Simply Shameless (21 page)

Adding Philip to the equation would be like dropping a lighted brand into a vat of oil.

She half stood and moved her chair farther away from him until she was back in the shadows at the rear of the box. She'd have to tell him at some point, but not yet, not while he was chained to her side. The beauty of the music, combined with her sudden burst of emotion, made her want to weep. She settled back into her seat and gasped as Philip moved his chair too.

He slid his hand behind her head and leaned across her. "Don't shut me out."

His mouth covered hers, demanding entrance. She let him in, anything to stop him talking, anything to stop her confessing her most painful and intimate secret. He groaned as her tongue met his in a fierce duel and slid his other arm around her waist to cup her breast. She gave herself to the erotic moment, the caress of his tongue, his gloved fingers shoving up her skirts and sliding inside her.

He thumbed her clit in time to the thrust of his finger and had her reaching for a fast climax. Her fingers dug into the fine fabric of his coat as she lifted her hips against his kid leather-covered palm. He pulled away from her as a burst of clapping mingled with whistles and jeers erupted through the theater.

She stared at him, realized his breathing was as harried as hers, that his white satin pantaloons were straining to contain his erection. He kissed her swollen mouth and inclined his head.

"We'll finish this later."

From the satisfied smile on his face, she knew how she must look—dazed, sated ... a man's possession indeed. She patted her hair and straightened her gown. She couldn't stop her friends and acquaintances from noticing her arousal, but she refused to let them see her looking like a common trollop.

There was a knock on the door, and Peter Howard and Lord George Grant entered.

Helene smiled brightly.

"Good evening, my friends. Are you enjoying the opera?"

Both men kissed her hand and nodded to Philip, who had taken up a position behind her chair, probably to hide his erection. His hand rested heavily on her shoulder in yet another gesture of ownership.

"Helene, aren't you going to introduce us?" George said.

Helene glanced up at Philip. "If you wish. May I introduce Lord George Grant and Mr.

Peter Howard? Gentlemen, this is Mr. Philip Ross."

"Actually, darling, I'm Lord Philip Knowles now."

George flicked her a startled, speculative glance and then returned his attention to Philip.

"Congratulations on your new title, my lord. I knew your predecessor, Lord Derek, rather well."

"Really?" Philip's tone didn't invite confidences. "Unfortunately, I didn't. Our families didn't get on at all. The connection was slight and my elevation to the peerage quite unexpected."

As George and Philip eyed each other, Peter winked at He-lene and took the seat beside her. "Thanks for helping Anthony out this week."

Helene sighed. "I'm worried about him, Peter. I don't like the games he plays or the people he associates with."

"Neither do I, but what can we do?"

"Nothing, unless you wish to tell Valentin and let him sort it out."

Peter shuddered. "I wouldn't wish that fate on my worst enemy, let alone Anthony. It's hard enough for him having Val as a brother without creating further tensions."

"I agree, which is why I'll try and monitor his activities in the pleasure house and intervene if necessary."

"I'll do the same, and I'll also try and talk some sense into him, not that he'll listen, of course."

Helene patted his hand, aware that George and Philip had stopped talking and were both staring at her.

She summoned a smile. "The opera is wonderful. I can't remember why I stopped attending. I must inquire about renting a box."

Peter stood up, his fair hair glinting in the candlelight. "Valentin already has one. I'll mention your interest to him. I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you occupy his." He nodded at the two men. "A pleasure to meet you, but I must return to my seat." He gestured at the doorway, which was rapidly filling with people, and blew Helene a kiss.

"You'll hardly miss me in the crush."

"Au revoir, Peter." Helene kissed her fingers. "Give my love to Abigail."

She glanced expectantly at George, but he seemed determined to stand his ground, his suspicious gaze fixed on Philip. She sighed. Was he going to be difficult? He sometimes seemed to believe it was his duty to drive her suitors away. In the past it had amused her, but she didn't think Philip would take it well at all.

Philip grimaced as Helene allowed herself to be engulfed by visitors. In truth, he was surprised at the variety of theatergoers who had decided to invade his box. He'd assumed they would all be young men. Although there was a fair sprinkling of obviously infatuated youths, many of the guests were fashionably dressed couples. Everyone seemed delighted to see Helene and happy to acknowledge her. His prejudices against her supposed lifestyle were beginning to fade as reality took front stage in his previously distorted viewpoint.

"So, my lord, how long have you known Madame Delor-nay?"

He turned from his contemplation of Helene to find Lord George Grant was still at his side. He studied the grim expression on the man's face while he decided how to frame his answer.

"I've known her for several years."

"So have I. In fact, I am one of the original trustees of the pleasure house." His smile seemed forced. "You, of course, are now a shareholder as well."

"I know that."

"And what do you intend to do with your shares?"

Philip raised his eyebrows and let his contemptuous stare speak for itself.

Color spotted Lord George's cheeks. "I apologize. That is none of my business." He tried to laugh. "As one of Helene's oldest friends, I have been accused of being overprotective sometimes. I hate to see her being put in such a vulnerable position."

"Helene vulnerable?"

"You do not see her like that?" Lord George paused. "Forgive me, but surely any woman who survived what she did deserves to be commended, not condemned."

"I'm not condemning her. I'm sure she could survive anything if she put her mind to it.

She is a very strong and determined woman."

"You sound as if you do not approve. When I met her in the Bastille, I was forced to rely on her strength to save my life. Perhaps that is why we see her differently."

Philip produced his most dismissive smile. "Indeed. I can't say she's ever saved my life.

Complicated it, perhaps, but that is what women do, is it not?"

Lord George blinked at him. "I suppose it is."

The crowd around Helene thinned as the warning bell sounded the five minutes to the end of the interval. Philip frowned. Would Lord George actually leave, or was he planning on joining their party for the evening? Lord George's overprotective streak and deliberate insinuations about how well he knew Helene were starting to annoy him. He knew Helene. He'd known her from the first moment they'd met.

Philip found he wanted Helene to himself, to continue their sexual play, and simply for the pleasure of her company. He'd seen nothing in her manner to indicate she yearned after any of the men who'd crowded the box—including Lord George.

Despite her attempts to withdraw from him, he did understand her sexually, knew exactly how to arouse her without even thinking about it. He suspected that after all her years of bedding younger men, she found it disconcerting to be faced with a man who knew what he wanted. Yet she knew him, too, didn't she? Knew what he craved and had offered him the means to enjoy it. He thought of Adam, of that secret room, of how he yearned to explore that side of his nature again.

He studied Helene, who was laughing up at Lord George. Her expression held no hint of longing or desire, no hint of the passion he could arouse in her with a single touch. He shifted in his seat and checked his watch. Would Lord George ever leave?

"I'd better be off, Helene. I'll see you tomorrow."

Lord George bowed and finally left, leaving Helene alone with Philip. She looked at him as he slipped into the empty chair beside her.

"Why are you frowning?"

"I like frowning." He gestured at the now-empty box. "How do you put up with all that flattering and fawning nonsense?"

"Is that how it seemed to you? That I enjoyed being the center of attention?"

He stared at her. "That's not what I meant. You can't help it, can you? Your beauty draws the eye. It must be something of a burden."

"How perceptive of you to realize that." She sighed. "When I was younger, I used to pray that God would make me plain. Eventually I realized that beauty has its own rewards, and I decided to exploit them for my own gain."

He looked out over the noisy theater. "Lord George said he met you in the Bastille and that you saved his life."

"Did he really?"

"Is it true?"

"That we met in the Bastille? Oui."

"You were both prisoners?"

The orchestra began playing, and darkness filled the intimate space between them. The scent of raw gin and burnt candle wax drifted upward from the packed masses below. She almost felt as if they were enclosed in the intimacy of her bed, safe behind the curtains, whispering secrets to each other.

"I wasn't strictly a prisoner by then. George was. He'd been caught spying for the English and was due to be executed."

"Why weren't you a prisoner anymore?"

"I was whoring for the guards."

"Why?"

She shrugged, and her shoulder brushed his. "My family was dead. It was the only way to survive."

He caught her hands, quieted her restless fingers between his own. "How was it that you were the only one to survive?"

"Because I was beautiful. Because the guards were prepared to humor my father and offer me my life in exchange for the use of my body."

"How old were you?"

"Does it matter?"

He tightened his grip on her hands. "How old were you?"

"I was almost fourteen."

"Younger than my daughter is now... God. No wonder you see your beauty as a curse."

"It is strange, isn't it? At first I wished my father had allowed me to die with him. I hated him for forcing me to live like that." She tried to withdraw her fingers, and Philip slowly released them. "But I soon realized my will to live was stronger than I had ever imagined and that beauty had its benefits after all."

She drew a calming breath. How long was it since she'd talked about the past?

"Anyway, I managed to free George from his cell and contact some of the British spies who helped him to the coast and on to freedom."

"You make it sound so simple. I doubt it was."

She shrugged. "I was a young girl. None of the guards believed I had the ability to do anything except..." To her surprise, she realized she couldn't go on, couldn't revisit the horrors without them overwhelming her, especially in Philip's company. She got clumsily to her feet and knocked the chair over.

"I have a headache. Can we go?"

"Of course, madame." Philip stood up as well, his face still in the shadows, his voice as calm as if they'd been discussing the weather. "I'll go and fetch your cloak."

She turned blindly toward the stage, where the lovers continued to sing in perfect harmony, and shuddered. Even the perfection of the music failed to calm her. Exposing her past to Philip made her feel vulnerable, and she hated that. Had she become so adept at hiding her secrets that she had cut herself off from her true self? She closed her eyes.

And what had possessed George to share his early memories of her with Philip? Didn't he realize that he was putting her in danger?

"Madame?"

Philip touched her shoulder and then wrapped her in her cloak, his hands so gentle she wanted to weep again.

"Merci."

To her surprise, he went to open the door of the box without saying anything. She pulled the cloak over her head and hurried toward him.

He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Helene, I'm glad your father tried to save you."

She forced herself to look at him. "Why?"

"Because as a father myself, I can understand how he'd do anything to keep his daughter alive."

"Even condemn her to a life as a whore?" she whispered.

He raised his eyebrows. "Even that if it meant she lived." He traced a tear on her cheek.

"Do you still hate him, then?"

She stared at him. "No, of course not."

He didn't reply, but his attention remained on her. "My carriage should be ready by now.

Shall we go?"

As they drew away from the front of the theater, Helene surreptitiously wiped her eyes.

Philip's ability to see her father's dilemma had shaken her. He'd made her realize she hadn't really forgiven him at all. Despite Philip's attempts to engage her in conversation, that unwelcome revelation kept her silent and subdued for the rest of the short journey.

Chapter Seventeen

Philip glanced down at Helene as she swept past him into her suite. She hadn't spoken to him at all on the journey home, but he didn't believe she was suffering from a headache.

Her revelations about her past had shaken him deeply. So much for his image of her as a coldhearted whore. He wished he hadn't allowed Lord George Grant to annoy him so much that he'd insisted on questioning Helene.

He waited as she took off her cloak and threw it over the back of a chair. Philip eyed her profile. Would she like him to comfort her? To his surprise, he wanted to very much. It would be easy to cross the small space between them, to take her into his arms and make love to her all night long. He was old enough to know he couldn't change the past, but he still believed he could provide her with some comfort.

He took a step toward her and then stopped as she spun around and gave him a dazzling false smile.

"Are you all right, Helene?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

She sauntered toward him, hips swinging, breasts thrust out. His cock woke up, and he resisted the desire to readjust himself. She ran her finger down the silver buttons of his waistcoat until she reached the waistband of his pantaloons. He shuddered as she cupped his growing erection.