Devi's Paradise (11 page)

‘Indeed, sir,’ they both replied, and dropped into curtsies.

‘Be seated,’ said Armand, every inch the host. ‘It is some time since I have entertained such distinguished company.’

‘There was Maria Gomez, the Governor of Cuba’s daughter,’ Sabrina reminded with a sultry smile.

‘Ah yes, but we returned her to her father,’ Armand pointed out.

‘For a ransom?’ Jamie said, and Romilly felt safer now that he and Joshua were present. Even sitting beside Armand at the head of the board no longer seemed quite so intimidating.

He shot Jamie a smouldering glance, his fingers playing with the stem of his wineglass. ‘We came to an agreement,’ he replied.

Jamie leaned forward eagerly, his elbows resting on the table. ‘And we can do the same?’

‘It is possible,’ Armand said noncommittally. ‘But tonight is not the time for serious discussion. Eat, drink and enjoy the moment,
mon ami
. Meet my officers; the doctor, the surgeon, the accountant.’

‘You keep a tight rein, sir,’ Joshua commented while he looked across at Romilly, his eyes speaking volumes in which she read admiration and concern.

‘One has to, don’t you agree, captain?’ and Armand ignored Romilly after that first greeting, going into seamanship in great depths.

Alvina was on his other side, happy to be surrounded by so many men. The pirate leaders were personable and appeared to be educated. Even Johnson became less belligerent, as if the company of genteel ladies was rubbing off on him. But Romilly was still all too conscious of her immodest attire. Although Armand didn’t appear to be impressed by it she could feel the tension stretching between them, like a wet hempen rope that grows tighter and tighter. Although the food was temping she could eat nothing, but Armand handed her a glass.

‘Drink,’ he said, and she was too frightened to refuse.

It was burgundy with a slightly bitter under-taste, and she wondered briefly if he was drugging her. She had heard of cases where a girl lost her virtue under the influence of wine mixed with laudanum. She wanted to place it on the table, but Armand was watching her steadily and she drained it to the last drop. There was something in his eyes that made her wonder if she might have fared better with Awan. This man was strange, whereas the native’s needs had been simple. She began to realise that Armand was complicated, maybe a little insane. It wasn’t a comfortable thought.

Good food and alcohol were making the other captives relax. So far they had been treated well, provided with necessities and unharmed, but Romilly found it hard to believe that there wasn’t a hidden agenda. Course followed course, and had this been a normal supper party the ladies would have retired to the solar, leaving the men to their brandy, pipes and risqué talk, but here there were no such rules. The trio played on and Romilly recognised some of the pieces that she had often heard at concerts or the opera house. It was very odd indeed, to hear this music in a pirate’s lair.

‘You like it?’ Armand asked, and though he hadn’t moved she felt as if he’d come closer.

‘I do,’ she replied. ‘This is a piece from Monteverdi’s
L’Orfeo
.’

‘You have seen the work on stage?’

‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘And you?’

‘Before I left Paris,’ he said, and there was an intriguing tinge of regret in his voice. She wanted him to say more, but his mood changed mercurially and he issued a command to Johnson. At once the musicians were hustled from the stage and their places taken by two strapping white women, one blonde, one brunette.

They were big built, their skin contrasting with the leather straps that drew attention to their large breasts and organ-stop nipples. The tiny thongs they wore were open-crotched, blatantly showing their denuded pudendum, large clits and anal holes. They strutted and flaunted in high-heeled boots, goddesses and proud of it, demanding adulation.

Johnson officiated, slapping each of them on the naked backside and announcing, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mad Meg and Milly the Bruiser. These are both champion wrestlers chosen to visit our island from Tortuga. Those who wish can place their wagers now.’

‘If only I had cash!’ groaned Jamie.

‘Me too,’ agreed George, another compulsive gambler addicted to the sport.

‘A loan could be arranged,’ said Armand coolly. ‘At a high percentage, of course.’

‘Naturally,’ both men agreed, forgetting their hazardous position as gambling fever took over.

Armand nodded towards the dark-clad, sober-looking person across the table. ‘Arrange it, Henry. Anyone else?’ and he looked directly at Joshua, but he shook his head. Romilly feared for her betrothed and his friend, but they were blind to everything but the thrill of placing a bet.

Mad Meg and Milly the Bruiser were professionals to their fingertips. They prowled the stage like lionesses, despising those who were willing to risk all. Romilly had the gut feeling that they distained the male species anyway, much more amenable towards Sabrina who went up and spoke to them, exchanging caresses. This action inspired the men even more and they roared their excitement. All save Armand, who sat motionless, a cynical smile playing around his lips. Mad Meg looked at him deliberately, then laughed and fingered her vulva, wetting it with her dew and sniffing and licking it, while Milly held a wooden staff between her legs, gripped it with her muscular thighs, and rubbed her slit against it. His expression did not change.

At a signal the wrestlers launched themselves and fell to the floor, folding their long legs round each other, straining and heaving, grabbing at breasts and cunts, giving a display of lesbian arousal that brought cheers from the audience. This spurred the contestants to greater heights and they squirmed in ecstasy, mouths at each other’s pink clefts, fingers teasing nipples, mouths feeding on mouths. Then Mad Meg took up the pole and drove it between Milly’s bottom cheeks, who snarled and spun round, fetching her a vicious blow to the side of the head.

Punching, clawing, kicking, they fell to the boards again, and every movement of those sturdy legs exposed their female parts, the thongs torn off in the fight. Johnson leapt forward and captured one of these trophies, wearing it on his bald pate, then burying his nose in the place where Mad Meg’s pubis had been.

Romilly was astounded by their performance. She had never seen anyone wrestling before, not even men, and to witness females using such violent tactics proved that the description of them as ‘the weaker sex’ was a downright lie. There was nothing weak about these Amazons.

‘What do you think of them?’ murmured Armand, close to her ear, his breath a gentle breeze that sent ripples down her spine to her loins.

‘Remarkable,’ she responded, though finding it difficult to talk, his presence and the drink making everything hazy. Her limbs felt weighted and her mind confused.

‘You’ve not witnessed such a thing in London?’ he continued, and little shocks ran through her as she felt his hand resting on her knee under the table. It was warm and firm and her covering flimsy.

She dared not look at him, staring ahead, yet her heart was racing and she knew he was aware. His fingers were gathering up the silk, baring her flesh. He caressed the area and travelled higher, very slowly, as if letting his digits register the softness and smoothness of her skin. Romilly sat as if turned to stone, but inside frissons of excitement travelled through her, from spine to breasts to nipples, and then shooting down to her clitoris.

She pulled herself together sharply. No amount of alcohol and aphrodisiacs were going to make her lose control. He was a murderer! A sea-wolf! No doubt those same fingers that stroked her mound had dabbled in men’s blood. Without even glancing at him she moved away and her robe slithered back into place. She felt more than heard his chuckle.

No help was forthcoming from Alvina. She was absorbed in the antics of the wrestlers; half rising and shouting as Milly the Bruiser sank her teeth into Mad Meg’s breast. She responded by a punch that landed unerringly on Milly’s jaw. She gave a grunt and slumped down, stunned. The men cheered and applauded, those who’d risked their money on Meg, that is. The others sat glumly and these included Jamie. George was jubilant, however. Henry was kept busy, doling out winnings or marking down losses. Jamie was now in debt.

‘Your fiancé in trouble,’ remarked Armand, making no further attempt to touch her. ‘How is it that you are betrothed to such a man?’

‘It was arranged by our fathers,’ she answered, and the Earl would have been proud of the way she was comporting herself, a lady to the core.

‘You don’t love him?’

‘I do, and I respect him, which is more than can be said of my feelings towards you and your gang of cutthroats, sir.’

His face darkened and his mouth set in a grim line. Then he said, ‘You have too much to say for yourself,
mademoiselle
,’ and before she could stop him he gripped her round the throat and drew her to him. His face hung above her for an instant, and then he captured her mouth with his, forcing her lips apart and thrusting his tongue within. She beat on his chest with her fists but he was persistent, and suddenly her wanton flesh took command. Her lips became soft and yielding and every fibre in her being melted under the onslaught. It lasted a second, no more, then she tore herself free. Her arm swung back and she slapped him across the cheek. It was a resounding slap that could be heard above the general uproar, followed by a deathly hush. Even the wrestlers stared, Meg supporting the dazed Milly.

Armand recovered and moved like lightning, standing up and dragging her with him. ‘You need a lesson in manners, Lady Romilly,’ he announced, his voice darkly menacing. ‘And I have the very means by which to teach you.’

Merciful heaven, how did I come to be in this sorry state? Romilly whispered to herself. Sometimes ill fortune finds us. We don’t ask for it. We don’t invite it, but it comes anyway.

Rough stone pressed into her breasts. Cold attacked her up-stretched, manacled arms. Everywhere her body connected it was uncomfortable, unnatural, designed to cause pain. She had been denied sight too, a blindfold tied over her eyes, the knot tangling with her hair. Robbed of dignity, stripped naked and fastened face forward to the wall ready for chastisement, her back, buttocks and thighs were exposed to whatever treatment Armand decided to give her.

She waited, the apprehension growing. Time had no meaning any more. She could have been there five minutes or hours. Where was he, that devil who had marched her from the Great Hall, down steep stairs to this dark, forbidding dungeon? And for what? Simply because she defied him. Jamie had tried to stop him but it was useless. Joshua protested too, so had Alvina, but there was nothing anyone could do. Armand was master of all he surveyed.

The silence stretched out endlessly, then she heard a movement behind her and smelt his aroma, feral, perfumed, vital. It cut across the odour of damp, but exacerbated her fear. She shivered as he prodded her with something. It felt like leather – a whip handle perhaps? He was so close, covering her from shoulders to heels. His lips were at the nape of her neck, his erection a firm staff prodding between her bottom cheeks. His tongue licked her ears, and then went lower to where her spine and shoulders met. She moaned, the pleasure intensifying as he caressed her gently, one hand going round to penetrate her cleft, his finger playing with her nubbin. He rubbed the head, rotated it, tormented it, then concentrated on where the labial wings joined that sliver of flesh. He was a highly skilled seducer, and kept her hovering on the brink while she writhed, begging for the ultimate pleasure.

He stopped, withdrew the bounty of that deliriously wonderful frottage, leaving her quivering with disappointment. Silence enfolded her again, and she missed the beat of his heart and the pressure of his cock, like a bar beneath his velvet breeches. Her nerves were stretched to screaming point. Had he left her? Was she to spend the night alone in the fearsome place, maybe prey to his hellions who were still carousing in the Great Hall? It was as if she had already been there forever – on the rack – waiting for him to release her from the torment of her lust.

Her arms ached, pulled taut and chained above her head. She was completely in his power. Vague pictures of Nathan floated in her mind, and Joshua and every man she had ever imagined taking her virginity, including England’s monarch. Now it seemed she had no choice. If Armand wanted to wrest it from her, then she was helpless to prevent him.

‘Do you intend to rape me?’ she shouted. He might not be there but at least she could issue the challenge even if it did meet empty air.

‘Rape you?’ he replied, closer than she had imagined. ‘I’ve never had to resort to rape.’

‘You will if you breech my maidenhead,’ she retorted

He chuckled and the sound penetrated her ears and tingled along her nerves. ‘I don’t think so. You are gravid with need. You want me to initiate you… to make you into a woman, not a selfish, pampered girl.’

‘Unmannerly oaf! You know nothing about me!’ Her anger was overriding other sensations.

‘Be silent, silly chit, or I shall gag you. You know nothing about life, but have now found your mentor and master.’

‘No man is my master!’ she cried.

‘I am.’ He was quietly persistent.

‘Never!’