She turned to gaze at his splendid male body. “Today we were pagans together. I’ll remember it always.”
He closed the distance between them in three strides. “Darling, you must promise me you’ll never ride before daylight, and it goes without saying, I hope, that you must never ride naked. This coast is a haven for pirates and smugglers and is extremely dangerous.”
“Danger excites me,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.
He kissed her back fiercely. “You remind me exactly of my beautiful figurehead on the Pagan Goddess.” He carried her to their bed, but when he let go of her, she stood up on the bed, put her back against one of the carved posts, then put her arms behind her to suspend herself in the same pose as the figurehead.
It thrilled him deeply that she was so natural and artless with him. No trace of self-consciousness marred their love play. He took hold of her lovely legs and pulled her down onto the pillows. He straddled her and bent to give her a dozen kisses, then he rolled with her until she lay on top of him. “Let’s make love while the reckless pagan mood is still upon us,” he invited.
She needed little urging. She ran her fingers over the crisp dark hair of his chest, then fastening them in the black curls on his head, she drew up his face to hers until their mouths fused. Then her legs stretched and her body opened to receive him. Instantly her body contracted as if to seal that part of him inside her forever. They were aroused to such a pitch she felt she could never absorb enough of him.
When they reached the peak of their endurance, they erupted and spilled together, and she fell trembling upon him and sobbed from the great release she had received.
Ruark cradled her and soothed her. “My baby, my honey love, don’t cry, life is too short.”
She dashed the tears from her cheeks and gave him a dazzling smile. “Lady Helford has a thousand things to do this morning, if you will release me from this bed.”
“I will release you on condition you let me watch you take your bath.”
“Watch me? Surely you will join me?” she tempted wickedly. He needed no urging and went himself to carry in the large slipper bath.
“Ru, I was teasing,” she gasped.
“I was serious”—he grinned—“but I’ll tease you if you wish.” For the first time she blushed.
He summoned maids for hot water and built a fire so she wouldn’t be cold. Though it was still very early, light had begun to stream through the tall windows, and when she realized their nakedness would not be half-shadowed or bathed in candleglow, a thrill ran up her spine. He enjoyed looking at her so much, he made her feel very beautiful. She eyed his great length doubtfully. “Will it hold us both?”
“Only if you sit in my lap.” He leered at her wickedly as he lifted her to stand in the water and climbed in behind her. He sat down first and made a chair for her with his knees, but before she could sit, he pressed a kiss upon her bottom. “Has anyone ever told you what a pretty bum you have?”
“And who, pray, would tell me such a thing?” she asked primly, suffused with blushes.
His heart melted. He pulled her to his lap and enfolded her in his arms. “Sweet, I’m sorry to use you so familiarly. Most ladies would be in shock by now at the things I’ve done to you. I’m so lucky that you’re generous with me.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. It smelled of the sea. He was enthralled to discover he loved absolutely everything about her.
Shyly she handed him the sponge so he could wash her back, but he tossed it across the room and whispered against her neck, “I’m going to use my hands.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than his hands cupped her breasts, lathering them with scented soap, then playing with them by drawing circles and elaborate patterns across the peaks and valleys. Then on the pretext of searching for the soap, he dipped his hands into the water between her legs until she was squealing from his teasing fingers.
Gasping, she twisted against him and he took possession of her tempting mouth, unmindful of the great splosh of water their playful bodies displaced.
Summer insisted it was only fair she be allowed to lather him, and when he lifted his arms, she tickled him unmercifully. When she kissed his armpit, the gesture was so intimate, their laughter ceased. They gazed into each other’s eyes, then very tenderly he touched his lips to every part of her body.
When at last she was able to return to Roseland, sweetly refusing Mr. Burke’s offer to accompany her and help bring her things to Helford Hall, she changed into an old skirt and shawl and rode the pony down to Falmouth. She was extremely relieved to find no trace of Sergeant Oswald about the prison as she made her way as unobtrusively as possible to the common cell.
Spider looked no worse for wear and was in a most cheerful and cheeky mood. “What the hell are you doing back here, Cat? I forbid you to come again.”
“I had to see if you were all right.”
He winked. “I see more meals here than I ever saw at home.”
“Spider, Lord Helford and I were married last night,” she said, low. “I haven’t told him about you yet, or about the damned mortgage on Roseland.”
Spider seemed to take it for granted that she would have become Lady Helford as she had schemed to do. “For God’s sake, Cat, don’t tell him yet. Wait until you have him eating out of your hand before you breathe a dickybird about your ‘difficulties.’”
She nodded quickly. “He’s taking me to Stowe for a few days, but I’ll tell him before your case comes up before him, I promise. Everything will be fine, Spider. He’s wonderful. I know he’ll do anything I ask.”
Spider grinned. “Stop worrying; go and enjoy yourself.”
Two hours later she drove the ponycart up to Helford Hall. She had carefully packed all her pretty clothes from London into two small trunks and instructed a footman to put them directly onto the traveling coach which stood on the driveway waiting for the team of four carriage horses to be brought from the stables. She wore the primrose yellow riding dress, and when Ruark saw her, his eyes swept over her possessively. “You look delicious, darling. How in the world did you manage to transport all your belongings so quickly?”
“Oh,” she replied, dissembling, “I only brought a few things to take to Stowe. I couldn’t find anything fine enough to wear before the King and court. I’m afraid I’ll shame you with my rags.”
He swept her from head to foot with amused eyes. “If this elegant, impractical primrose outfit is any indication of your wardrobe, you’ll make the other women look like damned crows. However, I’ll take you to Plymouth tomorrow so you can do some shopping if you like,” he offered indulgently.
“Oh, thank you, darling. I’ll just run upstairs and get my rubies.”
When she entered their bedchamber, she was surprised to find a half-dozen maids and the housekeeper gathered about the bed. They stopped talking as she came into the room and the two youngest ones lowered their eyes and blushed. Then she realized with amazement they had gathered to see if there had been blood on the sheets as befitted a virgin bride.
Suddenly Mr. Burke appeared in the doorway with an armful of fresh linen. He immediately realized what the nosy women were up to. In a cold, stern voice he announced, “I shall take care of Lady Helford’s chamber this morning. Be about your business, ladies.”
They left immediately, thoroughly abashed. Summer picked up the velvet cases which held her precious rubies and said softly, “Thank you, Mr. Burke. I haven’t even had time to see all of the house yet.”
“When you get back, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“I’m so glad that you will be here waiting for me when I return.” The two were already firm friends and allies.
The roads of Cornwall were steep and craggy. They were also narrow, precipitous, and dangerous, particularly for a coach-and-four. A safe journey depended in part on the stamina of the horses and the skill of an experienced coachman.
A face-to-face meeting with another carriage or cart required t
hat the one heading uphill back down to a wider place called a lay-by. Sometimes the road followed the windy edge of the endless cliffs and sometimes it wound slightly inland, hugged by hedges and a profusion of wild flowers.
From the wind-whipped headlands one could view the coastline riddled with little bays and hidden caves and crevices, and beyond, the sea’s mad exhilaration filled the observer with wild enthusiasms. Together they admired this Cornwall of theirs.
“The whole three hundred miles of coastline is indented by coves and inlets.” He shook his head. “It is a perfect place for smugglers … no authority on earth can stop such determined men.”
She shuddered. “Let’s not talk of such things. Most people tell tales of smuggling filled with adventure, derring-do, and romance, but I know the reality is filled with gore and drear and pain down every pathway. You don’t employ informers, do you? For some, betrayal and informing are a way of life.”
“I thought you didn’t wish to talk of such things,” he said, evading her question.
She smiled at him. “I swear Cornwall blood sets us apart from others. There are times when you cannot dispel brooding, dark moods and then there are the times when restless devils inside us struggle to be set free. My worst fault, I suppose, is feeling passionate over absolutely everything.”
His mouth looked hard, almost cruel, as he said, “I thought I was totally responsible for kindling your passion.” Then she saw the teasing light in his eyes and laughed. “What is your worst fault, Ru?”
The teasing light faded from his eyes as he became serious. “I have an explosive temper, which I try to keep under control. Unfortunately every once in a while”—he looked off in the distance as if remembering, regretting, then he looked at Summer, gave her a quick smile and finished his sentence—“it escapes and runs riot over everyone and everything.”
She wondered if he was warning her. “Ruark, were you born at Helford?” she asked.
“No, I was born up the north coast at a place named High Tor. A wild and barren place where the whip of the wind never ceases. A place too stark and craggy for anything but stunted trees and screaming gulls and flying spume.”
“That accounts for your dark side, your moods,” she said lightly. “I, on the other hand, was born at my mother’s home on the Roseland Peninsula. A place filled with bloom and beauty which runs up the sheltered valley cleft from the sea.”
He smiled at her indulgently. “That’s why your home was named Roseland and you were named Summer.”
“Of course,” she said lightly. She couldn’t bear to tell Ruark the truth about her unhappy origins—she almost wanted to believe her lies herself. She, too, had been born on the bleak north coast, where her mother had been temporarily abandoned by her brutal father. Rumor had it that winter had been the longest in memory, and when her child was finally born, she had called her Summer in defiance.
“Well, Lady Summer Helford, you are extremely beautiful today. I would hazard a guess that marriage agrees with you.” He began to make love to her with his eyes.
“You know, Ruark, I never ever thought that it would. I quite hated and detested men until I met you.”
“I, too, dreaded marriage, but the truth is, sweetheart, there’s nowhere on earth I’d rather be than in this damned uncomfortable coach with you in my lap.” He lifted her from the opposite seat onto his knee. He could not keep his hands from her shining black tresses, and as he lifted a silken curl from her shoulder it twined possessively about his fingers.
She was so close he could see the delicate blue veins in her eyelids and see the golden tips on the ends of her feathery black lashes. She reached up a finger to trace the faint blue-black shadow which remained even when he had shaved closely, and when she touched him, he jumped as if he had been burned.
He kissed her temples, her eyelids, and finally took possession of her mouth, needing the taste of her as if he were starving. She felt his arousal begin against her buttocks and the memories of their first night together came flooding over her. His avid fingers undid the buttons on the jacket of her riding dress and he reached inside to cup and fondle a soft round breast through the thin material of her lacy shift.
It was obvious to him from her little cries of pleasure that no man had ever played with her before. His manhood, prompted by a virile hunger, strained to be free from the constraints of his garments and he shifted her a little so his swollen organ nestled in the cleavage between her bottom cheeks. Each time his thumb brushed across her nipple, she squirmed and sighed. Each time she squirmed she squeezed the tip of his upstanding shaft with her buttocks until he was almost mindless.
Finally he knew he must divert attention from the hot center of his pleasure or he would disgrace himself. He laid her back against the seat cushion and reached a strong, brown hand beneath her skirts. He caressed her leg, going ever higher to that delicious bare space on her thigh above her stocking. Very slowly he slipped off a garter, then peeled down the stocking and removed it. Then his bold hand began its journey up the other leg.
“Ruark,” she protested, “you can’t undress me here.”
“Can I not, my little innocent?” he challenged.
She gasped as he drew off the second garter and stocking and waved them in triumph. His questing hand again found its way beneath her skirts and her heart quickened its pace. His caresses continued following the soft inside of her thigh, then his fingers became bolder, intruding into the private center of her woman’s flesh. He half lifted her against him and her low moan was taken from her by his deep kiss. The slow, strong, strokes of his fingers set her whole body ashiver and it was pointless for her to try to deny that she wanted it, loved it!
Suddenly a small wave of panic swept over her as she felt the carriage slow and turn into a private drive. She struggled against Ruark’s insistent fingers, but he persisted, murmuring, “Almost there.” His words, purposely, had two meanings, she realized as a shivering shudder went through her and she curled against his hand.
It was indeed fortunate the sycamore-lined driveway was a long one, for they had already passed the gatehouse and she barely had time to button her bodice, pull down her skirts, and find her shoes. She had no time whatsoever to compose herself. The coach came to a halt before a massive house and the coachman was opening the carriage door before Ruark tucked her stockings and garters into his pocket with a wicked grin.
Sir John Grenvile, newly created Earl of Bath by His Majesty, strode from the iron-studded front door to greet his old friend. His eyes widened as he saw the beautiful vision in primrose and a familiar voice said, “Jack, I decided to take you up on your invitation. Stowe will be a perfect setting for our honeymoon.”
Summer was almost panting, as if she had run down the driveway, and Jack Grenvile took possession of both her hands and took the liberty of a kiss upon her cheek. My God, Helford married was more than a mild shock. However, he had no need to look to the lady’s waistline to see if it was a marriage of necessity, for it was clear the beauty had only just been introduced to amour and the insatiable demands of a bridegroom by her blushes and gasps.
Ruark winked at his friend over his bride’s shoulder. “We were wed only last night. Jack, this is my wife, Summer.”
She tried to curtsy, for she knew he was an earl, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember how to correctly address an earl. It was definitely not “Your Earlship.” Jack held her hands firmly and would not let her curtsy. “You dog, wait till Bunny sees her. Come in, nearly everyone’s here but the King.”
They followed their host into the great hall and Summer pinched Ruark to get his attention and whispered, “Is Bunny his wife?”
Ruark’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “No, love, Bunny is his brother, Bernard Grenvile.”
She was mortified to see the great gathering of cavaliers and fashionable ladies in the great hall, especially with her stockings and garters in Ruark’s pocket. She cast him a look of outrage, but his grin only widened.
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Then suddenly she became the center of attention as the introductions were made and the news spread that she was a brand-new bride. The magnificently dressed cavaliers swept off their wide-brimmed hats, sweeping the carpet with their plumes as if she were a queen. Each declared, “Your servant, madame” or “My services, madame” with gallantry and appraising eyes.
The respectable wives present received her warmly because she was wife rather than mistress and the fashionable women of the court who had slept with most of the men who had endured exile in France with Charles came to speak with her because she was beautiful and obviously competition.
It was impossible for her to remember names or titles, so she gave up trying to take it all in at once. She did absorb some of it. Lord Buckhurst was the youngest male present. The Grenvile brothers had auburn hair, and the good-looking man of about fifty was George Digby, the Earl of Bristol.
She was introduced to Sir Charles Berkeley, Harry Killigrew, and Henry Jermyn, but she couldn’t tell one from the other. Summer had a much easier time with the Cornwall families, probably because of their accents and because their clothes weren’t as flamboyant as the Londoners’.
She met the Arundells, who owned Pendennis Castle, Richard and John Carew from Antony, and Sir Richard Robartes, an extremely wealthy merchant and banker who made his money in the tin trade. These were the old, noble families of Cornwall, whom she had never in a million years dreamed she would ever meet.
She was fascinated by Sir John St. Aubyn, who had bought St. Michael’s Mount, a place in her mind akin to Mount Olympus. He told her how at high tide it became an island and had originally been a monastery which had stood there for over five hundred years.
She met Lady Anne Carnegie and Elizabeth Hamilton and learned from them that Barbara Palmer, newly created Lady Castlemaine, had arrived with an entourage of attendants but had retired for the afternoon. The King was in Plymouth with the Duke of Buckingham and the Scottish John Lauderdale and they wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow.
The Pirate and the Pagan Page 15
