Chapter Thirteen
Philippa shivered on the threshold of Roseland. Her anticipation had grown to a fever pitch on the short ride home in the dark. Valerian was beside her, lighting a candelabrum left on the entry table, taking her hand, leading her up the stairs to the master’s chambers.
Inside, he set the brace of candles on a small table and turned to her. He held up his hand. It trembled in the candlelight. ‘See how you affect me?’ His voice was husky. ‘I want to please you so badly. I’ve thought of nothing but this for longer than you can know. Most of my adult life, really.’
Philippa smiled at his confession. She went to him, slowly removing the cravat wound about his neck. ‘I know.’ They’d come close to this on a few occasions, reckless with hot youth. Her hands moved down to his shirt. She unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it back, his shoulders flexing to push it off. She ran her hands down the length of his chest, exploring the sculpted torso and the sensation of smooth, male skin. Her fingernails lightly raked his nipples, causing Valerian to gasp in sensual delight.
Empowerment swept through Philippa. She reached for the waist of his trousers and the rigid length of his manhood. At her touch, everything transformed. They came alive as lovers, no longer tender friends but something much more demanding, more animate.
Heat engulfed them. She felt Valerian’s hands on her body, caressing as they made short work of her clothing until she was entirely naked to his hot gaze. His green eyes burned with an incinerating desire. In a fluid motion, he bent and grabbed her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He followed her down on to the mattress, surrounding her with his taut body, aroused and ready for love.
She offered up her body and he took it, suckling at one breast, then the other, worshipping with every kiss and caress. Philippa arched against him, caressing his hair, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach. The man who rose over her was magnificent and wild, treating her to pleasures she had not imagined existed. She parted her legs for him, feeling herself growing unabashedly damp from his efforts. He sank between her thighs, taking himself in hand and manoeuvring smoothly to her entrance. He tested her readiness. She felt herself stretch at the fullness of his member, accommodating, taking, begging for more until she felt his sex pressing against her very womb, so deep was he inside.
He moved and began the ancient rhythm, his breathing coming in ragged pants. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations surging through her. She felt as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff, each step taking her closer to an edge where something wonderful awaited if she would only jump.
She wrapped her legs about Valerian’s waist, urging him on, to help her jump. Her hands clung to his muscled shoulders. She could feel the unbridled strength of his arms as he kept his full weight from pressing down on her. She started to shudder.
‘Open your eyes, Philippa.’
Her eyes flew open at the last moment. She heard herself gasp in pleasure as she plunged over the cliff, soaring and falling at the same time. And Valerian was with her, shuddering his own release, his eyes dark with his passion, his body slick with his exertions. He collapsed against her, spent. She could feel the fast thump of his heart and knew her own pulse was racing in the glorious aftermath of what they’d done.
Valerian shifted to his side and she snuggled into the nest of his body, revelling in the safety and warmth of his strong arms. Nothing could hurt her here, nothing could reach her. ‘Val?’ she whispered.
‘Hmm?’ His hand tightened around her waist.
‘I never hated you. I couldn’t bring myself to do so, not really.’ In her drowsy state, she recognised it for the truth it was. She’d wanted to hate him, she’d forced herself to it. But it had been a hard battle and tonight she was glad it was one battle she had lost.
Philippa awoke late the next morning, giddy with her realisations. She was free to love Valerian. For the first time in years, she could follow the dictates of her heart and never mind the doubts her mind tossed up as facts. Valerian’s arm was still around her waist. When had she ever slept so soundly that she hadn’t moved an inch? But when had she ever felt so secure that she could lay down her burdens long enough to sleep undisturbed?
Behind her, Valerian began to stir. She squirmed experimentally and felt the jut of his straining morning erection against her buttocks. Wanton desire rocketed through her, along with a healthy measure of curiosity. Could last night be repeated or was the intensity of her feelings unique? Would she feel that way each time she made love with Valerian? She was out of her depth here. It had never been like this with Cambourne. She’d not known how powerful a coupling could be until last night.
Valerian nipped at her earlobe, whispering love words as he positioned himself. Dear lord, he was going to take her from behind. Such a strange position caused her a moment’s panic. She tensed. ‘Val? What are you doing?’ She knew, technically, but she wasn’t sure it worked in practice. ‘Does this actually work?’
Valerian gave a low, sensual chuckle and hugged her close. ‘Yes. Relax and let me show you. I won’t hurt you. This is new to you?’ His free hand gently rubbed her shoulders, massaging away the tension. ‘This position is a woman’s gift to a man. She is at her most vulnerable here,’ he explained softly. ‘But it allows a man to penetrate her more deeply than other positions.’
He gave a gentle thrust. Philippa gasped. There was something exceedingly decadent and yet wondrous about the position. There was no doubt that she had all of him and she revelled in the feel of him so completely entrenched inside her. It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their pleasure, Valerian holding her tight as he poured his warm seed deep inside her.
He held her close, letting his release shudder over him in waves. She was silent, a sure sign her mind was rampant with questions, thoughts.
She dared her question once the initial wave of ecstasy had subsided. ‘Is it supposed to be like this all the time?’ She turned in his arms to face him, pushing hair back from his face.
‘No, not always.’ Valerian answered carefully. It was inevitable she’d ask, wonder about the rumours that had floated back to England, most of them clear exaggerations of a truth only he knew. He rather wished she hadn’t asked at such an inopportune time, though, when he’d rather lie with her in peace instead of fencing with her dragon of a temper.
She seemed to contemplate his answer. ‘Has it been like this for you before?’
An even worse question than her first one. ‘Not really.’ How could he explain to her that a man could enjoy such a release on a purely physical level without the emotions that had accompanied what passed between them? How could he make her understand that there was a different sort of satisfaction to be had, but that it didn’t compare in the least with what he’d done with her? Nothing ever would.
She was poised to ask another question. Valerian raised himself up on one arm. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for such an inquisition, Philippa. There is not room enough in this bed for anyone else you’d care to drag in here.
‘However, since you have raised the topic, I will tell you this—I was not a monk those nine years, but most likely the reports of my licentious behaviour were greatly overestimated. Those women meant nothing. They were a poor excuse to forget what had happened in England. They wanted my body and they understood that was all they’d ever get from me. My heart was engaged elsewhere—with you—and it always has been. I’d prefer to put paid to that part of my life.’
Philippa smiled her assent. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I was curious. That was all.’ She blushed and looked away. ‘I never knew…’ she stammered, shy in her embarrassment.
‘Not with Lucien?’ Valerian knew he was pressing her, but he had to know. She’d had her inquisition and he had things he needed to know too.
She shook her head. ‘No, Lucien and I have never been together and Cambourne…well, that is to say, Cambourne and I didn’t achieve…’
Valerian pressed a
forefinger to her lips. ‘Shh. You needn’t say any more.’ He understood perfectly what she meant and it thrilled him, deep down in some primal core of his being, that while he hadn’t been the first, he’d been the one to bring her true pleasure. And he’d be the last. If he’d had any doubts on that score, he would have used a sheath to prevent a child.
The Jezebel! Lucien Canton was furious. The man standing in his office at the Provincial Bank of Truro looked away anxiously and Lucien tried to remember it was bad form to kill the messenger.
It was not the messenger’s fault that Philippa had not been at Cambourne Hall when he’d arrived to deliver the note. It was not the messenger’s fault that he’d followed her to St Just-in-Roseland and caught her in what seemed an obvious case of in flagrante delicto with her hand on the viscount’s bloody cock. The messenger had assured him the little moment had been done in privacy and good taste. He’d been the only one to see them. Such assurances didn’t change the fact that Lucien wanted to hit someone and since Valerian Inglemoore wasn’t available at present, the messenger just might do after all.
Everything had been going well. He should have known that was when the bottom usually dropped out from beneath you. Philippa had rejected his marriage proposal out of hand so that she could go traipsing around Cornwall with the viscount. Good lord, she’d been seen at a peasants’ fair fondling the man’s private parts. It didn’t matter that the messenger had been full of assurances that no one else had seen them. They’d been discreet. She’d refused his proposal because she’d felt he’d had nothing to offer her. That was about to change. She would discover shortly he had something she wanted quite desperately.
He would not be played as the cuckolded suitor. Everyone in London knew he’d been her strong right arm these past years. Everyone expected something to come of it. His reputation would suffer if he turned out to be nothing more than Lady Cambourne’s jilt, to say nothing of his finances when the bank’s board of trustees understood that he did not control the Cambourne mining interests.
He would confront St Just with his treason, force Philippa to barter for the man’s freedom and then make sure there would be no happy ever after for them. St Just would not forgive Philippa if he believed it was by her hand that such treasonous issues had been brought up. Fortunately, Lucien had the letter to infer such a thing. He would have his bank, his revenge and a wife too. Not a day would go by that Philippa wouldn’t be reminded of the favours he’d done for her and how much she owed him. He would start by going to her as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Philippa sat in the small sitting room she’d commandeered as a lady’s parlour at the back of the house. The windows gave her a view of the back terrace where she could watch the men working on the new flower beds Valerian had designed. She could look up from her writing at the elegant escritoire Valerian had moved in there for her and see him at his labours on the lawn. All in all, it was a very domestic arrangement.
She was seldom disturbed in this room. She used it primarily when Valerian was out, as he was today, working in the ravine garden on the edge of the estate. And Beldon had taken himself off on long visits and explorations these last few days to give her and Valerian some privacy. Knowing this was her preferred time of day for correspondence, the maids left her alone as well. No one bothered her here unless something was wrong. Which was why she was surprised to see Steves at the door.
‘Is something wrong with the dinner menus?’ she asked with a pleasant smile.
‘No, milady. This letter has arrived for you. It came by special messenger. I thought it might be urgent.’
Philippa looked at the envelope. It was from Truro. Her initial worry that something drastic was wrong at Cambourne eased. She didn’t know anyone in Truro well enough to warrant a letter by special messenger. In fact, the only person she knew in Truro of any real significance was Lucien. But Lucien had no reason to send such a letter. The regular post would do for any business they might have.
Philippa opened the letter, reading the back first to see who it was from. Lucien.
Philippa flipped the paper over and began to read.
My dearest Philippa,
Thank you for your kind words and polite refusal of my proposal. I appreciate your considerate words as much as I regretted your need to decline. As for me, I shall remain your obedient friend and servant in the hopes that my offer might meet with your fondest reconsideration.
It is my sincerest hope that any impetuosity on my part might be forgiven. It is also my sincerest hope that you keep yourself safe. To demonstrate that sincerity, I feel compelled to bring you news of great concern regarding your family friend, the Viscount St Just. Lately, it has come to my attention that he is suspected of having dealt in some behaviour of a treasonous nature while serving Britain in the Balkans—something to do with a little town called Negush.
I do not know all the details or even how true such claims are. But I thought you should know. You know him better than I and are perhaps best placed to help exonerate him should these charges become more than speculation and rumours at Whitehall.
I would encourage you to be vigilant on your friend’s behalf. Look for anything that might prove him innocent if need be.
I was surprised to discover you had gone to
Roseland. Do have a care with your reputation. I would not wish to see you suffer simply by association should St Just be branded a traitor.
As always, I stand your true friend,
Lucien
Philippa clenched the paper, wrinkling the fine linen bond with the strength of her hand. Treason? What nonsense was this? But it wasn’t exactly ‘nonsense’. There was no reason for Lucien to make any of this up and, really, one couldn’t fashion charges of treason out of whole cloth and expect to get away with it. If Lucien didn’t think it was the truth, he’d hardly have bothered writing about it and sending the news by special courier.
That worried her. The letter had been sent with all haste possible. The letter had been written with the express intention of sharing that news with her. He’d made no mention of the bank or of any local news. In the past, the letters they’d exchanged had been full of such events. It was unlike Lucien to write an entire letter without making a single financial reference. She’d not known he was capable of it, in fact.
Worry twisted in her gut. Philippa looked at the little clock on the wall. Eleven. Valerian wouldn’t be back until tea time, four hours away. Four hours to search the house, looking for some proof that it was all balderdash, whatever those charges might be. But she had no idea what she’d be looking for.
She was suddenly struck with the thought that she didn’t know anything about what he’d actually done during his time abroad. In order to look for clues, one usually had to have something to start with. Philippa had nothing but the name of a place she’d never heard of.
She would start with that. There had to be an atlas in the library. Then she could practise how she’d ask the man she loved if he’d committed treason.
Chapter Fourteen
In the end, Philippa elected to say nothing. Valerian had returned late, barely in time for supper, out of sorts over a retaining wall in the ravine garden that had collapsed. A day of hard labour had hardly made a dent in the damage done to the eroding hillside.
Valerian’s bad mood aside, Philippa reasoned she’d be better off waiting until she had proof of something before she brought the subject up. Otherwise, she’d have to confess her interest in the topic stemmed directly from the potentially spurious letter Lucien had sent. Knowing how Valerian felt about Lucien, she felt it best to leave Lucien’s letter out of the situation. If she wanted to investigate Lucien’s concerns, she needed to do it under her own power.
Philippa let Beldon carry the dinner conversation. He was animated about a meeting with an inventor by the name of William Bickford. ‘He’s created a method for inserting a strand of yarn into rope fuses that makes the fuse more predictable.’ Beldon paused long eno
ugh to take a sip of wine. ‘The funny thing is, Phil, he’s from your area. He lives in Tuckingmill, outside Cambourne. He’s just here on a visit with friends. You should meet him, help him get established. Can you imagine what this might mean for promoting mining safety?’
Of course she could imagine it. The tubes of reeds currently used as fuses for blasting were erratic. On several occasions they were known to go off too early, and on other occasions they went off after a long delay. Either way, men were hurt or killed by the faulty fuses. ‘I should like to meet him,’ Philippa said noncommittally.
Tonight, her mind had difficulty concentrating on business, her thoughts already occupied by Lucien’s disturbing letter. Every time she looked down the table at Valerian, the thoughts kept creeping in. Had he committed treason? She knew very little of what he’d done in the diplomatic service of his country. This was difficult territory to navigate. He was a man of honour. His sacrifice for her family’s greater good proved her initial instincts about him had not been wrong. However, she also understood that he valued honour above all things, including her opinion and her desires and his own.
From what she knew of her own experiences in political London, loyalty to one’s country or party often conflicted with one’s sense of honour. It was entirely possible that what Valerian viewed as the honourable path had, at some point, become a treasonous path. That particular juxtaposition concerned her gravely.
Before now, she’d always imagined traitors to be deceitful spies out to make a quick pound for selling out one’s country. She was starting to see where that interpretation might be a bit limited in its scope. If the charges proved to be founded, how would the public see it? Would they share the same latitude she was willing to give or would they paint Valerian with a traditional traitor’s brush? More than his reputation would be tarred. She knew very well the price for treason. Being a peer would not protect him.
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