The whoreson had deliberately spoiled her evening. She planted her feet firmly and glared at him. “We can’t leave before the Queen,” protested Summer.
His hand had a firm grip on her elbow and he almost dragged her from the card room into the gallery. “No one will see us leave in this crush.” But they did, of course. The men envied him and the women envied her. It looked as if they couldn’t wait a moment longer to lie with each other as they rushed from the gallery.
She knew what would happen if he got her alone. The same thing that happened last time, the thing that always happened between them. She wanted to fly at him and rend his dark face to ribbons. Instead she tried an evasive tactic. With honeyed voice she said, “Ru, come tomorrow and spend some time with us. It would be so selfish to wake a sleeping babe.”
“I am known to be selfish,” he said implacably.
“Not just selfish,” she railed, losing her carefully held temper, “you are an arrogant, ill-tempered, rampant swine.”
“Rampant?” he echoed. “I haven’t laid a hand on you for almost three months.” Almost implicit in his words was the promise “until tonight.” Her mind raced about for an avenue of escape. If she could get home before he arrived, she could keep Mrs. Bishop with her. “I’ll ride in my own carriage,” Summer insisted.
“That will be difficult. I dismissed your driver hours ago.”
Her eyes blazed her outrage. “How dare you do such a highhanded thing?” she demanded, stamping her high-heeled foot on the marble steps.
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Since I pay the man’s wages, I believe I am merely exercising my rights.” His words set off warning bells as they echoed in her brain: “Exercising my rights … exercising my rights.” The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him in his carriage. He was far too bold and sensual a man to be trusted on even a short ride. He hailed his driver and opened the carriage door for her. She stood resolute and actually opened her mouth to blurt “I’m afraid to be alone with you” when he looked down at her mockingly and said, “You’re not afraid to be alone with me, are you?”
“Afraid? You must be mad! I’m afraid of neither man nor beast.”
His mouth curved wickedly. “And you haven’t quite decided which I am yet.”
She shook off his hands as she climbed into the carriage and sat stiffly against the velvet squabs. When he sat down next to her she felt his thigh against hers and tried to move away, but he was sitting firmly on the material of her gown and she found herself effectively pinned like a butterfly. She was furious with herself for letting him have such a physical impact on her, alone together in the intimate darkness of the carriage. Her mouth was dry, her breasts, now heavy with milk, ached unbearably, and her mind vividly recalled his scalding mouth when it made love to her.
His maleness silently overwhelmed her. It had been almost three months since he’d made love to her and her traitorous body had begun to tingle the moment his muscled thigh brushed hers. The tingle grew to hunger as the carriage swayed and she fell against him. She recoiled as if she’d been shot.
“I just want you to leave me alone,” she cried.
His voice was deep, smooth, knowing, as he said, “I haven’t seen you or touched you for three months. I think that’s long enough— overlong for a woman as sensual as you are, Summer darling.” Her name on his lips sent shivers running up inside her. She dug her clenched nails into the palms of her hands and the sharp pain stopped her resolve from weakening. She bit down on her lip to revive her hatred of him.
“Why are you angry with me?” he asked, his lips only an inch above her ear.
“Damn you, I’m more than angry—I hate you!”
“Why?” he whispered.
“Spencer, of course, and for ravishing me. I’ll never forgive you!”
He didn’t touch her, but she expected to feel his roving hands any moment. Quietly he said, “You know how the war has escalated. I sent him off to Madagascar on a merchant ship to keep him safe. How long do you think you could have kept him out of the lighting? And it’s going to get worse, much worse.”
He was actually trying to make her believe that he had done the noble thing by Spencer. “And the ravishment?” she demanded. “Talk your way out of that one!”
“Mea culpa,” he crooned, knowing he was close to committing the offense again.
The carriage stopped and she knew she must get out instantly. She tried to bolt through the door and heard a sickening rip as the delicate fabric of her gown was torn open from ankle to hip. She looked at him in dismay and he smiled into her eyes with unconcealed lust. With one smooth movement he swung her legs up onto the seat and his strong brown hands went up inside the gaping gown to slither up her thighs and beyond. His mouth sought hers and she withdrew from it until she was lying full length upon the carriage seat. Her breasts swelled from the overtight bodice until one popped out and his avid mouth had captured its rosy crown before her hand could cover it. Too late! He tasted the drop of fluid and it was such an unbelievably erotic experience he almost ejaculated.
She shuddered. “No, no, no,” she cried.
“Darling, I know your body so well, it’s crying out to mine right now.”
“Not anymore, Ruark. I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”
The words had the same effect as a slap in the face. He withdrew from her immediately. She sat up shakily and covered her naked breast. The silence stretched between them unbearably. She had gained a few minutes’ respite, perhaps she could gain longer. “If I let you see Ryan, will you promise to leave us in peace for another three months?”
His voice was cool, distant. “I think I can safely say I’ll be occupied elsewhere. The Dutch are going to hit back and hit back hard.”
The baby was crying when they entered the house. The moment she heard his cry, drops of milk ran from her swollen breasts and wet the bodice of her gown. Mrs. Bishop carried him down the stairs, secretly delighted to see Ruark was with her.
Ruark held out his arms for his son and naturally Mrs. Bishop proudly handed him over to his father. Self-interest made Summer keep a close watch on his face. A finger of fear touched her heart as she saw the possessive look on Ruark’s face. His dark eyes sent a quick message to Bish to leave them private and she retreated up the stairs unobtrusively.
“My sweetheart,” whispered Summer, her heart turning over with love at the sight of her child. The moment he heard his mother’s voice, baby Ryan had eyes for no one else. He began to cry lustily, demandingly, and Summer knew she must somehow get rid of Ruark so she could feed him. “It’s late,” she said apologetically. “You do understand, Ruark?”
Still holding his son, he lowered his eyes to her breasts, which swelled lusciously from the tight bodice. The two wet spots grew larger as he watched.
“I understand perfectly,” he said hoarsely.
Her cheeks grew warm. She took the child from him firmly and said pointedly, “I have to feed him, as you can see. If you have looked your fill, sir, would you leave?”
“No,” he said quietly, “I’m going to watch you … I’ll never have my fill.”
Her breasts ached so much she knew she had no choice. She carried Ryan into the salon and sat down in a rocking chair. She turned her shoulder away from Ruark to partially conceal herself, gently withdrew a full breast, and offered it to her baby. For the first few seconds he made little noises of distress as if he feared he would be deprived of the source of his happiness. Then he quieted as he gripped it firmly with his tiny hands.
Ruark moved around in front of them with a look of awe on his face. Never in his life had he felt so protective before. He wanted them both, and of course he knew a sure way to get what he wanted. If he took his son, he knew the mother would follow.
“Ru, I beg you, leave us in peace,” she begged.
“A baby belongs with his mother, but later on, you know I will want him, Summer. I won’t allow my son to be brought up in London. You know as well as I that he belongs at
Helford Hall.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as they fiercely challenged each other over the precious burden. Rather than hurt her child, she was willing to hand him over now. Then she saw Ruark’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Summer, I can be such a swine at times. I’ll leave you in peace,” he promised sadly.
Summer entered that period of her life where she sought to know herself. Since that fateful day long ago when she arrived in London and glimpsed Lord Ruark Helford, her life had been tumultuous. The passion which had almost consumed them had been too scorching not to cool and by his rejection he had sent her headlong into the arms and bed of his brother. She had committed the mortal sin of letting both men make love to her until it had culminated in a child.
She was now completely celibate and at last her conscience was at rest. It was such a relief to have everything sorted out, to get off the seesaw of loving two men. The only one she loved now was Ryan. He was the only male in her life who meant anything and everything to her. Peace and quiet had brought her contentment, especially now that she had been able to put the ghost of her excessive love for Lord Ruark Helford to rest.
Her contentment was short-lived. The Earl of Bristol was taking her to the King’s Playhouse on Drury Lane to see Ben Jonson’s Volpone. It was the talk of the town and she dressed with great care because she knew the house would be packed with fashionable women. She chose a sophisticated black gown to set off her rubies and swept her hair up in a rather severe, yet most elegant fashion.
Summer was amused by the envious glances she received from the other women at the play and knew it was because of the earl’s devastating good looks. She liked George immensely; they were good friends because she wasn’t the least bit infatuated by his handsome face. It took a more rugged countenance to set Summer’s pulses beating. The earl held her seat in the private box and she gave him a dazzling smile as she shrugged the black fox fur from her shoulders and looked across the theater to see a small group arrive. It was the King, and Summer was amused to see that he had escorted both Barbara Castlemaine and Frances Stewart to see the fashionable play. Barbara was resplendent in purple; she laid claim to the color because of its association with royalty. She flaunted her diamonds and Summer grudgingly admired her. Sitting there, filled with another royal bastard, she had more than earned her diamonds. Summer’s eye fell on Frances Stewart and again she wondered what possible attraction the girl could hold for a voluptuary like Charles. She was so young, so slim, so pale. Only a prim little strand of pearls adorned her small bosom. She felt a fleeting stab of pity for poor Charles caught between two loves, then the pity was swept away as she saw clearly that Charles was an aging roué who lusted for the girl’s extreme youth and virginity. Her lip curled and she was about to make a cynical remark to her escort when her eyes traveled to the next box. “Good God!” she exclaimed.
“What’s amiss, my dear?” asked George, who saw clearly her look of distress.
“It’s Helford. He’s with a chit young enough to be his daughter!” An unreasoning hot jealousy swept her with such ferocity it deprived her of breath.
George chuckled and she turned to bestow a look of outrage upon him. “Actually it’s my daughter.”
Her brain had ceased to function. “Your daughter?” she repeated stupidly.
“Georgie. She’s up from the country for the first time and Ruark has taken her under his protective wing … to keep off the fortune hunters,” he added confidentially.
“Georgie?” she echoed with unconcealed loathing. She felt acutely unwell. A sudden pain almost cut her in half and she realized with dismay that it was her heart which was hurting. Her throat constricted so much she began to pant. Her eyes narrowed and swung between Helford and the King. Both dark faces smiled down at little girls and she saw Charles reach out to fondle Frances’s knee. They were like two peas from the same disgusting pod! Whoremongers! Lechers! It was unbearable; she was outraged.
Good God, in the eyes of the court it would look as if two men had conspired obscenely to swap a daughter for a wife, yet the Earl of Bristol sat there with a fatuous look on his face as if the world were unfolding as it should, when in reality it was hurtling toward destruction!
Ben Jonson’s masterpiece made little sense to Summer as she tapped her foot, impatiently waiting for intermission. The actors droned on until she wanted to scream, then mercifully the velvet curtains swung closed and the applause burst forth like thunder. Summer clapped her hands enthusiastically, glad that the damned thing was at least half over. As the occupants of the boxes mingled in the circular promenade where wine was served, George and Summer came face-to-face with Ruark and Georgie. Why in the name of heaven had she worn black? It turned her skin sallow and aged her unbelievably. Her coiffure, which had seemed elegant at the outset of the evening, now seemed hideous.
Digby’s daughter wore baby blue. Summer thought the clusters of blond ringlets bouncing upon her shoulders looked like disgusting sausages. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, bubbling, “I’m having a simply divine evening.” She glanced adoringly up at Ruark and said, “Lord Helford’s eyes match the emeralds you gave me for my birthday.”
“Really?” drawled Summer. “They always remind me of gooseberries floating in syrup.”
Ruark’s face was impassive, his manners impeccable, as he said, “Lady Georgina Digby, may I present Lady Summer St. Catherine.”
“Oh,” said Georgina, suddenly looking very sulky, then remembering her manners, she curtsied to the older woman.
Summer’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not quite a dowager yet, darling.”
“Daddy, Lord Helford has asked me to the Countess of Lauderdale’s party after the play. May I go, Daddy, please?” she begged prettily.
“It’s unlike you to play gadfly,” George remarked to Ruark.
Summer said sweetly, “It’s hard to be yourself when you’re trying to make a good impression.” The currents between Summer and Ruark flowed furiously, yet amazingly father and daughter seemed unaware.
The earl could deny his child nothing. “You may go to your party if you’re home at a respectable hour.”
Ruark’s eyes caught Summer’s as he said smoothly, “I’ll have her in bed before eleven.” Summer gasped in disbelief at the double entendre, but Helford had swept the girl off on his arm to enjoy the rest of the play. The girl hadn’t the vaguest notion that Lord Helford had ever been married. As he took her empty glass from her Georgie whispered to Ruark, “So that’s Summer St. Catherine. My father’s in love with her, you know, and I’m dreadfully afraid she’s got her hooks well into him.”
Ruark’s hands balled into fists. The empty wineglass was crushed into minute shards.
Georgie was aghast. “Oh, my lord, did you cut yourself?”
He shook his head and replied through his teeth, “Didn’t draw blood … though I might before I’m finished.”
Summer said to George, “I cannot approve your choice of escort, milord.”
“Helford? Why, he’s the most honorable fellow I know.”
“That damns your friends with faint praise indeed,” she said coolly, struggling in vain with the green-eyed monster who had her by the throat. “I wouldn’t trust him in a convent.”
George hugged her to him, his eyes laughing down into hers. “Your wicked wit is devastating. ’Tis one of the things about you which utterly fascinates me.”
The next day she lost no time paying a visit to Lil Richwood. Her aunt had an uncanny ability at picking up whispers before they became common gossip, and Summer bombarded her with questions about the Earl of Bristol’s daughter. “She’s obviously a sly little bitch who has her father wrapped about her little finger. He actually bought her emeralds, the other day … emeralds begod!”
“She’s his only heiress, darling, and she got a fortune when her mother died.”
“Well, you’d never know it by her clothes,” said Summer with a shudder. “She was as commonplace as mud. ’Fore God, she was in predictable ba
by blue.”
“She was in pastels because she’s not yet sixteen,” soothed Auntie Lil.
“For Christ’s sake, is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Stop it, Summer! Next you’ll be fancying he annulled the marriage so he could take another wife.”
“Is that what you’ve heard? Is that what you’re trying to keep from me?” demanded Summer.
Lil rolled her eyes heavenward, desperately seeking divine help. “’Tis as plain as a pikestaff that you’re still mad in love with him. If I can see it, it only stands to reason that he’s well aware of it. It’s beyond me why he doesn’t drag you by the scruff of the neck to Cornwall to make more babies.”
Summer burst into tears.
“What’s the matter now?” asked Lil, softening.
“Tomcats drag females by the scruff of the neck. That’s exactly what he is, a tomcat!”
Lil was exasperated. “I’ve only so much patience and you’ve had the lot. What you need is a damn good roll in the hay. Take a lover. Let him fill you with cream until you purr.”
“Who?” asked Summer blankly.
Lil laughed. “You’re like someone at a banquet who starves! The court is chocablock with randy males; you have your choice from the King down … or up, whichever your perspective. Or better yet, marry George Digby and become a countess.”
Summer suddenly became very still. After a few moments she gathered her fan and her muff and departed, her mind far off in deepest thought.
“Good God, what maggot have I unleashed in her brain?” muttered Lil to no one in particular.
To a casual observer it appeared that Summer was taking Lil Richwood’s advice as she readied some of her more elaborate gowns to take to Court. She needed a man and the place to find a man, of course, was Court. In a few days there was to be a gala reception honoring ambassadors from France, Spain, and Russia, and Summer decided the occasion definitely called for ostrich feathers. Ryan was six months old and just about weaned, but the day before she left for Court she spent the whole day cuddling him. Mrs. Bishop shook her head over Summer’s behavior. “’Tis most unfashionable for a lady to be constantly seen with a babe in her arms. Soon he won’t just be spoiled, he’ll be ruinated! He has too many women fussing about him night and day.”
The Pirate and the Pagan Page 43