Summer shouted, “You’re too foxy for me, Harry! Trouble is, old man, if I turn up without your strongbox, I’ll be a bloody laughingstock.”
“No trouble, Charlie, take the box.”
When his valet vigorously protested, Wild Harry explained patiently, “It’s just a sam, Sham! ‘Sdeath, can’t go about shootin’ me frien’s—don’t have that many!”
Harry fumbled in the carriage for the strongbox while Summer leveled the pistol at the little coachman.
“Leave it on the road!” ordered Summer.
Wild Harry winked, tipped his hat, and climbed back inside. The coachman, angry but impotent, had no choice but to climb back up on the box and drive off.
Summer’s knees were butter and her hands shook visibly as she tucked the pistol into her doublet. When she’d heard the pistol discharge and the ball go whizzing past her ear, she had almost fallen from Ebony. How she had ever kept her seat and carried on with the business, she’d never know. Did other highwaymen encounter a fiasco with every coach they stopped or was it just her? She dismounted on weak legs and discovered the strongbox too heavy to lift. She found the lid was securely locked and thought she would have to shoot it open. She was too close to the house to risk a shot, however, and first tried to break the lock with a jagged rock. The lock held firmly, but the hinges on the back of the lid caved in with her efforts and she transferred the money to her saddlebags. As well as the money, there appeared to be a small jewel case. She took that as well and when the strongbox was empty she found she could lift it.
She remounted Ebony and rode inland to the banks of the River Helford. There she hurled the strongbox far out into the raging water and made her way slowly back to Helford Hall. She tethered Ebony in the yew walk again, since it was fairly close to the south wing and her saddlebags were heavy. Wearily she glanced up at her balcony, thinking that after one last great effort of climbing the vine it would be all over and she would be home safe, when all at once she felt something like a sixth sense tell her that all was not right. She didn’t know if she first noticed the fragrance of tobacco or the faint glow from her bedroom window, but she was alerted that Ruark was waiting for her. The first thing she did was put her pistol in her saddlebags and hide the bags behind the shrubbery. After a few minutes’ deliberation she realized she had no option but to go up and face him. How she gained entry to her chamber mattered little at this stage of the game, so she hoisted herself up the thick ivy and swung her legs over the balcony. She removed her wide-brimmed hat and sailed it across her bedchamber into the darkness, thereby defiantly announcing her arrival.
She saw his dark shape stretched out full length upon their bed; the glow from his cheroot was bright red like a warning signal. “Good evening.” His voice was filled with such quiet menace, she licked lips gone suddenly dry. My God, she was still wearing the mustache! Quickly she peeled it from her top lip and thrust it into a pocket. “It was,” she said coldly, showing no surprise at his presence.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.
“I’ve been out minding my own business,” she said with great impudence.
He was off the bed in a flash, gripping her shoulders in harsh hands. “Never use that tone of voice to me again, madame.” His voice was like a whiplash and a wisp of fear curled in her belly.
She put out her hands to ward him off and encountered his hard, naked chest. She drew in her breath sharply as if she had been burned. His hands left her shoulders and he lit the candles on the bedside table. His eyes swept down her body, taking note of the male attire. “Who were you with that you needed a disguise? It could only have been the King,” he answered his own question.
His eyes burned into her like green flames in a mixture of hatred, anger, and jealousy. Oh, God, and lust, she realized suddenly. He had the black doublet off her before she realized his intent. She fled across the room in her tight little busk and the slim black breeches and boots. She glanced at the bedchamber door and saw that the key was missing. He grinned wickedly as she realized she was trapped in with him. Almost leisurely he lit another dozen candles in a wall sconce so that he could enjoy the scene to the full.
“Ruark, I’ve not been with the King or any man. I was out riding. I went home to Roseland … I thought it best to go dressed as a boy,” she finished lamely.
“How odd that you should bother to protect my good name of Helford after your shameless behavior with the King these past two days.”
“I have done nothing to deserve your jealousy,” she swore. She prayed that it would not be a repeat performance of last night, that would be too cruel. “Why are you here?” she asked, stalling for time.
“I felt like a piece,” he said crudely. “You’ve kept me waiting over two hours, it had better be worth the wait,” he said, his eyes never leaving the swell of her breasts in the tight black busk.
“No,” she said firmly, making it clear she wanted no part of this behavior.
“I’m simply claiming my winnings from our wager.” His mouth looked particularly cruel.
“You bastard. How could you even insinuate that I’d wager my body!” she cried.
“Ah, I forgot how important money is to you. Your tail’s only for sale, I bet.” He fished in his breeches pocket and pulled out a crown. The insult was so blatant she reacted instantly, furiously. With all her might she brought up her hand and slapped him full across the face. He grabbed her instantly, threw her to the bed, and pulled off her boots and breeches. Then he turned her over his knee and gave her bare bottom a tanning.
As his hand first made stinging contact with her soft flesh she cried out in pain. She realized instantly that he would turn a deaf ear to her cries and that she must do something more overt to protect herself. She bit his thigh, then she tried to move her mouth between his legs. “By God, you are outrageous enough to do anything!” He pushed her away from his vulnerable manhood. The second his hands let go of her she rolled off the bed clad only in the tiny corset. With the bed between them he gazed at her splendidly naked limbs as if mesmerized. He saw her through a bloodred haze of lust. My God, she was more sensual than any dream. Her breasts heaved, rising and falling back into the cupped busk until he thought he would go mad from the need to be deep inside her.
Very deliberately he stripped off the remainder of his clothes until he was completely nude. Then he simply lunged across the bed and grabbed her. She fought like a wild animal, with fists and teeth, grabbing handfuls of his hair, bringing her knee up between his legs. To his great credit, he never actually hit her, but by sheer force of strength he protected himself from her onslaught and at the same time allowed her to exhaust all her strength and energy. She was panting with exhaustion and realized her sharp tongue was the only weapon he’d left her.
“Your lust is disgusting,” she cried.
“My lust? What about yours?” he demanded, then covered her mouth with his to stop her cruel retort. “I know only one way to stop you craving the King,” he ground out. Suddenly she realized with clarity that he was about to reclaim his property and brand her as his woman. He towered above her, paused, ready to impale himself inside her in a brutal downward plunge.
“Ruark, don’t ravish me!” she begged.
Her words arrested his descent as he hung above her. “Me? My God, you are the ravisher. Only a moment ago you had your mouth upon me, biting me,” he groaned hoarsely. “Admit it, we both have needs only the other can satisfy.”
She knew that he spoke the truth, but she was outraged that he thought it was all right to use each other without making up their quarrel and declaring their love. Perhaps beneath the surface man and woman would always be deadly enemies, she thought wearily, and closed her eyes. She bit her lips to prevent a cry from escaping as the weapon of her enemy-lover thrust deep enough to touch and break her heart.
Ruark’s jealousy had eaten at him too much for him to enjoy her. Dear God, why couldn’t they have gone on loving each other? Why had she
deceived him? He had just taken her without love and knew he never wanted to do that again. He realized miserably that it was really all over between them.
She felt degraded … empty. It was the last time he would ever touch her, she vowed as she watched him leave in silence.
The next morning she awoke with chills and fever and a nasty sore throat, and though in the heat of her anger in the middle of the night she had vowed to leave this house forever at dawn, all she did was groan and turn over in the great empty bed.
A maid brought her breakfast early but she sent her away, and when she hadn’t shown her face downstairs by ten o’clock, Mr. Burke came himself to investigate. He noted the broken lock, the odorous remains of the cheroot, and Ruark’s breeches strewn on the floor. He removed all unobtrusively, and when he saw that Summer was unwell, he ordered her to remain in bed. “You have managed to exhaust yourself and now you are ill, all over that London rabble. With the exception of His Majesty, there isn’t one of them worth a pinch of bat shit, begging your pardon, my lady.”
“Oh, Mr. Burke, you make me laugh even when I’m feeling so wretched. I intended leaving Helford Hall forever this morning.”
Mr. Burke pressed his lips together as if to prevent himself from saying something indiscreet. Instead he said, “This is your home, Lady Helford. You’ve seen the back of his lordship for a while. He’s gone. God only knows where.”
She suddenly remembered her saddlebags and wondered if she dare risk asking Mr. Burke to retrieve them. “My saddlebags are down in the garden behind the flowering rhododendrons. Could I trouble you to carry them up to me, Mr. Burke?”
“It is no trouble whatsoever, my lady.” He went immediately.
“No trouble,” she repeated his words to herself. “Every time I turn around I run into trouble.”
Once her saddlebags were safely in her chamber she gratefully accepted a posset of camomile tea to soothe her fever and help her sleep. It was three days before she felt well enough to get out of bed.
Spider had climbed in her window a couple of times, but seeing how poorly she did, he did not press her about money and London. After three days in bed she felt amazingly well and rested, and after she had bathed and dressed she found enough courage to open her saddlebags and learn exactly how much money she had accumulated.
She took out the two purses she had snatched from the Duchess of Buckingham and the Countess of Lauderdale and was slightly disappointed that between the two of them they had only a thousand pounds. Wild Harry’s strongbox added another three thousand, which wasn’t too bad, but nowhere near the sixteen thousand she would have won if that bastard Helford hadn’t snatched away her victory at the last moment. Mentally she added what she had taken dressed as the Black Cat to the money she had secreted away. It came to a glorious total of ten thousand pounds. That was half of the mortgage debt. She must get Spider on his way to London without delay and perhaps with any luck at all Solomon Storm hadn’t sold Roseland.
When she opened Killigrew’s jewel case, she was both surprised and delighted. There was a full set of sapphire shirt studs, another set of ruby studs, a man’s diamond ring, an emerald ring, and an opal and onyx ring. There was a set of shoe buckles made from diamond chips and another pair of turquoise and pearl. Also there was a heavy silver knife with amethyst stones set in the haft. Summer decided to keep it. Whenever she rode to the beach at dawn, she carried a knife in her belt and this was a decided improvement over the plain little knife she used to gut fish. She also decided to keep the ruby studs. Castlemaine wouldn’t be the only one with a collection of rubies. She quite enjoyed wearing a man’s finespun shirt sometimes and the rubies would be a fine touch of defiant elegance.
She was the proud owner of a magnificent collection of jewels, though she hadn’t the vaguest notion what any of them was worth. If she was lucky and if she could find a buyer, it just might take care of the other half of the mortgage.
She spent the next couple of days with her brother. They fashioned a money belt for him to wear beneath his clothes and his wily mind gave him the idea to fit a false bottom to the small trunk he would carry with him. She gave him their aunt’s address in Cock-spur Street and gave him a letter addressed to Lil Richwood, asking that she take the ten thousand to Solomon Storm and tell him the balance of the money owed was on the way.
She admonished him to keep a sharp eye out at all times, for the City of London was a wicked, vile place akin to hell and it was populated by people who lived by their wits.
“Oh, that reminds me,” he said. “Black Jack Flash is in these parts again. His ship, the Phantom, was seen up the Helford River. If you encounter the ship, for God’s sake get the hell away quickly, for he’s in hiding and won’t hesitate to slit your throat if you discover his hiding place.”
She shuddered thinking of Bulldog Brown’s ugly face.
“Cat, when I come back from London, I’ll try to arrange a meeting with him to see if we can do some business together, but you must have a contact who’ll vouch for you or he’ll cut you up and use you for bait,” he warned.
“Spider, I don’t want you worrying about me; just look after this money, that’s all you have to do. Here’s a hundred pounds for your expenses—far more than you’ll need.”
“I’ll guard it with my life, Cat, you know that.”
She smiled and hugged him. She realized he’d grown taller than she in the last few weeks. “We’ll ride to Falmouth at dawn. You can ride Ebony and I’ll ride the pony, then I’ll bring them back,” she offered generously. She realized with a pang that at fifteen he’d become a man. It was only fitting that he ride the Barbary.
Summer cherished the freedom of her days, although she admitted with shame the nights were inconsolably lonely. She arose each morning while it was still dark and rode upon the beach as the day dawned.
Two weeks had gone by since she had seen her husband and she never gave him a thought. Never a thought until she was in her lonely bed at night and then he dominated the long, dark hours. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he think of her as often as she thought of him? Did his body cry out for her? What a ridiculous thought; the moment his body demanded pleasure, he would take it; she had no illusions about that. He wouldn’t even pay lip service to being faithful.
She wondered if he had taken steps yet to annul their marriage. She hoped he had; she wanted desperately to be free of him, she told herself fiercely!
She had done nothing about the jewels, for she knew that in the small port of Falmouth there were no jewelers. There was possibly a small demand for such things in the lurid little seamen’s taverns and brothels that were part of every port in the world, but she knew the jewels were of the best quality and wanted a good price for them.
The thought of Black Jack Flash lured her to ride along the Helston River each afternoon, but rumors of the pirate in these waters must have been just that, for she never even glimpsed a vessel. After two weeks of idleness she was frankly bored and sought to fill the hours of the day with anything which would take up time.
She washed her hair and tried on one of Ruark’s fine lace shirts and inserted the ruby studs. She laughed into the mirror as she admired herself in her tight black breeches, for she looked like a lady pirate. She went up on the widow’s walk to finish drying her hair, up among the twisted chimneys and sailboat weathervanes. She gazed east over the sparkling seas, shading her eyes to watch some passing whales far out to sea, then idly she walked around to look west along the Helford River. Was it a trick of the light or were her eyes deceiving her? she wondered. No, there was definitely something there tucked into a cove, beaneath the trees. Her heartbeat quickened. Could it be a ship? It was a possibility; one she would investigate. She put the lovely silver knife into her belt and ran down to saddle Ebony. As she rode she wondered if the ship had been there awhile and was only visible from the top of Helford Hall.
She dismounted a distance away and tethered her horse in a thick stand of trees wher
e he wouldn’t be easily seen, then by stealth made her way to where she thought the vessel lay hidden. It was a ship! She lay full length on her belly in the grass to look it over carefully. It was smaller and much lower to the waterline than the usual sailing ship. All sails were furled tightly and it was painted a shade of gray which blended into sea and sky in a successful attempt to make it invisible. It flew no flag, had no name or figurehead, yet she knew it was the Phantom.
She was so close she could hear voices and laughter. She could not make out what the men were saying for they seemed to be speaking in a foreign lingo. On her hands and knees she crept closer and saw two men who seemed to be splicing lines. They were very dark and foreign looking. They wore no shirts, only wide canvas pants and bright red scarves about their heads. She was most hesitant about making contact with the ship. She was dying to meet Black Jack Flash but at the same time a danger signal was ringing in her brain. What if he spoke no English? What if they slit her throat the moment she tried to board?
Suddenly the decision was taken out of her hands as a coarse sack was thrown over her and she was lifted bodily from her hiding place. She cursed and screamed and kicked to no avail. Whoever carried her was both massive and strong and took no more notice of her struggles than he would have a child’s. Even though her head was covered, she knew she was being carried aboard. She heard men laugh and shout foreign words, then felt herself being taken belowdecks.
“You filthy swine! You son of a whore! Let me go!” she raged.
She was dumped unceremoniously upon the floor of a cabin, where she struggled inside the grimy sacking which encased her.
“It’s a good thing Pedro doesn’t speak English or you’d have him blushing with that salty language,” a lazy, amused voice said.
“I know this ship belongs to that bastard, Black Jack Flash. I demand you take me to him,” she said, finally emerging from the sacking. Her words died on her lips as she stared in surprise at the dark, bronze face. He had wildly curling black hair. At one temple there was a zigzag of white exactly like a flash of lightning. He was unshaven and wore a black patch over one eye. The other was bright green.
The Pirate and the Pagan Page 26