Philip thanked the maid, shut the door, and returned to the bed, balancing the supper tray in his hands. The steaming bowls of beef stew, fresh crusty bread, ale, and apple pie gladdened his heart. Food on the ship had been plain at best, inedible or infested at worst. And although he’d loved the spices of India, it was a pleasure to come home to the more simple things in life.
He halted by the side of the bed and stared at Helene, who dozed beneath the well-rumpled covers. Her blond hair was tangled, her skin a delicate shell pink from the roughness of his unshaven chin. Despite her disarray, she reminded him of the porcelain figurines on his mother’s mantelpiece.
They’d coupled all night in every conceivable position and found a closeness that had so far eluded him in his life. Her body craved his with an intensity that humbled him. Even as he studied her, his cock rose in anticipation.
With a groan, he set the tray down on a small table and climbed between the sheets. He tickled Helene behind the ear.
“Are you hungry?”
“For you? Always.”
He chuckled. “Not this time. I meant for food.”
Her nose twitched as she caught the scent of the feast in store for them. She yawned. Philip leaned across to plump up the pillows and pull her into a sitting position. Her breasts came into view over the top of the covers, and he stared at their rosy tips. His cock grew even more.
Helene brushed the hair out of her eyes and accepted the mug of ale he handed her. She shuddered as she drank and then put her cup down.
“English ale is so weak. How can you prefer it to wine?”
Philip toasted her with his mug. “Because I’m English?”
Her smile made his heart clench, made him want to cover her with his body and protect her from every ill. There was something fragile beneath her astonishing beauty that called to him at a primitive level.
“Whereabouts in London are you staying, Helene?”
The question escaped him before he considered the implications. He cursed himself for a fool as her face became guarded. Why couldn’t he just accept the here and now? Why did he have to spoil it? He finished his ale, poured himself another cup, and then balanced the tray of food on his knees.
“Eat, you must be hungry.”
To his surprise, she took him at his word, eating with a serious thoroughness that made him question whether food had always been freely available to her. The thought of her wanting for anything made him curiously angry. He focused his gaze on her hands, not wanting her to see his unguarded expression.
With a soft curse, he encircled her left wrist with his finger and thumb, making her drop her bread. He turned her arm over to display the rough marks on her inner wrist.
“Who hurt you?”
“Why do you ask?”
She went quiet, her breathing so shallow he wondered if she might faint. He squeezed her flesh, felt small bones flex and yield beneath porcelain skin.
“I’ve seen the scars manacles make on skin before.”
She sighed. “My family was caught up in the revolution. I was imprisoned for a while.”
Philip simply stared at her as he grappled with the appalling images her simple statement brought to life. Despite his exile in India, he knew all too well the horrors that had accompanied the French Revolution. Helene wrenched out of his grasp and clasped both hands to her breast. She retreated to some private place he sensed he would never be allowed or able to enter.
She took a ragged breath. “I do not wish to talk about it. I survived and I wish to move on with my life.”
Philip nodded. She was only eighteen. He might complain, but what had her short life been like, compared to his indulged and cosseted existence? He felt far too inadequate to ask about the suffering mirrored in her fine eyes.
He picked up his ale. “Then here’s to life.”
She glanced at him, her expression still distant and wary. He reached across, handed her back her mug of ale, and raised his eyebrows. To his intense relief, she managed a tremulous smile. His heart softened, melted, and came to rest at her feet.
“Life,” she said, raising her mug.
Philip smiled back and returned his attention to his plate, reasoning that if he could fill his mouth with food, he was less likely to say anything stupid. And as soon as Helene finished eating, he’d show her exactly how far he was willing to go to remove the hurt from her gaze.
Much later, when the room was a series of shadows and distorted gloomy shapes, Helene stirred in her sleep. The old feather bed sagged in the middle and made them a perfect nest. Behind her, Philip lay on his side, one hand buried between her legs, the other cupping her breast. His half-erect cock nestled between her buttocks. She felt more comfortable with him than with any other man. His deep appreciation of her was evident in everything he did. He worshipped her body, he freely shared himself with her, and she gloried in every new sensation.
If she’d met him in her former life at a ball or some other social occasion, would she have felt like this? This instant connection and strong sexual attraction? She’d changed so much that she no longer trusted herself. Bitter experience had replaced her former romantic dreams. Nothing was ever as good as it seemed, and yet here she was, wrapped in a man’s arms and at peace for the first time in years.
She smiled into the darkness. His scent bathed her now, the exotic smell of spices and his seed as familiar as her own cream. Had she ever allowed herself to lie entwined with a man without wanting to rid herself of the physical reminders of yet another unwanted sexual encounter?
“You’re awake.”
She slowly opened her eyes as Philip nuzzled her neck.
“I suppose I am.”
He chuckled, the sound muffled against the nape of her neck. “I keep imagining I’m back on the ship again. I woke up because everything wasn’t moving.”
“The voyage from India is very long, n’est-ce pas?”
“Aye, five to six months on average.” He squeezed her breast. “And no women passengers to flirt with. Can you imagine that?”
“I cannot imagine how you survived without sex for that long.”
He laughed again, the sound sleepy and intimate. “There were some avenues I explored—unconventional ones, I might add.”
She placed her hand over his as he slowly fingered her nipple. “Such as?”
“You are a curious minx, madame. I hesitate to shock you.”
She almost laughed. “I don’t think that is possible.”
He sighed and settled himself against her, his breath warm on her cheek. “From my first day aboard the ship, one of the men who served in the passenger cabins made it clear to me that if I was interested in a sexual tryst, he would be happy to oblige.”
Philip kissed her shoulder. “I, of course, politely declined his offer, telling him I had no interest in men. But as the voyage progressed and my hand became the only means of satisfying myself, I began to see his proposal in a different light.”
Helene arched her back against the growing swell of Philip’s cock, felt the first wetness of his precum soak into her skin.
“I found myself lingering in my cabin to watch him perform the simplest tasks. I loved the way he laid out my linen, the tight stretch of his breeches over his arse as he made my bed. He was a handsome man, too, with long black hair and a gold earring in each ear.
“One morning, about three months into our voyage, I met him in one of the narrow corridors between the state rooms and the kitchen. A roll of the ship threw me against him, and he caught hold of my arms. I didn’t step back. I let my body press his into the wall, felt his erect cock grind against mine.”
Helene shivered as the tip of Philip’s thumb worked its way inside her back passage.
“When he licked my lips, I almost came in my breeches….”
“And how did that make you feel?”
He groaned and rocked against her, his precum making his cock slide easily between her buttocks. “Hard, horny, and desperate, if you really want to know. Two days after that, I deliberately met him again outside the tiny storeroom. He shoved me inside the room and went down on his knees. Before I could even speak, he had my cock in his mouth and soon my seed was pumping down his throat.”
Helene slid her leg up over Philip’s thigh and anchored her foot on his hip, leaving her sex open to his questing fingers, her arse ready for the first penetration of his cock. He pressed against her, withdrew, and then returned, his cock now slathered in oil and precum.
“God, I let him do that to me every night in my cabin, my hands in his hair, holding him against me, making sure he took every drop of my cum.” He moaned and undulated his hips against her. “And then he offered me his arse and showed me how to grease my cock to get inside him. And God forgive me, I took him on his hands and knees, over my table, in my bed…”
Helene closed her eyes as he worked his way inside her. She climaxed almost immediately, erotic images of Philip fucking the unknown man with all the concentration and finesse he had given her floated through her mind.
“I would’ve liked to see you together.”
He bit her shoulder. “I would’ve liked that, too, as long as you were naked and so aroused you made yourself come with us.”
“And did you give him the same liberties?”
Deep inside her, Philip’s cock twitched and swelled as he gave another long, slow thrust. “I took him in my mouth…I enjoyed that.”
He gripped her hips as he pumped hard against her buttocks, his breath hot and harried on her neck, his fingers digging into her flesh as he came. His final words were whispered so quietly she almost missed them.
“I was ready to let him fuck me, but the voyage was ending, and he was called away to other duties.”
“You were surprised by your lust for this man.”
He shifted behind her. “At first I was horrified, but then I felt no shame, only a deep need to be fucked, to be taken, even if it was by another man.”
Dreamily, Helene considered his words. Here was a man who might understand that love came in different disguises. A man who might love her despite her past. She eased away from him to the edge of the bed. What on earth was she thinking? She had a new life to plan, a new future. The last thing she needed was to throw herself into Philip Ross’s arms and beg him to keep her there forever. Had she learned nothing?
“Helene? Have I disgusted you with my story?”
She opened her eyes and focused on the soft candlelight as it flickered beside the bed. She hated the dark and always insisted on a light. It meant the faces of those who had fucked her were all too memorable. But at least it kept out the decaying ghosts of those who were no longer able to fuck anything at all.
“I’m not shocked, Philip. In truth, I found your story arousing. It is unusual to find an Englishman with such liberal sexual views.”
He laughed. “Perhaps I should start a new kind of gentleman’s club to instruct my fellow Englishmen in the erotic arts. What do you think?”
She stared at him for a long moment as his words swirled around her head. She would love to be in charge of such an establishment. To show men how women should be treated in bed, to explore the sensual delights Philip had revealed to her.
“Helene?”
She blinked and refocused on his face.
“Are you sure I didn’t offend you? You seem distant.”
He came up on his elbow to study her. His hair hung around his face, softening the hard, clean lines of his cheekbones.
She sighed. “I was thinking about tomorrow.”
“We agreed not to think too hard.”
Helene grimaced. “I know, but it is difficult. I have enjoyed this time with you”—she gestured at the untidy bedchamber—“this space, and this idyll.”
He crawled toward her, his expression intent, his hazel eyes level with her own. “Our time is not over yet, madame. I have plenty more pleasure to give you before the morning.” He slid his knees between her thighs, opening them wide, and shoved his cock deep. Helene moaned as her exquisitely sensitive sex absorbed his thick fullness.
“I promised to make you scream, Helene, and I’m a man of my word.”
She reached for his shoulders, but he drew her hands over her head and held them there as he pumped into her. She could only move with him, watch him take her and make her his own. His expression was savage, his intention to possess her all too obvious to a woman of her experience. For the first time in her life, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to be loved so completely.
He pulled out, crawled up her body, and slid his cock into her mouth, groaning as she took him deep in her throat.
“God, I love you sucking my cock.”
She drew back and used the tip of her tongue to torment the slit on the pulsing crown, swirled her tongue around the head until he cried out. With a growl, he jerked back and knelt between her thighs, plunging his shaft back inside her pussy in long hard strokes.
Her climax took her by surprise, sending her spiraling into ecstasy with a suddenness that made Philip come too. He barely managed to pull out in time, and his hot cum spilled on her belly. He continued to hold her close, his hips still moving in the rhythm of love.
Helene bit her lip as his now-familiar weight settled over her. He’d reminded her that even the ecstasy of his lovemaking was all too brief a joy in a life that might end tomorrow. She’d lost too many of the people she’d loved to ever believe such perfection could last. Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, and she fought back tears. For the first time in years, she found herself praying, but whether her prayer was for forgiveness for daring to hope or for a miracle, she couldn’t tell.
Philip risked a wary smile at Helene over the coffeepot. She was all calm politeness, but something had changed. Something indefinable but vital had slipped through his fingers during the cold unknown hours of dawn while they slept. A knot of tension formed in his gut as he studied her.
He couldn’t stand to part from her. The realization held him frozen in shock, his cup half raised to his mouth.
She wore her own clothes again. The patched and worn garments of a lower-class woman. He put down his cup. It didn’t matter to him. He was prepared to buy her anything she ever desired.
“Would you like some more coffee, Philip?”
“No, I thank you.”
Abruptly he stood up and started to pace the room. Helene put the coffeepot down and watched him carefully, a small frown creasing her forehead.
He turned to face her. “I can’t go through with it.”
“With what?”
“The marriage to Anne, the whole stepping into my dead brother’s shoes.”
“Tell your father when you see him. Perhaps you misjudge him and he will understand.”
Philip fought off a shiver. “He will never understand. For him, duty to your family is almost as important as duty to the king and God.”
She bit her lip. “I do not know how to help you, mon ami.”
He held her gaze. “Yes, you do. Marry me.”
She blinked rapidly, her face paling as she stared at him.
“I…cannot do that.”
“Why not?” Anger rose, displacing the fear. He was proposing marriage, goddamn her—why wasn’t she smiling? “I promise I’ll be a good husband.”
“That’s not the point. You hardly know me; we are not of the same social class, or even the same nationality.”
He stalked back to the table and leaned over her. “I know you.”
She gazed back at him, her beautiful features composed. Her mouth quirked up at one corner and fueled his gathering incomprehensible rage. “Philip, you know my body. Sex doesn’t make a marriage.”
He stared down at her, his breathing harsh. “I want you; you want me. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not for me.”
He pulled back as if she’d hit him. “I am not good enough for you? Who is waiting for you in London, the king?”
Pain flickered across her face, and she gripped the arms of her chair harder. “That is not what I meant. You are young; you have the whole world to discover. If you want to get out of marrying your Anne, just tell your father the truth. You do not need to pretend to fall in love with me just to give yourself an escape route.”
He glared at her over his shoulder. “She is not my Anne.”
Her cool logic cut at him, reduced him to a raging impotent child. He moved away to pace the floorboards again. How dare she turn him down?
“We can go to Gretna Green, get married there.”
“And how will we support ourselves when your father cuts off your income?”
He swung back to face her, his rage dying as he studied her beautiful face. “I think I could love you, Helene.”
She stood up so violently her coffee cup fell to the floor and shattered.
“You have no right to do this to me!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She thumped her fist against her breast. “I have plans; I have a new life awaiting me. I cannot deal with this, this…”
“Stupidity? Me falling in love with you is stupid?”
“I didn’t say that!” She briefly closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “You can’t love me. I won’t allow it.”
He held her anguished gaze, his smile wretched. “You think I have a choice in the matter?”
“We all have choices. Yours are already clear. Go home to your family, marry the girl you are supposed to, and forget all about me.”
His throat ached, and he took an unsteady step toward her. “I can’t do that. I want you and only you. I don’t care about your background or the fact that you are a widow. I just want to marry you.”
She worried her lip so hard she drew blood. “You can’t.”
“Why not? I know that you care about me.” He placed his hand over his heart, mirroring her gesture. “I know it here. Tell me what I can do to make things right for us.”
She shivered violently and lifted her chin. “I am not what you think.”
Philip drew an unsteady breath. “You are the woman I love.”
“I am a whore.”
He opened his mouth to reply and shook his head as words finally escaped him.
“It’s true. I’ve bedded more men than you could ever imagine. I spent two years in the Bastille servicing the guards and two years as an old man’s mistress. I am a whore.”
He still couldn’t speak; his throat was so constricted. She sat back down, her features composed; only the fine tremor in her folded hands displayed any hint of inner turmoil.
“Are you suggesting that what we shared was a fake, a sham? That I was just another customer to you?”
She inclined her head the merest half inch. Rage bubbled and boiled inside him again, and he picked up his coat and hat.
“Madame, you are good in bed, but not that good. I know when a woman is pretending and you…you were not.”
She raised her eyebrows, and he caught her chin in his hard fingers. “You didn’t have to pretend with me. Say it.”
She swallowed hard, her tongue moistening her lips. “Perhaps I am not only a whore but a brilliant actress.”
He gazed into her blue eyes as the pain in his heart threatened to fill his whole chest and then crawl up his throat. “You lie. If you choose to pretend we mean nothing to each other, have it your way. But I know the truth. I know you.”
Her eyelashes fluttered down, concealing her expression. In a savage motion, his fingers curled around her neck. The pulse at the curve of her throat pounded like a trapped animal. With all his control, he let her go and stepped back, dug his hand into the pocket of his greatcoat, and drew out his purse.
“How much?”
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
He jingled his purse. “How much do I owe you for our night together?” She looked away from him. “If you are a professional whore, surely you have a regular charge?”
“Va chez le diable, Philip!”
He stuffed his purse back into his pocket with shaking fingers and waited until she looked at him again. The mixture of desolation and anger in her eyes probably reflected his.
“You see, you can’t charge me, can you? Because you know we shared more than a business transaction or a slaking of lust. We shared each other’s souls.” He put on his hat. She flinched away from him as if expecting a blow. Sadness ate at his anger. “It’s a shame you are too afraid to trust me. I expect one day you’ll realize what you let slip through your fingers, and I hope you’ll feel as empty and wretched as I do today. Good day, madame.”
She didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him as he headed for the door, shoving his half-packed bag out with him. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it. His mind refused to function properly as he strained to make sense of the silence behind him. Thoughts tumbled erratically through his mind. He should hire a horse, get to London as quickly as possible, and marry whomsoever his father wanted.
He closed his eyes. What was the point in doing anything else? Helene might think him a romantic fool, but he knew love when he found it. He also suspected he was unlikely to ever meet its like again.
Helene held her breath as the door shut behind Philip and his baggage. In the sudden silence, she stared at the back of the door. Was he still out there? What was he waiting for? For her to beg him to return? She’d hurt his pride, that was all, nothing more. He’d simply been upset when she’d ignored his ridiculous marriage proposal.
A moan escaped her tightly clamped lips. Mon Dieu, it hurt to breathe. In her soul, she knew he’d meant every word. Part of her longed to run after him, to fall into his arms and find happiness. But she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t allow herself to be used and discarded again when he realized his mistake. And his family would make sure he realized what a colossal mistake she was.
She got slowly to her feet and bent over like an elderly woman with the pain of his leaving, with the pain of denying him. Images of his face when she’d told him what she was, the shock he’d tried to hide, his gallant offer to love her anyway. She didn’t deserve such love; she was already beyond redemption. Everyone who had truly loved her was dead.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she crawled back into bed and buried her face in the sheets. She could still smell him, his scent as familiar now as her own.
London would have to wait until the next passenger coach came through. She had people who were depending on her to succeed. She needed to mourn again, to rebuild her strength and try, if it was possible, to forget Philip Ross had ever existed.