Page 114 of The Pirate and the Pagan
Lil was exasperated. “I’ve only so much patience and you’ve had the lot. What you need is a damn good roll in the hay. Take a lover. Let him fill you with cream until you purr.”
“Who?” asked Summer blankly.
Lil laughed. “You’re like someone at a banquet who starves! The court is chocablock with randy males; you have your choice from the King down … or up, whichever your perspective. Or better yet, marry George Digby and become a countess.”
Summer suddenly became very still. After a few moments she gathered her fan and her muff and departed, her mind far off in deepest thought.
“Good God, what maggot have I unleashed in her brain?” muttered Lil to no one in particular.
To a casual observer it appeared that Summer was taking Lil Richwood’s advice as she readied some of her more elaborate gowns to take to Court. She needed a man and the place to find a man, of course, was Court. In a few days there was to be a gala reception honoring ambassadors from France, Spain, and Russia, and Summer decided the occasion definitely called for ostrich feathers. Ryan was six months old and just about weaned, but the day before she left for Court she spent the whole day cuddling him. Mrs. Bishop shook her head over Summer’s behavior. “’Tis most unfashionable for a lady to be constantly seen with a babe in her arms. Soon he won’t just be spoiled, he’ll be ruinated! He has too many women fussing about him night and day.”
“You’re quite right, of course, Bish. He needs a father as well as a mother. I think it’s time I did something about it. I’m going to be spending more time at Court. I wouldn’t be able to do that if I didn’t have you, Mrs. Bishop.”
The older woman was worried. She didn’t see what was wrong with the father he already had. There would be hell to pay if Ruark knew she was husband hunting. Bish knew he would take his son in a minute rather than let another man have him, and she felt in her heart that he would be justified.
Summer stood inside the wardrobe in the Helford rooms down by Whitehall’s bowling green. For a moment she was lost in another world, her hand on one of Ruark’s old doublets, its scent of sandalwood filling her nostrils, stirring half-forgotten dreams from the past, then briskly she pushed it aside to make room for the clothes from her trunk. She planned to arrive after the banquet but before the dancing. There was no way she was going to sit through an interminable dinner where the speeches would be fatuous and the food cold.
Two hours later she arrived in the great banqueting hall. Her ostrich-feathered fan wafted frangipani about her beautiful shoulders and every eye was riveted upon her. Everything about her gown was outrageous, from its cost to its vivid color of peacock. Every breath of air wafted the delicate downy tendrils of her hair into a fluttering, floating mass which caressed her breasts and shoulders with shivering, shuddering undulation and alternately revealed and concealed as she was greeted by one man after another. Her wicked juices bubbled tonight. She was there for one purpose only, to torment Ruark Helford and make him as miserable as she had been since he’d begun his liaison with Lady Georgina Digby. The corners of her mouth turned up in a secret, delicious smile as she spotted him at the far end of the hall laughing with the King, while the little grubworm made a polite effort to make sense of the Queen’s fractured English.
Jack Grenvile came to her side as soon as he saw her. He kissed her hand and tickled her palm suggestively with the tip of his tongue. She tucked her arm in his and invited, “Come, you handsome brute, let’s do some husband baiting.”
When he saw where she was heading, he whispered, “I don’t think Bristol’s little gel is any competition for you, sweetheart.”
“No, poor little mouse,” purred Summer. She had eyes only for the King as he looked at her with undisguised admiration mixed with lust. She curtsied to the Queen and enjoyed the stone face of Ruark as Charles looked down the front of her gown. The King said, “You are a vision of loveliness tonight, Summer.”
Grenvile agreed heartily. “The plumes look a lot better adorning Summer than the ostrich.”
Lady Georgina pressed her lips together in disapproval and said, “How cruel.”
Summer bestowed a dazzling smile upon the girl and traced her finger along the expensive ermine trim of her gown. “That rabbit died for you. My ostrich is merely running around in the nude.”
The King and Grenvile laughed, but Ruark Helford did not. “I believe this is our dance,” he said to Summer in a tone which brooked no refusal.
“You are mistaken,” she said softly, flirting outrageously with Charles. “I believe I’m yours, Sire.” The King swept her into a courante and Jack Grenvile partnered Georgina. Ruark bowed to the Queen and begged her to dance with him. When the dance ended, they were all in approximately the same place they had started. Summer looked at Georgina Digby’s emerald pendant and said, “Your emerald is lovely. If I were you, I’d get Daddy to give you matching earrings. When he takes a countess, I’m afraid she’ll claim all future jewels.”
Georgina looked alarmed.
Summer saw the Earl of Bristol emerge from the crush. “Darling,” she said, lifting her face for his kiss. “Je suis désolée sans toi.”
A tall footman offered a silver tray to His Majesty and Charles reached for a glass of champagne. Summer took two, draining them both while the men adored her with their eyes. The music started up and she said gaily to Helford, “An ugly fellow like you deserves to stand against the wall, but if I don’t take pity on you, who will?”
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.”
