Page 110 of The Pirate and the Pagan
Like millions of women before her she swore off men for the rest of her life. Before she had finished she experienced every emotion known to woman, from helpless tears to hysterical laughter at the cruel joke nature played on females to make a child come out the same way it had gone in!
Finally, when she was at the end of her endurance and stopped fighting it, the baby was born. Mrs. Bishop held the male child with reverence. It was as dark and lusty as its father and she feared that its fierce hunger would be too much for the fragile-looking girl the midwife had just tucked into bed. Also, after the curses Summer had rained on the Helfords all day, poor Bish wondered how she would react to a child who was a miniature Helford from its startling green eyes to its prominent male appendage. She needn’t have worried. Summer held up amazingly strong arms. “My son, please, Mrs. Bishop!” She clasped him to her heart fiercely, kissing the fuzzy dark hair which covered his beautifully shaped head, and the baby’s instinct sought her nipple immediately. A selfish little smile curved her lips. The ultimate revenge would be to refuse to share him.
During the next couple of weeks she was swamped by visitors. Maids of honor from Court came calling bringing their cavaliers, then when her address became known, gentlemen dropped by continually to invite her to supper and a play since she was only a hop, skip, and a jump away from London’s playhouses. Whispers had spread about her that she was no longer married and of course Whitehall thrived on rumor and gossip. She had been steeped in domesticity so long she had forgotten what it was like to dance, to flirt, to fend off a flattering advance from an ardent male admirer.
Lord Helford sent her a note asking when it would be convenient for him to see his son. She picked up a feather quill and answered with one word. “Never!” Then she realized he would immediately rise to the challenge, so she tore up the note and answered evasively, saying she was taking little Ryan to the countryside for the fresh air and would let him know when they came back to town.
When the Queen sent her an invitation to attend her drawing room for an evening of cards, Summer felt the old excitement rise within her. It had been so long since she’d worn anything more elaborate than a day dress and it seemed like years since she had painted her face.
Mrs. Bishop had been urging her to get out and about more. It wasn’t natural for a beautiful young woman to devote every waking moment to a child, she insisted. Summer hid a smile. She knew Bish was dying to get the child to herself more often and in truth she knew she could never leave him in better hands. She wondered if she would be able to fit into her gowns and was amazed to find that her waist was smaller than it had been, although her breasts certainly were not. In the end she chose something they’d never seen her in before. She took a womanlike pleasure in choosing something spectacular, which would make the other ladies mad with envy. She had decided to wear the pale green creation which shimmered to silvery green when candlelight struck it. However, she found that she had to nurse Ryan a second time to reduce her breasts before she could fit into it. She swept high her dark, silken mass of curls and fastened it by carved jade combs and hairpins, then she made up her face, using kohl on her long dark lashes and bright poppy-colored lip rouge. She had some powder which contained gold dust and she patted it across her cheekbones and on the swell of her exposed breasts. Then she carefully selected her patches. She ignored the usual black ones and instead chose tiny gold ones in the shape of crowns. One went high on a cheekbone, the other she stuck on her breast just above and to side of a nipple which the gown barely covered. Then she wrapped herself in the pièce de résistance, the pale green fur wrap.
The carriage was brought from its stables behind St. Matthew’s Church and she threw the baby a kiss and told Mrs. Bishop not to wait up for her. Summer took a deep breath, held her head high, and walked into the gallery. She heard gasps and whispers, and when she told the uniformed herald to announce her as Lady Summer St. Catherine, the buzz of the crowd became louder and every head swiveled in her direction.
The King gallantly stood beside Catherine to welcome the guests she had invited, and when Summer made her curtsy, she felt his amused eyes upon her. Only after she had exchanged kisses with Catherine did she look into his eyes. She saw appreciation writ plainly for her great beauty and she also saw speculation prompted by her advertisement that she was no longer Lady Helford.
The crowd swallowed her. They were all there, and she had no trouble keeping them apart tonight as she had when she first arrived in London. Lord Sandwich, head of the King’s Fleet; Cornwallis, who flung silver coins at Royal Ceremonies; Albermarle, who tasted the King’s food. The Duke of Ormond, who had once ridden his horse right into Westminster. Ned Hyde, the aging chancellor, and his plain daughter, Ann, Duchess of York. Summer’s eyes swept the room as she nodded to Rochester, Clifford, Ashley, and Arlington.
Then she went suddenly cold, for watching her through narrowed eyes was none other than Ruark Helford. “Death and damnation,” she swore, “if I’d known he’d be here, I wouldn’t have come.” She heard the King’s deep chuckle from his great height and knew that he’d heard her. She looked up at him and said, “I swear to give me confidence, Sire.”
“I know,” he said, tucking her hand in his. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand by you in the face of the enemy.”
She thanked him with a brilliant smile and whispered, “Damn ’em and ram ’em and sink ’em to hell.”
He threw back his head and his great laughter rolled out. She clung desperately to his big hand as Ruark walked a direct path to them and said in deadly quiet tones, “I see the country air wasn’t to your liking, madame.”
“A barefaced lie, I’m afraid, Lord Helford,” she said smugly, bolstered by the King’s protection.
His voice was silky with menace. “I hope you don’t think you can keep me from my own son.”
“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?”
