“No, Philip. If I had a child in wedlock, it would have a claim to the title, everything my father cared for.”
They looked at each other in perfect honesty. “Yes. You’re right, of course.”
She could live with that. She had been afraid he wouldn’t want her, would consider her, as Geoffrey had said, soiled goods, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. His kisses were sweet, everything the possessive Geoffrey’s weren’t; his lovemaking considerate and tender until passion took him and he could take her with him.
With relief she kissed him back, and put her arms around him, running her hands over his smooth strong back. He drew back and looked at her. “But if you’re not with child, will you marry me then?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“Soon?”
“Yes Philip, as soon as you like.”
“I’ll hold you to that. I love you, Lucy.” He paused. “Do you know how often I’ve said that to you?”
“No.”
“Every time I saw you, in my heart.”
“Then I have a lot of catching up to do.” She put up a hand to touch his face. He moved his face into her hand and kissed the palm. “I love you, Philip. I know it, perhaps I always have.”
He swept her up then, making her gasp in surprise and excitement as she felt him harden against her leg, and kissed her deeply, with the passion only a man in love is capable of. She moved her leg around him, so she was sitting astride him, and he pulled her up, his hands under her delectable bottom. It was easy for him to slide inside her then. She kept her eyes open this time, watching him look at her in that special way, feeling his warmth, his humanity.
They took their time. Enough they were together, as one. His movements were slow and his gaze never left her face. She found she had more control this way and moved with him, hearing his delighted ‘mmm’ of pleasure as she did so. She leant forward, smiling, to kiss him languorously on the mouth, and then leant back so she could watch him loving her. He obliged. He looked at her, touched her, took her breasts into his mouth, ran his tongue deliciously over her nipples. The combination of sight and sensation sent her into a spiral of rhapsodic bliss, the feeling of him inside and outside her body, loving her, urged her to forget, to remember only this, only him.
Lucy looked down at his dear face, and saw her joy reflected there, knew she had made the right decision. This man was made for her and she for him. “Philip - Philip my love, my only love, my dear heart!” She broke off with an “Ah —” of pure sensation when he pushed hard inside her as a response to her words, to bring her as much pleasure as he was feeling, to love her to the extent of his being. He pulled her down for a kiss, and she trembled, cried out as another peak hit her, to be followed by another, until she was helpless in his arms. Then he drove hard inside her, feeling her silken welcome, before he too felt his passion rise and then with a convulsive jerk he drew out of her and let his essence go to waste outside her body. They seemed for a short moment, an eternity of moments, like one person, one feeling.
They held each other, drowning people clinging to the nearest driftwood, for what seemed like a long time, not moving. He stayed inside her until he came to himself and tenderly lowered her down to the bed, kissing her forehead, her nose and her lips. “Sweet love. You should rest. Then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Lucy awoke, she was cocooned by the bedcovers and alone. Startled, she looked for her lover and smiled when she saw him sitting on the chair by the fire. He was dressed, and had obviously been reading the newspaper because it lay in an untidy heap at his feet. They looked at each other, smiling, until Lucy began to feel foolish. She sat up and threw back the covers. She had no compunction about her nakedness in front of him, but she glanced over at him and gloried in his softened gaze when he looked at her. His voice came out low and a little hoarse. “Much as I hate to say it, you should put something on. They’ll be bringing dinner to us soon.”
“Are there any clothes for me?” She only remembered that her blue evening gown had been ruined, torn from her by her tormentor.
“Potter bought you some. They’re not what you’re used to; off the peg, suitable for a lady of modest means.”
“Well I am of modest means for the time being,” she said practically and went to see what she had. She found three gowns, and chose a morning gown of sprigged muslin, made high to the neck and the wrists, plainly made. Pulling out a chemise and a petticoat, she was soon dressed, only needing help with the buttons at the back.
He kissed her neck when he had done. “I’ll be delighted to unfasten them for you later.”
She turned in his arms so she could embrace him properly. “I’ll be delighted to let you.”
He looked troubled. “Lucy - are you sure? We can arrange it so it seems you’ve never been here, and we’ve never been to each other what we have. I think I’ve found a way, if you’re willing, to hide you in perfect propriety until your marriage contract is over. Once you pass the date on the contract, you’ll be free again, but until then you’re bound to marry — him. Don’t feel obliged, in any way.” He paused and studied her face for any response. “You’ve given me more than I ever expected - and I don’t expect any more than you’re prepared to give me, but I would love the right to care for you, to face your mother and Sanders at your side.”
She smiled. “Do you think I didn’t mean it? I love you, Philip, I know it now. It’s not gratitude, or anything else, just love. I want to have your children, to know I can care for you too.”
“Oh my darling!” Overcome, he kissed her tenderly. “I think it’s all I ever wanted. Just a little while longer then, and I’ll make you mine.”
“I think you’ve already done that,” she pointed out.
He laughed. “Not completely, not in law. But I will, I promise.”
She smiled, traced the contours of his face with a gentle finger. “I don’t care now. Let them say what they want to.”
He caught her hand and held it fast. “Very flattering, sweetheart, but not what you would be happy with in the long run, and not what you deserve. We have two conundrums - how to hide you safely and how to teach Sanders a lesson. I think I’ve solved the first one, but short of calling him out, I don’t know how the second is to be achieved yet.”
To her astonishment Lucy found she no longer cared. Not today, at any rate. “Leave him. He’ll find his own doom. You said he was in debt - well then, let his debtors take him.”
He thought for a moment, his eyes absently staring at her face. “So long as he doesn’t settle on another girl like you, perhaps that may be the answer. But he can keep going for some time, and that plantation of his might yet turn itself round. Sugar is an immensely valuable crop. If he can bring one crop to fruition, he could be solvent once more.” He sighed. “But that is the least of it. If he does to someone else what he did to you - he might kill someone someday.”
Lucy knew he was right. They would have to do something to stop Geoffrey doing to another heiress what he had done to her. She leant forward and kissed Philip very gently. “It does you credit, my love, but let’s take one step at a time. What’s your plan for me?”
He smiled, brought back to the present. “Why I didn’t think of it before I’m not certain. I think seeing you dressed like that reminded me of someone, and then I remembered. You know my Mama was a City girl?”
“Yes of course. My Mama never stopped talking about it.”
He grimaced at the mention of Lady Royston. “I know. She drove us apart with that. Well, my friend Edward Wenlock has been mightily taken with one of my cousins. My Mama was one of a large brood of siblings, and they all had children of their own, so I’m possessed of a quantity of cousins.” This intrigued Lucy, who had only ever had her mother, and her Aunt Honoria. “I go to see them regularly, and sometimes Edward comes with me. There’s one family - four girls and a boy, my Aunt Margaret’s brood. I did think of bringing them into society. I might not be able to ge
t past the old cats at Almack’s but there are other places.”
Lucy gurgled, trying to suppress a laugh when she thought what her mother would say. Even marrying Philip would pall before that; at least Philip was a belted earl.
Philip looked at her in amusement, perhaps realising its source. “Well they are an extremely hospitable family. My Uncle Horace is a mercer, owns several shops in major cities, and is probably as well off as I am. If I introduce you as a poor Moore relation, someone who always wanted to see the town, but couldn’t, you could stay with them with perfect propriety until I can carry you off as my bride.” His expression softened, he murmured, “My bride,” and kissed her again, with some passion.
With regret, Lucy ended the kiss, anxiety clouding her happiness. “But so close. In the same city, won’t Mama be bound to find me?”
“Different circles,” he answered. “She’ll never look there. You’re her daughter, and she wouldn’t expect you to look twice at City folk. And I can visit. I’ve increased my visits to that particular household recently, in deference to Edward, so I can continue instead of changing my habits, which might be suspected.” He paused. “I confess, I wanted a scheme where I could see you, not be cut off from you. This way I can visit.”
“But show no preference.” she reminded him, a little frown creased between her eyes. “Can you do that?”
“I did it before. Did you guess how I felt about you before these last few days?”
“No,” she was forced to admit.
He laughed. “Then can you dissemble?”
“I can try. But if I had a crush on you it wouldn’t be considered so very strange, would it? And as far as everyone knows, Lady Lucy Moore holds her cousin Lord Royston in dislike, so it wouldn’t be a suspicious thing to do.”
He laughed again, and released her, only to take her hand and lead her to the chair by the fire.
They spent a very enjoyable afternoon concocting a character for Miss Fiona Moore, as they had decided to call her. Miss Moore would have come from Scotland, and this would be her first visit to the Metropolis. However, when her mother was taken ill at St. Albans she decided she would go no further. They decided that her mother was a hypochondriac, so there was no need to worry about her illness. When they sent a message to Philip, saying that unfortunately they were returning home, he offered to take Fiona to his cousins and her distant relative, his Aunt Lucy, knowing how much his cousin Fiona had looked forward to her first visit to the Metropolis. Mrs. Moore was only too relieved to return home.
The discussion had its serious side, for if they were to be believed, Fiona Moore had to have her own life, but it meant Lucy could spend a delicious afternoon sitting on Philip’s lap by the fire. They held each other, talked and laughed, exchanged endearments and became ever more comfortable.
When the landlady came in to set the table for dinner, Lucy jumped up blushing, only to receive a look of maternal approbation. As usual, the setting up of the table was accompanied by a torrent of conversational on-dits. “Such a pretty pair of turtle doves as you are.” She seemed not to know about the indelicacy of making personal remarks. “I said as soon as you crossed the threshold you was newly-weds, and wasn’t I right?” Lucy nodded, her colour deepening. “I’m so glad to see you’ve got over your indisposition madam, and your husband has been so attentive I’m sure it must be a pleasure to be ill.” Lucy didn’t look at Philip; afraid he might make her laugh. “And well out of the way here. No one to disturb you. I hope we’ve been discreet, but there are other things afoot.”
“Really?” said Philip. It was all the encouragement she needed.
Folding her powerful arms under her magnificent bosom, today beflowered with an Indian cotton, Mrs. Tilsley proceeded to spread her latest confidence. “Two men came this afternoon, sir, to ask if I had seen a lady in distress. Now from what they described she was a lady indeed, fine clothes and jewels, far above our touch, if you don’t mind me saying so sir.” She paused very briefly and deliberately scanned Lucy in her simple gown with no jewellery or anything grand about her.
Lucy stood still, frozen to the floor. All her fears came back when she remembered what her mother would do to her if she found her. And Geoffrey. She felt Philip’s hand slip around her waist and leant into him gratefully. The landlady continued to tell them her news. “Now we get all sorts here, sir, all respectable but nothing like that. They were describing Quality, the cream. Who else would be able to afford a large sapphire pendant and a gown from Madame Cerisot’s? So who, I thought to myself, could it be? And why should she run, alone with no one to help her? When I asked them they didn’t explain a thing, not a thing, but just kept asking. So I’ve been looking at the papers, and there’s three young ladies it could be.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know enough about the aristocracy to even venture a guess,” Philip said.
Mrs. Tilsley couldn’t resist an opportunity to show her knowledge. “Well then, there’s Miss Horatia Greene. She’s always running off, by all accounts, not quite right in the head. But I thought she was a blonde, and they described a lady with dark hair. Then there’s Lady Jane Sigismund. She’s dark, and the rumour is she’s run off with her lover, a tutor no less. Then there’s Lady Lucy Moore.” Lucy steeled herself not to flinch, and to keep the faint, interested smile pinned to her face. “She’s supposed to have gone to the country after a chill, but she’s getting married soon, and pretty strange it is that her mother didn’t go with her. I thought there was something not right there, when I read it this morning, and one of the less respectful papers says she’s done a bunk. Oh, we get all the papers here,” she explained, when she saw Philip’s face darken in a frown, “we need to for our customers. You never know what tastes people have.”
Philip was worried that someone had guessed. They could only hope it was one of the less salubrious publications that no one believed anyway. “So the poor lady is running about London, all on her own.” exclaimed the lady. “It’s to be hoped she won’t be dragged out of the river one day.” Lucy shivered, and felt Philip’s responsive, reassuring hug. If it wasn’t for him it might have come to that, she reflected.
“It’s probably just a rumour,” Philip said casually. “You know what these hacks are.”
Mrs. Tilsley smiled, a creampot smile. “Just what I thought. No, Joanne, the beef goes at the head of the table.” Distracted at last by her duties she gave them an apologetic look. “So hard to attract suitable staff these days. I think they are all off marrying soldiers or such.”
Lucy agreed with a murmur and moved towards the table which was now set. Philip pulled her chair back for her, and their stout hostess sighed in sentimental reminiscence, but fortunately didn’t start off again.
“Thank you,” said Philip firmly, and the landlady and her two minions left the room.
Lucy looked at Philip with the scared-rabbit expression he’d hoped to dispel. “Don’t concern yourself, my love,” he said. “There are bound to be rumours. And if they get anywhere near you, we’ll move on. It’s only a month, after all.” She still looked apprehensive, so he added, “And if we have to, we’ll face them. We’ll do it together. You will not marry Sir Geoffrey now, if I have to kill him first.” That was a new worry, but one he didn’t choose to dwell upon at the present time.
The meal was convivial, perhaps the most pleasant meal she had ever eaten. The food was plain but well cooked; only two courses but they enjoyed both hugely, though neither partook overmuch. Philip toasted Lucy until she blushed rosily to the roots of her hair, then he laughed and got up to kiss her. He sat down again and they finished one bottle of wine, and started on another. Their talk was of many things, books they enjoyed, people they knew, their childhood, and the table had been cleared again and the candles lit before she thought of anything else.
“We’ll have to leave here soon,” Lucy said regretfully. “I’m well enough to move now, and if we don’t do something, we’ll have spent too long here to cover it up.�
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“Of course my other plan,” he murmured, “is to take you into the country and spend a month making love to you, but that would compromise you beyond saving and you’d never get vouchers for Almack’s again.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t seem as important as it once was.”
“In the scheme of things, it isn’t important at all, but I don’t want to give anyone the excuse to snub you. I think we’ll play it safe.” He looked at her for a moment; her face softened by candlelight and the flickering light of the fire, and then seemed to come to himself again. “So tomorrow I’ll go out and buy whatever you need in the way of clothes and such, and then go and visit my cousins. Do you trust me to choose for you?”
“Can you? Won’t a gentleman buying such things arouse curiosity, attention?”
“I’ll think of something,” he said, but wouldn’t look at her when he said it.
Lucy laughed suddenly. “Presents for your mistress. That’s it, isn’t it?” He shook his head but had to agree with her. “But I am your mistress,” she pointed out, “so it’s very appropriate.”
“Oh no. You’re never that, Lucy my love. Much, much more than a mere mistress could ever be. We were friends first, and now lovers, and soon - man and wife.” He spoke the last words softly, as though he didn’t wish to tempt Providence voicing them. She reached across from where she sat to take his hand. He had insisted she take the only upholstered chair in the room while he sat near her on one of the two mismatched dining chairs the room held. “Lovers will do for now,” she said, and went willingly when he drew her to her feet, into his arms.
“Then let’s make the most of tonight. It will probably be our last for some time.”
***
Lucy woke up the next morning in Philip’s arms. He must have woken up before her, because he was lying quietly, watching her. She smiled and stretched up to kiss him. “Another month and we can do this as often as you like,” he said.
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