The Pirate and the Pagan (57 page)

“It’s a wise father who knows his own child!” she dared to utter.

“God’s flesh, Summer, is that remark intended for me or your husband?” the King asked, pretending injury, for rumor was rife that not all Barbara’s offspring belonged to Charles.

Ruark gave the King a mock look of pity. “Can’t be directed at me, Sire, my son is reported to be my living, breathing image.”

Charles disengaged his hand from Summer’s and murmured, “I wish you joy of each other,” as he left the antagonists at daggers drawn.

Ruark’s eyes swept over her with smoldering anger, then he said with contempt, “Pale green fur is decadent.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, looking immensely pleased with herself, and let the fur fall to her hips, affording him an unimpeded view of her breasts. She knew he was fighting a losing battle with his temper, but felt secure in a roomful of people, many of whom were watching the pair with avid interest.

He took a step closer and in spite of the crowd she felt a thrill of danger. The muscle in his jaw clenched like a lump of iron. “That gown was designed with one purpose in mind. It invites a man to play with your breasts.”

“Yes,” she agreed, goading him purposely, “unfortunately you are not the man I had in mind.”

He reached out a deliberate thumb and forefinger. She gasped as she thought he intended to expose her nipple, but when she glanced down in alarm, she saw he had picked off the golden crown. “No, madame, it’s patently obvious which man you had in mind.” He took hold of her wrist in a viselike grip and led her back to the King. He said low, “I don’t take leftovers from the royal table.” He placed her hand in that of Charles and gave the King back his words: “I wish you joy of each other.” Then he stalked off to soothe his injured pride with the first attractive woman to cross his path.

“It’s the Helford temper, Your Majesty,” Summer explained, humiliation staining her cheeks.

“Damned fellow almost challenged me. I warrant you’re a match for him any day … or night,” teased Charles.

Ruark Helford soon found that the company of the ladies present palled quickly. During each dance, before he could broach the subject of dalliance, his partner had touched him suggestively with
her fan to let him know she was eager to lie with him. The hunter became the hunted and it was distasteful to his dominant nature.

He hated to admit it but Summer’s face, exquisite as a cameo, made the beauty of other women seem overblown. Too, she had an elusive quality which made a man want more from her than she was willing to give. He soon gravitated to the men, whose conversations of sea battles and politics were infinitely more interesting.

Ned Hyde, the old chancellor, looked most pleased when Ruark thanked him for getting Parliament to vote in favor of spending two and a half million on the war. Ruark told him, “We get all the glory when we bring in enemy ships, but in truth the credit is yours, Chancellor.”

Charles approached them and it was only his impeccable manners which prevented Ruark from turning away. “Ned, the Queen is looking for you. She wants to personally thank you for helping me find favor with Parliament for once.” When they were alone, Charles said to a stone-faced Helford, “If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. I’m probably a fool to tell you this, but I haven’t cuckolded you … at least not yet. What’s all this nonsense about Summer using her maiden name? You haven’t really dissolved the marriage, have you?”

“No. She’ll remain Lady Helford whether she chafes at the bonds of matrimony or not,” he said flatly.

“Then I suggest you put your brand of ownership on her,” drawled Charles, “before some other man plucks the fruit for which you lust.”

Ruark Helford watched her covertly for the next hour. The men were attracted like flies to a honeypot. He watched her fend off Jack Grenvile, the King’s brother James, Wild Harry Killigrew, and Sir Antony Deane, the great shipbuilder who had just finished two new vessels, the
Hampshire
and the
Nonesuch,
and was one of the guests of honor this evening. Ruark’s brows drew together as Summer greeted Sir George Digby, Earl of Bristol, with a kiss. He estimated him to be close to fifty years old, but he had a youthful air and was good looking in the extreme. Summer did not dismiss his attentions and in fact allowed Digby to tuck her arm beneath his as he led her into a card room. The earl had been a widower for well over a year now and no woman had been lucky enough to snare him. If Summer was fancying herself a countess, he’d soon disabuse her of such delusions of grandeur, he thought grimly as he entered the card room.

He heard her say, “I’d love to try some clary—I hear it’s become all the rage since I was last at Court.”

Clary was a very potent concoction of brandy, sugar, clary flowers, and the aphrodisiac ambergris. No wonder Digby lost no time running to fetch it for her, thought Ruark angrily. He stepped up behind her. “I will escort you home, madame.”

She whirled to face him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ve just told the Earl of Bristol that he could have that honor.” She had emphasized the title to annoy him.

“I will escort you home now. I’ve
decided
to take a look at my son.”

She stiffened. She was in a panic, for she knew that once he set his mind to do something, he did it! “I couldn’t possibly disappoint George,” she protested.

“I’ll do it for you,” he said with firm resolve. As the handsome earl returned carrying two glasses of clary, Helford relieved him of one and drained it. “Thanks, George, Summer can’t have brandy at the moment, it would get into her milk.”

Summer gasped, George Digby flushed, and Ruark Helford flashed his wolf’s grin. “Excuse us, George, we’re leaving.”

The whoreson had deliberately spoiled her evening. She planted her feet firmly and glared at him. “We can’t leave before the Queen,” protested Summer.

His hand had a firm grip on her elbow and he almost dragged her from the card room into the gallery. “No one will see us leave in this crush.” But they did, of course. The men envied him and the women envied her. It looked as if they couldn’t wait a moment longer to lie with each other as they rushed from the gallery.

She knew what would happen if he got her alone. The same thing that happened last time, the thing that always happened between them. She wanted to fly at him and rend his dark face to ribbons. Instead she tried an evasive tactic. With honeyed voice she said, “Ru, come tomorrow and spend some time with us. It would be so selfish to wake a sleeping babe.”

“I am known to be selfish,” he said implacably.

“Not just selfish,” she railed, losing her carefully held temper, “you are an arrogant, ill-tempered, rampant swine.”

“Rampant?” he echoed. “I haven’t laid a hand on you for almost three months.” Almost implicit in his words was the promise “until tonight.” Her mind raced about for an avenue of escape. If she
could get home before he arrived, she could keep Mrs. Bishop with her. “I’ll ride in my own carriage,” Summer insisted.

“That will be difficult. I dismissed your driver hours ago.”

Her eyes blazed her outrage. “How dare you do such a highhanded thing?” she demanded, stamping her high-heeled foot on the marble steps.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Since I pay the man’s wages, I believe I am merely exercising my rights.” His words set off warning bells as they echoed in her brain: “Exercising my rights … exercising my rights.” The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him in his carriage. He was far too bold and sensual a man to be trusted on even a short ride. He hailed his driver and opened the carriage door for her. She stood resolute and actually opened her mouth to blurt “I’m afraid to be alone with you” when he looked down at her mockingly and said, “You’re not afraid to be alone with me, are you?”

“Afraid? You must be mad! I’m afraid of neither man nor beast.”

His mouth curved wickedly. “And you haven’t quite decided which I am yet.”

She shook off his hands as she climbed into the carriage and sat stiffly against the velvet squabs. When he sat down next to her she felt his thigh against hers and tried to move away, but he was sitting firmly on the material of her gown and she found herself effectively pinned like a butterfly. She was furious with herself for letting him have such a physical impact on her, alone together in the intimate darkness of the carriage. Her mouth was dry, her breasts, now heavy with milk, ached unbearably, and her mind vividly recalled his scalding mouth when it made love to her.

His maleness silently overwhelmed her. It had been almost three months since he’d made love to her and her traitorous body had begun to tingle the moment his muscled thigh brushed hers. The tingle grew to hunger as the carriage swayed and she fell against him. She recoiled as if she’d been shot.

“I just want you to leave me alone,” she cried.

His voice was deep, smooth, knowing, as he said, “I haven’t seen you or touched you for three months. I think that’s long enough— overlong for a woman as sensual as you are, Summer darling.” Her name on his lips sent shivers running up inside her. She dug her clenched nails into the palms of her hands and the sharp pain
stopped her resolve from weakening. She bit down on her lip to revive her hatred of him.

“Why are you angry with me?” he asked, his lips only an inch above her ear.

“Damn you, I’m more than angry—I hate you!”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Spencer, of course, and for ravishing me. I’ll never forgive you!”

He didn’t touch her, but she expected to feel his roving hands any moment. Quietly he said, “You know how the war has escalated. I sent him off to Madagascar on a merchant ship to keep him safe. How long do you think you could have kept him out of the lighting? And it’s going to get worse, much worse.”

He was actually trying to make her believe that he had done the noble thing by Spencer. “And the ravishment?” she demanded. “Talk your way out of that one!”

“Mea culpa,” he crooned, knowing he was close to committing the offense again.

The carriage stopped and she knew she must get out instantly. She tried to bolt through the door and heard a sickening rip as the delicate fabric of her gown was torn open from ankle to hip. She looked at him in dismay and he smiled into her eyes with unconcealed lust. With one smooth movement he swung her legs up onto the seat and his strong brown hands went up inside the gaping gown to slither up her thighs and beyond. His mouth sought hers and she withdrew from it until she was lying full length upon the carriage seat. Her breasts swelled from the overtight bodice until one popped out and his avid mouth had captured its rosy crown before her hand could cover it. Too late! He tasted the drop of fluid and it was such an unbelievably erotic experience he almost ejaculated.

She shuddered. “No, no, no,” she cried.

“Darling, I know your body so well, it’s crying out to mine right now.”

“Not anymore, Ruark. I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

The words had the same effect as a slap in the face. He withdrew from her immediately. She sat up shakily and covered her naked breast. The silence stretched between them unbearably. She had gained a few minutes’ respite, perhaps she could gain longer. “If I let you see Ryan, will you promise to leave us in peace for another three months?”

His voice was cool, distant. “I think I can safely say I’ll be occupied elsewhere. The Dutch are going to hit back and hit back hard.”

The baby was crying when they entered the house. The moment she heard his cry, drops of milk ran from her swollen breasts and wet the bodice of her gown. Mrs. Bishop carried him down the stairs, secretly delighted to see Ruark was with her.

Ruark held out his arms for his son and naturally Mrs. Bishop proudly handed him over to his father. Self-interest made Summer keep a close watch on his face. A finger of fear touched her heart as she saw the possessive look on Ruark’s face. His dark eyes sent a quick message to Bish to leave them private and she retreated up the stairs unobtrusively.

“My sweetheart,” whispered Summer, her heart turning over with love at the sight of her child. The moment he heard his mother’s voice, baby Ryan had eyes for no one else. He began to cry lustily, demandingly, and Summer knew she must somehow get rid of Ruark so she could feed him. “It’s late,” she said apologetically. “You do understand, Ruark?”

Still holding his son, he lowered his eyes to her breasts, which swelled lusciously from the tight bodice. The two wet spots grew larger as he watched.

“I understand perfectly,” he said hoarsely.

Her cheeks grew warm. She took the child from him firmly and said pointedly, “I have to feed him, as you can see. If you have looked your fill, sir, would you leave?”

“No,” he said quietly, “I’m going to watch you … I’ll never have my fill.”

Her breasts ached so much she knew she had no choice. She carried Ryan into the salon and sat down in a rocking chair. She turned her shoulder away from Ruark to partially conceal herself, gently withdrew a full breast, and offered it to her baby. For the first few seconds he made little noises of distress as if he feared he would be deprived of the source of his happiness. Then he quieted as he gripped it firmly with his tiny hands.

Ruark moved around in front of them with a look of awe on his face. Never in his life had he felt so protective before. He wanted them both, and of course he knew a sure way to get what he wanted. If he took his son, he knew the mother would follow.

“Ru, I beg you, leave us in peace,” she begged.

“A baby belongs with his mother, but later on, you know I will
want him, Summer. I won’t allow my son to be brought up in London. You know as well as I that he belongs at Helford Hall.”

Tears glistened in her eyes as they fiercely challenged each other over the precious burden. Rather than hurt her child, she was willing to hand him over now. Then she saw Ruark’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Summer, I can be such a swine at times. I’ll leave you in peace,” he promised sadly.