The Cornish Heiress (Heiress, Book Two)

by Roberta Gellis

  The half hour’s quiet that Megaera procured while preparations for her departure were made did not do her any good. Her mind seemed unable to get beyond the need to flee. After that it was blank. No Philip, never again Philip—and no other man either. Now that she had seen him again all the others became nothing, pale shadows without substance, unable to raise a flicker of response in her. That pain was so fierce that she could not fix her attention on anything but getting away, hiding where she could express her grief and despair.

  Once ensconced in her coach Megaera noted that the wind had risen again but was coming from a different quarter. In the back of her mind she knew that the storm would be renewed in full force before morning. Slowly that thought made its way forward through her misery and connected with it so that Pierre came into her mind. Pierre had said Philip would come as soon as he could, but Philip had not come to her. Had Pierre misunderstood him? Was Pierre false also? Had he sent Philip to find a new partner? But that was going too far. Even in her disordered state Megaera knew it was ridiculous. One did not go to a masked ball at the Justice of Peace’s estate to seek out a prospective smuggler.

  Then there must be a cully-catching game afoot. Philip must intend to defraud some unsuspecting individual in some way. She had to stop him. He would be caught. Lord Moreton was no fool. But how was she to reach him? He had not tried—or had he? Suddenly Megaera straightened from the agonized huddle in which she had been sitting. Pierre was no fool either. If Philip had not intended to see her again, Pierre would not have mentioned him. She tried to remember exactly what Pierre had said, but the words had been swallowed up into her rage and shame. Philip had no way to reach her either, except by coming to the cave—and she had not been there for several days. Was there a message at the cave? Did he think she had abandoned him?

  Now Megaera leaned forward as if her tense position could drive the horses faster, but she managed to subdue the urge to scream at the coachman. She knew the man was moving the carriage as fast as he could with safety. The moon had been out, the winds having blown away the rain of the previous night, but new clouds had formed and intermittently obscured the moonlight. The drive seemed interminable, but ended at last. Then Megaera had to deal with Rose, who could not understand why her mistress was home so early. Finally, after pretending to take some laudanum to soothe the nonexistent pain in her back, she was free.

  Beyond caution, Megaera leapt out of bed as soon as Rose had left the room and locked the door. Ordinarily she waited until she was sure the maid was asleep. She knew it would offend Rose, who would feel obliged to peep in at her mistress to be sure all was well before she went to bed herself, but Megaera could not wait. She could soothe Rose tomorrow.

  Slipping through the door to Edward’s dressing room, she pulled off her nightdress, threw it into his wardrobe, and pulled on the clothing she wore for smuggling. She had only to lock Edward’s door behind her and no one could say she had ever been out of her bed. Megaera shivered a little as she entered the passage to the cave. This was the first time that John had not preceded her with a lantern. Sometimes she made the trip back from the cave alone, if John were still moving kegs, but there was light and warmth to welcome her return. Somehow it was disturbing to go toward the empty black immensity of the cave by herself.

  At least she did not need to go in the dark. Lanterns and flint and tinder waited ready in the passage just by the door. Trembling with cold and nervousness, Megaera had to try three times before she struck light. With each tiny failure her heart fell. As the sparks died they seemed a symbol that nothing would go right ever again. It seemed a warning for her to go back, that worse trouble waited for her. Still, pride—and a tiny, forlorn hope—would not let her give up. The third flame flickered, held, and Megaera went forward into the dark.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The first thing Megaera saw was the folded square of white on the table. The light from her lantern had seemed useless, swallowed up in the blackness, hardly piercing the dark enough for her to see to walk. But the letter leapt into her vision, beckoning to her in dimness where nothing else was visible. Megaera uttered a cry of joy and ran forward. She stumbled against a chair and nearly fell, and the brief pain and shock dampened her spirits a little. It may be only to say he is not coming, she told herself severely, but she could not believe that was true.

  Megaera was not disappointed. She had never had a love letter before. She read it, then reread it, then cried bitterly with joy, then read it still again. All she had absorbed from the three readings, however, was the first part—that Philip, loved her, missed her, needed desperately to see her, that he would come “despite hell or high water”. She sat contemplating that miracle until she was shaking with cold. Her heart might be light and warm now, but the cave was freezing. Naturally her next thought was of returning to her warm bed.

  It was then that she finally paid attention to the last sentence. “Tomorrow, after midnight,” the letter said. That meant Philip had come to the cave only yesterday and he would return tonight—of course, he must leave the ball before the unmasking so he would be here “after midnight”. Megaera felt for her watch, but in her haste she had not put it in her pocket. She did not dare go back to the house for fear she would miss Philip. Then she remembered the rising wind and ran to the mouth of the cave. Already the moon was obscured and the wind was much worse. There was just enough light for Megaera to see the leafless bushes near the cave entrance tossed and whipped about. Soon—too soon—the rain would begin, and it would be a heavy rain. Her heart sank. Philip would not come.

  Yet she could not force herself to go back to the house. Instead, she lit the braziers that she had brought to the cave so long ago to try to convince the smuggling gang that she lived there. The charcoal was damp from its long wait, but tending it gave her something to do and at last the wide, shallow pans began to burn steadily and give off some heat. Megaera hung over them, warming her hands and face. This far back in the cave one could scarcely hear the wind. For a time she tried to convince herself this meant the weather had improved, but she knew it was not likely.

  Against her will she was drawn to the entrance. It was bitterly cold away from the braziers, but it was not the cold that made Megaera shudder. Even if Philip wanted to come, he could not, she told herself. He would not be able to see in the driving rain that was half ice. It must be after midnight now. She had been a fool to wait. Slowly she started to the back of the cave again. She wouldn’t wait any longer. It was ridiculous to do so. In fact she was a fool to believe that letter. All those sweet words—they did not wipe out the harbor master’s daughter, and a cully-catcher must be a master of sweet, soothing words.

  She snatched the letter from the table where he had laid it so that it should not get soiled while she worked over the charcoal. She would throw it on the fire. Let it burn! But instead she opened it and looked hungrily at the words. “My love, my darling—at last I am here. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again…”

  Like a mesmerized bird, she could not pull her eyes away. Still reading, she sank down on the bed that had never been used and pulled the tattered blankets over her. Always short on rest, and exhausted by her own emotions, Megaera slipped asleep, still holding her letter.

  She dreamed of Philip and was light and warm and full of joy, but then she turned and he was gone. Before desolation could overcome her, she heard his voice far away. She ran, she reached out, but there was only his voice and fear tightened her throat and her body jerked with her effort to run faster—jerked her awake, but she still heard Philip calling.

  “Meg? Meg darling?”

  “I’m here,” she cried, struggling to throw off the blankets.

  “May I bring Spite in? It is dreadful out, and I do not think I can find—”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  She was free running toward him, then she gasped with shock as he disappeared. In the next instant she was laughing, realizing it was only that he had turned to pull Spite int
o the entrance and his black cloak and hat had blended into the dark. He drew the horse in, holding one hand outstretched to keep Megaera away.

  “Do not touch me, love,” he said, “I am all ice. Let me take off my cloak.”

  But by the time the words were out he had flung the garment to the ground and seized Meg in his arms, kissing her and squeezing her so hard that she gasped with pain. For a few minutes both were too immersed in their greeting to be disturbed by anything, but the gusts of wind and rain were whipping in through the entrance and Spite, being at a loss for what to do, nuzzled his master affectionately and lipped at his hair. Philip pulled his head away, which broke the kiss, and Megaera realized the wet from his clothing was soaking hers.

  “You are soaked through,” she cried.

  “I must dry Spite,” Philip said simultaneously.

  “I’ll get some hay.”

  Megaera recognized the need to care for the animal, and she went carefully to the left, feeling her way in the dark, to where hay for the ponies was stored. Between deliveries the ponies were kept distributed in various barns, from which John fetched them during the day before a pickup or delivery was made. The hay was kept in case Pierre should be delayed, so that the animals would have something to eat and John would not have to take them back to their barns. Philip had Spite’s saddle off and the bit out of his mouth by the time Megaera had dragged a bundle of hay over. Some they spread on the floor and some they used in handfuls to wipe the horse down. Finally Megaera got one blanket from the bed, and they threw that over him and tied him well away from the windy entrance.

  At first Megaera had been so enraptured by Philip’s greeting and by the fact that he had come through such terrible weather to see her that she could think of nothing else. As she helped make Spite comfortable, however, questions began to rise in her mind. Was it so noble of Philip to come? Where else did he have to go? Obviously he could not stay at Moreton Place after the unmasking. Was she no more than a convenience? A body to warm his cold bed until he should move on?

  The activity of drying Spite had kept them both relatively warm, but now Megaera shuddered. Philip turned to her at once. “Go back where it is warmer, my love,” he said. “I am nearly finished. I will come in a minute.”

  Ordinarily Megaera would have protested that he must be as cold or colder than she. Her thoughts were so depressing, however, that she retreated to the braziers, aware suddenly that she still had not seen Philip nor he her; except as a dark blur. Would his first memory on seeing her be of the masked woman at Moreton Place? Perhaps he had put the encounter out of his mind, believing that he had not really remembered how she looked. If so… She had to think of something! She could not let a cully-catcher, a smuggler’s bastard… Bastard! That was it! Her story, full and complete, sprang into her mind.

  The moment Philip walked into the lamplight, it sprang right out again. He was blue and shaking with cold. She pushed him toward the brazier, and he stretched his hands to it, unable to speak because he had his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. As Megaera urged him closer to the heat, she remembered how wet he was.

  “You will have to take off all your clothes,” she said, “and I will dry them.”

  “I will freeze,” he protested. “I am freezing now, but naked—“

  “You can get into the bed,” Megaera urged, pointing past the glow of light.

  He had forgotten. He looked toward it, grinning broadly, his eyes alight. Without a word more he ripped off his coat and began to unbutton his shirt. What he thought was so obvious that Megaera flew into a rage, its intensity in direct proportion to her own violent desire to do just what Philip believed she had suggested.

  “You, not I,” she exclaimed explosively.

  Philip paused in his unbuttoning but it was too cold to stop and he finished undressing in haste, got into bed, and drew the remaining blankets around him before he spoke.

  “I am sorry to be so importunate, Meg,” he said but his eyes were still laughing. He clearly thought she was offended because he seemed to enjoy the fact she had been indelicate.

  In fact that was a good part of Megaera’s fury, until she recalled that she really had something to be angry about. “If that is what you want,” she spat, “you should have stayed in France with the harbor master’s daughter.”

  “Harbor master’s daughter?” Philip echoed.

  “Don’t you dare pretend innocence to me,” Megaera shrieked. “You cully-catcher! Well, I am no silly Meg for your catching. I would not see a dog freeze in weather like this, but I wouldn’t get into bed with it to warm it either.”

  At the moment Philip had echoed Megaera’s phrase, he honestly had not known what she meant. In the next moment, of course, everything was quite clear. That idiot Pierre must have told her about Désirée! But he had said virtually nothing about Désirée to Pierre. And why was he being called a cully-catcher? But that hardly mattered. Philip recognized the sparkling eyes, the flushed face, the lips drawn back in a feral snarl. He had seen them all before. Meg was jealous! She loved him!

  “But Meg—“ he said, making his face solemn with an effort.

  “Are you going to deny you slept with that slut?” Megaera raged.

  “No.”

  “What?” Megaera screamed. “You don’t even deny it?”

  “No,” Philip repeated quietly. “I would be a fool to lie to you, whom I love, about something so unimportant.”

  “Unimportant?” Megaera gasped.

  The wind had been taken out of her sails not only by Philip’s admission but by his manner. He was quite unembarrassed. Nonetheless he did not look as if it were because he did not care what she thought. His expression was both eager and concerned.

  “Perhaps that is the wrong word,” he said before she could work up a rage again. “It was very important at the time. I dared not behave out of character.” He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Would you rather have me pure and dead or sullied and alive?”

  “I don’t believe you,” Megaera cried. “That’s only a story. You aren’t Don Juan. You don’t need to seduce a girl to remain in character.”

  “But I did not seduce her! The idea never entered my mind.” That was not the complete truth. Philip had at one time considered seducing Désirée, but not after his plan to penetrate the dockyards had worked so well. “How should a young, newly appointed officer of the Douane dare try to seduce the harbor master’s daughter?” Philip went on convincingly. “Think, Meg I was there for business, not for playing around with girls.”

  “Some men find that always to be their main business,” Megaera snapped resentfully.

  “Well, I do not!” Philip snapped right back. “And you should know it. I would have given years off my life to stay here with you in November, but I have my—business.” Philip had nearly said duty and had stopped, forgetting that he had already used that word to Meg in Falmouth.

  Megaera only noticed the hesitation, and it sparked her anger again. “Are you telling me,” she asked sardonically, “that the girl seduced you?”

  “No,” Philip replied and laughed. “A seduction it was not.” Then, involuntarily, he shuddered. “It was really dreadful, Meg, all at the same time funny, pitiful, and disgusting.”

  Although the lamplight did not reach the low bed, it was full on Philip’s face as he sat up. Megaera stared at him. The amusement was gone from his eyes. He was not trying to convince her of anything right now; he was remembering—and it was not with pleasure. She came toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her.

  “It was dreadful,” he repeated. “She was younger than you, I think, no more than a girl and—and she had nothing, no feeling at all. I could have been a hunchback or a drooling idiot. So long as what was between my legs was the right size and shape. I was not a man to her, only a—a thing to provide a physical sensation. There is a shameful name for it, but I do not think you would even know the word, my darling.”

  Unthinking
, Megaera sat down beside him on the bed. He took her hand, but there was nothing sensual in the gesture. It was a seeking for comfort and reassurance.

  “God knows,” he went on, “I am not pure. I have paid many women for physical pleasure, but even so I—I was aware of them as women. And I have never been ashamed. There was nothing of which to be ashamed. I enjoyed my partners and I tried to be sure that they enjoyed me. We talked and laughed. Perhaps there was no deep feeling between us—well, there could not be when I knew the girls would do the same with another man the next night—or even as soon as I left them… He sighed. ‘‘I should not be talking to you about such things, Meg.”

  “I know they exist,” Megaera said quietly, “and I never thought you were a—a virgin. It’s odd to say that about a man, but it must be true at some time in his life.”

  “Not for long in mine,” Philip admitted, smiling wryly. Then he shook his head. “But I have never had an experience like that—never!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  So, although Philip was not in general a man who kissed and told, he did describe to Megaera the whole episode with Désirée, ending, “It was completely outside my experience, and that is not small. She did not know how to kiss; she did not want me to caress her or tell her she was pretty or that she had pleased me; she did not wish to please me! Of course, it might have been my fault. She might have sensed somehow that I was not really willing—”

  “Now that’s going too far,” Megaera interrupted. She was convinced of the truth of Philip’s tale, and as her jealousy washed away her sense of humor was restored. “Now you are just pandering to my vanity to make me forgive you.”

  Philip’s startled expression was proof enough that he had not even been thinking of that. Megaera was flattered. Whether it had been true at the time or not, Philip honestly now thought that he had been unwilling. Then he grinned at her.

  “Oh, my body was willing. Be reasonable, Meg. I had not looked at a woman since I left you. Well, I am not used to so much—to such restraint. I was, in fact, hard up. I am now, too,” he added plaintively. “I have been a model of faithful celibacy since my—my rape by that repulsive girl.” He did not say he had been too busy and too tired to think of women; that would not have been politic.