Simply Sinful (6 page)

“I did. I have every confidence in you.”

He glanced at the clock. It was getting late. It had been his intention to clear his desk and get out before Valentin turned up. He knew Valentin would be back, and he was curiously reluctant to face his friend and business partner. The scars Val had inflicted were still too fresh.

He retrieved his quill pen and wrote another series of instructions. A shadow darkened his desk and he held out a sheaf of papers.

“Ah, Taggart, I’ve almost finished. Take these, will you?”

When he looked up he discovered Valentin staring down at him.

“In a hurry, Peter?”

He straightened and carefully replaced his quill in the inkwell. Valentin wore his infuriatingly bland face, the one that made Peter long to punch him. He sat on the corner of the desk and crossed his long legs at the ankle. Peter cleared his throat.

“I’m leaving town at six this evening and I have yet to pack.”

He collected the rest of the scattered papers from his desk and headed for the door. As if he had been already summoned, Taggart appeared and blocked his exit.

“Are these for me, sir? Thank you, and may I say that I hope you enjoy your trip. I can’t remember the last time you took a holiday.”

Peter smiled at him and reluctantly turned back to his office, where the Sokorvsky brothers awaited him.

“Taggart’s right, you know.” Val addressed his remark to his half brother. “Peter does deserve some time away. It seems as if his brain has become addled.”

Peter leaned back against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. “Perhaps I simply need to get away from the unhealthy influences of town life.”

Anthony studied both of their faces and backed toward the door. “Perhaps I should go.”

Peter remained in front of the only exit. “There’s no reason for that. You’re part of Valentin’s family, and we all know that for him, family comes first. I’m sure he’ll wish to seek your assistance during my absence.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his set of keys. “In fact, why don’t you take my keys and use my office while I’m gone?”

Anthony’s expression grew hunted. “I’m not sure…”

Peter threw the keys. They landed on his desk with a crash, just missing Valentin’s fingers.

“Where exactly are you going?” Valentin picked up the keys and studied them.

Peter favored him with a dismissive smile. “Oh, here and there. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details of my personal life.”

Valentin stood up. “What if I need to contact you about a business matter? There is the small matter of that bankrupt shipping line we are trying to acquire.”

Peter held his gaze. “I’ll make sure that any messages left at my house are collected on a regular basis.”

“This is not like you.” Valentin strolled closer until he reached the door.

“People change, Val. Even I am capable of that.” Peter straightened and went to open the door. “Perhaps you might allow me to get on? I have a lot to do today.”

Val slammed his hand against the door panel, preventing Peter’s escape. “We have not finished this conversation.”

“I have.”

Peter wrenched hard on the door, pushed past Val’s outstretched hand and headed for the main office. How dare Val try to detain him. He had made his position clear and he rarely changed his mind, so what was there to talk about? Surely it was better if they had a clean break.

With a muttered curse, Peter realized he’d left his hat and cloak in his office. He certainly wasn’t going back to collect them. Perhaps a walk home would improve his temper. After saying good-bye to Taggart and the rest of the office staff, he stepped out the front door.

He paused to allow a brewers cart to rumble past him and then walked up a sharp incline of the road, avoiding the trickle of filth that ran down the center.

“Peter! Peter, wait!”

He hesitated as he heard Anthony shout his name and reluctantly stopped. To his relief, Anthony was alone. He held Peter’s hat and cloak and was breathing hard.

“You forgot these.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to ruin my dignified exit by creeping back in to retrieve my belongings.”

Anthony grinned at him. “I know. Valentin would never let you hear the end of it.” He hesitated and touched Peter’s arm. “I don’t understand why he is so angry with you, but I’m sure it will come out right.”

Peter struggled to find an answering smile. “I’m sure it will, Anthony. Val and I have been friends for a long time.”

Anthony stepped back. “Come back soon or I will probably ruin the business.”

“You won’t do that. I have great confidence in you.”

“As you taught me everything I know, I should hope so.”

Peter hesitated, then drew Anthony into a rough hug. “Look after Val for me, won’t you?”

“As if he’ll let me.”

“Try anyway.” Peter released Anthony and walked away, determined not to look back. Would he ever be able to face either of the Sokorvsky brothers again with the same degree of ease? He wasn’t sure.

If he ended up staying with the Beechams and sharing their bed, it would give him the perfect opportunity to decide whether he and Val could continue as business partners or whether he would have to resign and move on.

He walked through the maze of haphazard streets, ignoring the street hawkers and beggars, until he reached one of the busier thoroughfares and hailed a cab. He’d agreed to go down to Beecham Hall in Essex this weekend to meet James’s wife. If she proved to be as shy and retiring as he suspected, he imagined his visit would be fleeting.

Would James Beecham be as eager to continue their liaison if his wife took a dislike to Peter? Even though James was exceptional, Peter wasn’t sure he wanted just another male lover. He needed a challenge to make him forget Valentin and twenty-four years of hard-won friendship that appeared to have turned to ashes.

In the Turkish brothel, Valentin had refused to compromise. He fought every male lover forced on him. Sometimes Peter would willingly take his place or take his punishment because he knew that Val would rather die than give in. Peter had also known that he wouldn’t survive if he didn’t have Val.

They had proved big business for the brothel owner. Two fair-skinned foreigners, one dark, one blond. Women paid ridiculous amounts of money to have them both in their beds. Val kept fighting the men and fucking the women. Peter relied on opium and a growing dependency on Valentin to see him through each day.

With a start, Peter realized they had arrived at his modest house on Half Moon Street. He handed over some coins to the cheerful driver and got down. He studied the leaden gray sky. If Lady Beecham didn’t like him, he’d take off up north. He had a vague idea that was where he originally came from, although his memories of the time before he met Valentin on board the ship bound for Russia were sketchy at best.

Thanks to the efforts of Valentin’s wife, Sara, his narrow town house was decorated with quiet taste and elegance. Peter stared at the gold damask curtains she had laughingly persuaded him to put up in his morning room. Was she secretly relieved not to have to face him again? He’d believed they were friends. Had all her trust in him disappeared simply because she was pregnant? Her desertion was almost as painful a blow as Valentin’s.

He wandered into the room and studied the landscape painting above the fireplace. Sara had been careful not to choose any portraits, as if she knew Peter would hate being asked if they were his family. Perhaps Valentin was more astute than Peter realized. Maybe he had sensed Peter’s yearning for a relationship and a family of his own even before Peter became aware of it and was merely forcing him into moving on.

To Peter’s relief, Adams, his valet, had already started packing for him. He was lucky to have Adams. His discretion and calm manner had impressed Peter from the first. Nothing seemed to disturb his equanimity, even the prospect of his employer leaving for parts unknown and not taking a servant with him.

Peter surveyed the collection of garments Adams seemed to think necessary for his journey.

“Are you sure I’ll need all this?”

“Better to be prepared, sir, don’t you think?”

Adams checked Peter’s shaving gear and then packed it in its traveling case. “I’m certain they’ll find a man to assist you wherever you go. Make sure he doesn’t ruin the shine on your boots or burn your cravats when he irons them.”

Peter smiled. “And how am I supposed to do that? Follow the hapless soul around the kitchen?”

Adams turned to face him, a dozen long, starched cravats hung over his arm. “You are a gentleman, sir. You will know whether he is capable simply by the way he handles your boots and your clothes.”

Peter wondered if he was qualified to judge. He had no idea if he could claim the title “gentleman” in its purest sense. His station in life before meeting Val was unknown. It was Valentin’s friendship that opened the hallowed ranks of the
ton
to him. Adams only saw the smooth veneer Peter had perfected over the years and heard the upper-class accent he picked up from Val in the brothel.

Would Lady Beecham want to know exactly whose family he belonged to? It was typical of the English upper classes to grill you as to your antecedents. God knows he had endured it for years. He wasn’t sure Howard was his surname. In truth, he wasn’t even sure he was called Peter.

He glanced at his immaculate reflection in the mirror and saw a polished stranger, a chameleon. Perhaps both he and Valentin were right. His brain was addled and he definitely needed to get out of the city and think.

Beecham Hall proved a pleasant surprise. Tall chimney stacks and narrow red bricks covered with ivy revealed the house to have Elizabethan roots. Structurally it was in the classic form of an E. Three parallel wings jutting out at right angles from the main body of the house.

James had offered to bring him down in his curricle, but Peter had preferred to use his own transport. It made it easier to get away if the situation proved even more awkward than he feared. The huge elm trees that lined the long driveway revealed tantalizing glimpses of a lake and a series of well-kept gardens laid out in front of the house.

Unlike many aristocrats, James Beecham didn’t appear to lack money. The house held a mellow sweetness and charm that defied any attempt to define it as modern. Peter felt himself relax as his carriage pulled up to the front steps. A smartly dressed footman immediately opened the door and let down the steps.

“Good evening, Mr. Howard. My name is Thomas. His lordship informed us you would be arriving this evening.”

His carriage and driver clattered away in a spray of gravel around the side of the house. Peter allowed himself to be escorted through the massive oak front door into the hall. The scent of beeswax and dried flowers drifted past his nose. He couldn’t help but stare at the intricately carved staircase and the ancient banners that hung from the high ceilings.

Caught by the swirl of air as Thomas closed the front door, the banners undulated in ghostly welcome.

“Mr. Howard? Do you wish to retire to your room before dinner?”

He smiled at the man. “That would be an excellent notion if I have time. But I don’t wish to delay dinner.”

“Oh no, sir. Lady Beecham told the kitchen not to serve a thing until you are ready to eat.”

“Then show me to my room and I will make haste to join my hosts.” He paused on the first shallow well-worn step. “You will inform them of my arrival, of course?”

“Already done, sir.” Thomas carried on up the stairs. “I’ll be acting as your valet for the duration of your stay if that is acceptable, sir.”

Peter smiled at the young man’s eagerness.

“Perfectly acceptable.”

Peter reckoned less than half an hour had passed before he was ready to go back down. He studied his reflection in the mirror. Was he suitably dressed? He’d chosen a dark blue coat and a gray waistcoat with silver buttons. White satin knee breeches completed his rather formal attire. What would Lady Beecham think when she first saw him? Would she see a man of fashion or an upstart cit who needed to learn his place?

There was no use worrying about what couldn’t be changed, and he’d survived far worse circumstances than this in his colorful life. Dinner might even prove interesting. And even if Lady Beecham didn’t seem amenable to her husband’s plan, he might get to spend a night with James before he headed north.

They awaited him in what was obviously the small family drawing room. James stood in front of the fireplace, hands behind his back, hunting dogs at his feet. Peter strongly suspected that somewhere within the depths of the house there was already a portrait of James standing just like this, the country squire at his ease. In truth, there were probably countless such portraits of all the Beechams throughout the ages.

James’s face lit up when Peter was announced, and he strode toward him, hand outstretched.

“I’m so glad you could come.” He slid an arm around Peter’s shoulders and turned back to the fireplace. In one of the wing chairs, Peter could just see a delicate blue slipper and a twist of crumpled satin skirt.

“This is my wife, Abigail, Lady James Beecham.”

There was an explosion of movement as Lady Beecham struggled to stand. James steadied her elbow as she whipped her spectacles off her nose and smoothed a wisp of brown hair behind her ear. Peter took his first look at his lover’s wife.

She was at least six inches shorter than her husband’s six foot frame and half his width. Her high-waisted blue gown seemed too fussy and large for her delicate frame. She raised her chin at his continued silence and he admired her heart shaped face and deep gray eyes.

“Mr. Howard.”

No simpering ingénue, this one. He smiled slowly, taking care to hold her gaze.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Beecham. Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

She held out her hand and he kissed her fingers. He noticed the absence of any jewelry apart from her wedding ring and her badly bitten nails.

“Are you quite starved, Mr. Howard? Shall we eat?”

Peter placed her hand on his sleeve. “I apologize for arriving so late. I had business affairs to attend to that could not be left undone.”