The Pirate and the Pagan

by Virginia Henley

  All hands were on deck and stood smartly to attention as the master of the ship came aboard. In the faces closest to her she saw respect—or was it fear?—reflected by the ship’s lanterns.

  “Mr. Cully,” his harsh voice rang out.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” came the immediate reply as a wiry-looking sailor of indeterminate age stepped up smartly and saluted.

  “My lady’s boxes,” said Ruark Helford crisply.

  Summer shuddered. He who must be obeyed, she thought with a slight tinge of apprehension. Much to her surprise he did not show her down to his cabin but took her to a small, well-appointed cabin located forward in the bow.

  “You will see I am observing all the proprieties,” he said huskily. “I knew if I offered you a cabin adjoining mine, you would refuse.”

  Summer let out a tiny sigh of relief. At last he had gotten the message that she was a lady. She could afford to unbend a little. She looked up at him and reached out a hand which aimed for his arm, but managed to fall upon his broad chest. “You have been so very kind to me, Lord Helford,” she murmured, and she felt the strong beat of his heart beneath her hand. In one more second she knew she would be swept up in his arms, but at that very moment Mr. Cully pushed open the cabin door with his knee and swung two heavy boxes from his shoulders.

  Ruark looked down at her ruefully. “When you have everything you need, lock this cabin door until morning. That is an order. Good night, Lady Summer.”

  When he had gone, she leaned her back against the door and threw her muff into the air with a little whoop of joy. Before she was done with him she’d have him eating out of her hand like her stallion Ebony. Mr. Cully returned with the last of her luggage, showed her the little cabinet which contained water, soap, and towels, then drew the leather curtains across the latticed window from which could be observed the deck and above that the quarterdeck if you crouched at the right angle upon the cushioned window seat.

  “May I have a little wine, Mr. Cully?”

  He indicated a rosewood panel in the wall and showed her how to open it. Inside silver goblets and a decanter of wine were fastened in brackets and a solid silver box held dry biscuits. He said in broad cockney, “’Is nibs runs a tight ship, m’lydy.” He touched his forelock and spirited himself through the door like a wraith.

  She pushed home the bolt. “Weil, Ruark Helford, I’ll obey the first order you’ve given me … after that we’ll see!”

  After Summer examined her surroundings, reading the barometer which indicated a storm, twirling the globe of the world in its wooden frame, and feeling the soft wool blankets which made up the berth, she sipped two glasses of the full-bodied red wine, turned the oil lamp low, and undressed.

  She didn’t want to disturb the beautiful new clothes she had packed with such care and slipped into the bunk naked. The ship still at anchor rose and fell gently, lulling her to sleep. Vaguely she became half-aware that the ship was moving and the wind had picked up considerably. She turned over and went back to sleep.

  She was rudely awakened by a thudding roar as a great wave hit the deck and the cabin stood on its end. She realized they must be out in the North Sea, being buffeted about by a gale before they could turn into the Strait of Dover. She threw back the blankets and staggered across the cabin to a porthole. The storm outside was raging. Rain swept horizontally across the heaving seas. As she struggled to shut the port she heard a man’s voice roar over the thunderous storm, “Hands to braces in the maintops,” and the ship gave a sharp plunge before she was brought around to the wind again.

  Summer’s pulses raced. It was an exhilarating experience to be in a storm at sea. It was frightening and exciting at one and the same time and her blood sang recklessly. She would have given anything to be on deck at this moment, but she had more good sense than to distract the sailors when the ship was in peril.

  She hugged herself. Ruark must have known about the storm, yet it hadn’t entered his head not to brave it. She clung to the braced window seat as the ship pitched and plunged. It seemed to climb upward over a mile-high mountainous wave, then wallow down into the trough.

  Gradually the heavy weather lessened until the ship merely rolled about from side to side. The danger was past, but Summer knew a need to release her pent-up energy. She began to sway with the ship, keeping up with its undulating rhythm. Her dancing grew wilder, spinning and turning in an abandoned frenzy. Her black cloud of hair flew about her naked limbs until it was a great disheveled mass. She flung her head back in ecstasy as if she would sacrifice herself to some ancient sea god.

  Ruark Helford had had no time to spare for his passenger until he had safely weathered the storm, but now that the sea was less heavy he thought of her immediately and imagined the great fear she must be experiencing, alone in the little cabin. His eyes were drawn down from the quarterdeck toward the cabin’s latticed windows, and as his eyes focused on a chink of light through the leather curtains he was rooted to the spot as he saw the wildly erotic dance of the completely naked girl. He was stunned. Could this untamed creature be the same innocent young lady he’d brought aboard earlier? He was mesmerized by her beautiful young body, spinning and twirling, her cloud of black hair alternately concealing then revealing her full, rounded breasts. He’d never seen a female act so abandoned before, not even dancers in Turkish brothels. And yet her natural grace and total lack of artifice lent a piquant innocence to her uninhibited display. Something inside him was irresistibly drawn to her free spirit.

  He knew the storm had affected her to the same degree it had him. Its danger had excited her to such a pitch she had to expend her energy in a lavish, excessive physical outburst. If he made love to her, he knew she would be capable of the same wild excess, the same delirious abandon. His blood was high, his pulses pounded from battling the raging seas, and he, too, needed release. His tongue licked the salt from his lips and his eyes devoured the long slim legs crowned with a triangle of black, silky ringlets. Her arms flung out as if to summon a lover. My God, she was like a pagan. And then he knew exactly where he’d seen her before. It was as if she had posed for the figurehead on his ship, the Pagan Goddess. All his senses cried out for her. She was utterly different from any other woman he had known, His blood, already intoxicated by the storm, was now enflamed with lust.

  He turned the wheel over to his second-in-command and stalked a direct path to her cabin. “Summer,” he called against the door, “let me in.”

  There was dead silence.

  “I must see for myself that you are safe. Open the door,” he commanded.

  Again there was dead silence. Summer pressed against the inside of the door listening to the desire in his deep voice. She smiled and disobeyed his command.

  The command changed to a subtle threat. “I won’t leave this door until you open it and let me see that you are unharmed.” He knew that if she opened the door to him, she would be symbolically opening her body to him and inviting him inside where he hotly lusted to be. The threat changed to a plea. “My lady, please open the door. The moment I see you are unafraid I will leave you to rest.”

  “I’m perfectly all right, Lord Helford,” she replied. Then in a husky, teasing voice she whispered, “In fact … I’ve never felt better.”

  His arousal was so strong, he knew he must have her. “Let me see for myself,” he commanded.

  “We both know I cannot risk opening this door.” The warm sensual tone of her voice belied her words.

  “Risk?” he challenged.

  “It would deny propriety, my lord, to admit you to my cabin in the middle of the night.”

  His hands were on the door to force it when he realized he was in a reckless mood, savage enough to force her once the door had yielded. He didn’t want to rape her, he wanted to exert such a strong power over her that she would yield herself to him in extravagant abandon.

  “Good night, Lord Helford,” she teased.

  He put his ear against the door and heard her deep br
eaths whispering against the polished wood. “Summer?” he begged low, desire refusing to be denied.

  Her eyes slitted like a cat’s when it was being stroked and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile of triumph as she tiptoed across the cabin and slipped into bed.

  By morning it was as if there had never been a storm. The English Channel seemed calm as a duck pond and she surmised they must be somewhere off the Isle of Wight. She hummed a little tune as she bathed and dressed in the pale lavender silk with its prim high neckline. She heard a tap on the door and called, “What is it?”

  “Breakfast, m’lydy,” came the voice of Mr. Cully. She unbolted the cabin door for him and said, “I could have gone to the galley. Thank you very much. When I’ve finished, I’m going up on deck for some fresh air.”

  Mr. Cully shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that, m’lydy … trouble brewin’.”

  “What sort of trouble?” she asked.

  He shook his head again. “Best stay syfe in yer little mouse’ole.”

  “What’s up?” she demanded.

  He hesitated then blurted out, “A floggin’ … Cap’n found a man drunk on watch.” He bobbed his head and ducked out.

  Surely Helford wouldn’t order a man flogged for taking a drink? Especially after the horrors of sailing through that storm. She pushed the food aside and reached for her cloak.

  When she arrived on deck, she realized with horror that she was too late. Not only had Helford ordered the flogging, he was carrying out the punishment himself. The sailor had been stripped to the waist and lashed to the mast. His back was already bloody. Helford stood wielding a bull whip, immaculately garbed in navy breeches and snowy shirt and stock. His long black hair was clubbed back into a cue as neatly as if he wore a wig.

  Outraged, she ran across the deck and cried, “Stop!”

  He looked at her with disbelief. “Go below!” he commanded.

  “No!”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “No? On my own quarterdeck you dare to say no?”

  She swayed forward and he saw that she was close to fainting. A foul oath fell from his lips as he threw down the whip and strode to her side. “Cut him down,” he called over his shoulder, then he took hold of her wrist in what felt like an iron vise and half dragged her belowdecks to his cabin. The cabin door crashed back against its frame.

  “What in the name of God was that all about?” he demanded. His eyes were cold and hard and glittering with anger.

  She stepped back from him, half afraid. She had stopped the whipping, so there was no point in exacerbating his temper. Breathlessly she said, “A flogging is so brutal.”

  “He got off easy … I should have hanged the bastard; and will next time.”

  “For drinking?” she asked hesitantly.

  “He may get blind drunk anytime he likes, except under my command, when he is on watch. Our lives and my ship are in the hands of my sailors when they are on watch. I was the most detested officer in His Majesty’s navy because I insisted on discipline. Soon I’ll be the most detested man in Cornwall. I’ve been appointed high commissioner and magistrate to put an end to the blatant smuggling. The trees will soon bear the fruit of my hangings.” He stopped and bit his lip.

  “I shouldn’t have interfered,” she murmured. It was the closest she’d ever come to an apology.

  Suddenly he saw himself through her eyes and he winced inwardly. A well-bred lady who had lived a sheltered life in the country must have been shocked to the core by what she had seen up on deck.

  Summer was glad she had held her tongue. She had almost flung at him the terrible accusation that because she had bolted her door against him he had vented his spleen on the first hapless sailor he had encountered. Now she realized she had had nothing to do with it.

  “Lady Summer, I should never have exposed you to such brutality. Do you forgive me?” She nodded slightly.

  “Show me you forgive me by taking supper with me this evening. I have to make port in Plymouth this afternoon, but I will have you home by ten o’clock tonight.”

  “I am happy not to have to spend another night aboard,” she said softly.

  “And supper?” he pressed.

  “If you insist, Lord Helford,” she conceded graciously.

  When she returned to her cabin, she removed the gray velvet cloak and sat down upon the cushioned window seat to think. She had a few very tricky problems which she must work out if she was not to drop her candy in the sand. No doubt remained that Lord Helford was in pursuit of her … that was good. She had only slightly less than a month before the mortgage came due again … that was bad. He was already deeply attracted to her and couldn’t hide the fact that he longed to woo her … that was good. She was a smuggler and he was the law … that was bad.

  Her objective was to become wife or mistress within the month, and this would require a delicate balancing act. She must seem to hold him off with one hand while luring him on with the other. One thing was certain. He must not get a look at Roseland until she had bagged him. To let him see its run-down condition, dearth of servants, and the near-poverty conditions she and Spider had survived would ring a death knell to her liaison with the wealthy Lord Helford.

  For the King to have given him this appointment, he would have to have a keen eye and the mind of an interrogator. She must never underestimate him. Summer sighed. She wished she could be herself with him. She wanted to ride with him across the wild moors and wear her breeches. She wanted to curse and swear at him and make him laugh. She wanted to cheat him at cards and beat the pants off him … pants off him, her mind repeated, and she blushed. She put her hands to her burning cheeks. She must keep her mind on the task at hand. She must never allow her emotions to gain control of her. She would have to be devastatingly devious to bring her plans to fruition. She needed access to his fortune to save Roseland. The wild rides, the curses, and the card cheating must never happen. She was supposed to be a well-bred, gently reared heiress. Still, she didn’t exactly hate play-acting the role of a lady. It was all very diverting to ply a fan and balance on pretty high-heeled slippers and lower her lashes over her bold eyes.

  Her mind flashed back to the orange girls at the theater. Their sauciness certainly attracted the men. Then she remembered how her demure behavior had almost had Helford panting. She’d try both; that should keep him off balance!

  She contemplated changing her gown for dinner then decided against it. Earlier she’d worn her cloak, so he hadn’t really seen the dress, and it had a high frilled neckline which could only be described as modest. If she changed her gown for something fancier, his male vanity would be flattered that she was making a display just for him.

  She did decide, however, to put up her hair in a more sophisticated style. With her brush she piled it all high and fastened it with combs decorated by silk violets, allowing just one fat curl to fall down over her shoulder. Then she picked up a matching fan and practiced in the mirror. She also discovered if she took a few slow steps then turned quickly, her silken petticoats swished and whispered seductively.

  When his low knock sounded on her cabin door at suppertime, Summer was ready. She was ready for anything! Her eyes widened at the elegance of the small table which had been set up in his cabin. Heavy damask linen, sterling silver, crystal goblets, and wineglasses had been laid out and its center was a mass of cream-colored roses and tall scented wax tapers.

  “Wherever did you get the roses?” she asked.

  “My men scoured Plymouth this afternoon,” he said, smiling down at her.

  A bubble of laughter escaped her lips at the incongruous picture the hard-bitten sailors must have made. He held her chair and his hands managed to brush her shoulders as she sat down, but it was only for the merest second. “You will have a little Chablis.” He made it sound like an imperative as he picked up the bottle to pour.

  “I am unused to wine, Lord Helford.”

  “You have many pleasures yet to taste,” he said boldly.r />
  Summer looked deeply into his hazel eyes to show him that she understood the sexual connotation and said slowly, “You mean the food; yes, it does smell delicious.”

  He lifted the silver cover from a soup tureen and served them a creamy lobster bisque. She gave up a silent prayer of thanks to Auntie Lil for teaching her the intricacies of the array of cutlery.

  Should she toy with her food as she had seen the coquettes do at Anna Maria Shrewsbury’s? She found it impossible to do so. She had missed too many dinners in her lifetime. Summer felt it a sacrilege to waste food.

  He looked on with approval as she heartily dipped the large prawns into the melted lemon butter. He thought her face in the candleglow the most arresting he had ever seen. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes slanted upward at the corners, her skin was smooth as heavy cream, and her lips were full and red as crushed strawberries. Her face was as exotically delicate as a vanilla orchid.

  She knew she must begin to lay the groundwork for her campaign. As he served the next course and refilled her wineglass she sighed. “I have so much to do when I get home, I don’t know where to start, Lord Helford.”

  “Do you think you could find it in your heart to call me Ruark?”

  “I should not,” she said quickly.

  “But?” he pressed.

  She hesitated. “Perhaps.” She continued, “My father was a most eccentric man,” she said softly. “He could not abide servants about him. It was just as well really, because he was difficult … impossible … to work for, and one by one they all left.”

  “You cannot run Roseland without servants,” he asserted.

  “I have somehow managed to do so. However, all that will change now,” she said.

  He had taken it for granted that Lady Summer St. Catherine had been spoiled and pampered. Perhaps it was not so.