about those were that they were for a Norman merchant. Norman merchants were
thick in seaports. In any case the guards were looking for two people in a
carriage, and now they were hurried by a larger and larger and more and more
irritable crowd. There was no special reason to think the fugitives would come
to Dieppe. They glanced at Philip’s papers, all in order, and let him go.

It had not been difficult for Philip to discover the
direction of the kind of bawdy house he wanted once he was in the marketplace.
Later, after they had left the horses in a stable and he was drawing Meg down
the street toward a place known for allowing “unnatural” practice, he began to
laugh again. The question in Megaera’s eyes was so clear that Philip laughed
still harder and drew her forward more quickly.

“Poor little boy,” he gasped. “You are about to suffer a
fate worse than death.”

From the outside the house looked quite respectable, the
paint fresh and everything clean and neat. And from the affronted expression on
“Madame’s” face, one might have thought her a bourgeoisie mortally offended by
Philip’s suggestion. He knew better, however. French or English made no
difference; there was a pattern stamped upon “Madame” that Philip recognized.
What had offended the lady was not Philip’s suggestion but Megaera’s dirt.
Philip had requested “class” with his perversion, and apparently the man who
directed him had been correct.

The problem was speedily solved when Philip requested not
only a room but that a bath be brought up to it. Then he spoke very plainly on
the subject of spyholes and ears glued to the walls, outlining the shape of the
pistols in his pockets to make his point very clear.

“That will be expensive,” the woman said, although there was
a bleakness in her expression that made it plain she had recognized that Philip
was no chicken for plucking.

“I will pay what is reasonable,” Philip said calmly. “Do not
be a fool. You have no choice. I do not live in Dieppe, and you—under the First
Consul’s auspices—have no one to whom to complain. However, you have a good
house in a good place. I would like to be able to come here again—often. I will
pay what is fair.”

He named a sum, obviously less than the woman had hoped to
extract from him but more than she feared he would offer after the jibe about
Bonaparte’s “campaign” to purify France. The clear statement that Philip
intended to return was also of value. Regular business at the price he offered,
when he was bringing along his own “meat”, would in the end be more profitable
than a single fleecing.

“Is the boy willing?” she asked. “You don’t live here—very
well—but I do. If he complains…”

“He is willing, but even if he were not, he would not
complain—”

“No killing!” Madame snapped. “I don’t hold with that—at
least, not in the house.”

“I am not a murderer,” Philip said, but his smile made the
woman step back involuntarily. He shook his head and the smile twisted further.
A bad reputation was as valuable as a good one in different circumstances. “The
boy is—not mute—just unable to make words,” he remarked softly, and for
evidence he twisted Megaera’s ear.

That part had been rehearsed. Megaera, squalled wordlessly, and
pulled away looking frightened and angry, although Philip had not hurt her at
all. Before she could get free, he had an arm around her and was offering
assurances that he would not hurt “his dear boy” again. Megaera made angry
gobbling sounds but allowed herself to be soothed. Madame smiled warmly at
Philip, a man right after her own heart who took no chances. Then she peered
more closely at Megaera, noticing for the first time the beauty of the features
under the filth.

Philip saw the look and had to repress a smile. He knew
Madame was mentally licking her chops, intending to hold on to Meg after he was
gone. He pretended not to notice as he handed over more of Charon’s gold. He
paid for three days, and Madame drew a soft breath of pleasure. By that time
the “boy” should be well broken in. She thought she would have no difficulty
getting him to remain. Where else could the poor creature find such a
comfortable haven? Probably he had never known there was so easy a way to come
by warmth and good food. All she had to offer was that and, perhaps, some fancy
clothing and she would have a valuable male whore—not too easy to come by.

Upstairs Philip insisted on a corner room with two outside
walls and a bed with heavy curtains. He went over the inner walls from ceiling
to floor and then the ceiling itself. Madame was not pleased when he found the
spyholes and was even less pleased when he caused them to be blocked by a plug
connected to a long, thin rod that would clatter down, giving warning if the
plug was removed or tampered with. She yielded with good grace in the end,
recognizing she was dealing with a man of experience who could not be cheated
but did not intend to cheat her either.

During all this Megaera stood watching with eyes so wide
that Philip almost expected them to fall out, and with mouth agape. Since the
attitude was quite correct for a boy of the streets, Philip did nothing to hint
she should act otherwise, but he nearly strangled keeping himself from laughing
aloud. And when Madame was finally gone, the bath in place and filled, and the
door locked behind the servants, he gave way and roared.

“What the devil is this all about?” Megaera whispered. “You
rake! You seem to have
lived
in these places.”

“Not quite,” Philip replied in a low voice, but grinning
from ear to ear, “but I am certainly well acquainted with them. However, I
admit the ones I—er—frequented did not usually sport spyholes in the ceilings
and walls.”

Megaera goggled at him, catching her breath, before she
hissed, “Have you no shame at all?”

“No, why should I?” Philip chuckled. “What did you expect me
to do, go about seducing respectable young females?”

Gasping with outrage, yet reasonable enough to be unable to
reject so simple and honest a reply, Megaera could only shift her attack to new
grounds. “Why was that woman virtually licking her chops when she looked at
me?”

“Because she thought you were a boy,” Philip answered
provocatively. “Although,” he continued with a grave, judicial air, “I daresay
she would have been interested even if she knew you were a woman. Of course,
beautiful female whores are common enough. It is much harder to obtain boys.”

He jumped out of the way as Megaera launched a kick at his
shin. Her eyes were blazing, her face flushed with frustration, but she could
not help laughing at the same time. Philip caught her in his arms and kissed
her passionately. She struggled against him at first, but not for long. Soon
her arms came up around him and her mouth opened under his. Little more could
be accomplished until the layers of clothing were removed, and as soon as
Philip released her mouth to untie the scarf that held her hat, Megaera was
demanding explanations again.

“Don’t be so mean, Philip. What in the world does that woman
want with a boy, beautiful or not? Do women come to these places too? And even
so, why didn’t she seem in the least surprised that
you
should bring me
here? What would a man want with a beautiful boy?”

“My love,” Philip said, pulling off her hat and beginning to
unbutton her coat, “you would be very shocked if I answered you.”

“I would rather be shocked than ignorant,” Megaera snapped,
slapping his hands away from her coat.

“Do you not want a bath, sweetheart?” Philip wheedled. “You
certainly need one—although I love you just as much when you stink.”

“I can believe it!” she exclaimed spitefully.

“Oh, no,” Philip protested, grinning again, “my women were
always the best class of whores—clean, reasonably intelligent, quite handsome—”

“I’m surprised you bothered with me!”

The laughter left his face, and he touched her gently. “I
love you. Meg, I have never tried to hide what I am. I am not ashamed of it. I
did no decent woman any harm and, I hope, was fair to those who make their
living from their bodies. That has nothing to do with us. I love your body,
Meg, it is very beautiful, but if—and God forbid it—anything should happen that
made it impossible for me ever to couple with you again, I would love you just
as much. It is
you
I love, not the act.”

She stared at him, utterly silenced by his deep seriousness.
Megaera was desperately unsure of what she wanted. Everywhere she looked there
were new difficulties. If Philip offered her a carte blanche, she must reject
it, but even if he should offer marriage, and it was certain that he was not
contemplating a casual relationship, she did not think she could accept. His
family would be appalled—a widow dowered only with a mountain of debt was
sufficiently unappealing. When the tale of her unhesitating surrender to Philip
and her smuggling activities was added, they would disown him rather than
accept her.

Philip had no notion of Megaera’s thoughts, but his—except
for the question of the carte blanche, which he had dismissed long ago—were
roughly similar. He was not fearful of being disowned and cut off without a
penny. He did not misunderstand his father and stepmother so widely as that,
but he was deeply concerned that he would give them pain in choosing a woman of
whom they “could not approve”. This did not cause any wavering in his
determination to marry Meg; it only made him wonder how he could cushion the
blow for his parents.

Megaera was so responsive to him in every way that Philip felt
she could read his mind. Because he had intended to marry her for so long, it
never occurred to him that he had not mentioned this fact to her. He slipped
off his outer clothes and stood watching her bathe, trying to decide whether he
should take her directly to London, get a special license and present Roger and
Leonie with a
fait accompli
. That would save argument and permit him to
live with Meg while they got used to the idea. It would also prevent them from
hoping they could change his mind by gentle, indirect persuasion.

On the other hand, it would hurt them bitterly that he
should marry a woman he had known for months without even mentioning her to
them. Also, it might put a permanent strain on the relationship between his
family and Meg, and that would be dreadful. It would be worth depriving himself
of her sweet body—although at the moment, watching her as he was, he was not at
all sure he would survive so painful a deprivation—if he could induce his
parents to accept her gladly. The debt could not be concealed, but perhaps…

The thought became irrelevant as Megaera prepared to rise
from the tub. Philip came forward holding a towel in which to wrap her. His
offer to be her lady’s maid was not refused. Megaera also wished to drown her
fears about the future in a sea of physical sensation. Philip did not
disappoint her and she uttered no complaint, even though he was not nearly as
efficient as Rose. In fact some parts of her were just as wet when he was
finished as they had been when she came out of the bath. Other parts, however,
were treated much more thoroughly, and nothing Rose had ever done felt so good.

Between sighs and kisses Megaera returned the compliment and
served as Philip’s valet, ridding him of shirt, breeches, and underclothes.
From his expression and reactions he also found her ministrations more
interesting than those of his regular servant. In any case they did not spend
too much time comparing notes over preliminaries. They had not touched, in the
sense of lovemaking, since their last night in Paris, and both were eager.

Dropping the towel, Philip pulled off his shoes and
stockings. Megaera had already disappeared between the curtains of the bed and
he followed her without delay. He caught her in the act of climbing into the
bed and grabbed her ankle. He kissed her toes, the sole of her foot, ignoring
her gasps which were half laughter from being tickled and half increasing
desire, then ran his lips up her calf to the bend of the knee. Her breath drew
in sharply—and not because Philip was tickling her. Involuntarily her thighs
opened. Philip kissed them, her buttocks the small of her back.

Megaera tried to turn, but he held her as she was, pulled
her back toward him so that she was kneeling on the bed, and took her that way.
She gurgled with surprise when he entered, but Megaera was readily adaptable,
particularly when each new device Philip tried furnished exquisite pleasure.
This, like riding him, allowed her freedom of movement and made even more of
her body available to his hands and lips. He kissed her in places she had not
even imagined lips could reach during coupling so that all too soon she slid
forward burying her face in the bedclothes to muffle her shrieks of pleasure.

“Tm sorry,” she whispered to Philip when he, too, was finished
and she had helped him crawl into the bed beside her. “I hope my noise won’t
bring them all around our ears. But, really, Philip, the ideas you get!”

“The result of my misspent life,” he said wickedly. “And
believe me, screaming your head off would not raise an eyebrow in this house. I
imagine from the way you were gaping at everything, Madame rather expected you
would do some screaming.”

“Why?”

“Because you were not familiar with such a place and would
not expect what would happen.” He had answered lazily, hardly thinking what he
was saying, half asleep in the aftermath of a climax nearly as violent as
Megaera’s.

“What
are
you talking about?” she asked, then shook
him. “Philip, stop teasing and tell me. First it was funny, but now—screaming—I
would rather be shocked than imagine horrors. If it is so dreadful, why did
you—”

“I? No, love, not I,” he exclaimed. “Never! I swear it! But
in a boys’ school one hears and sees things, and it is particularly common
among sailors, from their being cooped up with only men for such long periods
of time. I know a good many sailors.”

“
It
. But what
is
it?”

Philip shrugged. “There are other orifices in the body, Meg.
A boy can be taken as you were, except—”

“Oh, my goodness! She looked at him with wide eyes. “No
wonder screams were expected. It must be horribly painful and—and wouldn’t it
squeeze you—I mean the man doing it—dreadfully?”

Philip burst out laughing. “You are the most—most… Are you
not even a little shocked, love?”

“I’m horrified,” she replied honestly, “but—but it seems so
unlikely. Are you roasting me, Philip?” He shook his head silently, and she saw
he was telling the truth. “I simply cannot see what pleasure—”

“Neither can I, sweetheart,” Philip assured her, “and I
never could, so it is useless to ask me any more questions. All I can tell you
is hearsay, but those who have a taste for it seem to enjoy it fully as much as
you and I. It may be hard to believe…“