The Pirate and the Pagan (11 page)

He turned the wheel over to his second-in-command and stalked a direct path to her cabin. “Summer,” he called against the door, “let me in.”

There was dead silence.

“I must see for myself that you are safe. Open the door,” he commanded.

Again there was dead silence. Summer pressed against the inside of the door listening to the desire in his deep voice. She smiled and disobeyed his command.

The command changed to a subtle threat. “I won’t leave this door until you open it and let me see that you are unharmed.” He knew that if she opened the door to him, she would be symbolically opening her body to him and inviting him inside where he hotly lusted to be. The threat changed to a plea. “My lady, please open the door. The moment I see you are unafraid I will leave you to rest.”

“I’m perfectly all right, Lord Helford,” she replied. Then in a husky, teasing voice she whispered, “In fact … I’ve never felt better.”

His arousal was so strong, he knew he must have her. “Let me see for myself,” he commanded.

“We both know I cannot risk opening this door.” The warm sensual tone of her voice belied her words.

“Risk?” he challenged.

“It would deny propriety, my lord, to admit you to my cabin in the middle of the night.”

His hands were on the door to force it when he realized he was in a reckless mood, savage enough to force her once the door had yielded. He didn’t want to rape her, he wanted to exert such a strong power over her that she would yield herself to him in extravagant abandon.

“Good night, Lord Helford,” she teased.

He put his ear against the door and heard her deep breaths whispering against the polished wood. “Summer?” he begged low, desire refusing to be denied.

Her eyes slitted like a cat’s when it was being stroked and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile of triumph as she tiptoed across the cabin and slipped into bed.

B
y morning it was as if there had never been a storm. The English Channel seemed calm as a duck pond and she surmised they must be somewhere off the Isle of Wight. She hummed a little tune as she bathed and dressed in the pale lavender silk with its prim high neckline. She heard a tap on the door and called, “What is it?”

“Breakfast, m’lydy,” came the voice of Mr. Cully. She unbolted the cabin door for him and said, “I could have gone to the galley. Thank you very much. When I’ve finished, I’m going up on deck for some fresh air.”

Mr. Cully shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that, m’lydy … trouble brewin’.”

“What sort of trouble?” she asked.

He shook his head again. “Best stay syfe in yer little mouse’ole.”

“What’s up?” she demanded.

He hesitated then blurted out, “A floggin’ … Cap’n found a man drunk on watch.” He bobbed his head and ducked out.

Surely Helford wouldn’t order a man flogged for taking a drink? Especially after the horrors of sailing through that storm. She pushed the food aside and reached for her cloak.

When she arrived on deck, she realized with horror that she was too late. Not only had Helford ordered the flogging, he was carrying
out the punishment himself. The sailor had been stripped to the waist and lashed to the mast. His back was already bloody. Helford stood wielding a bull whip, immaculately garbed in navy breeches and snowy shirt and stock. His long black hair was clubbed back into a cue as neatly as if he wore a wig.

Outraged, she ran across the deck and cried, “Stop!”

He looked at her with disbelief. “Go below!” he commanded.

“No!”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “No? On my own quarterdeck you dare to say no?”

She swayed forward and he saw that she was close to fainting. A foul oath fell from his lips as he threw down the whip and strode to her side. “Cut him down,” he called over his shoulder, then he took hold of her wrist in what felt like an iron vise and half dragged her belowdecks to his cabin. The cabin door crashed back against its frame.

“What in the name of God was that all about?” he demanded. His eyes were cold and hard and glittering with anger.

She stepped back from him, half afraid. She had stopped the whipping, so there was no point in exacerbating his temper. Breathlessly she said, “A flogging is so brutal.”

“He got off easy … I should have hanged the bastard; and will next time.”

“For drinking?” she asked hesitantly.

“He may get blind drunk anytime he likes, except under my command, when he is on watch. Our lives and my ship are in the hands of my sailors when they are on watch. I was the most detested officer in His Majesty’s navy because I insisted on discipline. Soon I’ll be the most detested man in Cornwall. I’ve been appointed high commissioner and magistrate to put an end to the blatant smuggling. The trees will soon bear the fruit of my hangings.” He stopped and bit his lip.

“I shouldn’t have interfered,” she murmured. It was the closest she’d ever come to an apology.

Suddenly he saw himself through her eyes and he winced inwardly. A well-bred lady who had lived a sheltered life in the country must have been shocked to the core by what she had seen up on deck.

Summer was glad she had held her tongue. She had almost flung at him the terrible accusation that because she had bolted her door against him he had vented his spleen on the first hapless sailor he
had encountered. Now she realized she had had nothing to do with it.

“Lady Summer, I should never have exposed you to such brutality. Do you forgive me?” She nodded slightly.

“Show me you forgive me by taking supper with me this evening. I have to make port in Plymouth this afternoon, but I will have you home by ten o’clock tonight.”

“I am happy not to have to spend another night aboard,” she said softly.

“And supper?” he pressed.

“If you insist, Lord Helford,” she conceded graciously.

When she returned to her cabin, she removed the gray velvet cloak and sat down upon the cushioned window seat to think. She had a few very tricky problems which she must work out if she was not to drop her candy in the sand. No doubt remained that Lord Helford was in pursuit of her … that was good. She had only slightly less than a month before the mortgage came due again … that was bad. He was already deeply attracted to her and couldn’t hide the fact that he longed to woo her … that was good. She was a smuggler and he was the law … that was bad.

Her objective was to become wife or mistress within the month, and this would require a delicate balancing act. She must seem to hold him off with one hand while luring him on with the other. One thing was certain. He must not get a look at Roseland until she had bagged him. To let him see its run-down condition, dearth of servants, and the near-poverty conditions she and Spider had survived would ring a death knell to her liaison with the wealthy Lord Helford.

For the King to have given him this appointment, he would have to have a keen eye and the mind of an interrogator. She must never underestimate him. Summer sighed. She wished she could be herself with him. She wanted to ride with him across the wild moors and wear her breeches. She wanted to curse and swear at him and make him laugh. She wanted to cheat him at cards and beat the pants off him … pants off him, her mind repeated, and she blushed. She put her hands to her burning cheeks. She must keep her mind on the task at hand. She must never allow her emotions to gain control of her. She would have to be devastatingly devious to bring her plans to fruition. She needed access to his fortune to save Roseland. The wild rides, the curses, and the card cheating
must never happen. She was supposed to be a well-bred, gently reared heiress. Still, she didn’t exactly hate play-acting the role of a lady. It was all very diverting to ply a fan and balance on pretty high-heeled slippers and lower her lashes over her bold eyes.

Her mind flashed back to the orange girls at the theater. Their sauciness certainly attracted the men. Then she remembered how her demure behavior had almost had Helford panting. She’d try both; that should keep him off balance!

She contemplated changing her gown for dinner then decided against it. Earlier she’d worn her cloak, so he hadn’t really seen the dress, and it had a high frilled neckline which could only be described as modest. If she changed her gown for something fancier, his male vanity would be flattered that she was making a display just for him.

She did decide, however, to put up her hair in a more sophisticated style. With her brush she piled it all high and fastened it with combs decorated by silk violets, allowing just one fat curl to fall down over her shoulder. Then she picked up a matching fan and practiced in the mirror. She also discovered if she took a few slow steps then turned quickly, her silken petticoats swished and whispered seductively.

When his low knock sounded on her cabin door at suppertime, Summer was ready. She was ready for anything! Her eyes widened at the elegance of the small table which had been set up in his cabin. Heavy damask linen, sterling silver, crystal goblets, and wineglasses had been laid out and its center was a mass of cream-colored roses and tall scented wax tapers.

“Wherever did you get the roses?” she asked.

“My men scoured Plymouth this afternoon,” he said, smiling down at her.

A bubble of laughter escaped her lips at the incongruous picture the hard-bitten sailors must have made. He held her chair and his hands managed to brush her shoulders as she sat down, but it was only for the merest second. “You will have a little Chablis.” He made it sound like an imperative as he picked up the bottle to pour.

“I am unused to wine, Lord Helford.”

“You have many pleasures yet to taste,” he said boldly.

Summer looked deeply into his hazel eyes to show him that she understood the sexual connotation and said slowly, “You mean the food; yes, it does smell delicious.”

He lifted the silver cover from a soup tureen and served them a
creamy lobster bisque. She gave up a silent prayer of thanks to Auntie Lil for teaching her the intricacies of the array of cutlery.

Should she toy with her food as she had seen the coquettes do at Anna Maria Shrewsbury’s? She found it impossible to do so. She had missed too many dinners in her lifetime. Summer felt it a sacrilege to waste food.

He looked on with approval as she heartily dipped the large prawns into the melted lemon butter. He thought her face in the candleglow the most arresting he had ever seen. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes slanted upward at the corners, her skin was smooth as heavy cream, and her lips were full and red as crushed strawberries. Her face was as exotically delicate as a vanilla orchid.

She knew she must begin to lay the groundwork for her campaign. As he served the next course and refilled her wineglass she sighed. “I have so much to do when I get home, I don’t know where to start, Lord Helford.”

“Do you think you could find it in your heart to call me Ruark?”

“I should not,” she said quickly.

“But?” he pressed.

She hesitated. “Perhaps.” She continued, “My father was a most eccentric man,” she said softly. “He could not abide servants about him. It was just as well really, because he was difficult … impossible … to work for, and one by one they all left.”

“You cannot run Roseland without servants,” he asserted.

“I have somehow managed to do so. However, all that will change now,” she said.

He had taken it for granted that Lady Summer St. Catherine had been spoiled and pampered. Perhaps it was not so.

“It is also just as well that I will not be receiving visitors. The estate has been sadly neglected and I must begin restoration and repair immediately.”

“Surely you will make an exception for this visitor, Lady Summer?”

“Lord Helford, you are doubly barred!”

“Ruark,” he reminded. “Why so?”

“Because I am officially in mourning and because … I am alone at Roseland. You must promise you will not compromise me, my lord,” she beseeched.

The food was forgotten. He came around the table to her. “I want to see you,” he said firmly. “Do you not have a male relative to whom I may apply for permission?”

She caught her breath. Surely he wouldn’t ask a male relative for permission to make her his mistress. She stood to face him. “There is no one, save my young brother and Lady Richwood of course.”

He smiled down at her ruefully. “And I’ve already pledged your safety to her, haven’t I?”

“I shall come to visit you,” she offered.

“Promise me?” he asked solemnly.

As she looked up into his face his fingers reached up and took the violet combs from her hair. It tumbled down over his hands in a silken mass and his mouth took hers in a long, lingering kiss. A shock rippled through her body as the teasing dalliance of his tongue prepared her for bolder play. He was holding her much too close as his lips turned forceful and his tongue thrust demandingly into her soft mouth. She stiffened and pulled back but not before her insides had felt like molten silver sliding downward into her limbs from the onslaught of his probing tongue. She had had no idea that being in a man’s arms could produce this liquid heat that made a woman long to be ravished, plundered, conquered. Just once in a lifetime every woman should be kissed by a dangerous man.