Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 0]

by The Spy

  “Grieve your comrades. Grieve your lost innocence. But you must set the blame aside. Stop looking back. You have so many who need you to look forward.”

  He shook his head, a quick motion of denial. “No I don’t. I have made sure to keep myself free of attachments.”

  “No attachments? How can you think you have no attachments?” She drew her hands away, her eyes puzzled. “What about your sister? What about the Liars? What about Robbie, and Stubbs and even Denny? You are nothing but a walking talking bundle of attachments! We all are.” She shook her head at him, as if he were being unnecessarily obtuse.

  “How can you say you have no responsibilities? You’ve Appleby. And family. And God and country—”

  “Enough!” James pressed his hands to his ears to shut out her voice. He felt the tangle of it all around him. No step could he take, no word could he speak, that did not somehow impact one or more strings of that tangle.

  Fear swept him. How could he touch all these people and not hurt someone? How could he hold all those souls in his hand and not betray one or all of them somehow? He could not bear the pressure. It seemed to crush his heart, to steal the breath from his lungs . . .

  “James.”

  Her voice, so low and sweet without its imposed gruffness, seemed to soothe the raw tumult in his mind. “James . . . don’t forget—”

  “Forget what?” His voice was gravelly in his own ears. His head was full of clamoring voices, voices that wanted too much, needed too much—

  She was speaking softly and clearly. James took his hands from his ears to better hear the gentle soothing tones.

  “The attachments—the burdens that you feel? It goes both ways. You have others who depend on you, yes. And you have others on whom to depend.” She laughed, a small rueful sound. “You could not stand alone, even if you wished. You stand on their uplifting hands, as they stand on yours.”

  Hope brightened briefly within him. Was that so? Was the tangle not a trap, but a net? Was he held close as he held others close? Was he alone neither in his debts nor in his due?

  He felt cool hands on his cheeks again and allowed her to tip his face up to meet her gaze. Those eyes . . . so beautiful and shining with life . . .

  “Do you uplift me, Phillipa? Are you one of those who hold me high?”

  She knelt before him and gazed into his eyes. “I didn’t want to be. It is not my choice to be attached to you, James Cunnington. I only meant to stay a while, to find a way to help my father. I don’t know what my future holds with the Liar’s Club, or what Lord Etheridge will decide.”

  He took her hands in his and drew them from his cheeks. Looking down at her delicate fingers, a portion of his mind bothered to wonder how he could have been so blind to that delicacy for so long. Her fingers were cool so he warmed them, clasping their four hands together.

  “James, about the lies I told you—”

  “Phillipa, did you ever have any motive but loyalty and survival?”

  “Ah, well. There were a few other moments in there.”

  “When?”

  “In the storeroom. That was purely for selfish reasons.”

  He hesitated. “Because you fell in love with me?”

  “Yes.” Phillipa waited. James said nothing in return. No matter. She knew her own heart, and it was his alone.

  He kissed her softly, as if in amends for his earlier harshness in the code room. She kissed him back. How could it be that her mouth fit his as though made for it? Of all the men in all the world?

  Perhaps there was some order in the universe after all.

  They drew apart finally. James tilted his forehead down to touch hers.

  “Your hair.” He fingered one curling lock in regret.

  She reached to take his hand in hers. Gently she pulled it down and kissed his palm. “It will grow back.”

  He drew back and shook his head in wonder. “When I think of the things I said in front of you—” His eyes widened. “I took you boxing! I struck you!”

  She smiled. “I struck you back. It was not my rear on the canvas, if you recall.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I let you win?”

  She scoffed. “Would you meet me in the ring again so I can prove you didn’t?”

  He chuckled, that rumbling sound she loved so dearly. “Do you know, I just might.” He stood, lifting her easily in his embrace, and carried her to the bed. He paused, as if testing her agreement. Phillipa turned her head to kiss his shoulder in assent.

  James put her down gently, easing himself down beside her. Then he rolled her effortlessly beneath him. “There, you see? You’ve lost.”

  Squirming beneath the heavy comfort of him, Phillipa twined her arms about his neck. “I dispute that call. I’ve won.” She pulled him down for another kiss. Had any man ever tasted so delicious?

  “I’m obsessed with your mouth,” he whispered when he’d caught his breath. “There are so many things I want to do to it”

  Phillipa laughed and trailed her own hands down over his rock-hard buttocks. “I know precisely what you mean.”

  They undressed each other slowly, stopping often for deep kisses that stole their breath and gave voice to all the things they didn’t know how to say.

  This was no heated mating. This was a tender languid exploration. Phillipa felt like a newly discovered continent, the way that James traversed her hills and valleys with such attention.

  At one point, his tongue swirled about her navel, then dipped inside.

  “No treasure inside tonight, my brave voyager.”

  He chuckled into her stomach. “I do believe that this is now my favorite bit of female flesh. And to think, I used to be a leg fancier.”

  “If you go a bit further, you may find a couple of those as well,” she hinted.

  “Don’t worry, Flip. I’ll find them.”

  Her eyes burned at the name, once said with friendship, then anger, now murmured in all tenderness.

  “Phillipa anew,” she whispered to herself. Then aloud, “You’ve changed me, James. It is as though I am finally awake. No matter what happens now I can never go back to sleep again.”

  He rose on one elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes nearly black in the candlelight. “Is that a wrong thing?”

  She shook her head as she stroked a hand up one thick and solid arm to a wide shoulder. “I’ve learned that it is not enough to merely survive the days. Not when there is so much more.”

  He only gazed at her. She had to laugh at herself. “Very well. Now is not the time for philosophy. You can go back to what you were doing.”

  “I have a better idea.” His grin was pure wickedness. “Flip, have you ever ridden astride?”

  Her toes curled at the thought. “Why, Mr. Cunnington, are you offering me your mount?”

  With a deep laugh, he rolled onto his back and lifted her with ease. “Mount me, then,” he whispered. “Ride me.”

  “My stallion,” she whispered to him in Arabic. His face went hard with lust at her words. As did other things.

  She threw one leg over and straddled him just above his knees.

  “You missed,” he said, his voice gravelly with desire.

  Phillipa only wrapped both hands around his shaft. “No, I didn’t.” He groaned and moved beneath her, his hard thighs trying to shift her higher. She tightened her double grip on his erection. It swelled further in her grasp, until it darkened and thickened to an astonishing degree.

  How had she ever accepted something of this size?

  Yet she wanted it again. Her cleft was throbbing quite on its own now as she contemplated impaling herself on his great rod. Oh, yes. What a marvelous idea.

  James reached for her but she only leaned away from his hands and squeezed her own more tightly. He dropped back to the pillows with a blissful moan. “Do with me what you will, then, you wicked creature. I am in your hands.”

  Phillipa didn’t quite snicker, primarily because she was far too aroused for la
ughter. His shaft was beautiful in its rigid form, like a sculpture made solely for her enjoyment.

  If only for tonight.

  Slowly she rose to her knees and moved forward until the great ruby head nestled in her curls. She hesitated. Could she even accept him fully this way?

  “Use me,” he whispered. “Stroke yourself with me. It will help.”

  Phillipa braced one hand upon his massive chest and wrapped the other around the base of his shaft. Stroke? Where?

  He took himself in hand for a moment to show her. Oh, there. Oh, yes. The blunt hardness of him swept across her sensitive spot, making her quiver at the sensation. Again. Her cleft became slicker with every sweep, and every sweep became more and more delightful. Beneath her, James moaned aloud. His fists clenched in the bed linens in his effort not to interfere.

  “Oh God, Flip! Mount me now. Please!”

  His hoarse cry melted the last of her resistance. With the next sweep, she aimed him deeper and sank quickly onto him.

  Aching hot pleasure at the hardness of him within her. Sharp tight pressure at the size of him. It was a deadly mixture that threatened to steal her very thoughts. She rose upon him to ease the pressure. She sank upon him to increase the pleasure.

  More.

  Faster.

  Oh dear God, she was going to die from it! She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak, she could only rise and fall at her body’s whim as James twisted and groaned beneath her. His big hot hands came up to grasp her hips. She planted both her own hands upon the rock stability of his chest and together they plunged her even faster.

  Her breath was gone. Her mind was a blank. Her body was a white-hot ember.

  Suddenly James thickened within her still more. Beneath her, he stiffened. His grip became fierce on her hips. The almost-pain was too much. She burst into flame as his shaft began to pulse within her.

  Someone cried out, a high keening sound. Someone groaned deeply. She fell. It was a long, sweet slide down.

  She landed sprawling on James’s sweating chest, her trembling arms too feeble to support her any longer. Inside her, she felt him throbbing. It sent tiny shocks through her. She submitted to them weakly.

  With a final gusting breath, James relaxed beneath her. One big hand came up to stroke the short damp curls from her face. “You’ve an excellent seat,” he said faintly, his breath coming hard.

  She laughed then, with the little strength left to her. Draped limp upon his chest, she laughed away every tiny voice that wanted to wonder what lay ahead.

  She didn’t care one whit for tomorrow. In the middle of the night, in this bed, with this man, there was only now.

  Their skin cooled. Their breath returned. James shifted her to lie in the crook of his shoulder, her head still pillowed on his chest. She dozed to the great slow music of his heartbeat for a time.

  James did not sleep. He stared at the dim ceiling until the candle sputtered, near its end. Then he stroked his hand across one silken freckled cheek. “Phillipa? Flip?”

  She stretched sleepily. “Hmm?”

  “Be attached to me. Stay. I—would miss you.”

  She lifted her head from his chest and considered him with sober intensity. “You would miss me? I don’t know that our attachment is strong enough after all. To stay—feeling as I do about you—it would not do me well. Indeed, I think it would do me a great deal of ill.”

  “You are not making sense.”

  “And therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?” She sighed. “You don’t understand something that I cannot explain, for it defies explanation. Either one understands, or one does not. You do not. Therefore, I must go. I have obviously stayed too long already.”

  She sat up. He released her to watch her wrap the coverlet about her as she walked from the room. For a moment he pondered the meaning of her words.

  She’d only meant that it was late, that she should not stay alone with him in this room.

  Hadn’t she?

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The next morning, James was cursing himself for a fool. He’d made Phillipa an offer last night, yet he’d not used the magical words that would have convinced her. Now he was pacing the hall outside her room, waiting for her to emerge.

  Agatha approached him with a wrapped parcel in one hand and an apple in the other. Grinning mischievously, she offered it to him. “Want a bite? Mrs. Bell just sent a basket of them from Appleby.”

  James shuddered. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Aggie. You know the smell of those things puts me off my feed.”

  She took a large bite, grinning around her full cheeks as she chewed. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Jamie. So crisp and sweet—”

  Phillipa’s door opened. James turned toward it so swiftly that Phillipa stopped in surprise.

  “Good morning, James, Agatha. Was—was there something you wanted?”

  James slid a glance to his sister, hoping he could signal Agatha to leave them alone. Aggie’s eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Phillipa. Then she swallowed her bite of apple and gave him a small evil smile.

  “James and I have come to walk you down to breakfast, Flip.”

  “Oh. Yes, well, I’d be delighted.” She motioned behind her. “Robbie is still sleeping, James. Would you like me to wake him?”

  “No, but I—if I may?” She stepped aside to let him pass, but not so far that he couldn’t catch a whiff of her scent as he entered the room. That scent had left traces on his pillow and his bedding, allowing him to wake surrounded by her, though he woke alone.

  Robbie was sprawled with blessed awkwardness upon Phillipa’s bed. The covers were a tangle and the lad was snoring with a will. James grinned and reached down to smooth back a mussed lock of black hair. Robbie stirred, then opened his eyes a slit. “G’way. ’M sleepin’.”

  “Indeed you are, son. Do try not to snore the plaster from the ceiling,” James said with a soft laugh.

  “Gumf.” Robbie batted at the hand on his hair.

  James let him sleep, pausing only to drop a kiss on his son’s brow. Turning, he saw Phillipa and his sister watching him from the door. Agatha seemed very pleased indeed, but Phillipa appeared close to tears.

  “What is it, Flip?”

  She shook her head quickly. “It is only . . . very good to see the two of you together.”

  He smiled at her. “I could arrange for you to experience that sight for the rest of your days.”

  She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  Agatha rolled her eyes at him and muttered something that sounded like “About bloody time, you silly sod.” Then she stepped back through the open doorway, leaving James and Phillipa alone with the sleeping Robbie.

  James stepped close enough to take Phillipa’s hand. “Last night when I asked you to stay, I left out the most important part, didn’t I?”

  She bit her lip then. “Did you?”

  He tilted his head at her. “That’s why you refused, isn’t it?”

  She blinked a few times rapidly, then nodded. Raising her brilliant green gaze to his, she reached to stroke one finger across his jaw. “I wasn’t sure of what you wanted, I suppose. Will you tell me now?”

  Tell her? Suddenly, James had the distinct feeling that they were talking about two different things altogether. “I came to you this morning to beg your hand in marriage.”

  She slowly dropped her hand. “I see,” she said, seeming entirely unsurprised. “Why?”

  “Why? Because of last night and yesterday, and when you danced for me, of course! We have become lovers. I am a gentleman and you are a lady. After such intimacy, there is no option for us but marriage!”

  “Ah.” She withdrew her hand from his. “No, thank you very much.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She turned to leave the room. James caught her hand to stop her.

  “But convention merits—”

  “Convention go hang!” She pulled her hand away more violently this time. “I am bu
t twenty years, James. Marriage is for life. Would you condemn me to threescore years of existence with someone who cares not a whit for me?”

  “How can you say that? Of course I care for you!”

  Phillipa went very still, yet her heart began to race. “You do?” Could she have been wrong about his feelings? Did he love her after all?

  “And Robbie cares for you.” He smiled at her. That boyish grin on such a manly visage nearly melted her heart as it always did. “You have attachments, Miss Atwater, whether you like them or no.”

  Perhaps . . . perhaps she asked too much, too soon. Perhaps if she wed him, he could grow to love her as she did him. Phillipa stepped closer to him, feeling the warm solid pull of his presence. Perhaps she could teach him to love—

  “James!” Stubbs came trotting into the room from the hall, waving a paper and crowing. “We got ’im! That bloke Lady Winchell’s been writin’ to finally picked up them letters! Feebles is on the gimpy bugger’s trail right this minute!”

  Without hesitation, James dropped her hand to take the message from Stubbs. His eyes lit with unholy glee as he read it. Phillipa stepped back, unable to bear to stand too close to the flame of his obsession as it roared high.

  “We’ve got you now, you lying bitch.” James’s voice went ugly with hatred.

  Though she knew he referred to Lavinia, Phillipa still felt the burn of his venom. He had such passion for this woman, such a need. Phillipa had once heard that there was a fine line between love and hate and now she saw the truth with her own eyes.

  James left her standing there without so much as a farewell, his plea for her hand gone to ash in the fire of his fixation. Phillipa watched him hurry down the hall with Stubbs, heads together.

  “Is he goin’ out again?”

  The small voice came from the bed. Phillipa turned to see a pair of dear blue eyes peeping from the mess of bedding. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Robbie blinked. “I thought . . .”

  “As did I, darling.” She sighed. “As did I.”