“Oh good, we’ll play ombre. We’ll need a third. Lady Helford, would you oblige?”
Buckingham nodded imperceptibly to Summer and winked.
Barbara lost consistently until she became reckless. In a desperate attempt to recoup her losses she bet a thousand pounds. Summer was about to say the play was far too deep for her, but obeyed a signal from Buckingham to play. Through his clever manipulation Summer won the hand and Barbara was hooked into a reckless pattern of one thousand on the turn of every card. Thereafter Buckingham or Summer consistently won her money from her. She dropped ten thousand pounds in less than a half hour, three thousand of which was now in the hands of a happy Lady Helford.
The King strolled over to the table and his mere presence effectively put a stop to Barbara’s extravagance. “I think I shall take pity on everyone and retire early tonight,” he mused aloud. Etiquette dictated no one retire before the King. “I hear there is to be a great masque and ball tomorrow night. You ladies must take your rest, for I swear I’ll dance you off your feet tomorrow.” He looked at Summer as he spoke. Ruark, approaching the table, overheard Charles and saw the covetous looks he cast his wife. Charles glanced at Ruark and back to Summer. “You don’t suppose Helford will be tiresome and monopolize you all evening, do you?”
Summer smiled her secret smile. “I’m sure he’ll let me share my favors, Sire.”
“Over my dead body,” said Ruark, letting everyone within earshot know just exactly how tiresome he could be, if pressed.
As they left the gallery Summer could suppress her yawns no longer. Ruark said, “You’re exhausted.”
She nodded. “If we were at home, you would have to carry me to bed.”
He immediately swept her into his arms and carried her up the staircase, completely ignoring the shocked and amused comments which floated up to them. She slipped her arms about his neck and murmured, “If I’m heavy, it’s because of all the gold I’ve won.”
Ruark dismissed the servants who were waiting up for them and said, “We won’t need you in the morning.” He undressed Summer quickly and laid her between the silken sheets, ignoring the nightgown which had been laid out on her pillow. Reluctantly, he gave up the idea of making love to her, which he’d been anticipating for hours. By the time he undressed and got into bed to pull her into his arms, her eyes were closing. “Tomorrow, we will sleep very late.”
“Wouldn’t that seem rude?” she murmured.
“The King will keep Barbara abed till noon, and when His Majesty sets the fashion, the rest of us must follow his lead. In the morning I will make love to you twice to make up for tonight.” He brushed her dark curls back and kissed her temple. How was he going to endure being separated from her? he wondered, thinking of the mission the King had suggested for over the next few weeks.
“Ru,” she said sleepily, “can we go home soon?”
“Yes, my darling. I don’t enjoy sharing you with others. Perhaps we can savor a few days of solitude before the rabble descends upon us next week.”
Early the next morning Summer awoke first and eased from the bed very carefully so she wouldn’t disturb her new husband. She unpacked the many things he’d given her from the Golden Goddess and all of the lovely clothes from Madame Martine’s, then she stood in front of the mirror and held up each gown, trying to select one for the King’s ball.
She sighed with happiness as her eyes fell upon the lovely nightgowns and she slipped into the sheer black which opened down the front and fastened with ribbons just beneath her breasts. She heard the silk sheets rustle and thought Ruark had awakened, but when she returned to the bed, his eyes were still closed, though in his sleep he had thrown off the covers.
She was wildly curious about his body, so very quietly she knelt upon the bed beside him so that her eyes could explore him in detail. He looked younger in sleep, probably because his mouth had lost the hard, almost cruel look it had when he was awake. His shoulders took up most of the bed, so wide were they, and his neck was corded with long columns of muscle.
Her fingertips brushed the mat of hair on his heavy chest with a feather-light touch and she shuddered as the crisp hair felt springy and slightly scratchy. She remembered the feel of her breasts against his chest and her nipples stood out beneath the transparent black silk. His legs were so straight and strong, like the trunks of young trees, and between his legs was the greatest mystery of all. He was semiaroused even in sleep and she measured him with her eyes, guessing his shaft was about eight inches in length and as thick as the handle of a sword … a formidable weapon indeed. It lay along his thigh. She bent her head low to look at its underside and decided its head was heart-shaped. Below his shaft, very tight to his body, were two very distinct egg-shaped spheres nestled in black curls. Suddenly his shaft moved and stood straight up, reaching almost to his navel. Her eyes flew to his and she saw that he was awake.
“Damn,” he swore. “I wanted you to think I was still asleep. I enjoyed your looking at me, but you have this effect on me I can’t control.” His eyes swept over her black-silk-clad body and he murmured, “You are delicious as sin.” He reached out to undo the ribbons beneath her breasts and opened the negligee, then he pulled her down on top of him and the black silk floated down to cover their nakedness.
The saddle muscle in his thigh felt like marble and she straddled it to rub herself against its hardness. His body smelled of leather and the sea and sandalwood and something else she couldn’t define, but it was definitely male. As she rode his thigh she reached out a tentative finger to stroke his pulsing erection. A drop of clear liquid fell upon her finger and she put it to her mouth and licked it. His eyes smoldered like emerald fire.
“I wanted to see what you tasted like,” she whispered.
“And what do I taste like?” he demanded huskily.
“Salt,” she softly.
He reached up to draw her face down to his and took her mouth savagely, using his tongue to arouse her to fever pitch. She needed more than his thigh and moved over him so that his thick manroot could penetrate her soft womanliness and fill her with his burning brand. Lovemaking was still new enough to cause her to gasp upon his initial entrance. She could have sworn he became larger every time he made love to her. As her tight sheath stretched to accommodate his great size and the pleasure became intense, Ruark gripped her with his thighs and rolled with her until he gained the dominant position, then proceeded to love her into submission.
Much later when Summer stretched luxuriantly and slipped from the bed, Ruark suggested, “Don’t dress, darling, keep that black thing on. It was designed to give a man pleasure.”
She fastened the ribbons beneath her breasts and brushed her hair. “Why didn’t Charles bring the Queen?”
He lay propped on one elbow, watching her. “She’s preparing for her mother-in-law’s visit. She’s traveling down to Portsmouth at the end of next week, I believe. Aren’t you glad you don’t have a mother-in-law? I am,” he said wickedly.
She ignored his banter. “Ruark, why is Charles unfaithful to Catherine?”
He sighed. “Until she came to England, Catherine lived in seclusion in the royal palace of Lisbon. She probably only left it half a dozen times in her life. She never saw a man who wasn’t a relative. She was surrounded by disciplinary, protective duennas and no doubt suffered from a surfeit of religion. She was more suited to becoming a little nun than to mating with our lusty monarch.”
“Then you don’t think she loves him the way I love you?” she asked.
“No man was ever loved the way you love me,” he teased. “Come back to bed and love me again.”
“Be serious, Ru!”
“I think she loves him very much, but our cultures are so different it will take her years to adjust. She was always dressed in those hideous rigid hoop skirts and it was a sin to show her feet in public, let alone her breasts. She likes the idea of love, but hates lovemaking. Charles, like every full-blooded man, longs for a woman whose
senses he can arouse and who can arouse him.”
“Like Barbara Castlemaine,” she concluded.
He shrugged, not much interested in the King’s affairs. “If she brings him happiness, I’m sure he shouldn’t be condemned for a little illicit pleasure.”
Summer put her head on one side. “Barbara won’t bring him happiness. She’ll punish him every day of his life for not marrying her.”
“You’re a shrewd little baggage.” He darted from the bed, picked her up squealing and kicking, and took her back to the bed. He whispered, “To hell with Charles and Barbara, I want to see you on your pretty hands and knees for me.”
A hunt was organized for the afternoon to replenish the Grenvile larder, but since hunting was anathema to Summer, Ruark joined the King and most of the other gentlemen, who were glad for a chance to be outdoors, well mounted on Grenvile Thoroughbreds.
When the maid came to do Summer’s hair for the gala evening, she decided to wear it àla négligence, that is to say curled loosely about her shoulders. Summer’s dark silken mass of hair had only one rival in that whole assembly and that of course was the mahogany tresses of Barbara Castlemaine. Summer decided to wear the vivid peacock-colored gown which opened down the front to display the pale green petticoat embroidered with silvery threads. She had an eye mask in the shape of a butterfly which was made from jade and turquoise-colored feathers and she carried a silver lace fan. She knew she was more beautiful than any other woman present. She knew that because of it, she would make enemies, but she didn’t give a damn.
The weather was not kind to the elaborate plans Lady Grenvile had made for the masque, and so it was moved indoors to the long gallery. Alas, it lost something in the transition from leafy glade to the overcrowded gallery.
The titled ladies of Cornwall and their daughters put on an amateur theatrical performance with a plethora of shepherdesses, milkmaids, and nymphs, gracefully coming forward to say their rhymes in an allegory whose underlying meaning was woefully blurred, and lost on everyone save the ladies who had labored over it.
The manners of the gentlemen were impeccable as always and they applauded and swore they loved it. The ladies from London were not so kind. Although they were highly entertained by its rusticity, their fans did not conceal their eyes rolling to the ceiling nor their voices from floating about the gallery.
“Lud, I was better entertained last month when we went disguised to Ram Alley in Whitefriars where we watched two naked women wrestle,” Barbara whispered to Buckingham.
Lady Lauderdale leaned across her husband and hoarsely whispered back, “They should take their playlet to Bartholemew Fair, where the crowd could shie coconuts at them.”
When the last lady had come forward to pay homage to the King, he gallantly murmured, “Most fetching.”
Barbara’s fan went up again. “Did he say retching?” she whispered to the company at large.
Buckingham nudged her, and under cover of the applause which ran around the room, he said, “Keep your voice down.”
There were a few polite cries for “more” and Barbara, enjoying herself thoroughly, asked, “Did he shout bore?”
Summer turned around, looked Barbara straight in the eye, and said, “Perhaps you heard someone shout ‘whore’!” It was wittily done, but though Ruark bit his lip to keep from laughing, he took Summer’s hand in a hard grip and squeezed. She gasped and decided she did not like him teaching her manners in that way. She turned her face from him angrily and fanned herself. Her eyes narrowed behind the butterfly mask and she knew she would pay him back.
Tonight the great dining hall had been transformed. Instead of a formally set six-course dinner, there was a sumptuously laden buffet, a thing King Charles infinitely preferred at these gatherings. Small tables lined the walls where the guests could sit and chat before they went back to refill their plates. This mingling allowed the ladies to show off their clothes and jewels and indulge in their second greatest passion, which was gossip.
Without the distraction of dancing or cards the King and his advisers were able to discuss the problem of the Dutch, and the spying and smuggling which had become rampant in Cornwall.
Hundreds of dishes were set out along the buffet. There were smoked oysters, smoked salmon, and smoked trout. Molds of jellied eels and lampreys sat next to steaming dishes of prawns and muscles. Haunches of venison, kid, and lamb stood at the center surrounded by vegetable dishes which had been prepared with the new and extremely expensive spices from the South Seas. Some were hot like curry and cayenne pepper, others had pungent odors like cloves and cinnamon. Game pies, rabbit pies, and huge Cornish pasties cut into great slabs tempted those with heartier appetites, while others preferred the sweet desserts such as custard laced with nutmeg or traditional English trifle smothered with yellow, clotted Devon cream.
Since Queen Catherine had come over from Portugal, port wine was fast replacing claret as the wine of choice, and of course the ale and cider flowed freely.
The King spent time with his gracious hostess, the new Countess of Bath, and the Countess of Castlemaine’s eyes narrowed in jealousy. Barbara was gowned in royal purple, her décolletage displaying a magnificent set of amethysts, and she thought their hostess looked insipid in her white gown and pearl necklace. However, she knew the pearls were priceless and had been handed down for generations.
Later, when Barbara saw her cousin Buckingham standing beside their hostess, she jostled his arm so that he splashed the Countess of Bath with port.
“‘Sdeath, George, they said you weren’t fit to dine with pigs, but I defended you; I said, oh yes he is!” Those about edged closer, hoping to see the promised display of fireworks early. The Villiers cousins in a perverse way enjoyed besting each other in witty banter, but Buckingham usually came out ahead because there was no level to which he would not stoop. He apologized smoothly to Lady Grenvile. “Forgive me, dear lady, for my clumsiness, but upon your lovely white gown the wine looks like your heraldic crest—a scarlet banner with three gold rests.” He loved to display his knowledge of England’s aristocracy. “You exemplify your noble family motto.”
Barbara was put out because she had no family motto or sentence adopted as a rule of conduct. She smiled smugly and drawled, “The King and I were discussing which crest I should adopt. I rather fancy a swan holding a golden horseshoe.”
Here was Buckingham’s chance to put Barbara in her place with his cruel wit and he didn’t disappoint his audience. “I have the perfect motto for you Barbara. If it swells, ride it.’”
Bess Maitland’s coarse laughter rang out and she smacked Barbara on the back in appreciation. “’Sblood, top that one, if ye can.” The smack unfortunately caused Barbara to swallow a fish bone, which rendered her speechless for fifteen minutes. A rare respite for her friends and enemies alike, one wag commented later.
The King was trying to enjoy Lady Helford’s company but Summer was amazed at the number of courtiers who approached the King asking favors. When they were alone, she looked up at him and said, “Everyone wants something. I’m beginning to realize being a king isn’t always enviable.”
He smiled at her slowly, lazily, “I learned that from my father.”
She looked into his eyes, which for all their cynicism were strangely tender, and she said softly, “I’m sorry, you’ve sacrificed so much for everyone, yet still they ask more of you.”
“My sweetheart, you are wrong,” he said sadly. “Every man in this room lost his father to the Stuart cause, and most of them sacrificed their lands and wealth to fight the enemy. Then, when we failed, a good number accompanied me into exile.” He shook his head. “So gallant … so loyal … all my children … now I can deny them nothing.”
Her eyes sought out her husband’s powerful figure. He was one of these gallant men the King revered. She realized as their eyes met that Ruark had been watching her with the King. Suddenly she didn’t want to pay him back for squeezing her hand to teach her manners, and
she certainly didn’t want to make him jealous of the King. He looked across the room at her hungrily and she put her fingertips to her lips and blew him a kiss and a promise.
The musicians with their lutes, citherns, and harpsichords were now assembled in the ballroom and group by group the guests wandered in, drawn by the magic of the music.
The King opened the ball, dancing with his hostess, the Countess of Bath. Her husband, Jack, partnered the Countess of Castlemaine, and the rest of the guests chose their partners. The Cornwall people chose to dance with their husbands and wives, while the London people chose anyone but.
It was a minuet, slow and stately, and when the stilted figures were complete, the ladies were passed on to another partner. Ruark reluctantly passed Summer over to Charles and partnered Jack Grenvile’s wife. The King looked at Summer with deep appreciation. “Keep count of how many propositions you receive. I shall be most interested.” She wagged her finger at him for teasing her and he laughed delightedly.
After the minuet came a slow pavane. It was a good dance for carrying on a conversation, not like the courante with its quick running and gliding steps, and Summer was asked to partner Bunny Grenvile. She smiled up at her husband’s friend and said, “Do all the Grenviles have that attractive auburn hair, my lord?”
He whispered, “Yes, darling, upon our heads and in other interesting places. If you’d care to go for a little stroll with me, I’d be more than pleased to show you.”
Summer gave a shocked little “oh!” The King, still within earshot, turned and raised his eyebrows in a question. She nodded in answer and the King threw back his head and laughed.
Lord Buckhurst begged her for a dance. He had a decided stutter, but it didn’t inhibit his libido in any way. Before the dance ended he remarked, “Your b-bridegroom is much older than you, d-dearest Lady Helford. Should you ever wish for d-diversion with a man your own age, I pray you will give me every c-consideration.”
The Pirate and the Pagan Page 19
