"'Ow did yer find me, luv," she asked breathlessly.
"Sheer instinct, my pretty. The way was clearly pointed out to me, as you can see."
Bessy's eyes widened as his breeches dropped to the floor. She drew a slow, deep breath to steady herself then ran her hands through the soft pelt of hair on his chest. Her fingertips brushed the thin gold medallion that rested in the hollow of his throat and she toyed with the shiny chain a moment, aware of the blooded fullness pressing urgently against her belly.
"Did yer truly miss me, Jay?"
He grinned. "Coy, my lovely, is not going to win you mercy. I am going to tie you hand and foot to this bed, and have you every way my imagination allows. Then I am going start all over again, making sure I've not missed a shiver or quiver in that luscious little slut body."
He place a hand flat on her chest and pushed her back. Naked, he crawled onto the bed beside her and, wasting no more breath or time on words, he knelt between her spread thighs and kissed a path down from her shoulders to her breasts to the flatness of her belly. When he bit, kissed, and licked his way lower, Bessy arched her body up to meet him, clawing her hands in his hair, twisting and writhing, bucking violently under the hungry assault. She groaned and shuddered, drenching his tongue with her heat, rolling her hips, grinding into him until she thought she would die from the pleasure.
When he allowed a moment's respite, she twisted her fingers into the wavy thickness of his hair and dragged his lips up to hers.
"That weren't fair," she gasped, panting, her face streaked with sweat and tears.
"Perhaps not. But you looked as if you needed reminding as to who you rightfully belonged to."
They stared at one another for a long moment before Bessy's hands curled around his neck and she drew him down.
"Come to Bessy," she whispered. "Come an' let her prove 'ow much she missed yer."
~~
Just about the same time as Bessy was straining into her seventh or eighth orgasm, China Rose was trying to stifle a yawn as unobtrusively as she could. Her eyes teared and her head wobbled, and she found it increasingly difficult to bring the numbers on the cards she held into focus. If anyone noticed, they were gracious enough not to stare. It was only a matter of time, however, before she would topple over onto the floor.
The thought made her giggle--that and the three perfectly delicious glasses of champagne she had consumed since the beginning rounds of whist. Sir Ranulf had been equally generous with the dinner wine. They had shared the meal with only the Berenger-Whytes for company...reason enough for the wine to flow. Eugene had declined in favor of dining at his club and Justin had not been seen since the morning.
"Typical," Ranulf commented. "Very typical. He blows into this house like a cold wind, does as much stirring up as he can do, then blows out again. Frankly, nothing would please me more than to hear that Captain Savage has decided to retire from the sea and breed slaves on a Mississippi plantation. Justin would make a fine overseer. Diamond to you, Lady Pru."
The feather stuck in the top of her hair bobbed as Lady Prudence studied her cards and frowned. "Who would you then have to keep your blood at a boil?"
"My circulation will improve greatly when both Savage and the Reunion are out of Portsmouth, out of my life forever." He mirrored Lady Pru's frown when he saw her lay down the ten of spades to trump the round. "My counting must be off tonight," he muttered when she scooped up the trick.
"Come now, you do not really mean that." She selected another card from her hand, the King of hearts, to lead off the next round. "And I do not refer to your counting, though it would surely be to our advantage if it were." She sent an exaggerated wink across the table to her husband, who smiled and gave his ear a subtle tug.
"Oh but I do," Ranulf assured her. "I mean it most sincerely."
He grinned as China played the Ace to take the trick then laid out his two remaining cards, the highest trumps, to win the round. "Good show, Miss Grant. I believe that puts us seven points in the lead."
Sir Wilfred scowled and tipped his empty glass. "You tried running Savage and his crew off before, did you not?"
"Several times," Ranulf nodded. "But we keep buying the cotton he brings in and the profits are too great for him to resist. I do, however, have it on good authority that his days are numbered."
"How so?" Sir Wilfred excused himself from the table and went to refill his glass from the bottles on the sideboard. "Quarantines don't seem to affect the fellow."
"The excise men will have him on better grounds than a contaminated shipment this time," Ranulf said grimly. "Nor will it be a delegation of sticky-palmed taxmen chasing him down the quay."
"I wish you luck, Ranulf, though I've no idea what you hope to accomplish by driving one slaver out of England. There will always be more to take Savage's place. Always more captains willing and eager to defy our laws to make their fortunes." Sir Wilfred paused to strike a match to the end of his cigar. "I never quite regarded you as the sort to get involved in such sordid dealings. Politics aside, and I mean no disrespect to your motives, but there must be more than moral indignation driving you to persecute Jason Savage."
Sir Ranulf drew thoughtfully on his own cigar. "Perhaps there is. Perhaps I am seeking justice for a crime that was committed and never brought to account."
"That smacks of revenge, Sir." Sir Wilfred frowned. "What has he done? What crime has gone unpunished?"
Ranulf glanced at the ladies. China was staring fixedly at her glass while Lady Prudence nattered over the score sheets and bored his fiancée into a stupor.
He touched Wilfred on the shoulder and walked over to stand before an open window, lowering his voice when he spoke again.
"Do you recall some years ago--ten, to be precise--a scandal that broke out concerning the sinking of a merchant vessel, the Orion?"
"Orion? Orion...why, I believe I do. Rammed, was she not? Somewhere off the coast of Spain?"
"Deliberately rammed and sunk with all hands," Ranulf said quietly. "By the Reunion."
"Eh? What's that you say? The Reunion? I don't recall that being the name of the--"
"She has changed names since then. Been refitted and remasted to change her silhouette, but it is the same ship. Believe me, I have tracked her voyages carefully over the years."
"By Jove. I remember there was an uproar at the time."
Ranulf nodded. "The captain, a man by the name of Trimbel, was charged and found guilty. He died in prison of consumption before they could hang him. The ship, then named the Scorpio, was put on the auction block and sold to a man named Buckland. It was not until much later it was discovered that Buckland was acting as an agent for Jason Savage, who was the navigator on board the Scorpio the night of incident. He fled to America and had the ship refitted, then kept mainly to the colonial ports until he felt the whole matter had blown over."
"The navigator, you say?"
Ranulf nodded. "As such he had to have known the course. He had to have known Trimbel was steering straight for the Orion."
"Perhaps there was fog."
"It was a clear night."
"Or a storm?"
"Reports claim there was a strong nor'easter, yes," Ranulf admitted. "But a ship the size of the Scorpio could have easily maneuvered clear and not rammed the Orion squarely amidships."
"All the same, the tribunal--"
"The tribunal needed a guilty party and found one in Captain Trimbel. It was a mockery of justice, for they knew he was dying anyway."
"All the same, my good man, there was cause for anger and indignation ten years ago when the crime was committed, but why now? Why seek revenge on a man a decade later?" Sir Wilfred puffed on his cigar, sending up a white cloud of smoke that drifted out the window. "And if, as you seem to think, the decision of the tribunal was pre-arranged--"
"Bribed."
"All right, bribed, but even so, what do you hope to accomplish now?"
Sir Ranulf hesitated. He had said far too
much already. If it wasn't for the letter he held at that moment in his breast pocket, he would not have said nearly as much as he had.
"God's garters!" Sir Wilfred coughed over a puff of smoke and looked at Ranulf. "The Orion! Of course, how stupid of me. Your father was on board. He went down with the rest of the crew!"
"One hundred and twenty-three altogether," Ranulf said, amazed at how emotionless his voice sounded.
"The fog clears," Wilfred nodded. "And you hold Captain Savage accountable?"
"The courts may have overlooked his part, but yes, I still hold him responsible."
"Have you confronted him? Have you met him face to face and demanded an accounting of his actions?"
"I have met him, yes," Ranulf said tautly. "Stood as close as you and I. Close enough to smell the stench of a slaver on him."
"And?"
"And...his response, Sir, was to laugh."
"To laugh?"
"Indeed. And to say that a court of men better than I had found no reason to prosecute him, and that I should return to the business of delivering women of babes and babes of the colic rather than interfere with his business."
"Well! I can see how that might prickle your ire, good Sir."
"Gentleman!" Lady Prudence waved a lace handkerchief at them from across the room. "Do you plan to rejoin us any time soon?"
"Upon the instant, my dear, upon the instant," Wilfred said, nodding to acknowledge the summons.He lowered his voice again and added. "I am, of course, at your disposal my Lord, should there be any need for my help in this endeavor. I do have a friend or two at the Excise Commission. Confiscating his ship might tweak the captain's nose a mite."
Ranulf stubbed out his cigar alongside Wilfreds and the two walked back to the game table. One look at the silent plea in China's eyes, made him veer past his own chair and set a hand to the back of hers.
"Miss Grant has had a long day and I fear she is not yet adjusted to the change from the peaceful atmosphere of Devonshire. I confess the thought of sleep is not at all unwelcome to myself at the moment."
China's smile expressed her gratitude as she stood beside him. The wine was swirling languidly through her veins, helping to dull the pain of enduring Lady Prudence's unceasing need to hear her own voice.
"I warrant we could all benefit by a fair night's sleep," Lady Prudence declared. "We must be at the dressmakers first thing in the morning, Miss Grant, and then there is a luncheon for the Portsmouth Ladies Literary Club to attend. And oh my gracious, Wilfred, I almost forgot: Charlotte Mitford's daughter is engaged to be married. Can you imagine that? Lotty Mitford's daughter, as plain a poor thing as ever walked the earth, but there you have it. Proof that any girl can make a good match if enough coin is included in the arrangements. What is wrong with your throat, Wilfred. You aren't catching the ague, are you?"
"No, my dear, I am in perfect health." He stepped around behind her chair to assist her to her feet, waiting until Ranulf and China were nearing the door before murmuring. "Diplomacy, my dear. Diplomacy. You forget our host is not forfeiting his bachelorhood willingly. Thankfully his mind is on more serious matters or he might have taken insult."
"More serious matters?" Her instincts for gossip twitched like feelers on a grasshopper.
He hushed her with a whisht of breath and took her hand, leading her to the door and the hallway beyond.
China and Sir Ranulf had already arrived at the bottom of the wide staircase.
"I shall say good night to you here," he murmured. "We would not want Lady Prudence to develop a permanent crick in her neck from straining to see and hear."
China smiles. "Good night Sir Ranulf. I thank you for a wonderful day and evening."
"Please...just Ranulf. It makes me feel very old to hear such formalities coming from one so young and lovely."
She blushed as he bowed over her hand. "Good night...Ranulf."
He bowed again, not quite so affectionately as Lady Prudence and Sir Wilfred climbed the stairs behind his fiancée. When all three had turned the landing and vanished along the upper hallway, he strode back down the darkened gallery and entered his study. He poured a fresh drink and carried it to the desk, where he sat and withdrew the letter that had been scorching a hole in his pocket since he had received it that afternoon.
It was unopened, but he knew what it contained.
It had arrived addressed as always to Dr. R. Cross. The script was cramped and slanted to the right, indicating the author was left handed. The seal was made of cheap wax that bled an oily residue around the edges. It would contain a few succinct lines stating the blackmail demands. The amount always remained the same: ten thousand pounds sterling. To date there had been five such letters, each demanding payment in exchange for silence.
Sir Ranulf downed his brandy in two burning swallows then stood to refill it. He heard a rumble of thunder followed by the rattle of hard rain being driven against the windowpane. He stood for a moment looking out at the forks of lightning blazing across the night sky, then returned to his desk, picked up the letter and broke the wax seal on the envelope. A glance confirmed it was the same handwriting, the same demands as the previous four letters. Each of those letters, along with this one, coincided with the arrival and departure of the Reunion and Captain Jason Savage. Each came with a sheet torn from the manifest of the Orion...a manifest Ranulf had assumed had gone down with the accursed ship.
Ranulf curled back his lip and cursed. "Damn you Anthony Cross. Damn you for the coward you were, for the traitor, the thief, the motherless son of a whore you were! You were supposed to drown on that ship and take every bloody scrap of evidence down with you!"
He whirled around, his fury rivaling that of the growing maelstrom outside the window, and threw the glass with such force it struck the stone pediment on the fireplace and shattered into a thousand glittering bits.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bessy mumbled and scratched at a tickle on her chin. A particularly loud crack of thunder had wakened her and it took a moment for her to remember who was in the bed beside her and whose hard body she was snuggled against. When she did, she smiled and ran her fingers through the soft brown hairs covering his chest.
"'Ow long are yer 'ere fer this time, luv?"
"Another hour or so from the sound of that storm." Jason gasped then laughed as a sharp fingernail was driven into his ribs. "A couple of weeks, no more."
"An' then yer off again? Back across the ocean?"
"Aye, back across the ocean. Why? Are you thinking you would like to come with me this time? Would you like to see New York, or Boston, or the hot steamy bayous of New Orleans? Better still, there is a chain of islands called the Bahamas with sand as pink as a pearl and water the color of sapphires. It's hot all the year round and if you fancy a piece of fruit, why you just reach out the window of your house and pluck it off a tree."
"Ga'wn, 'ere yer go teasin' me again. Stuff n' nonsense, Jason Savvich. Talk like that's wot turns a girl's 'ead around."
"Then allow me to turn it for you." He grinned, and kissed her.
"Stop that." She giggled and drilled a nail into his rib again. "I ain't got me breath yet from the last bout. I swear as yer didn't 'ave a good woman all the months yer've been away. Leastwise none wot knew 'ow ter please yer."
"That is the truth, my Bess," he murmured and closed his eyes.
"Wot part," she asked after a pause. "Yer not 'avin a woman, or yer not 'avin a good woman?"
He smiled and stroked her thigh without opening his eyes. "It is all the same thing, is it not?"
"No," she said in deadly earnest. "A good woman keeps yer 'ealth up, she does."
"In that case--" he slid his hand into the silky wetness between her legs, "I've never felt healthier in my life than I do today."
Bess squirmed and laughed, but in the end pushed his hand away, albeit reluctantly. "Wot is it, Jay? Wot's troublin' yer?"
"What makes you think something is troubling me? Haven't I been attentive
enough?"
"Too much," she announced decisively. "It ain't like yer to be, well, angry in yer lovin'. Look 'ere." She pointed to angry red bite marks on her thighs and breasts.
"And why should I not be angry? I come home after months at sea only to find my girl has up and left me for a...a peacock."
"Ee don't mean nothin' ter me, Jay. Yer knows that. An' yer knows 'ow it is wif me. I'm true as true can be while yer 'ere wif me, but when yer goes away...it's the nights, Jay. I lay 'ere wonderin' if this will be the time yer don't come 'ome. I get so lonely I near burst."
"Ah, Bess," he sighed and leaned over, tenderly kissing the offending teeth marks that marred her skin. "I have no claim on you, my pet. I have no right to be angry with you either. The truth of it is, I guess I am angry at myself, at my own shortcomings. There are people and places and things a man tries to forget, but they just keep creeping back on him, and there's no peace until he's finished what he set out to do...or what he has to do to set things right."
Her eyes narrowed. "Wot 'ave yer got yerself mixed up in this time, Jay Savvich? Yer up ter sum'mit, I can tell. 'Ere and I don't like it either. Yer ain't dancin' a jig wif the law again, are ye?"
"No, my pet, not the law."
"Best not be," she warned, "'cause they'll do more'n just chase yer down the docks this time, an' what'll I do if yer ain't 'ere no more? Oo'll be 'ere ter pleasure me till I lose my voice from screamin'?"
"Your rich new lover, of course," he said, almost too nonchalantly.
"Bah! 'Ee were good enuff when I were starvin' but I ain't starvin' no more. I'm all full up wif yer lovin'. An' I don't care 'arf 'oo 'ee is, neither. I'll be gone from 'ere afore 'ee knows wot end were up."
Savage winced as she lowered her mouth to the already tenderized flesh of his breast and began chewing and suckling on the dark disc of his nipple. "On the other hand, it would be a shame to give all of this up just yet."
Bessy stopped and raised her head. "Are yer sayin' yer don't want me to leave 'ere?"
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