The Pirate and the Pagan

by Virginia Henley

  “It is also just as well that I will not be receiving visitors. The estate has been sadly neglected and I must begin restoration and repair immediately.”

  “Surely you will make an exception for this visitor, Lady Summer?”

  “Lord Helford, you are doubly barred!”

  “Ruark,” he reminded. “Why so?”

  “Because I am officially in mourning and because … I am alone at Roseland. You must promise you will not compromise me, my lord,” she beseeched.

  The food was forgotten. He came around the table to her. “I want to see you,” he said firmly. “Do you not have a male relative to whom I may apply for permission?”

  She caught her breath. Surely he wouldn’t ask a male relative for permission to make her his mistress. She stood to face him. “There is no one, save my young brother and Lady Richwood of course.”

  He smiled down at her ruefully. “And I’ve already pledged your safety to her, haven’t I?”

  “I shall come to visit you,” she offered.

  “Promise me?” he asked solemnly.

  As she looked up into his face his fingers reached up and took the violet combs from her hair. It tumbled down over his hands in a silken mass and his mouth took hers in a long, lingering kiss. A shock rippled through her body as the teasing dalliance of his tongue prepared her for bolder play. He was holding her much too close as his lips turned forceful and his tongue thrust demandingly into her soft mouth. She stiffened and pulled back but not before her insides had felt like molten silver sliding downward into her limbs from the onslaught of his probing tongue. She had had no idea that being in a man’s arms could produce this liquid heat that made a woman long to be ravished, plundered, conquered. Just once in a lifetime every woman should be kissed by a dangerous man.

  When she managed to pull away from him, she looked so vulnerable and trapped that he felt a moment of shame. “I shouldn’t have given you that kiss. I was taking advantage of you,” he admitted. His thoughts belied his words. He was glad he had kissed her. He wanted to kiss her so thoroughly there would be no breath left in her body. He was aware for the first time of a stunning weakness in his body at the contact with her. She threatened to make him lose control.

  His words echoed over and over in her brain. “I shouldn’t have given you that kiss.” Surely he didn’t regret it? She could have sworn he had been as shaken by the shock of their touching mouths as she had been. She would find out. “If you shouldn’t have given it to me, I must give it back to you,” she said simply. She went up on tiptoe, slipped her arms about his neck, and fitted her soft mouth to his.

  He was totally unprepared for the effect it had on him. When she lifted her mouth and fitted it to his, she demonstrated an innocent sensuality, if such a contradictory thing were possible, which heightened his pleasure so that desire ran like wildfire from his mouth, through his heart, and straight to the tip of his shaft. The taste she allowed him set up a craving for more. She had the power to throw him off balance by luring him, then forbidding him, then luring him again. Her unusual, exotic beauty seemed to have a mystical power over him, and her sweet inexperience was like an aphrodisiac, attracting him a thousand times more than the artifices of his most experienced past lovers.

  This child-woman had walked into his life and enchanted him. Conflicting emotions besieged him as he held her captive in his arms. He wanted to ravish her, to make love to her until she screamed with passion, yet he felt a fierce protectiveness toward her. He also knew a need to own her body and soul. This possessive desire was entirely new to him. He would make her his mistress despite the fact that she was a lady. He would simply have to school himself to go slowly so that he didn’t frighten her, didn’t destroy the magic which flowed so devastatingly between them.

  She closed her eyes and melted against him. The pure physical thrill of his masculinity made her nipples ruche with pleasure and a strange hot prickling tingle began between her legs. When she lifted her trembling mouth from his, she said huskily, “I think it best if Mr. Cully takes me home when we make land tonight.”

  “You will come? You promised,” he commanded.

  “Good night, Ruark,” she said softly.

  “Summer’s promise,” he murmured after she had departed.

  Spider’s eyes widened in amazement as he circled round his sister, taking in the luxurious velvet cloak trimmed with fox fur. What he saw made him uncomfortable; he feared that after London, Cat would never be the same again.

  “I have so much to tell, but first of all you’d better know that I was too late, Father had already died of his wound before I arrived.” She noticed her young brother’s eyes were glassy with tears. She didn’t think it could be sorrow which caused them, as their father had always been particularly brutal to Spencer. Perhaps it was relief or more likely regret for what might have been, could have been … should have been.

  “Auntie Lil was very kind to me; I liked her excessively. Father unfortunately left us a wonderful legacy … he mortgaged Roseland to the hilt and I’ve to come up with twenty thousand pounds in a month or it will likely be sold out from under us.”

  “Rancid old bastard,” spat Spider, clenching his fists with impotence.

  “He had a bill of sale on him for Ebony, too. They haven’t been to collect him yet, have they?” she asked anxiously.

  He shook his head quickly to reassure her, but his heart had sunk. He’d been dying to tell her of the smuggling deals he’d arranged to earn them some money, but in the face of a twenty-thousand-pound debt it amounted to no more than pissing in the sea. “What the hell are we going to do?” he asked her.

  “I have another piece of news. Lord Helford has returned to Helford Hall. I sailed home on his ship. I think he’s quite taken with me, so all I have to do is get him to propose before the mortgage is due and we’ll save Roseland.”

  “Propose to you or proposition you?” he asked bluntly, his eyes blazing.

  “It doesn’t matter which,” she said quickly. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to that fat, old swine,” he said flatly.

  “Spider, he isn’t fat and he isn’t old….” Her voice trailed off; she wasn’t as convinced about the swine part. In her experience all men were capable of being vile. “There’s just a tiny fly in the ointment … the King has appointed him high commissioner and magistrate to eradicate smuggling.”

  Spider dropped onto a kitchen chair like a bag of sand. “Christ, girl, are you insane? I’ve fifty barrels of brandy coming in tomorrow night.”

  A look of panic crossed her face. “What about that tobacco?”

  “I sold it yesterday, thank God. But what about the brandy?”

  “What time is the tide?” she questioned.

  “Early … just at moonrise … a few minutes after nine … it should be safely stowed by ten.”

  “I’ll keep him busy,” she promised.

  “Will you keep all his nights busy?” He sneered.

  “Spider, it’s not like that; he thinks I’m a lady.”

  He looked at her as if she really was cracked, then he laughed so loud he fell off the chair onto the kitchen floor.

  “I think it would be best if you and Ruark Helford did not meet,” she said stiffly.

  “Suits me, I can’t take all this lord-and-lady stuff,” he said, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes.

  “Is the brandy coming off a Frenchie?” She deliberately changed the subject.

  “Well, naturally it came off a French ship originally, but I’m buying it from a privateer who unburdened the Frenchie recently.”

  “You mean a pirate. What’s his name?”

  “Bulldog Brown,” he said on a challenging note.

  “Ugh.” She shuddered. “That’s the one who had part of his nose bitten off in a fight. For God’s sake, be careful, Spider.”

  He waved his hand airily with the negligent arrogance of the titled class and she remembered the clothes she had bought for him. She opened one of
the boxes and pulled out the black velvet suit and long, black, calf-skin boots. “I brought you some new clothes.”

  He gingerly felt the black velvet between thumb and forefinger and eyed his sister with distaste. “If I pranced around in this fancy stuff, I’d be the laughingstock of the town. Viscount bloody Spencer would soon have his teeth knocked out.”

  “You’re a bloody lord now,” she reminded him, “not a viscount. In London men wear pink satin and powder blue ostrich feathers,” she said, remembering.

  “Don’t try to gull me, Cat, I’m not exactly a kid anymore, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  She sighed. “I noticed,” she said with regret, closing the lid on the box of clothes.

  “Come on, I’ll carry these boxes upstairs for you. I know you’ll want to unpack all your new clothes before you go to bed. These are the first pretty things you’ve ever had, aren’t they, Cat?” He smiled sweetly at her. “It’s good to have you back.”

  Ruark Helford had slept only fitfully the first night back in his home. Restlessly he had arisen before dawn to roam about the half-forgotten halls of the estate. It was so beautiful he didn’t know how he had been able to stay away from it for so long. He went up on the high widow’s walk to watch the sunrise—up among the gilded weathervanes which were fashioned after sailing ships—up among the twisted chimneys of Helford Hall. He looked out to sea as the golden dawn turned it into a rippling mass of molten gold, while behind him the dark green yew walks held pockets of mist which wouldn’t burn off until the sun was full.

  Summer had arisen before dawn to spend some time with her beloved Ebony. The sunrise was going to be spectacular; the air was soft with a hint of the warmth that the day would bring. The breeze off the sea was playful and she couldn’t wait for a fast gallop down the deserted beach. Without bothering with a saddle, she slipped on a bridle, caressed the velvet nose, and was astride the tall animal in minutes.

  She rode down the coast five or six miles at a leisurely canter, but when they turned to head home, she felt Ebony quicken between her legs and she let him have his head. He surged forward, thundering through the surf, sending up sea spray to make her shirt cling wetly to her breasts. Her hair flew about in wild disarray and she clung to the horse’s mane for support, whispering encouragement into his pricked-back ears to gather ever greater speed.

  Ruark Helford’s eye was caught by a movement way off in the distance, down the beach, and he watched curiously as the speck became horse and rider and then to his astonishment the rider became Summer. There was no mistaking the wild, wanton pagan, her spirit as free as the wind and the sea.

  This girl was nothing like the shy, proper, Lady Summer who always stood at arm’s length with downswept lashes. Desire raged through him uncontrollably.

  Desire to tame her.

  Desire to mate her.

  Desire to bury himself deep within her.

  The damnedest thing was that even at her most prim, with two guardians at her back, she aroused him. Even from up here she looked naked to the waist. The vision of her magnificent, proud breasts thrusting through the wet shirt was too much for him. He must go down to the beach, to her.

  He strode from the house and took the path that led down the cliff to the beach, but she was nowhere in sight when he arrived. He could hardly credit that she had disappeared so quickly and reasoned that she must have turned inland to ride up the Helford River. The tide had washed away her hoofprints and the beach was deserted in both directions as if she had been an apparition. A foul oath was snatched from his lips by the playful sea breeze. Frustration almost choked him, and yet he knew her elusiveness merely whetted his appetite and hardened his determination to have her.

  Lord Helford had to contend with a mountain of paperwork and dispatches connected with his new post, yet a dozen times that day he threw down his pen with the intention of riding over to Roseland. He was torn between the need to see her and the desire to keep his promise.

  Finally he gained control over his yearnings, reasoning that if he could not keep his word for at least twenty-four hours, she might develop contempt for him. He hoped against hope that she would visit him before the day was over.

  By early evening he had given up hope and took an early dinner in the vast, elegantly appointed dining room. He was totally unused to the feeling of loneliness which assailed him. Usually so self-sufficient, he put his mood down to the fact that he had grown used to stinking, brawling London with all its violent energy. The change from the city to the country would take some adjusting. In London all was noise. On the streets people shouted and pushed and laughed and exchanged clever insults; here the silence was deafening.

  He threw down his napkin and pushed back from the table. His longtime steward Mr. Burke approached him with an easy familiarity. “Ruark, there is a young lady outside to see you, sir.” He had come from Ireland with Ruark’s mother, Lady Rosalind, when she had come to wed the first Lord Helford and had outlived them both. Though it seemed natural for Burke to use his master’s first name, Ruark would never have dreamed of calling his man anything but Mr. Burke.

  “Didn’t you invite her in, Mr. Burke?” he asked as his eyes lit with pleasure.

  “I did, but the lady is unchaperoned and naturally awaits you without,” said Mr. Burke, his face as impassive as if he had announced that dinner was served.

  Ruark’s eyes widened at the sight of her. It was dusk, yet it was as if she were surrounded by her own light. She is Summer, he thought, dazed. She was mounted upon an expensive piece of horseflesh which he knew was a black Barbary. She wore an elegantly cut riding dress in a ridiculously impractical shade of primrose yellow, and he had never seen a lovelier vision in his life.

  “You are shocked because I’m not in mourning,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Nothing you could ever do would shock me,” he assured her.

  It will … I promise you … it will, she thought wildly. “Well, I cannot be a hypocrite; I do not mourn him,” she said, putting an end to the matter.

  He tried to envision her as he had seen her at dawn, but he could not. This young woman was as elegant as if she had been riding in St. James Park. “I’m so glad you came,” he said, moving to the horse’s side and holding up his arms to her.

  “I came as a supplicant,” she said solemnly.

  As his strong arms lifted her down to him his heart slammed inside his chest and it was not from exertion. “Anything,” he murmured.

  “I’m having the stables refurbished. I vow they are so dilapidated, a strong gust of wind would collapse them. Could I trouble you to stable Ebony until the work is finished?” When she coupled a lie with the truth, her conscience bothered her not at all.

  “It is no trouble,” he assured her, happy that he would see her more often now.

  As they walked to the stables she embroidered her tale. “Don’t be alarmed if there is a steady parade of wagons coming and going, they will just be workmen.”

  Inside the large, airy stables Ruark led Ebony into a loose box so he would have freedom without being tethered. He unsaddled the Barbary and took the bridle and bit from him as well. “He’s a beautiful animal,” he said with admiration, running his eyes down the glossy flanks.

  “I’m particularly partial to him,” she said in a throaty, provocative drawl.

  The scent of hay and leather drifted in the air and Ruark’s arousal was instant and pronounced. He wanted to pull her down into the hay and romp and roll until they were both naked and he had her pinned between his thighs. His eyes licked over her like a candle flame and he realized the impossibility of such wanton behavior. Her primrose habit was spotless, her coiffure the very latest style known as ‘heartbreak.’ He must remember she was a lady … and an innocent one at that.

  Reluctantly he summoned a groom. “Lady St. Catherine will be stabling her mount here for a few weeks. See that he receives the very best of care.”

  As they walked from the stables, she said softly,
“How can I ever repay you, Lord Helford? Each day I seem to be more and more in your debt.”

  “Come and have a drink with me. Let me show off the hall to you,” It didn’t sound like a request.

  She shook her head regretfully. “You know I cannot,” she said softly. “Show me the gardens.”

  “It is dark,” he half protested.

  “The moon is rising,” she assured him.

  “Smuggler’s moon,” he murmured, and she shuddered involuntarily.

  The intoxicating fragrance of the night-scented blooms stole to them as they crossed the velvety lawn separating the house from the formal rose garden. They passed beneath an arch clustered with heavy, dew-drenched blooms and Ruark’s keen eyes searched the darkness until he found what he sought. He left her side for a moment and returned with an armful of cream blossoms. “I think I shall always give you cream-colored roses,” he promised. They moved on to the eerie yew walks in deep, black shadow. “You aren’t afraid?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not with you beside me,” she answered him.

  As they walked side by side he reached for her hand. Her fingers curled into his and he wished he could stay handclasped with her until dawn. “These yew walks are reputed to be haunted,” he said, then stopped and looked down at her. “You haunt me,” he said huskily. The moonlight hardly penetrated the tall yew walk where they stood. As she gazed up at him his face was all shadowed planes and stark cheekbones. His eyes were half closed and she saw the black smudge of thick lashes which concealed the desire she knew smoldered there. The slant of his jaw emphasized the arrogance of his mouth which could give a fierce curse or an unbelievably heartrending kiss.

  He cupped her face in gentle hands and dipped his head to capture her mouth. The moment he tasted her, the kiss changed, becoming hot and sensual. His hands left her face to crush her against him. She could feel something hard as marble against her belly and dimly realized it must be his shaft.

  He could feel the tremors flowing through her body and his strong brown hand came up to brush against her breast. She shuddered with pleasure. She could no longer deny the great attraction she felt for Ruark Helford. His sensual masculine appeal made her weak with yearning. Her defenses against him were crumbling and she realized her feelings for this man could undermine all her plans. She desperately wanted to believe that he was different from other men. She longed to trust him, hoping he would always be loving and generous toward her. She wished he would fall in love with her and ask her to marry him so that she would be safe with such a strong protector. She dared to hope that he was beginning to care deeply about her, for she realized she could begin to care for him. But she knew if she gave herself to him before he had made a definite commitment to her, he would not value her.