The Pirate and the Pagan (14 page)

“Open in the name of the law,” came an order in a voice which almost froze her blood in her veins. She waited silently until he hammered on the door again, then she flung it open and held her candle high. It showed her a burly young man with a florid face and small, piggy eyes. “Who are you?” she asked. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I am Sergeant Oswald, Falmouth Militia,” he said with authority.

“And so?” she demanded.

“I have reason to believe that this household is involved in smuggling.” He took a step forward with one boot touching the threshold. Summer did not move back, but thrust the candle closer to his face.

“This household, as you put it, consists of one lady. How dare you accuse me, Sergeant?” She sensed one or two men beyond him in the darkness and knew her only weapon was to humiliate him.

“We followed the felon here. No doubt he is one of your servants or grooms. Stand aside while we search the house.”

“You pompous ass!” she flared. “Are you aware that it is the middle of the night, Sergeant? Are you aware that I am alone here, in a state of undress, Sergeant? Are you aware that this household is in mourning, Sergeant?”

His neck flushed until you couldn’t tell where his bright uniform began. “If we find neither culprit nor contraband hidden within, we will leave you in peace, m’lady.”

“You would find neither, Sergeant. You may take my word for it. Good night.”

Oswald thought of Lord Helford’s cold fury and contempt and the verbal flaying Helford had subjected him to that morning. “The new magistrate has ordered that we search any household under suspicion.”

“Then the new magistrate is a bloody fool,” she asserted.

“Fool he may be, but he is a black-tempered authoritarian and I dare not disobey his orders. We must search your house.”

“You may search my house, Sergeant, when you have shown me your search warrant.”

“I don’t have one yet. I didn’t think it would be necessary,” he said with narrowed eyes.

“Let me assure you it is imperative! I suggest you go and get the warrant and come back.”

“It is the middle of the night,” he spat.

“Since you have ruined my sleep, I think it only fair that you ruin the magistrate’s sleep, or you could return in the morning, Sergeant, at a more civilized hour,” she suggested sweetly.

He pressed his lips together in rage and spun on his heel.

Summer threw home the bolt and climbed the stairs on very shaky legs.

Spider, still dressed, lay stretched out on his bed. “The whole story, if you please,” she said quietly.

“It wasn’t wrecking,” he said quickly. “Somebody else must have done that. When we saw the vessel, it was floundering. Belgian or Dutch, so where’s the harm?”

“We’re not at war with Holland yet,” she pointed out.

“Anyway, the wreckers had already looted her before we got to her. All the casks were gone except the broken ones. It was gin by the smell of it.”

“What’s in the cave?” she asked.

“I’ve no idea what it is. It could be worthless, for all I know. It’s wrapped in oilskins.”

“Well, whatever it is, we’d better go down now before the tide carries it out again.”

“Perhaps that would be best. If they search the house in the morning …”

She stood like a pagan in her crimson robe. “We are part of the sea; we will give up nothing.”

There were six heavy oilskin-wrapped bundles. It took them three trips each to carry the contraband into the cellars and another three trips to fetch it upstairs. Summer knelt before the bundles and carefully unwrapped one of the oilskins. Her breath caught in her throat as the candlelight revealed the beauty of the rich cache. “It must be Brussels lace,” she said in awe, reaching out to touch the fine, costly material.

“Who the hell can we sell that to?” asked Spider with disappointment.

“We must find some way of getting it to Auntie Lil. It’s worth its weight in gold. Of course we’ll have to settle for less than its true value, but it will bring us a few thousand.”

“Where will we hide it?” asked Spider.

“In my bed, I think. I’m reasonably certain I’m the only one with access to my own bed,” she said decisively.

She arose at dawn as usual, but it was not to ride the beach. She chose with care the loveliest day gown she owned. It was a cream linen decorated with pale green ribbon loops. She fastened some cream-colored roses into her hair and went to awaken her brother.

He blinked at the vision before him. “You’re going to a ball?” he asked, bewildered. Then he guessed again. “You’re getting married!”

“No, silly. This is a day dress, and a simple one at that, I warrant.”

“Well then, it’s for
his
benefit,” he grumbled.

“No, Spider, it’s for yours. I have to get to Lord Helford before Sergeant Oswald does. Ruark will have to choose between us.”

Spider grinned. “That bastard Oswald doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”

“No, I’m afraid he doesn’t,” she said honestly. “Now come and hitch your pony to that little ponycart for me.”

“You know how to do that; you’ve done it dozens of times,” he said, yawning.

“Not in cream linen, I haven’t, you lazy dolt.”

As she came up the long driveway to Helford Hall she saw that Ruark was just ready to depart. A groom held his saddle horse while Mr. Burke stood by holding a stirrup cup. The moment Ruark saw her he came toward the cart, but she jumped down in a flurry of petticoats and ran to him. He took her hands in his, wondering how she could possibly look so delectable at six o’clock in the morning.

She looked up at him with distress clearly etched on her lovely brow.

“You’re trembling, love, what is it?” he demanded.

She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again hesitantly.

“Come inside and sit down,” he urged.

“Well … I … well … I.” She hesitated breathlessly.

“Well … I … will,” she said, allowing him to persuade her.

With a protective hand at the small of her back he led her through the entrance hall to a small salon with comfortable chairs and a cheery fire. “Some coffee, Mr. Burke.” He sat down across a small inlaid table from her and said anxiously, “Tell me what’s amiss. Something has frightened you.”

“It was a man,” she said, low. “He came in the middle of the night demanding entrance. I was alone … undressed …”

His eyes blazed with fury; the muscle in his jaw clenched into an iron knot.

Mr. Burke’s voice carried to them as he answered the door and bade Sergeant Oswald wait in the entrance hall. Summer looked through the doorway of the salon.

“Ah, no …” she cried, her hand going to her throat in alarm.

“Was that the man?” Ruark demanded.

Summer closed her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.

Ruark strode into the entrance hall and Sergeant Oswald saluted him smartly and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Helford, but I need your authorization for a search warrant for your neighbor’s property.”

Helford took a threatening step toward the militiaman, who stepped back in alarm. Ruark ground out, “Yesterday, Oswald, I questioned your gross incompetence. Today I think I have my answer. Do you drink, Sergeant?”

“Yes sir, no sir, not on duty, sir.”

Ruark was enraged that this ruddy-faced lout had seen Summer in her nightclothes. “What other explanation could you possibly have for harassing Lady St. Catherine in the middle of the night?” he thundered.

“Sir, we chased a suspected smuggler onto the St. Catherine property. She refused to cooperate and let us search for him.”

“And if you had chased him onto my property, that implicates me in smuggling, does it?” he demanded dangerously.

“No sir, not at all, sir,” Oswald answered, standing at rigid attention.

“By God, Oswald, I should have your commission for this,” said Helford, trying to control his anger. His voice quietened, but it was much more deadly as a result. “If you or your men ever set foot on Lady St. Catherine’s property again, I will take disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?” he asked silkily.

“Yes sir.” Oswald’s eye caught a movement across the hall. Summer stood in the doorway with a complacent little smile on her lips, then she moved back into the salon. Oswald swore she would one day rue the victory she now savored over him.

F
or the next three days Summer saw nothing of Ruark Helford. He was gone on official business and she chafed at the wasted days that were melting away. She had only three weeks left until the mortgage was due.

On the fourth day at dawn she collected Ebony from the Helford stables and rode out along the deserted beach. The sea air was brisk and cold and she wasted little time in covering the usual five miles then turned and rode back.

Halfway home she saw Ruark riding to meet her. For a moment she felt panic that he would see her in breeches and shirt with disheveled hair, but since there was nothing she could do about it, she waved gaily, genuinely glad to have him back.

He called to her, and though the wind tried to snatch his voice away, it was so strong it carried clearly to her. “You’ll freeze to death in that thin shirt. Let’s go up to the house. I want to talk to you.”

She shook her head, letting the breeze blow her hair into a dark cloud. She noticed he, too, was in shirt sleeves.

“Then let me build a fire with some driftwood,” he suggested hopefully.

She nodded her pleasure and pointed to a small cove in the rocks. They dismounted to gather an armful of wood and Ruark
stacked it and set it ablaze. Summer pointed to a large mass on the sands which looked like resin. “There’s a lump of ambergris washed up on shore.”

“Ambergris?” he echoed. “My God, it would be worth its weight in gold in London.”

“For what, pray?” she asked, laughing.

Ruark thought perhaps that even if he told her it was a rare aphrodisiac, she probably wouldn’t know what he meant. “A sort of tonic,” he said, and sat down with his back against the rocky cliff and held up his hands for her to join him.

She hesitated.

“You’re angry with me for spoiling your solitude. You’ve told me plain enough you like your privacy.”

“Of course I’m not angry with you. I just don’t like you to see me dressed in masculine attire.”

“Masculine?” he echoed, thinking how womanly she looked with the wet shirt clinging to her breasts.

“I missed you dreadfully.”

“Did you? Did you really, Lady Summer St. Catherine?” he asked, his eyes hungrily devouring hers. “Then why won’t you come and hold hands with me?”

She hesitated again. “I like holding hands with you,” she confessed. “If only you won’t do that thing that frightens me,” she said in a rush.

He searched her face. “You mean kiss you?”

She shook her head. “I’m even shameless enough to like being kissed. I mean the other thing you do,” she said, her face growing warm even in the cool breeze.

“Sweet, I’m at a loss; what is it I do to frighten you?”

“You make yourself … grow … enormous.”

“Oh God,” he swore. Very gently he took her hands and eased her down beside him. He kept his voice low and intimate. “I don’t make myself grow … you do.”

She gazed up at him, realizing this was one of those moments when he would reveal another piece of the puzzle to her. The mysterious male-female secrets which attracted and repelled her at the same time. She wanted to pull away; she wanted to melt into him.

“When you are near me, I have no control over it at all.” He started to harden and dropped his eyes to her mouth. He realized his mistake immediately as his shaft jumped and lengthened. “I
just see you, or hear you laugh or smell your perfume and I become aroused. Hell, you don’t even have to be there at all, just thinking about you, thinking of touching you, and the damnable thing has a will of its own.”

She loved the idea of not even having to be there to affect him. Her fear was slowly dissolving and in its place a great curiosity was growing. She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her top lip, unconsciously teasing him.

He knew he must taste her. “I’ve hungered for you,” he said hoarsely as his mouth took hers in a demanding kiss.

She shivered at his touch. “You’re wet,” he said, concerned, as his brown hand brushed her breast through her clinging shirt. He was on his feet immediately to make the fire twice as hot for her. He loped down the beach to gather a great armful of driftwood and came racing back to their haven. He took off his wet shirt then slipped down again beside her with his back against the rocks.

She raised her long lashes to appraise his naked chest. “I know it’s wicked of me, but I’m wildly curious.”

“Curious about my body?” he asked huskily.

She nodded. “I cannot help myself … I have a burning need to look at you … to touch you … to know what you feel like when my hands and fingers explore you … and if it’s wicked, I no longer care.”

“Sweet love, it isn’t wicked, it’s natural and beautiful. Don’t you know I have exactly the same needs? I can’t keep myself from touching you when you’re this close. Be bold, my darling, touch me. Give me one glimpse of that wild little pagan I’m falling in love with.”