Duplicity Ch. 05

Philip rushed to his bedchamber and shut himself in. He held the door closed with both hands for a moment and leaned his whole body against the sturdy carved door to push out the snarling, whirling demons sniping at his heels. For a brief moment, it as quiet in his room, except for the thundering of his own heartbeat in his chest. Philip dragged a shaky hand over his face and felt just how damp clammy and stubbled his skin felt. His eyes burned feverishly with madness and fear.

Suddenly he thought he heard a ghostly hiss in the darkness: "You bastard! You fucking bastard!"

He was going mad! The voice seemed so real he could almost feel the chill of a spectral breath against his face! But he knew the voice was merely in his head. It was manifestation of his own fear, guilt, borne of his dastardly misdeed!

"My God, what have I done?" he cried out. With a shaky grasp, Philip slumped against the door and slid down the length of it till he dropped down on the floor with a thud. He drew his legs towards him and dropped his head between his extended arms propped on his knees.

He emitted a long, deep, audible sigh along with a name: "Evelyn!" Then he uttered a small, strangled cry that caught in his burning lungs and made him gasp for air. It was the sound a condemned man, full of guilt, might utter. For that was what he was. Guilty. And condemned. The demons in his conscious snickered cruelly at his anguish.

Why did he do it? Oh God, why?!

Philip rolled his head to one side against the door and thought he caught a hint of her musky sweet scent still lingering on his lips, on his stubbled chin. It was followed by a stronger, familiar, smell: clean, strong and masculine. It was the smell of Lord Davenport!

Philip gave a small shriek and crawled on his hands and feet away from the door, fully expecting his cousin to come dashing in demanding Philip's blood!!! But his door remained firmly shut. There was no one there! Then, Philip realized with a pain in his chest that he was still wearing Lord Davenport's clothes!

He rose to his feet and quickly tore off the jacket as if it was suddenly crawling with ants and flung violently across the room. The cravat and vestment soon followed. For a moment Philip could breath again as he stood in his own shirt and trousers looking at the discarded clothing, crumpled into a heap, like a man who had sudden awoken from a horrible dream.

"I'm a pitiful, disgusting creature," he muttered to himself. "I have cursed myself in God's eyes, I know it. I have betrayed my conscious. Violated a blameless woman and proved myself unworthy of friendship and anyone's good opinion of me. "

"You are every bit of the man as Lord Davenport," a lyrical feminine voice said in his head. Some lady had said those words to him earlier in the evening, for Philip couldn't recall who it might have been. Could it have been that very night? It all seemed so long ago.

"You're a scoundrel!" another, more malevolent voice taunted him.

Philip grounded the heels of his palms against his shut eyes to shut off the images flashing before him. He could not force out the vivid memories of what took place only moments ago.

An image of a sleeping Evelyn, lying so vulnerable in her bed, flashed before him. He had entered her room somehow and stood at the foot of her bed as she slept. Even in the darkness her skin seemed to glow. Her dark brows formed perfect arches over the dark ovals of her eyelids, her long, thick black lashes were two dark fans resting on her cheeks.

He felt he knew every line, every curve of her face as he had studied that face everyday in all these weeks she's been at Davenport House. Even chance he had he spent it with her. They shared an occasional meal together, or read together. Once, they even spent several hours deep in conversation together as only the truest of friends would. Philip had to keep reminding himself that she was meant for his cousin, Lord Davenport. Yet those moments he spent with her were some of the best moments of his life! She wanted to know all about her future lord and Philip was only too happy to answer all her questions just to watch her delightful expressions. She may be asking after her betrothed, but Philip felt as though her blushes and lurid smiles were for him. Philip brought her books and sheet music and anything else he thought might amuse her. And she was always so pleased... so pleased with his gifts... so pleased with his attention. There were times he felt certain she returned his feelings too.... Then he would quickly chastise himself and remind himself she was to marry his cousin.

Yet, he really couldn't recall how he came to be there, hugging a bed poster at the foot of the bed, watching her chest rise and fall with every breath.

The voices of his conscious cried out for him to leave! At once! He should not be there, lurking in the darkness like some fiend over his kinsman's fiance.

"But was there ever a creature created more perfect than she?" he argued back to his conscience. "Wasn't she created to be admired? To be loved? Not to languish in drudgery, like some fairy princess waiting on her inattentive betrothed."

That voice of reason grew more and more muted by the sounds of his own blood pumping and rushing through his veins as he watched her sleep. His alcohol-fueled desires took over and he placed a knee on the bed! What if she wakes up and screams down the house? Just look at her thought, so utterly helpless and his for the taking... No one would ever know if he was careful....

Philip's limbs moved of their own accord. He was a mere observer in his own body when he climbed into her bed and crawled over the sleeping Evelyn. He touched her body, felt her heat and kissed her exquisite lips. He kissed her soft, generous curves, down to her tangy, intoxicating womanly thighs he had only dreamt of till that moment. He wasn't hurting her. He would never hurt her. He merely wanted to bring her pleasure.

She cried out in pleasure and flooded his mouth with her exquisite taste! He, Philip Mallory, brought her pleasure!

Then she uttered a name!

"My lord," she had moaned with Philip's tongue lapping at her silky, hot little cunny. "My lord....Davenport!"

That had the effect of a bucket of ice water to rouse Philip. She called out for her lord and master, not Philip! She called out for Lord Davenport because that was who occupied her thoughts and dreams!

Reason and shame returned like a cannonball shot right into his chest and knocked him back off the bed and sent him scrambling away as fast as he could.

"Like a thief in the night," that ghostly voice hissed in his head. "You stole in her chambers! She's not yours to have and you nearly spoiled her innocence and forever! They trusted you! They all trusted you! You worthless scoundrel! Knave! Cursed!"

Philip bit back a regretful moan as he sat in his dark bedroom, recalling how fast he had fled her rooms. He felt as though his own guilt and shame had taken the form of demons to chase him to the very gates of hell! When Philip finally stopped, to clear his head and calm himself he realized he had gone the length of the house and had somehow ended up on the stairway landing. It was apt that he had ended up there, caught between stairs that led back up to bedchambers, and stairs that disappeared into the darkness below.

He ought to descend those stairs and make his escape in the middle of the night, never to be tempted again by his weakness for Evelyn. Perhaps, in time, he may even salvage what was left of his honor. He should simply walk out the front door into a certain exile and never return. But, Philip knew he was too cowardly to face an uncertain future all alone in the world without his cousin's love and protection. Yet... how could he face his family, his own image in the mirror knowing what he had just done? How could he ever face Evelyn again, live under the same roof as her, after he had violated her so... And forever remember the shape of her naked thighs, her hot, silky sex?

"What are you doing up there, Philip?" a deep, smooth, velvety baritone asked.

Philip felt every hairs stand up, and goosebumps cover his body in utter terror! "J-John! Cousin!" Philip croaked in response at the tall looming figure of his cousin who suddenly materialized at the foot of the stairs below him. "Y-you're home? I didn't expect-- that is, what---?"

The silhouette of Lord Davenport's tall, imposing physique emerged from the shadows cast by some flickering candles behind him. As he moved closer to the bottom of the stairs, his steely pale eyes glittering under the pale moonlight cascading down from the skylight above. He had changed out of his evening wear into a white shirt, dark trousers and riding boots that displayed his muscular physique. The Marquess was terrifying to behold, so full of restrained animalistic intensity that might unleash at any moment. Or was that just Philip's own imagination running wild? For the first time in his life Philip was frightened of his cousin. So deathly afraid!

How long had Lord Davenport been standing there so eerily calm? Did he know what Philip was up to? Did his lordship suspect anything was amiss? Philip could almost imagine how he must look to the other man, disheveled and out of breath, still wearing the clothes he had borrowed from Lord Davenport. What must his cousin think of Philip at that moment? Could he see the sweat running down Philip's forehead or how Philip's lips trembled? Was there a trace of Evelyn's scent still clinging to him? Philip felt almost certain his guilt must be written all over him.

"I had some documents here," Lord Davenport replied evenly, starting up at him from beneath his heavy dark brows with his inscrutable gaze. "Will you join me? The trading posts have sent back their reports and I'd like to compare it to your surveying notes."

"I'd rather not," Philip said as steadily as he could. He attempted a smile that was more of a grimace. "Rather tired, you see. Long day. I think I'll go to bed."

Lord Davenport's expression didn't change as he studied Philip. Philip felt certain those icy-blue eyes saw straight into his guilt-riddled soul and saw everything. Was that pain and betrayal he sees or was Philip's mind playing tricks on him again?

"Yeees...." Lord Davenport drew out the word in a slow hiss after a long, tense, moment. "You do look rather peaked ol'man. I'd say you haven't been well at all lately. Get a good night's sleep then. I'll see you in the morning."

So Philip escape to his chambers with a feeling of dread and foreboding. That's how he came to slumped against the door, till his legs gave way under him. At any moment now he half expected Lord Davenport to come crashing through that door and pummel him roundedly as he well deserved.

A wave of nausea took ahold of him and Philip barely made it to a nearby chamberpot before he emptied the entire content of his stomach into it. He heaved and retched till there was nothing left but an excruciating pain in his head, his throat and all his limbs. What brought him to this state? How did he, always so temperate, end up on his knees over a sick-filled chamber pot? He wiped his lips and fell back on the floor as he tried to piece together the events of that day.

No!

His hell had been brewing for some time now!

Still unable to get up off his knees, P slumped down to the floor as he struggled but failed to recall how or when exactly he heard of his cousin's betrothal to Lady Evelyn.

More memories came whirling back. There were vivid images, but others were murkier and imperfect. He recalled having just returned to the city on an errand for his cousin. It was as though, during the short time he was away, the whole world changed. He remembered feeling a numbness spread over his body and moving about like a man lost at sea that was only broken up a bit after he reached the bottom of a bottle of wine or Scotch. He recall offering his congratulations and saying all the right words.

What did he feel, though? Was it injustice, as he had been the first to see her, to set eyes on her and called her to the attention of his cousin? No! It couldn't be, as Philip knew that his uncle, the Duke, and the King had made this match for reasons that had little to do with either parties involved, and even less to do with Philip. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that had Lord Davenport wanted to he could have said no without too much fuss, if for no other reason than to respect Philip's feelings. But Lord Davenport did want Evelyn, didn't he? At least in the most carnal way as Philip had witnessed with his own eyes at the Earl of Warwick's tea.

So when his sister, Charlotte asked him: "Why haven't Cousin John been to see Lady Evelyn or properly introduced us?" Philip didn't have an answer because he truly didn't know. Or more to the point, he didn't care to know.

"Our cousin does things his own way," was Philip's excuse to his sister.

"But at least you know his thoughts on how he wants things done."

"Not me!" Philip protested. "You know him as well as I. He's hates to be forced into anything and he wants to exercise some semblance of control I'm sure. Allow him this bit of self-indulgence. He'll go to her when he's good and ready. We ought to respect his wishes...as we do in all things..."

"But she's to be his wife!" Charlotte argued. "This isn't some silly game! We're to be family!"

What Philip didn't tell his sister was that he suspected his cousin had other dalliances. It wouldn't do to say such things to a gentle woman like Charlotte. Besides, Philip had no proof. He never had any sign that there might be a mistress aside from his lordship's occasional unexplained disappearances for a few hours. After which he would re emerge smelling faintly of perfume and powder. Unlike most men, his Lordship never boasted and would never give a lady away. Philip hoped to God he was right. Perhaps.... Just perhaps his cousin had a secret love stashed away somewhere that he would be willing to cast Lady Evelyn aside over!

Then came the evening when they happened on a Evelyn's attack! ... It was the worst moment of Philip's life. To hear her blood curdling screams and to see that vile creature on top of her...! Philip never felt more rage or helplessness than when they brought her, listless form back to Davenport House. Then he suffered a lifetime of agony as he stood silently behind his cousin as they both anxiously held vigil over her when a fever took hold of her poor unconscious body.

The physicians came and went.

There was little for either of them to do but watch over her lying so still and frail, her little face ashen in the great big canopied bed in the best room in Lord Davenport's house. It nearly broke Philip's spirit to watch Lord Davenport, seated by her bed, with Evelyn's limp little hand pressed again his grim, sunken cheek, whisper softly to her; a right Philip desperately wished was his.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Charlotte confided to Philip, when they were alone, her chest swelling with happiness. "He's shown such care! Such care! I do believe he loves her. At last!"

"He barely knows her!" Philip retorted more sharply than he intended and he was immediately sorry for it. "I just think it's premature to say how he feels about her one way or the other. Just a day ago, he couldn't bring himself to call on her. Clearly he's had a shock. We all have."

His older sister gave him a pitying look. "A wife can make or break a friendship depending on how she feels towards that friend, my dear brother. Life won't be the same between you once he's married. My advice is to make friends with her and things won't have to be too different for you."

"I just think John would show the same kind of concern for any female in distress, let alone one who will be his," Philip sputtered out. "He's no romantic you know but he does have some old fashioned notion of chivalry after all."

Just when Evelyn's fever broke and she started to regain consciousness again, Lord Davenport had a few thing packed and moved to the bachelor quarters at his club.

"It's easier to conduct my businesses there without all the distractions," he had explained to Philip tersely. "I leave everything to you and Charlotte.Whatever Evelyn wants... see that she gets it."

Philip merely nodded. He was of two minds when it came to his cousin's request. He relished the moments he spent with her, when he pretended that Davenport House was their home and they were man and wife. But he found it harder and harder to face her without taking at least two fingers of whiskey least he should tremble and foolishly give himself away. Whiskey and wine became his constant companion when he went to bed, miserable and alone each night.

"You ought to see her," Philip finally said to Lord Davenport earlier that evening.

They were on their way to join their friends for supper then for a long evening of cards. Several lords with favors to ask of the Marquess were anxiously awaiting the cousins to join them.

Lord Davenport arched a brow quizzically at him as they marched down the long glittering corridors. "At the moment I've neither the time nor the capacity to indulge her. I'm suddenly very important to men I've never heard of a week ago. I think many of them expects me to have have the king's ear now."

It was true that some new crisis or utter matter arose with each new day. More ministers from America were arriving each day to put forth their case for more support to their causes. France, Spain and the Prussian territories were still in constant turmoil. More and more loans were put to the aristocracy to support some scheme or speculation either in the northern manufacturing cities or in trade abroad. All the while the streets of London appear even more crowded with new arrivals from the country looking for work. There were mini-riots in the streets from the previous by-election results and from the defeat of several reform measures. Somehow ever matter was put to the Marquess of Davenport. At every moment someone was bending his ear to this cause or that scheme.

"I don't see how things are different now from what it was before. They've always valued your opinion and needed your money. You've always managed quite well."

Lord Davenport nodded his head to a few gentlemen they passed, never once breaking his stride. "Quite," he said over his shoulder to Philip. "There's just so much more to it all. So much more of everything. I can't fully explain it.... I'll be glad to be back in the country, though I suspect I won't have much rest there either. We may even have to keep Davenport House open."

"You could miss a few hands tonight to spend an hour with her," Philip reasoned. "You ought to see her before your wedding day."

"I will see her soon enough,"

Henry Wilkes chose that moment to join them. "Soon enough indeed! No need to tie on those apron strings just yet. "

Lord Davenport inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the smaller, auburn-haired man's bow even as he wondered where Henry found the courage to speak to him with such familiarity. "I hear you've recently taken the plunge yourself. To an heiress? My congratulations, Henry. I know how much you needed that."

Henry Wilkes wasn't put off by the slight dig as he looked pleasantly from Philip to Lord Davenport. "Thank you my lord! Not married yet so I'm savoring every last moment of freedom I can. My bride to be was raised in a convent you see. Plain little thing with a most nervous disposition. Her momma has already made it clear that I'm expected to curb all my worldly appetites once we're married, so that I don't frighten the poor lamb. So I say you are right to do all you can before matrimony binds you up!"