The Cornish Heiress (28 page)

Irritated, Philip tossed down his wine, undressed, and went
to bed. It took him a long time to fall asleep, and he had some peculiar dreams
when he did. One in particular was so frightening that it woke him, but when he
recalled what he had been dreaming he laughed aloud. Désirée had been following
him, invisibly stalking him through the streets. He knew it was she, although
he could never catch even a glimpse of her, and a sense of horror had grown in
him. It was particularly weird because he had no feeling that harm was
intended—at least not the kind of harm that comes from knives or guns. It had
been—it had been as if she intended to—to
eat
him. Philip shook with
mirth.

The laughter lightened his mood and he slept more soundly,
but by then there was little left of the night and he woke late and needed to
hurry over his washing and shaving. He cut himself, too, cursing the French
razors that Pierre had given him to replace his own fine English pair. He had
some trouble stopping the bleeding and could only be thankful that the cut was
under his chin and would not show. Still, he grumbled to himself that if
Bonaparte could use English razors, as it was rumored he did, there must be a
supply of them in the country. By the time Philip had cleaned himself up and
changed his shirt he was dreadfully late. He did not stop for breakfast,
rushing along the streets as fast as he could walk. He never gave a thought to
whether or not he was followed, and could concentrate on nothing but how late
he was.

His breathless and apologetic arrival dispersed the gloom on
the faces of the two young ladies as soon as he assured them the delay was only
owing to having overslept. “I am so sorry,” he repeated. “It was foolish of me
not to tell the landlord to have me called, but I went to bed so early it did
not occur to me that I would not be awake at dawn. I—I did not sleep well.” At
that point Philip stopped abruptly, realizing be could not explain why he had
not slept.

“It does not matter at all,” Désirée said, “as long as you
are here now.”

She smiled at him, and Philip swallowed. It was obvious that
there was no need at all for him to explain why he had not slept. Monsieur Fresnoy’s
“innocent” daughter had leapt to the right conclusion, and in her father’s
absence did not try to hide her knowledge. The only thing she had not
understood was who had generated Philip’s discomfort. But thoughts of Meg had
not caused all his discomfort; the look that accompanied Désirée’s innocuous
words reminded Philip very acutely of the predatory follower in his dreams. Of
course, separated from the association with the unfeminine and doubtless
unsexual follower in the street the previous evening, the impression Philip
received this time was far from horrifying.

The drive was rather long, but it was enlivened in several
ways. Désirée insisted on sitting forward, although Philip protested vehemently
if briefly before accepting the arrangement. He might have been impatient about
verbal polite prevarication when he was younger but he had always been
protective of women. The forward seat of a carriage was far less comfortable.
The movement of the horses and the bumping over rutted roads tended to jolt
anyone seated there toward the rear seat. Depending on the condition of the
road, it might take considerable strength to maintain one’s position.

At first Philip did not understand why Désirée would hear no
argument against her taking that uncomfortable position. Politeness would not
permit her to allow her friends to sit there, but it was common for any male,
even a guest, to sit forward when the other occupants of the carriage were
female. However, Désirée was adamant and Philip yielded, thinking it was more
reasonable to change position with her when she became uncomfortable than to
argue. Before that, having seen a servant carry a picnic basket into the
carriage, Philip confessed he had had no breakfast. It would be easier to eat,
he thought, when he did not need to hold on with one hand or brace himself
against being flung into the arms of the girls opposite.

That idea passed through his mind without his realization
that Désirée intended to fall into his lap—which would have proved a sad lack
of deviousness in Philip’s thinking processes if Désirée had known of it. She,
however, accepted his protest as polite rather than meaningful and smiled on
him while he ate, thinking that it was delightful to have met a young man who
understood her without explanation. This lack of comprehension of each other’s
intentions might have led to an awkwardness had not the terrible condition of
the road leading to Ambleteuse provided a clarification.

The first bumps precipitated Désirée into Philip’s lap. He
clutched her instinctively; she clutched him back. Philip was aware of soft,
plump breasts and well-padded hips. Without letting go he inquired anxiously
whether she was hurt—but he was not such a fool as to offer to exchange seats.
After a moment he restored Désirée to her position. Jeannine, gazing fixedly
out of the window, recommended that he look to the left where a few hundred
yards from the road the cliff fell away into the sea. It
was
a
magnificent view. Philip had just enough time to remark upon it before Désirée
was bounced into his arms again.

As Jeannine had not turned her head and was commenting quite
loudly about how she could never tear her eyes from this breathtaking prospect,
Philip took advantage of his own “breathtaking” opportunity and kissed Désirée
before replacing her on the forward seat. Far from protesting at the “outrage”
done her, Désirée looked, rather hurt at the briefness of Philip’s “insult”.
Therefore, the next time opportunity knocked, Philip no longer hesitated about
flinging wide the door. He swung his legs aside, took the lady into his lap,
and kissed her at leisure. She responded with an enthusiasm but with a lack of
finesse that left Philip still unsure of how far he would be able to go.

Under the circumstances Philip was stunned for a few minutes
after they got down from the carriage. There was nothing immediately wrong. The
house and grounds were typical of the
haute bourgeoisie
, well cared for,
spacious, and dignified. However, the “aunt” who met them in the parlor after
they had been admitted by a servant was the kind of aunt Philip knew very well
indeed. In fact she was no more nor less than a high-class procuress. French or
English, the speech and manner were unmistakable.

Involuntarily Philip stiffened. However naughty Désirée and
Jeannine might be, this was no place for them. Girls of decent family simply
did not… But before the thought could finish, a young man, also in uniform, had
rushed past Jeannine’s “aunt” and caught Désirée’s friend in his arms. It was
immediately apparent why Jeannine had been so obliging in the carriage, but
Philip still suspected that neither girl understood to what kind of a house
they had come.

The question that flicked through Philip’s mind was whether
it would be worse to tell them or to leave them in ignorance. In the next
moment that answered itself. This was not the first time the girls had been
here. Jeannine, at least, was very much at home. Her relationship with the
young man who had greeted her so passionately seemed well established, and soon
Philip realized she
did
know where she was. That reduced his
responsibility to explaining to Désirée as soon as they were alone. This was
not long delayed. Jeannine and her Georges disappeared even more promptly than
a hired whore and her client. Philip was shocked. He was about to protest, when
the “aunt” returned and invited them to accompany her, but Désirée rose so
eagerly that he had no chance. On second thought, it was a better idea. Closed
into privacy he could explain without fear of interruption or denial.

The first check to Philip’s noble intentions was his
surprise at the size and elegance of the suite of rooms. The second was the
avidity with which Désirée flung herself into his arms. It would have taken
cruel force to thrust her away. Philip had to kiss her, and he was distracted
by his own unsatisfied appetite. She was a very pleasant armful. Eventually
realizing that he must explain at once or it would be too late, Philip detached
himself.

“Désirée,” he said, after clearing his throat, “your friend
has misled you, I fear. The woman who lives here cannot be her aunt—at least…

“No, of course not,” Désirée replied. “I know this is not
her aunt’s house. It is Georges’s doing, and it is not really wrong. They are
married, Georges and Jeannine. It is—their parents would not hear of the match,
so they had a civil marriage. It was some stupid quarrel from many years ago.
Of course, if Jeannine gets with child, the old people will have to give in.
But to get with child, she must find a time and place to be with Georges.”

“I see. But Désirée—”

“Do not tell me it is wrong for me to come here. I thought
you understood. I desire the same pleasure Jeannine has.”

“Your husband will give you that, Désirée,” Philip said,
choking down both disappointment and a desire to laugh.

“I have no intention of having a husband,” Désirée said
coldly. “Do you think I am such a fool I do not know when I am well off? With
Papa I can do as I like—always. Why should I give myself to a man who will
think he has the right to tell me what to do, use my property as his own, tell
me what I can spend of my own money—and everything else, including how often to
breathe.”

For a moment Philip stared at her openmouthed. “You have a
point,” he said, and then, “but a husband may be as fond as a father, and to
yield up your—your—”

“Jewel of virtue?” Désirée laughed at him. “That is lost
already.”

Suddenly Philip understood why Désirée had been so obliging
as to accompany Jeannine. No doubt if he had not been available, Georges would
have brought along a friend, perhaps a different one each time. Well, if that
were true, there was no need to deny himself, Philip thought. He drew her into
his arms again, kissing her, opening a way between her teeth with his tongue.
The fashions of the times being what they were, he did not need to undress
Désirée to get at her breasts. She seemed surprised, almost impatient, when he
began to caress them, although she soon sighed and began to press his head more
tightly into her bosom.

Delicately Philip began to unhook her dress. Unable to wait,
she pulled loose and removed it herself. Philip was startled and slightly
repelled. The sensation did not increase but became mixed with lust when he
realized she was not wearing anything underneath. Her pelisse had concealed her
before they entered the house, and he had been too troubled to notice once he
had met Jeannine’s “aunt”. It was a nice enough body, although coarser than
Meg’s, but it was flaunted like the commonest whore’s. Without more ado Philip
stripped, but he was disturbed. This girl might not be a virgin, but she was
not experienced—of that he was sure. He turned toward her, trying to think of a
way to explain that there was no need to behave crudely, that a little delicacy
was more exciting to a man than blatancy.

Philip never spoke, however. The avidity in Désirée’s eyes
as she stared at his genitals struck him mute. It was exciting and disgusting
at the same time. Not that Philip thought it indecent for a woman to admire his
sexual organs. Meg had praised him and patted him, even spoke directly to the
“redheaded soldier standing to attention”—but that was in fun, teasing and
laughing. That was not all Meg saw in him. To Désirée, on the other hand, he
was not a man with thoughts and feelings. He was no more than an upstanding
penis.

It was purposeless to worry about the fact that her father
had been kind to him. If it was not he who shafted her, it would be someone
else. There was no need, either, for him to wonder whether she would grieve
when he was gone. The only thing Désirée would grieve over was the length and
breadth of his rod if the next man she found was less well endowed. Least of
all was there any need for gentleness, for sweet words or loving looks. Philip,
who had always taken time to praise and admire his whores so that they should
feel valued, simply walked into the bedchamber of the suite, pulled back the
covers, and waited for Désirée to lie down.

It was an exhausting afternoon, although Philip did not need
to waste time or energy restraining himself until his partner should be
satisfied. She came to climax almost as soon as he entered her and twice more
before he was himself finished—and he took no long time about it. However, she
did not compliment him or even remark on her own enjoyment. Philip could not
help remembering Meg’s praise and the way she clung to him when they had
finished making love. Désirée tipped him off her as soon as he stopped moving,
before he had caught his breath.

Instinctively Philip began to say how pretty she was. It was
his habit to speak a few words at least. He had been cautioned by his father
about the cruelty and crudity of simply turning his back and going to sleep
when he was finished with a woman.

Désirée looked a little surprised. “Are you ready again?”
she asked.

Philip choked. “No, not quite yet. I only meant to—to—”

“Is there something you want me to do to make you ready?”
she wanted to know.

He laughed. It was impossible not to do so, but he was even
more repelled. Meg could rouse him by the merest look or touch. In fact, the
simple knowledge that she desired him, without any action or words, acted as an
aphrodisiac. Yet he sincerely pitied Désirée at the same time. If she continued
to act this way, no man would ever really desire her even though she was quite
pretty—a small, dark piquant face, large-eyed and small-chinned with a tiny
pouting-lipped mouth and good skin.

“Different men like different things, Désirée,” he said. “I
like to talk a little, to tell a woman that I find her charming, that I enjoy
her.”