Page 111 of The Pirate and the Pagan
“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.”
