The Pirate and the Pagan (59 page)

The King and Jack Grenvile laughed again and Ruark knew he would look a churlish swine if he refused her. “What in hell were you thinking of to kiss Digby in a public place?” he demanded harshly.

“Because if I’d kissed him in a private place, his little girl would have fainted.” His hand tightened on hers dangerously, threatening to crack her delicate bones. “Or perhaps not … perhaps she’s your latest whore.”

“God’s flesh, the girl is only sixteen years old,” he protested, shocked.

“George thinks she needs a mother … perhaps I’ll apply,” she said lightly.

Lids low over glittering green eyes, he sneered. “You used your body to become Lady Helford, so you’d probably stop at nothing to become the Countess of Bristol.”

His cruel words hurt her, but she would have died rather than show it. She gave him a glorious smile and said low, “You know, it would be worth it if I could talk George into naming Ryan his heir.”

Ruark stiffened and warned between clenched teeth, “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you are playing teasing games, because if I thought for one moment you were serious, the consequences would be deadly.” The music changed to a kissing dance. Both Ruark and Summer glanced back toward the Digbys as they stood together, eagerly awaiting the return of their partners. Both Ruark and Summer heartily wished the Digbys in hell. But Summer was in far too dangerous a mood to allow Helford a kiss tonight even though it was just a playful dance. She swept off the dance floor, not even glancing back to see if he followed, and took George’s hand eagerly as if she couldn’t wait for him to take her in his arms.

She glanced down the hall to see Georgina Digby lift her oh-so-innocent face up to receive Ruark’s kiss and she felt totally defenseless. “Whoremonger!” she whispered furiously, and the Earl of Bristol, who was about to delicately brush her tempting breast as he kissed her, drew back his hand as if he had been caught.

By midnight most of the guests in the banqueting hall who were still on their feet were inebriated—or “disguised,” as they called it. Assignations were being made, and couples were emerging from alcoves to slip away down the honeycombed passageways of Whitehall or outdoors into the warm September night. Summer had partnered the King more often than she had any other man and was perfectly amenable when he manuevered her out onto the stone balcony for a little air. A hot breeze wafted the fragile feathers about her shoulders and Charles responded to her beauty in his usual physical way. His big arm swept about her and he pressed her to the hard length of him to gauge her reaction. “You little minx, it is nothing novel to you to have a man rise to the occasion.”

She laughed up at him. “’Tis a great compliment to have a king stand at attention for me.”

“Summer, you disappoint me. I thought we knew each other well enough to dispense with this King and subject nonsense … I thought we were just a man and a woman.”

“We know each other too well to be anything but good friends,” she said quietly.

He sighed. “Ah, I thought you came out here with me just to get Ruark’s goat; now, there’s no need for me to ask if you’re serious about George, it’s just a brutal stratagem to make Helford suffer and come to heel.”

She ran her fingers through her plumes. “He shouldn’t have ruffled my feathers with the little goosegirl.”

“He’s going out with the fleet in a couple of days, in an all-out offensive. Why don’t you forgive the poor devil before he goes into battle?”

She shook her head. “He hasn’t suffered nearly enough,” she said decisively. She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Thank you for sharing state secrets with me, Sire.”

“You should be thrown in the Tower for leaving me in this condition,” Charles whispered as they quit the stone balcony.

Ruark Helford had seen her leave the hall with Charles and had felt an impotent fury seething in his veins. Normally he would have taken Georgina home hours ago but he had not dared to leave Summer when she was acting in such a dangerous manner. He was on the point of going out onto the balcony and dragging her back inside by the hair. At the moment his temper was out of control and he was actually contemplating knocking his monarch over the stone balcony. Barbara Castlemaine, wise in the way of women, knew Summer had gone out there to plague Helford. She reached out a firm hand to stay him and said low, “He sleeps in my bed tonight … not hers.”

They came back into the blazing lights of the hall separately. As soon as Charles entered, Barbara slipped her arm through his and moved away from Helford. Ruark was ready for her the moment she came through the balcony doors. He took hold of her arm and forcefully dragged her at least thirty feet down the hall to an alcove. He shoved her ungently against the wall and put up his arm as a barrier.

“You’ve bruised me,” she accused with blazing eyes. “I certainly hope so,” he ground out.

She could see and even feel the fury just barely held in check. She had incited him to it and secretly gloried in her power over
him. His fingers actually tingled as he envisioned putting them about her slender neck and throttling her. Never had she needed such a strong lesson in learning which of them was master. He knew an urge to put a destructive hand into the neck of her provocative gown and tear it to its hem. His fury almost choked him. He growled, “All night you have acted like a common trollop, a little whore!”

The very devil danced in her eyes as she ran the tip of her pink tongue over her lips. “Wine makes me insatiable,” she said huskily.

He snarled like a wolf. “You’re drunk … I wouldn’t bother to lay you.”

She smiled and her knowing eyes glanced down his body. She had never been more aware of his powerful anger combined with lust. “Your prick makes a liar out of you. You’d give your soul to fuck me right now,” she breathed.

Ruark hovered on the brink of violence, yet under it all he knew she spoke the truth. This thing between them was a volatile mixture of love and hate. Their feelings for each other were too intense, too violent, too darkly passionate. He knew he must keep his hands to himself or he would do her an injury. He turned away with a foul oath and saw a wide-eyed Georgina had witnessed the exchange with his wife. “Come,” he said stiffly, “I must return you to your father. I am no fit company tonight.”

Summer knew this thing which had blazed up between them was not finished. She knew without a doubt that once he had rid himself of Digby’s daughter, he would stalk her to finish what he had started. Then a bubble of laughter escaped her lips as she realized he had no idea she was spending the night in his rooms. How delicious! She would sleep in his bed while he drove into the city to wait all night for her outside her house on Friday Street.

Quickly, while she had the opportunity, she scooped up the hem of her gown with its magnificent ostrich plumes and ran outside into the stone gallery. Ruark was right, she had had far too much to drink, she realized as a dizziness threatened to steal away her balance. On her way to the rooms by the bowling green she saw two people making their stealthy way in the same direction. Immediately she recognized the black and white stripes of Frances Stewart’s gown. The pious little bitch, thought Summer. Pretending to be so pure and virginal while opening her legs for the King in secret! Then Summer heard the man speak with a Scottish burr and she realized it was not the King, but his cousin the Duke of
Richmond who had apartments by the bowling green. She realized Frances Stewart was risking everything to become a wife. Then she became angry. Life was so damned unfair to women. They were forced to do anything and everything to trap a man into marriage, then spend the rest of their lives paying the price!

She let herself into the apartment and secured the door. She undressed and hung up the costly peacock gown then she threw herself on the bed and swore she was finished playing games. What was the point of the frivolous life she was leading? She may be able to convince others that she wanted to be Countess of Bristol, but she couldn’t convince herself. She knew she loved Ruark Helford beyond reason. Next week he was going to war. Tomorrow she would go to him. She would swallow her pride and beg him to take her back as his wife. It was time she grew up. She would do it before one more day of her life was ruined. When she put her head on her pillow and closed her eyes, the room spun about and she cursed herself for drinking so much champagne.

S
ummer slept like a log until well past noon. She awoke with a groan and gingerly lifted her head from the pillow. When she did so, it felt like someone had taken a meat cleaver to split her head in half. She sat up slowly, holding both halves of her head together. Never had she experienced anything like this champagne hangover. Even her eyebrows hurt when she winced. Her mouth felt like the bottom of a monkey’s cage and her tongue tasted as if she’d been sucking on a shepherd’s stocking.

When she recalled last night’s behavior, she moaned with despair. How could she face Lord Ruark Helford after drunkenly goading him to madness? Her language had been appalling. He must have a fine disgust of her. She pledged never to drink again. She pledged never to swear again. She pledged never to breathe again. She sat huddled in a miserable heap for over an hour before she could manage to wash and to cleanse her mouth. Another hour passed before she could muster enough ambition to dress herself. She looked at the clothes she had brought and shuddered at the outrageous styles and impractical glittery material.

She chose the least elaborate gown she had brought, a cream-colored watered silk with cherry underskirt and cherry ribbons threaded through the enormous sleeves, and concentrated upon
making her face look less ravished. Her makeup did miracles and managed to make her look only half dead. She realized she would not feel better until she put something in her stomach. As she threaded her way back to Whitehall’s center she found the passages were singularly deserted and she thought cynically that after last night’s debauch everyone was likely still abed nursing their heads. She climbed the stairs slowly and wondered if she would have to go all the way up to the King’s closet before she encountered a footman. At last she came upon a yeoman of the guard. “Lud, where is everyone today?”

“Her Majesty and her ladies are up on the top floor watching the fire, ma’am.”

“Fire?” she muttered. “It never ceases to amaze me what these people do for entertainment.”

Against her better judgment Summer climbed higher and saw about thirty women clustered about the east windows. Their chatter was so loud and excited she pressed her hands against her ears. Elizabeth Hamilton moved over to make room at the window for her. Far off in the City of London proper an ugly pall of gray smoke had blanketed the sky. The voices were beginning to penetrate now and Summer heard one say, “Imagine last night we were dancing and didn’t know a thing about it.” Another said, “I heard it was started by a baker in Pudding Lane, is that true?” Someone answered, “I don’t believe it. I heard that it was started by the Dutch. The warehouses down Thames Street hold all our war supplies.”

Queen Catherine was wringing her hands. As soon as she saw Barbara Castlemaine arrive on the scene she swallowed her pride and said, “Lady Castlemaine, I have been told that Charles and James have gone into the city to fight the fire. Have you heard aught of the King?”

“Your Majesty, I only hear the same rumors you do.” Barbara glanced at Summer and saw that all the color had drained from her face and her hands were shaking like leaves. Barbara took hold of her arm and steered her away from the others. She used bracing words so the girl would not faint. “Zounds, you Helfords give me nothing but trouble. That damned husband of yours dragged the King from my bed at three o’clock this morning.”

Summer stared at her wildly. “Barbara … my baby … my house is on Friday Street!”

“Oh, Lud,” said Barbara with sinking heart. “Look, they’ve
probably got it under control by now. All the able-bodied men went over twelve hours ago.”

“What did Ruark say?” Summer begged.

There was no way Barbara was going to repeat the graphic horror stories Helford had relayed to Charles, but she didn’t lie when she told her, “The moment he alerted the King, Ruark was off to Woolwich and Deptford to the naval yards for workmen and seamen and all the militia. Summer, where are you going?” she demanded.

What a ridiculous question, thought Summer, lifting her petticoats and flying down the stairs of Whitehall Palace. Forgotten was the throbbing head and delicate stomach. They had been replaced by a hard knot of fear which threatened to choke her. She ran down to the water stairs thinking to take a boat into the city, but this far out the Thames was deserted. She had no choice but to set off on foot. The four miles did not daunt her, she would have walked had it been forty.

She could smell the smoke from the fire on the warm wind and prayed that the fire would be out before she reached the city. By the time she rounded the bend of the River Thames, she could hear something roaring, and the wind had picked up considerably. Now she was so hot and walking so quickly that she began to perspire. Her breathing became labored, but she thought it was from her exertion coupled with her apprehensiveness. She had no idea that fire used up all the available oxygen and the smoke was a potential killer.