After his death, Megaera had unwittingly reinforced this idea still further. At first she had been besieged by suitors. She was her father’s heiress; the Bolliet lands were in good heart. What could be more appealing than a beautiful, rich widow who was known to be willingly blind to her husband’s faults? In the beginning Megaera was both too sour from her first marriage and too positive that the moment she confessed she was really penniless, about to lose Bolliet, her current swains would melt away like spring snow. She should have had more faith in her own appeal. Among the men were a number who would have taken her gladly, paid off the mortgages, and made excellent husbands. But Megaera was in no mood then for experimenting with any man and turned all away, saying that she did not intend to marry again.
Once she had begun smuggling, she never gave the matter of marriage—or of men—another thought. Occasionally she was aware of a vague physical need, but usually she was too tired from her double life to feel desire when there was no man to stimulate it. Now, suddenly, as she took Philip’s hand and kissed his cheek, she was painfully aware of him as a male creature and a desirable one. Mrs. Edward Devoran would have thrust that feeling away and buried it. A lady could not desire the illegitimate son of a Breton smuggler, no matter how handsome his face or elegant his manners.
Before Megaera could withdraw into herself, she became aware of her surroundings as well as of Philip. At once, a weight of oppression rolled off her. Mrs. Edward Devoran could not consider a smuggler’s bastard, but for Red Meg he was a perfect match. She did not drop Philip’s wrist immediately, merely signed to John that he should get her pony. As the big man turned away Megaera opened her fingers and allowed her hand to slide down the back of Philip’s.
Philip was far from innocent where women were concerned, but his experience with ladies was limited. He avoided young marriageable girls like the plague, having never seen one with whom he would consider spending his life… Since he did not desire marriage, he feared to wake expectations that could cause pain, being genuinely kindhearted. He had had one affair with a married woman of his own class but had found it most unsatisfactory. She was lovely to look at, and her husband was such that Philip could understand and approve the lady’s desire for a lover. However, he had not enjoyed the sneaking, hiding and lying and had been repelled by the totally unnecessary revelations the “lady” had made. The last straw was when he discovered he was not her only stud.
Thereafter Philip had confined his attentions to the professionals who worked in bawdy houses. These came in a wide variety, from filthy, crude sluts who would do anything, to gracious “ladies” whom a man needed to woo as delicately—and much more expensively—than any duke’s daughter. Philip opted for the middle range—good-looking girls with enough veneer or refinement to be clean and refrain from any disgusting behavior but who were frank about their desires, both physical and financial. He had several favorites, who greeted him with crows of delight—for he was a strong, patient lover, and a generous one who nonetheless had proved that he was no chick for plucking. He would pay well for good service but could be neither gulled nor overawed.
The girls seemed to appreciate it, although Philip was too wise to question deeply what they thought. It was enough that several had said outright that, if he wanted sole possession, they would be willing. Philip had considered it with one or two of those who made the offer. It would be a little more expensive but a little more convenient in that he could be sure the girl would always be free when he wanted her. He had discovered, however, that he had no such inclination and did not mind at all that the girl he used on Monday would be performing for someone else on Tuesday. Nor did he care that a girl he asked for specifically might be busy. There was always another ready, and he preferred variety.
Accustomed to the straightforward advances of such young women, Philip might well have missed the significance of the delicate, suggestive touch of Meg’s fingers on the back of his hand. He did not, because he was already thinking along the same lines himself. Ever since he had made that teasing remark about importuning her, he had been thinking about her as a woman rather than as Pierre’s smuggling partner. And everything she had said and done had made her more desirable.
Long used to Leonie’s intelligence and practicality, Philip was enchanted by Meg’s business sense and quick understanding. One reason he had never considered marriage was his horror at the thought of being tied permanently to one of the giggling simpering misses presented as marriageable. When Meg had taken hold of his wrist, made him touch her, kissed him, and asked to be kissed, he understood there was no sexual significance to her actions. Nonetheless, a surge of desire had gripped him, stronger by far than any induced by the most blatant overtures of any light-skirts.
Thus, when the tips of Meg’s fingers slid over his hand, Philip shivered. The gentle touch affected him much as the “electric” fluid with which some of his friends at Oxford had been experimenting. His skin tingled and he felt the hair on his body rise. There was, too, a wash of heat in his genitals, but that, although more violent and demanding, he could deal with more readily than that subtle tingling. It was the latter which rendered him breathless and mute so that he could only stare down into Meg’s face and swallow hard, like a cursed fool.
Chapter Eight
The momentary awkwardness did Philip no harm with Megaera, who, as aware of him as he was of her, recognized his response. In fact she was much flattered because she knew—had even expected—she might be seized and mauled about as soon as she offered the invitation. Instead Philip seemed doubtful—not that he lacked eagerness, but he seemed to be uncertain she had intended an invitation. That was very pleasant. Megaera’s knowledge of casual relationships between men and women was virtually nonexistent, but from the maidservants complaints against Edward she assumed they were brief and violent. Her protest to Edward had brought the defense that the girls had “asked for it”. But when Megaera tried to discover how they did so, it appeared that a glance or a slight hesitation in leaving a room was sufficient.
Only when John brought her pony did Megaera begin to wonder whether Philip’s hesitation might have been owing to his fear of John rather than his respect for her. The discussion they had had about “importuning” came to her mind, and she bit her lip with vexation. By then Philip had fetched Spite, and they set out northwest over the sharply rising land to pick up the road that led to Bolliet. Both were silent. Megaera was wondering how she could test Philip’s reaction to her, and Philip was wondering whether it was fair to embark on a love affair with her when he would be gone in two weeks and might never return.
“This is where we leave the road,” Megaera said after about fifteen minutes. “Look carefully at that lightning-struck tree. Beyond it is a tall peak that shows between the two remaining living branches. You cannot see that now, of course, but it is clear in daytime. We go by west of the tree. There is the crest of a hill, but we go around, keeping on the low side. If you climb too high, you will find yourself lost.”
“I am lost already.” Philip laughed awkwardly. “I will never find it. This is not my kind of country at all, and a lot of my time has been spent in Town—I mean towns.”
Megaera peered at him through the dark when he said “Town”, recognizing it as an unintended reference to London. She put the odd remark aside. There were, as usual, many explanations, and she did not really care much about Philip’s background. He was the son of a friend and had proved himself, despite his origin and his trade, no enemy of her nation. The slight mystery merely lent additional charm to his elegant French-accented speech and manners and to his handsome countenance.
“Tomorrow you won’t need to come farther than the tree,” Megaera said. “That’s where I’ll meet you. If you need to come to the cave, I’ll send John to meet you in daylight. You won’t have any trouble.”
Philip frowned. “If it is so easily found, is it safe for you?”
“How do you mean, safe? The men all know it, of course.
They have to bring the goods here. It just isn’t possible for John and me to unload fast enough by ourselves. It’s safe enough from the local people. Many don’t know about it, but most are just scared to death of the cave. There are all kinds of stories about ‘creatures’ that live ‘under the hill’. But I’ve never seen or heard a thing. For all I know those rumors were started on purpose before I came here. If you mean safe from the revenuers—no place is safe if an information is laid. I move the stock as soon as I can. Most of the time the cave is empty. It’s just a place I can be reached—if you want to reach me.”
“Good!” Philip said emphatically. “But should I not see you safe to where you live? I mean—what good is my bringing you to the cave, if—”
I’ll stay here tonight,” Meg said abruptly “I have a bed and blankets and such. With John sleeping across the opening and a noise trap that will wake me, I’ll be safe enough.”
Her tone did not invite argument, and Philip rode on in silence. It seemed odd to him that the girl should be so secretive. Her looks were so distinctive, and her servant more so, that it didn’t seem possible she could hide her identity, but if that was the way she wanted it…
“I did not mean to pry,” he said softly. “Believe me, your safety is of great importance to me, and I agree that what I do not know I cannot tell. That is wise. I only wish to be sure this Bart person does not—”
“There’s no danger of that now,” Megaera remarked. “He wouldn’t try to get me at any time except when I go to meet Pierre. Silly, that’s the only time I carry any large sum of money.”
“Then why—“ Philip began and shut his mouth abruptly, flushing at his own stupidity.
Although he could not see it, Megaera had blushed hotly also. She had not meant to sound so blatantly inviting. Actually she had not intended any invitation, she had only answered with the direct truth, not thinking how it must sound. They rode on in awkward stillness, but fortunately the level area narrowed and Megaera kicked her pony into a trot for a few steps so that she could precede Philip. That made speech difficult and was an adequate excuse for the silence.
After her first appalled reaction, Megaera told herself it was all to the good. She was supposed to be coarse and common. She had thus done just what she believed such a woman would do. It was ridiculous to care what the bastard of a common fisherman smuggler thought of her. She was not Mrs. Edward Devoran, with a family name and honor to protect and noble standards to live up to. Now she was Red Meg, who wore an old, dirty, man’s jacket and breeches that would have caused Mrs. Edward Devoran to faint with embarrassment and horror. So what if Philip thought her a common whore! The defiant thought was accompanied by a rush of tears and a stuffed nose, which made Megaera sniff.
First mute with embarrassment at his gaucherie, Philip had remained silent because of confusion. There was so great a dichotomy between that delicate, thrilling touch on his hand and the crude suggestion of Meg’s remark. The two simply did not go together. The open invitation was the sort of thing one of the girls in a whorehouse might have said. The touch on his hand was something a shy girl might do to encourage a hesitant suitor.
Had that gentle touch been an accident? Philip could not believe it—partly because he didn’t want to believe it. There was something exciting, exciting in a clean, fine way, about the delicate invitation that he could not bear to discard in exchange for a crude pleasure he could find anywhere. But if the shy desire to encourage him was the truth, what could Meg’s purpose be in permitting him to accompany her, saying she intended to sleep in the cave had a bed there, and nail the whole thing together by admitting she knew Bart would not attack her on the homeward journey?
At that moment Philip heard the sad little sniffle. Perhaps if he had not heard, he would not have noticed the surreptitious gesture with which Megaera wiped tears from her cheeks. He did see, however, and the quick motion plus the sniff was so eloquent and so satisfactory an explanation that Philip nearly laughed with joy. He would have spurred Spite forward to comfort her at once, except that John was between them and Philip did not know the ground. He dared not go around in the dark where, if Spite put a foot wrong they might tumble over a drop. It might not mean much but a few bruises to Philip, but the horse could break a leg.
It did not matter. When they came to the cave, he could show that he understood. Philip was now sure that the three things had nothing to do with each other at all. Meg had allowed him to accompany her for several reasons—because Pierre had suggested it, because (he hoped) she enjoyed his company, because she had to show him where to meet her, and also because, however sure she was Bart would not try to attack her when she had no money, she was woman enough to be nervous. In this light the remark she had made was no more than the simple truth—a confession rather than an invitation.
Fool that he was to have hurt her. Obviously in her innocence she had not realized the implications of her simple statement until his crude half question had made them plain. He hoped the aftermath of her tears of shame would not be so much anger that she would not listen to his apology. Philip opened his mouth to call out, but at that instant John trotted around from behind Meg’s pony. Philip pulled up Spite as he saw Meg slide down from her mount. However, as he rose in the saddle to dismount also, Meg said coldly, “Don’t bother to get down. John is just going to look over the cave. Then I’ll tell him to take you back to the road.”
“Please do not be angry at my stupidity,” Philip said. “I will not dismount if you do not wish it, but allow me to say how sorry I am for offending you. I understand why you are angry, indeed I do. It was most ungracious to sound as if it were too much trouble for me to accompany you. I—”
“Oh, come down,” Megaera interrupted. “It’s stupid to talk at each other with you atop that horse.”
Philip swung his right leg over and came off the saddle. “Thank you. You are kind. Pierre would be furious if he knew how I had insulted you. He thinks the world of you, and you are so—so practical I forgot that knowledge that a thing is so in the head does not always quiet the heart.”
“What in the world does that mean?”
“Only that I should have understood that you were nervous, even if you did not believe Bart would try to attack when you had no money. I am such a fool…”
“I wasn’t angry about that,” Megaera said, laughing softly. “I was frightened half to death on the way here and very glad of your company on the way back. I—I misunderstood your—well, not your question but—but why you didn’t you finish asking it.”
Philip cleared his throat. “Meg, you are entirely too truthful and innocent,” he said with jocular disapproval. “I presented you with a perfect excuse for being angry with me. It cost me considerable pains to think it up. You are supposed to use it, not uncover the vulgar truth.”
To his surprise Meg did not, laugh but took a step closer and said, “I prefer the truth, and I thought the same as you but—but I didn’t intend it that way.”
“I know that. I have just told you so both roundabout and directly.” Philip took her hand as it came up to make a gesture.
“Yes, but—but I’m afraid that what put it into my mind…”
Her voice drifted away as Philip drew her closer by the hand he held. She did not resist, but he could feel her trembling and her eyes were as wide as they had been when she had come into The Mousehole.
“You need not fear me,” Philip murmured. “You must know I think you very beautiful, very desirable, but I would not… You have only to say, ‘Stop. Go away.’ I will obey you.”
“I have only just met you,” Megaera whispered.
It was too dark to see that she was blushing, yet Philip knew that. “Sometimes it is that way,” he said gently. “For me also—”
“Oh, a man—” Megaera’s voice was suddenly hard and she uttered a slight, bitter laugh. “A man looks and wants.”
“That is not what I meant,” Philip protested sharply. “I am no innocent. I am not l
ikely to confuse you with a woman who can be bought for a few shillings.”
Megaera did not reply. She knew any man who was not an idiot would have said the same. Nonetheless the words were a sweet balm and she told herself that there was a ring of sincerity in Philip’s voice. And, indeed, she did not hope or desire to make any profit out of their relationship. The trouble was that she could not think how to advance from the current position. Just then John emerged from the cave with the lantern, which he extended toward Megaera. She withdrew her hand gently from Philip’s grasp.
“What time shall I meet you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Oh, Lord! I have to get a carriage, and I think the nearest inn that has post horses will be in Penzance. Not before ten, Meg—which means, I am afraid, that we will not have much time for business when we reach Falmouth—not enough, anyway.”
“There must be at least one respectable hotel in which we could stay,” she said, and then her breath drew in sharply.
Philip began to laugh. “Meg, you must learn to think before you speak—or else not give way to second thoughts. I assure you I will not mistake your meaning another time. Yes, I am sure there will be decent hotels. After all, naval wives doubtless require respectable accommodation. I am glad you are willing to stay in my care. We can talk about the arrangements on the way. You look very tired.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, like a child, then turned to John and signed that he should lead Philip back to the road and that she was going directly back into the house.
It was convenient that Philip could not understand the gestures, but Megaera was aware that he was watching keenly. All too soon, if they spent much time together, she would not be able to count on her instructions to John being secret. She must remember that this was an entirely different man from the slow country clods with whom she was accustomed to dealing. She must also remember that, no matter how attractive, he was only Pierre’s bastard. Her secret must not be exposed. Probably Philip was honest, as Pierre was honest. Nonetheless the relationship between Red Meg and Mrs. Edward Devoran must never be known.
The Cornish Heiress (Heiress, Book Two) Page 14