“And if you had chased him onto my property, that implicates me in smuggling, does it?” he demanded dangerously.
“No sir, not at all, sir,” Oswald answered, standing at rigid attention.
“By God, Oswald, I should have your commission for this,” said Helford, trying to control his anger. His voice quietened, but it was much more deadly as a result. “If you or your men ever set foot on Lady St. Catherine’s property again, I will take disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?” he asked silkily.
“Yes sir.” Oswald’s eye caught a movement across the hall. Summer stood in the doorway with a complacent little smile on her lips, then she moved back into the salon. Oswald swore she would one day rue the victory she now savored over him.
For the next three days Summer saw nothing of Ruark Helford. He was gone on official business and she chafed at the wasted days that were melting away. She had only three weeks left until the mortgage was due.
On the fourth day at dawn she collected Ebony from the Helford stables and rode out along the deserted beach. The sea air was brisk and cold and she wasted little time in covering the usual five miles then turned and rode back.
Halfway home she saw Ruark riding to meet her. For a moment she felt panic that he would see her in breeches and shirt with disheveled hair, but since there was nothing she could do about it, she waved gaily, genuinely glad to have him back.
He called to her, and though the wind tried to snatch his voice away, it was so strong it carried clearly to her. “You’ll freeze to death in that thin shirt. Let’s go up to the house. I want to talk to you.”
She shook her head, letting the breeze blow her hair into a dark cloud. She noticed he, too, was in shirt sleeves.
“Then let me build a fire with some driftwood,” he suggested hopefully.
She nodded her pleasure and pointed to a small cove in the rocks. They dismounted to gather an armful of wood and Ruark stacked it and set it ablaze. Summer pointed to a large mass on the sands which looked like resin. “There’s a lump of ambergris washed up on shore.”
“Ambergris?” he echoed. “My God, it would be worth its weight in gold in London.”
“For what, pray?” she asked, laughing.
Ruark thought perhaps that even if he told her it was a rare aphrodisiac, she probably wouldn’t know what he meant. “A sort of tonic,” he said, and sat down with his back against the rocky cliff and held up his hands for her to join him.
She hesitated.
“You’re angry with me for spoiling your solitude. You’ve told me plain enough you like your privacy.”
“Of course I’m not angry with you. I just don’t like you to see me dressed in masculine attire.”
“Masculine?” he echoed, thinking how womanly she looked with the wet shirt clinging to her breasts.
“I missed you dreadfully.”
“Did you? Did you really, Lady Summer St. Catherine?” he asked, his eyes hungrily devouring hers. “Then why won’t you come and hold hands with me?”
She hesitated again. “I like holding hands with you,” she confessed. “If only you won’t do that thing that frightens me,” she said in a rush.
He searched her face. “You mean kiss you?”
She shook her head. “I’m even shameless enough to like being kissed. I mean the other thing you do,” she said, her face growing warm even in the cool breeze.
“Sweet, I’m at a loss; what is it I do to frighten you?”
“You make yourself … grow … enormous.”
“Oh God,” he swore. Very gently he took her hands and eased her down beside him. He kept his voice low and intimate. “I don’t make myself grow … you do.”
She gazed up at him, realizing this was one of those moments when he would reveal another piece of the puzzle to her. The mysterious male-female secrets which attracted and repelled her at the same time. She wanted to pull away; she wanted to melt into him.
“When you are near me, I have no control over it at all.” He started to harden and dropped his eyes to her mouth. He realized his mistake immediately as his shaft jumped and lengthened. “I just see you, or hear you laugh or smell your perfume and I become aroused. Hell, you don’t even have to be there at all, just thinking about you, thinking of touching you, and the damnable thing has a will of its own.”
She loved the idea of not even having to be there to affect him. Her fear was slowly dissolving and in its place a great curiosity was growing. She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her top lip, unconsciously teasing him.
He knew he must taste her. “I’ve hungered for you,” he said hoarsely as his mouth took hers in a demanding kiss.
She shivered at his touch. “You’re wet,” he said, concerned, as his brown hand brushed her breast through her clinging shirt. He was on his feet immediately to make the fire twice as hot for her. He loped down the beach to gather a great armful of driftwood and came racing back to their haven. He took off his wet shirt then slipped down again beside her with his back against the rocks.
She raised her long lashes to appraise his naked chest. “I know it’s wicked of me, but I’m wildly curious.”
“Curious about my body?” he asked huskily.
She nodded. “I cannot help myself … I have a burning need to look at you … to touch you … to know what you feel like when my hands and fingers explore you … and if it’s wicked, I no longer care.”
“Sweet love, it isn’t wicked, it’s natural and beautiful. Don’t you know I have exactly the same needs? I can’t keep myself from touching you when you’re this close. Be bold, my darling, touch me. Give me one glimpse of that wild little pagan I’m falling in love with.”
She moved to kneel in front of him and reached out her fingers to touch the furry pelt and the heavy muscles. He held his breath, keeping an iron control on himself. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off when she was this close.
With her eyes on his she slowly began to unbutton her wet shirt. Then very deliberately her eyes lowered to the place between his legs. He held his breath as hot desire pulsed through him, not quite believing what she was actually about to do. His balls tightened and he knelt up in front of her to let her see the full physical change she made in him. The blood surged and pulsed into his shaft, swelling, filling, lengthening, hardening it until the bulge threatened to burst from the confining breeches.
Her eyes widened with pleasure at the power she had over him. Very slowly she removed the shirt and held it out to the fire. She was an irresistible combination of pagan and innocent.
His mind centered upon her naked beauty.
I’ve done this before, she thought, yet that was absurd, for of course it was the first time. The silence which stretched between them was a conversation without words. Then with reverence he reached out to cup the beautiful globes and bent to bestow a kiss upon each. “These are more aphrodisiac than any ambergris,” he breathed, and then she felt the velvety caress of his tongue as he licked her nipples until they sharpened into dusky pink darts.
She was without shame, without reserve, and she thought with pity of all the women who were shy or reluctant when they loved. Ruark was both fierce and gentle with her at the same time and she knew as he took possession of her mouth that she loved the things he did to her, loved the way he made her feel and in spite of the fact that she was not yet ready to trust any man, she knew she could love him if he delivered her from her difficulties and fate was kind to her.
With his hot mouth on hers she felt half mad with passion. It raged in every part of her, her head, her heart, her belly, her naked breasts. Her frenzied hands longed to cup him, fondle him, crush him, yet they fluttered wildly over the forbidden male weapon while she gathered her last drop of courage to seize what she wanted.
“Cat!” The shout came from the clifftop above them. She gasped and snatched up her shirt. “It’s my brother Ruark. I must go.”
Reluctantly he brought her horse and helped her
mount its bare back. He looked into her eyes which were alive with silent promises, like windows into paradise. His heart soared wildly that she felt as he did, the same flame, the same longing. He picked up the ambergris and handed it to her. “It must have magic powers.”
“What the hell were you doing down there?” Spider demanded, his lip curling.
“Minding my own business; something you seem incapable of,” she said haughtily.
“You let him kiss you—on the mouth,” he accused.
“I did,” she added, silently relieved he hadn’t realized she had been half naked.
“Did you worm out of him what he’s been up to the last three days or were you preoccupied with other things? Did he tell you he took possession of that Dutchman we looted? Did he tell you he captured a Frenchie plundering the estates along the coast by Penryn? They slip across from Brittany all the time, but they’ve never been caught before. He must have eyes in his arse. We’ll have to be more cautious. He means to enforce the law.”
She pushed away a quiver of apprehension, knowing full well that if you played with fire, you eventually got burned. Her eyes fell upon the tall weeds growing everywhere. “Well, if we are to have any vegetables at all this year, I’ll have to tend the garden today. Is that an innocuous enough occupation to suit you?”
He grinned at her, all animosity forgotten. “I’ll help you,” he offered.
Summer was mortified to her bones as she looked up from kneeling in the dirt to see Mr. Burke approaching her. She jumped up to brush the soil from her hands and her faded, drab gown. She wore a rag over her hair and she touched it self-consciously as Mr. Burke said, “Good afternoon, my lady.”
She glanced at Spider, kneeling in his usual raggy attire, and her heart sank. The game was up! When Helford’s servant reported to him about the overgrown tangle and air of shabby decay at Roseland, Ruark would cease to be interested in her.
“Lord Helford requests your company at dinner tonight, Lady Summer. The invitation naturally includes your brother, Lord Spencer.”
She was flushed and stammered a futile excuse, yet not by a look or a word did Mr. Burke indicate anything was amiss. “We accept,” said Spider coldly. Summer gasped.
“Very good, sir. Lord Helford will expect you at six.” Mr. Burke bowed politely and took his leave.
“Are you mad?” Summer cried, then she sank down on her knees among the cabbages and cried.
Later, as she dressed for dinner at Helford Hall she wondered just how she would face him. She had toyed with the idea of refusing to go, but if she didn’t show up, he would probably come and get her and his actually seeing Roseland would be worse than hearing of it from Mr. Burke.
“Cat, where’s my suit?” called Spider.
“What suit?” she asked absently.
“That black velvet thing you brought from London.”
She took the beautifully tailored suit and soft, black thigh boots into his room and selected a white shirt which wasn’t too frayed from his wardrobe. “You’ll have to remember to call me Summer tonight, not Cat, and even worse than that, I’m going to call you Spencer,” she warned.
He glowered at her with dark brows as she watched the clothes transform him from an urchin into a fashionable young gallant. Arrogance was written all over him and she was suddenly afraid he would demand to know what Helford’s intentions were regarding her. She sighed. It wouldn’t really matter if Mr. Burke had had a chance to disclose their poverty.
What a little fool she’d been this morning to lie in his arms naked to the waist. Tonight she’d face exposure of another kind and she needed the courage of a magnificent gown. It would have to be the crimson velvet whose skirt was shaped like an inverted tulip and the low-cut décolletage was shaped like delicate petals cupping her breasts.
She surveyed herself in the old mirror which needed resilvering and longed for rubies to clasp about her neck.
Spencer rode the big bay gelding, taking his sister up before him. Before she entered the hall she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and entered with all the pride of a cat.
As Mr. Burke took her wrapper he let one eyelid slowly close. She looked at him in disbelief and her spirits dared to rise. By St. Jude the Martyr, he didn’t intend to tell Ruark Helford her secret. They were conspirators and it felt wonderful. She glanced back at her brother and her spirits plummeted again. She could see he was spoiling for a fight. As he surveyed Lord Helford with narrowed eyes and curled lip, he looked like a lean hound with raised hackles.
Ruark came forward to greet her and she prayed that he would not kiss her … kiss her on the mouth as Spider had so quaintly put it. Ruark’s eyes warmed her and told her without words how beautiful she looked. Then he took her hand, turned up the palm, and placed a kiss within.
“Lord Ruark Helford, meet my brother, Lord Spencer St. Catherine.”
The greetings were low murmurs exchanged stiffly as they measured each other warily. Drinks before they went in to dinner were offered and accepted with impeccable politeness, and Summer thought she would scream if this frosty formality went on much longer.
When at last they went in to dine, her heart was warmed by the lovely cream-colored roses Ruark had set by her plate and they exchanged swift, meaningful glances. He tried not to stare at her, but it was difficult. She was exquisite as a cameo. And she had an elusive quality about her that was so hard to define. What was it? Fascination, he decided.
The tension in the air between the two men was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Whatever subject their host broached, Spencer managed to work into his reply that his sister, Lady Summer, had led a most sheltered life and was unused to men and men’s wicked ways. He was more pointedly protective than any parent would have been and Summer was mortified that her brother was making it insultingly plain he was preserving her overripe virginity.
Finally she could bear it no longer and took over the direction of the conversation herself. “Lord Helford, is it true you took possession of two foreign ships this week?”
“So,” he said, his eyes sweeping over brother and sister, “my business is common knowledge in these parts, I see.”
She lifted the corners of her mouth. “The very walls whisper of the exploits of High Commissioner Helford. What will you do with the ships?”
He seemed to weigh his words carefully before he answered. “The Dutchman had been picked clean.” He grimaced. “The work of wreckers. It carried only a skeleton crew, so one or two bodies might soon wash up. I’m sending the ship to Plymouth. His Majesty is building up the navy at last.”
She dared not look at Spider, for they held contraband which would connect them with the brutal, bloody business of wrecking. Quickly she asked, “And the other ship?”
“We caught the raiders red-handed, so her cargo was intact. I’m sending it to London tomorrow.”
“I suppose you’ll make her crew swim back to Brittany?” she jested.
His face became grim and hard. “Piracy carries the death penalty.”
The delicious minted lamb turned to ashes in her mouth. Then almost immediately her brother saw a spark of defiance come to her aid. Her great cat’s eyes hid their fear for an instant under white lids, then flashed out with renewed fire, her sensitive nostrils flaring. “Lord Helford, I wonder if I could impose upon you to carry something to London on that ship?” Spider almost choked on his wine.
“It is no imposition, Lady Summer, to perform a service for you,” he said formally, but his eyes were alive with the sight of her and belied the formality.
“My father left his sister, Lady Richwood, some valuable paintings. If Spencer crates them and delivers the crates to the ship in the morning, would you instruct one of your trustworthy seamen to deliver them to Cockspur Street?”
“Consider it done,” he said, smiling.
Spider marveled at her coolness, but by the set of her chin she wasn’t finished with Helford yet.
“Lord Helford, you
were once a pirate yourself, were you not?”
His eyes narrowed. “I served the King as a privateer under command of Prince Rupert.”
Spider’s mouth fell open, all reserve gone completely, as he asked with boyish enthusiasm, “You served under Rupert, sir?”
Summer may as well not have been present after that as the two men warmed to their subject. Rupert the Devil, Rupert the Military Genius, Rupert the King’s Cousin, Rupert the Soldier-and-Sailor Prince, Rupert the Universal Admiral, dominated their conversation.
Summer almost fell asleep as the tales of Rupert began with his birth. “Did you know the first words he ever spoke were ‘goddamn’! He was fully trained in arms by the age of eight and in the army before he was thirteen.”
It was over an hour later that Summer heard Ruark say, “Next time he comes to Cornwall you must meet him. He loves us Cornishmen, says the sea puts a tantalizing tang in our nostrils.”
As her eyes went back and forth between the two she sat stunned as they lifted their glasses high and burst into a sea chanty, “Damn ’em, and ram ’em, and sink ’em to hell.”
Summer got to her feet. “Spencer, it’s very late.”
“Oh, is it?” he asked, surprised, then he saw Summer’s compressed lips and Ruark’s secret amusement and said reluctantly, “I’ll get my horse.”
The moment he left the room, Ruark slipped his arms about her and drew her to him. She put back her head and gazed up at his laughing eyes. “I had a wretched evening,” she whispered. “Half the night I was miserable thinking he was going to demand if your intentions were honorable and the other half, you devious devil, you had him eating out of your hand.”
“You are so beautiful tonight, I don’t know how I kept my hands from you.” As he gazed down at her he had an unimpeded view of her neck, shoulders, and breasts. “This gown cries out for jewels. What do you like?” he murmured.
She drawled, “I’m particularly partial to rubies.”
His lips brushed hers softly. “Rubies would be perfect. Good night, love. Come back to me soon.”