The Pirate and the Pagan

by Virginia Henley

  She did, however, enjoy Lil’s company and listened eagerly to all her outrageous stories. Apparently her dearest friend’s husband, Lord Worthing, had chased her until she slowed down long enough to let him catch her. With sparkling eyes she told Summer, “I don’t think it will be long before he invents business in London and shows up at Cockspur Street.”

  Lil prophesied, “Mark my words, we are in for the most outrageous season London has enjoyed since Charles’s restoration. The court has absolutely stagnated in Salisbury and like a pack of wild beasts is ready to be let loose from its cage.” Within a month all the theaters reopened and shopkeepers didn’t know what to do with the profits they were making since London had gone on a buying spree. New businesses flourished. Moneylenders, gambling houses, and brothels were in competition to take over empty buildings.

  The small house on Cockspur Street was bulging at the seams and Summer decided it was high time she took a small house of her own. Rents were climbing every week and she decided to pay Solomon Storm a visit to see if her finances were healthy enough to allow her to acquire a place of her own.

  Summer had ignored the many invitations she’d received for balls, masquerades, and parties, feeling most virtuous in leading a secluded life until after the birth of her child. She thought she looked ungainly, and even though Lady Richwood swore she looked no such thing, she certainly felt ungainly now that she was in the late months of her pregnancy.

  Solomon Storm provided her with a comfortable chair and insisted she put her feet up on a footstool when he saw her condition. She explained what she wanted and Solomon pursed his lips and made steeples out of his fingers as he explained to her that the fashionable districts were now beyond the means of most citizens. “Westminster, St. James, and Mayfair are bringing astronomical sums. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your husband to make you a present of a house again.”

  “Mr. Storm … Solomon … Lord Helford never made me a present of a house. As a matter of fact he’s no longer my husband. I’ve reverted to using my own name of St. Catherine since our marriage is annulled.”

  Solomon Storm looked most concerned. “How can he possibly get the marriage annulled when you are so obviously enceinte—if you will forgive my indelicacy—-my lady?”

  “It’s a mutual agreement,” she insisted. “It was my own decision,”

  “Then let me say it is a terrible decision. In my business I need to know the law and my son is an attorney. I don’t know what went wrong in your marriage, my lady, and I have no desire to know, but Lord Helford is legally responsible for any issue of the marriage whether it is his or not, as so often is the case in these times.” He cleared his throat delicately. “If the marriage is to be put aside, at least you should wait until after the child is born. Then it will be Lord Helford’s legal heir and, if it proves to be a male issue, will inherit his title as well as his property.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do a mercenary thing like that. He already thinks I married him for his money. I’m quite sure Ruark Helford will do the right thing by his son—or daughter—without my blackmailing him into it.”

  “I beg to differ, my lady. In my experience gentlemen seldom do the right thing from generosity of the heart. Rather they do the right thing only when pressed to do so.”

  “Perhaps I could afford a house here in the city in a less fashionable locale?” she suggested.

  “I have no doubt of it, my lady, and I shall find a couple of suitable properties immediately, but I would feel much better about things if you allowed me to approach Lord Helford. You should have a house as part of your settlement. It is scandalous that it has not already been provided.”

  “Well, I’ll give it some thought, but I really don’t think I want to be obligated to any man, Mr. Storm.”

  Within the week Solomon Storm showed her some suitable houses and she chose the one on Friday Street beside St. Matthew’s Church opposite the Old Exchange. It was a tall, narrow house like Lil Richwood’s and it had been newly decorated in lovely shades of peach and pale green and all the fireplaces had been freshly painted cream. The kitchen, pantry, and laundry were in the basement. On the main floor was a reception room, a dining room, and a comfortable salon, while upstairs held only two large bedchambers and a bathing room. Its attics had dormer windows perched above the bedchambers and she thought Spencer might like these for his own. Mrs. Bishop would sleep in the nursery and talked of nothing these days but the baby.

  Summer told Lil about the new house and she immediately insisted upon helping her choose furniture and transforming one of the large bedrooms into a nursery. She couldn’t wait until Spencer arrived home to tell him of the house on Friday Street, but when she gave him the news, he looked a little sheepish and she knew he had no intention of coming to live with her. She could tell he was reluctant to tell her something, so she sat down, propped her feet on a footstool, and said, “Spider, you know you can tell me anything … what is it, love?”

  He took a deep breath and plunged in. “Ruark has offered me a place on one of his ships.”

  She jumped to her feet. “The swine! You’re not taking it!”

  “Well, actually, I am, Cat.”

  “You have no idea what sort of authoritarian he is. I’ve seen him flog a sailor bloody for taking a drink. Don’t you remember he knocked you down for a remark you made to me?” She was incensed.

  “Well, actually, I sort of deserved it,” he temporized.

  “Spencer, there’s a war on. Lightning blast the man—he once threatened to have you impressed into the navy. This is his way of hitting back at me!”

  “For what. for Christ’s sake?” he demanded.

  “For not letting him have his way with me.”

  Spencer’s bark of laughter shocked her. “All he has to do is look at you and you roll on your back.”

  She slapped him then. It was the first time she had ever struck him.

  “You are about to bear the fruit of his labor,” he said, pointing to her stomach. “Stop pretending.”

  “The child isn’t his,” she denied hotly.

  Spencer said slowly, “You’d better not let him ever hear you say that. Not if you value your life.”

  “It’s your life we are discussing. I refuse to let you go on one of his ships to become cannon fodder in this escalating war with Holland,” she shouted, then burst into frustrated tears.

  He knew he should not have upset her in her condition. “Cat, it’s on one of his merchantmen for the East India Company.”

  “What! You’d be sailing halfway around the world! I’ll kill him!”

  “Cat, please don’t upset yourself like this.”

  She felt a painful stitch in her side and her hand pressed her abdomen until it passed. “Where is he?” she demanded.

  “I’m not telling you. Forget all about it,” he said dismissively.

  “He’s at the bloody Pool of London readying the ship, isn’t he?” she guessed.

  “Mrs. Bishop,” called Spider, going through into the kitchen. “My sister will be off to the London docks if you don’t forcibly prevent her.”

  “That she won’t, your lordship, not now you’ve tipped me the wink. Be off, you young scoundrel, it seems you’ve done enough damage for one night.”

  Summer put up an argument with Mrs. Bishop, but she lost and found herself packed off to bed early. Even Lil sided with the servant and refused to entertain any scheme which involved Summer’s going out of the house that night. Up in her chamber Summer knelt before her old trunk and pulled out the black velvet disguise she had worn as a highwayman. She was determined to leave by the window and forbid Ruark Helford to lure her brother to sea. She looked at the tight black breeches in dismay and sat back on her heels, defeated. She knew she could not climb through a window out onto a roof and dash off on a mad scheme simply to rail at Ruark Helford, but come hell or high water, she would go first thing in the morning.

  The weather was blustery and cold, so she wore her f
avorite gray cloak with the soft fox fur around the hood and a large matching muff to keep her hands from freezing. She made her face up carefully and chose the ruby earrings, then at the last moment donned ruby shoes and stockings which were sure to catch the eye and draw attention away from her rounded midsection. Lil ordered the carriage for her and wanted to accompany her, but Summer said she would have quite enough interference from Mrs. Bishop, thank you very much. When Summer told the driver to take her to the London docks, Bish opened her mouth to protest and Summer said crisply, “Not one word or I shall give you back to Lord Helford.”

  Mrs. Bishop pressed her lips together in undisguised disapproval and sniffed loudly every few minutes. Summer put up with it all the way down the Strand, then finally she said, “Stop it! You can bully me all you want to tomorrow, but today I’m going to have my say!” Mrs. Bishop decided to let her have her own way. Besides, Summer would need all her energy for the shouting match with Ruark, whom Bish had never yet seen lose a battle.

  All the ships looked alike to Mrs. Bishop, but Summer’s keen eye spotted the Pagan Goddess immediately and she rapped sharply for the driver to stop. He jumped down and assisted her to alight and hid a smile as she turned to Mrs. Bishop and said, “Keep your bum on that cushion, even if I’m gone an hour. I don’t need you to interfere for me.” When she walked up the gangplank as if she owned the ship, he turned to Mrs. Bishop and said, “She’s one beautiful, headstrong woman. I feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

  Poor Mrs. Bishop was pulled between two loyalties. She had grown obsessive about the baby Summer was carrying and felt maternal to both mother and child, but she felt undying loyalty to Lord Helford and considered him the master.

  Ruark was belowdecks, but when he heard the distinctive tapping of high heels on his polished deck, he raised his head to see who had dared. The foul word died on his lips as he saw his lovely Summer sweep down the stairs. She raised her skirts prettily and he was allowed a generous glimpse of alluring red stockings and slippers. She froze him with a glance and suddenly he knew exactly why she was here.

  “I want you to tell Spencer you have changed your mind about letting him sail.”

  “Summer, be sensible. It will make a man of him.”

  “I didn’t save him from the plague only to have you send him halfway across the world to die,” she said, her eyes blazing with anger.

  “It wasn’t the plague, it was the measles.”

  “That is irrelevant, you monster. Taking your revenge on me in this manner is wicked. He’s a defenseless boy who will suffer nothing aboard one of your vessels but hardship.”

  “Come into the cabin and sit down, love.”

  “I will stand,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height. “My God, someone must stand up to you.”

  As she clutched the soft fur muff to her breasts he thought he’d never seen her looking lovelier. He felt so protective toward her he wanted to cradle her in his arms and lift her against his heart. He crushed down the soft feelings and said, “If he’s left to whore and gamble his way around London every night, he’ll turn into his father. He needs discipline, responsibility, a purpose in life.”

  “We managed well enough before you came into our lives!” she hissed.

  “Did you?” he said bluntly. “He saw the inside of a prison twice before he was fifteen. The only thing he’ll accomplish in London is sowing a crop of bastards and getting a dose of the clap.”

  “There’s no need to use filthy language to me, sir,” she said primly, forgetting she had the vocabulary of a sailor. “You will tell him he cannot go!” She turned to go.

  “It’s too late for that,” he said quietly. “The Golden Goddess left on the morning tide for Madagascar. He’ll get a share of the priceless cargo she’ll bring. He could return with wealth. But rich or poor, he’ll return a man.”

  She staggered slightly and he moved toward her protectively.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare to touch me!” she cried. “I’ll make you pay for this,” she swore.

  Her driver assisted her into the coach and Mrs. Bishop opened her mouth to ask how she had fared. “Not one word or I am undone,” she said, choking back her tears. “Cheapside,” she told the driver.

  By the time she sat across the desk from Solomon Storm her tears had dried and her resolve hardened. “You gave me excellent advice the other day, Solomon. I would be a fool to ignore it. I should like you to inform Lord Helford that he can pay for the house in Friday Street and I’ll also be submitting the bills for the furnishings. Let’s see, what else will I need? Of course I’ll need a carriage and horses and their stabling. Perhaps I’ll have need of your son’s services, too, Solomon, for after my child is born I don’t wish Lord Helford to have any visiting privileges whatsoever.”

  Once again Barbara Castlemaine redecorated her bedchamber in her magnificent house just a stone’s throw from Whitehall. The bed was massive, its great feather mattresses covered by purple satin sheets, embroidered with crowns. The headboard had two naked cherubs holding a golden crown between them in the Restoration design that had come to be known as boys and crown.

  When Charles had arrived, she saw that swift demanding impatience on his face which gave her such a feeling of power. Now, two hours later, he lay sprawled naked against her, his slack mouth touching one opulent breast.

  Barbara took careful aim and tossed a candied violet onto his groin. Like a great beast his flaccid member awoke and stretched itself. “Surely you don’t think me capable of another joust?” he murmured huskily, a sweet smile curving his mouth.

  “You are the King, darling,” she purred. “You are omnipotent.” She picked up her garters from the floor, where they had been so hastily discarded, giving him a tempting view of her derriere. She tossed a garter so that it encircled his semiaroused cock like a ring toss at a fair. By the time she looped the second garter over his enormous shaft, it was standing at attention like a six-foot yeoman of the guard. “Turnabout is fair play,” she said throatily. “Since you did all the work the first three times, it’s my turn.” She lifted herself above him, straddled his thighs, then bent forward to remove her lacy garters from his maypole with her sharp little teeth, then she positioned herself so that she slowly swallowed him until all nine inches were thrust up inside her.

  Charles had missed these afternoons of endurance while they had been holed up at the inn in Salisbury where the walls had been paper thin. Barbara was unmatched in bed. When it came to love-making, she was aggressive, with a lusty passion that struck a chord in his own deep sensuality, and she was very, very vocal. Her cries of pleasure filled the house as she plunged down upon him, as if she wanted all the world to know her body was joined to that of the King of England.

  Charles cupped her magnificent buttocks to help balance her in her wild ride to satiety. Her melon-shaped breasts swung forward with each gyration and Charles’s mouth gave them small love bites, enjoying her little screams interspersed with deep moans. In actuality they were perfectly matched sexually, for Charles usually had delayed climax, which allowed Barbara a full thirty minutes of creamy friction to indulge and satisfy her carnality.

  Ironically this was the reason lovemaking was so unsatisfactory between Charles and his little queen Catherine. Because of her strict religious upbringing, she was crippled by her inhibitions and she was never aroused enough to take all nine inches of her husband. She was too dry and he often became lodged halfway inside her. All his endearments and whispered encouragement that she relax had little effect because she usually experienced very real pain. Charles was ever patient and kind, but he more or less had to masturbate after their unsatisfactory attempts to get her with child, and he despaired that in the royal bed his rampant virility would always go to waste.

  He sighed as he thought of Catherine’s delayed return to London so that she could visit the wells at Tonbridge, said to be a tonic to aid conception. He also knew she planned a pilgrimage to Our Lady’s Shrin
e at Southwark Priory to pray for a child. Charles knew the only way to make a woman conceive was by planting his seed in her. Hadn’t he proved it often enough with Barbara?

  At that moment he felt his seed start and Barbara milked him until he was drained of every last drop. Now, if she’d just allow him an hour’s slumber to regain his vigor in time for tonight’s bachelor party for Charles Berkeley …

  At Barbara’s instigation her cousin Buckingham had been urging Charles to set Catherine aside and marry again so there would be a legitimate heir to the throne. But while the court had been at Salisbury, Charles had kept Barbara at arm’s length and seemed to prefer the company of silly Frances Stewart, who trumpeted her virginity at every opportunity until Barbara feared that if Charles did choose another wife, she would have to be virgin. She must get her head together with Buckingham again to see what they could do to destroy Frances Stewart’s reputation.

  George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, didn’t realize it but he was skating on very thin ice with the King at the moment. Live and let live was Charles’s attitude toward most of his courtiers, but George had been involved lately in what amounted to plots against the Queen, which was tantamount to hatching plots against the King. He was also creating a public scandal with Anna Maria Shrewsbury and a private one with his invitations for his favorites to dine at his “high” table.

  Tonight, however, Charles chose to be in a magnanimous mood toward Buckingham as they sat around the large oval gambling table with a dozen other courtiers. The entire chorus from the King’s Theatre Royal had been invited to entertain at Berkeley’s bachelor party and almost every man at the table had a scantily clad actress perched on his knee. The byplay and bawdy remarks were most diverting, but Edward Montagu, the Earl of Sandwich, one of the few men without a companion, had been winning and was growing impatient with their antics. “God’s flesh, Lauderdale, keep your fingers out of her, you’re getting the cards all sticky,” he drawled wittily.