Wild Willful Love

by Valerie Sherwood

  “You know the Duveens?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Still carelessly.

  “You live on St. Mary’s?”

  “No, just visiting.”

  “I did not think your accent was local.”

  “No, I’m from Oxford originally, but of late I’ve been living in London.”

  They sailed for a while in silence. The red glow had left the sea, leaving it bathed in mysterious darkness. Now the moon came up and cast its silvery path across the dark water.

  “I’ve never been to London,” she said a little sadly. For it had been van Ryker’s promise that he would take her there.

  “Ye’ve not missed much.” Did she detect a shade of bitterness in Harry’s tone? The sails above them billowed. A night-flying bird cast its silhouette briefly across the moon.

  She yearned to ask him why he had said that, but she could feel him studying her. The moonlight bathed her face and hair, but cast him in shadow.

  In silence they sailed to St. Mary’s and he beached his craft below Ennor. She could see the castle’s familiar crumbling mass rising above her. How often she had visited Bess here in the old days! She had even, for a short time, been betrothed to Bess’s older brother, Hal. And Ambrose, Bess’s younger brother, had been devoted to Stephen and had not wanted Stephen to fight a duel for her.

  It had all seemed so far away and now she was about to tread the familiar path up to Ennor once again....

  “I’ll carry you ashore,” Harry said gallantly. “No need to get your feet wet in the surf.”

  She would have protested but she was bone-tired and hungry from her recent experiences and was more than grateful to have him vault over the side and catch her as she came over.

  “I can’t stay,” he said as he deposited her on shore. “For there’s a wench waiting.” He grinned. “Will you be all right if I leave you here?”

  Imogene nodded. She gave him back his shirt and as she did so, he leaned forward suddenly. “If I had more time, I’d do this properly,” he murmured. And of a sudden his mouth pressed down on hers. Ruthlessly. Their lips met and held for a long reeling moment.

  Imogene had felt his arms go round her with a kind of shock. They were not so hard and sinewy as van Ryker’s arms, but they were pleasant arms. The mouth that sought her own so greedily was a smiling mouth.

  He let her go and grinned that boyish smile.

  She stood there dizzily, wondering why she had not tried to ward him off.

  And then he was gone, leaping back into the boat. He turned to call, “What’s your name?”

  “North,” said Imogene instantly, for wasn’t that the direction she’d eventually head? With luck she’d make her way to Bath—and then possibly she’d try London. “Imogene North.”

  “Take care, Imogene North!” His smile flashed.

  She smiled back, then stood and watched him go, saw him wave as the boat receded from view. She couldn’t know how she looked to him, standing there near naked, bathed in moonlight with her long fair hair streaming pale gold and the bit of sheer chemise whipped by the wind. Like a vision, a goddess. He watched her as long as he could make out her figure standing there on the rocks.

  And Imogene watched his receding sails and wondered about him: who he was, where he was going and why? And... treacherously ... would he be back?

  Then she turned and began walking up the familiar path toward Ennor Castle.

  PART TWO

  The London Rogue

  He swore he loved the London wench

  Who knew his every haunt.

  But he's a liar—this woman of fire

  Is all he’ll ever want!

  Ennor Castle,

  The Scilly Isles,

  1661

  CHAPTER 24

  Imogene was but halfway to the castle when she heard running feet. Instinctively she stepped into the shadow of the rocks but when she saw the face of the woman who was running down the path, she gasped and stepped out from their cover.

  “Bess!” she gasped. “Bess, is it really you?”

  The young woman who came to a sliding halt before her had thick dark hair and gray eyes and a face that was at the moment bereft of its usual calm. “Imogene! I looked out the window and saw you standing there on the rocks. I thought I must be dreaming! What are you doing here—and in that?" Bess stared at the scanty bit of half-transparent chemise that seemed to emphasize her friend’s nakedness in the moon’s pale light.

  “ ’Tis a long story, Bess.”

  “Then you’d best tell it inside—but we’ll slip in a side door. For you’d create a sensation among the servants if you arrived in the great hall in your chemise!” It came to Bess how often by merrily tossing away her whisk, lustrous Imogene had created a sensation merely by baring the top half of her pearly breasts. And in this—!

  “I never dreamed you’d be here, Bess—I thought you were living on Barbados.”

  “And so I am. I’ve a fine plantation there and it’s prospering. But Ambrose’s letters never mentioned mother, and I feared for her health. So I came to see for myself and found her in bed recovering from a broken hip but otherwise cheerful and in good health.”

  “And your father, Bess?”

  There was a catch in Bess’s voice when she answered, “He’s been dead these two years past, Imogene. ’Twas his heart—it just gave out one day.”

  “Oh, Bess, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” How forcibly that brought to Imogene how very out of touch she had been with the Scillies!

  “No, of course you didn’t. We never correspond anymore. .. .” Bess’s voice dwindled away, for both of them knew the reason why they didn’t correspond: Stephen. “Bess”—it had to be said—“is Stephen with you?”

  “No. I left him back on Barbados.” Bess stopped in her tracks. “No one here knows I’m married, Imogene.”

  “Not even your family?” Imogene was amazed. She peered searchingly at Bess. “Why not?”

  “Everyone in the Scillies believes Stephen dead,” said Bess carefully. “And it’s better so. There’s that old murder charge against him and—”

  “But it was false, you know that!”

  “Yes, you know that and I know that, but if Stephen came back they might hang him all the same. So I’m Madame Linnington on Barbados and old-maid Bess Duveen here at home.”

  “I can’t believe you’re leading a double life, Bess!” gasped Imogene. “Not you!”

  “Well, I am. I mean to keep Stephen safe.” The moonlight showed Imogene the worry on Bess’s usually calm face. “I—I know you loved him once, Imogene.”

  “That was a long time ago,” said Imogene hastily. “And best forgotten. He’s married to you now.”

  “Yes, and a changed man you’d find him. Even though he was deep in love with you, Imogene, I do believe he now loves me best of anyone in the world.” Bess’s face glowed with pride.

  “Oh, I’m so glad for you, Bess.” Sincerity rang in Imogene’s voice and Bess felt something tight ease within her. She pushed aside the thought that she was delighted that Stephen had not accompanied her to the Scilly Isles. She’d not have relished having old memories roused in Stephen by the sudden appearance of Imogene Wells, half-naked, with the moonlight gleaming on her slim legs and long fair hair!

  They had reached a rarely used door of the castle now and Bess struggled to open it. “ ’Tis dark in here,” she said breathlessly as it finally creaked open. “But we can feel our way by the walls as we go up these stairs.”

  Gratefully, Imogene followed her friend.

  They emerged at last into a wide hall, lit by moonlight from a window at one end. They turned a familiar corner and were in Bess Duveen’s room.

  Imogene felt she would not have known it. The single candle burning there illuminated new damask draperies, a new coverlet, and a Turkey carpet that had never graced this square shabby room in the days when Imogene Wells had been a frequent visitor at Ennor.

  “I’ll find you some clothe
s—”

  “Just a night rail for the moment, Bess. I couldn’t face everybody’s questions tonight.”

  “No, of course you couldn’t. Have you eaten?”

  “Not since yesterday. I ran out of food then.”

  Bess looked surprised but she did not push it. That was one of the nice things about Bess; she didn’t try to drag things out of you, she let you tell your story in your own good time. Now she held out a filmy night rail to Imogene.

  “But that’s lovely! Are you sure you can spare it?”

  “I’ve a dozen like it,” declared Bess proudly. “My fortunes have improved since last we met! But you’ll be wanting a bath first.” She pulled at a big velvet-covered rope.

  “Those bellpulls didn’t work when I was here last,” laughed Imogene.

  “A lot of things have changed since I’ve been back. I’ve had men swarming about repairing the roof and—” she went to the door, spoke through it. “I’ll be wanting a bath brought up right away, Maysie. And supper on a tray.” She turned back to Imogene. “Do you like the new drapes and coverlet?”

  “I’ve been admiring them.”

  “They’re from materials purchased cheap in Tortuga,” laughed Bess. “It could be your buccaneer ‘lifted’ the very damask that’s hanging on these walls.” She indicated the viridian and gold drapes with a nod. “How is Captain van Ryker, Imogene? Stephen told me about him.”

  Imogene had dreaded that question. “I’ve left him.” Her voice was curt.

  Bess’s indrawn breath spoke volumes. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “Stephen told me Captain van Ryker was madly in love with you. He said it was a driving force with him—I remember his very words, driving force'."

  “Well, it isn’t any longer. There’s—someone else.”

  From her knowledge of impulsive Imogene, who had led all the lads a chase, Bess followed that to its natural conclusion. “You’ve found someone else?” she demanded incredulously. She was thinking, It didn’t take long!

  “No. He has.” Bitterly.

  Bess’s expression took on a kind of awe. Here was a man who had loved Imogene enough to do all the things he had done for her—and he was casting her aside? It wasn’t credible. “I don’t think I understand men,” she said at last, troubled.

  “I do. They’re polygamous brutes.”

  “No. Neither of us thinks that.”

  “1 think I hate van Ryker. No”—impetuously—“that isn’t so, Bess. If he came through that door this minute, I think I’d forgive him. Everything. But—I’m not sure I’d be faithful to him now. Can you understand that?” She gave her friend a wistful look.

  ‘‘I think I do,” said Bess softly. ‘‘You’re angry with him, but without van Ryker you’re like a ship without a rudder, swinging this way and that wherever the winds take you.”

  “Yes,” Imogene whispered. “Like that.” She marveled that her friend should know. “Bess,” she said impulsively, “you’re so wise. You always were.”

  “Hardly that.” Bess gave a rueful laugh. “I was fearfully jealous of you and Stephen. I wanted to send you to the ends of the earth.” She stopped short, for Imogene, she felt, had gone to the ends of the earth.

  “You didn’t consign me to the ends of the earth. Bess.” Imogene’s smile was warm and forgiving. “I consigned myself. And now I know what it is to watch your man being won away by someone else.” She went on, speaking almost to herself. “Now I know all the joys of jealousy, Bess. All the sleepless nights.. . now I know the pangs I must have caused others. All the pangs I must have caused you. Bess. For I didn’t know how you felt about Stephen at the time.”

  Bess smiled her sweet, forgiving smile. “I didn’t want anyone to know,” she said softly. “I wanted it to be right—when it happened. And it was, Imogene. So right."

  “I am truly glad, Bess,” Imogene said tenderly. “I wish you and Stephen all the happiness in the world.”

  “Oh, we have that,” Bess assured her proudly. But she was still glad, looking at Imogene, whose glowing beauty lit up the room like a torch, that Stephen had not accompanied her to the Scillies. Old passions sometimes flared up like embers from a dead hearth. She wouldn’t want to chance it. “I hear Maysie coming. Quick, in the dressing room.”

  Imogene stepped quickly into the small room she had remembered as so barren and found it newly decorated with French blue wallpaper, silvery in the moonlight. Bess had indeed worked miracles here!

  With the servant gone, it was a delight to soak the sea salt from her body in the comfortable hip bath, sponging the warm water over her shoulders and letting it run down delightfully over her breasts and body.

  “But you’re hurt!” Bess cried, seeing the long gash down Imogene’s side.

  Imogene winced as the soap hit it. “Would you believe it, Bess, that was done by a cat?” A cat I hope is faring well on St. Agnes. “Bring me up to date on your life, Bess.”

  “I wrote you I was being sent out to marry a man I’d never seen. And on arrival, I found”—her laughter tinkled—“that he’d up and married somebody else. My Uncle Dicken was quite put out, and when he died he left me his plantation. Idlewild was losing money when I took it over, so I set out to improve things—not in the grand ways my uncle improved things, by adding paneling and plate and liveries and such, but in plain commercial ways. I found my bondswomen were quite accomplished and now I have a small lace industry flourishing at Idlewild and I import flax for my own weavers, and I have modish clothes made up, which are sold in the Colonies as Parisian imports!” She laughed again.

  “And you visit Tortuga to buy fabrics and goods?”

  “No, I send my own ship to call there now,” said Bess gravely.

  “I wondered that I had not seen you, if you buy there.”

  ‘‘You have been on Tortuga then, all this time?”

  “Most of the time.” The big sponge seemed to hesitate. Then she rose, drying herself off with the big linen towel Bess tossed her. She noted that it was monogrammed with a large “D” for Duveen.

  “It’s one of a vast number I had monogrammed for my mother,” Bess smiled, realizing Imogene wasn’t ready to speak about Tortuga just yet.

  “I never asked about your brothers, Bess.” Imogene slid the sheer night rail over her head as Bess rummaged about and found her a light blue dressing gown, then waved her to a table where a silver tray supported cold capon, thin-sliced ham and bread, apricot and quince preserves, olive pie, a large pasty and a slab of Cheshire cheese. “How are Hal and Ambrose?”

  “Hal is married and gone,” Bess told her blithely. “Living in York now and writes that he hates the weather, especially last winter when they had heavy snows.”

  Imogene was abruptly reminded of the Hudson—her only experience with heavy snows. That white world had been a tragic one for her. She sympathized with sturdy Hal, stuck inside with a blizzard blowing—Hal, who had been wont to sail barefoot through the foaming wind-whipped channels of the flower-filled Scillies.

  “Hal wasn’t able to sell his boat before he left but I sold it for him,” declared Bess proudly. “To a man who’s such an indifferent sailor he managed to capsize and swamp it!” she added ruefully.

  “Did he drown?” asked Imogene dispassionately.

  “Oh, no,” said Bess. “Indeed, he’s bought a new boat just today and is trying it out. But Hal will be brokenhearted to think that boat he loved so is at the bottom of the sea even though he can well use the gold pieces it brought!”

  “She was a fine craft,” murmured Imogene. Her face grew pensive as she recalled how noble Hal had looked, standing by the mast with the sun glancing off his impassive chiseled features—back in the days when he was courting her.

  “You were right to jilt him, Imogene,” said Bess tolerantly. “Hal would never have approved of you and you’d soon have lost patience with him.”

  “That’s true enough,” agreed Imogene with a rueful smile. “And Ambrose, what of him?”


  “Ambrose wrote me he wished to marry a girl in Sussex—a girl so sought after that there could be no question of a dowry, indeed he must needs raise a settlement to satisfy her father. I advanced him the funds, but then it occurred to me that there was no point in getting Ambrose married only to starve later. So, can you believe it, I’ve turned one wing into an inn!”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  “Wait till you look about you in the morning,” chuckled Bess. “Part of this old heap is too ruined to repair, of course. But the ‘inn wing’ has three guests already: a vacationer from Lincoln, and a gentleman and his sister who say they are looking for a suitable location in these islands to raise flowers to be transported to the mainland for sale. Because of our fortunate climate, of course.” Bess’s gray eyes twinkled. “I’m persuaded the lady is not his sister, but that he was too embarrassed to admit she’s his doxy!” She gave Imogene a merry look. “They all take their meals with the family, for the repairs to the common room aren’t complete.”

  “How is your mother taking all this?”

  “Very badly at first,” admitted Bess. “She wonders why, since I’m wealthy now, I don’t marry some likely lad and settle down here at Ennor.”

  “Not knowing you’re already married,” murmured lmogene.

  “It does have its difficult side, this charade,” sighed Bess. “Perhaps it’s just as well she keeps to her room, she’d start throwing suitors at me! Anyway we warred over it for a while—starting an inn, I mean. But now she’s quite resigned to it. At least, she will be when she sees how happy Ambrose will be to be making a living doing something he likes. He always hated fishing, you know, has no talent for farming, is not literate enough to teach, and not religious enough by half for the cloth. He had thought to try for a military career but then he smashed his foot and that was out of the question.”