Devi's Paradise (17 page)

She glanced across and met the full blaze of Armand’s eyes. He looked angry enough to strike her dead. Without more ado he stood up. ‘Time we were going, ladies and gentlemen. There are coaches waiting outside.’

Cat bowed her head but recovered swiftly, accompanying him to the door. Bright moonlight shone on two carriages with coal-black drivers in uniform and cocked hats. Men with muskets sat beside them, and postilions occupied the saddles of the leading horses. They, too, were fully armed, a sharp reminder of the dangers that abounded.

‘Inside ladies, and you too, gentlemen,’ Armand instructed, then gripped Romilly’s arm, whispering harshly, ‘Not you. You’re travelling with me.’

She was given no chance to argue, the iron step of the front coach lowered so that she might climb in. Lighting was supplied by little lanterns hung in the four corners of the boxlike structure. Armand followed her, shouted a command and the vehicle moved off, jolting and swaying.

He flung himself back on the deeply padded seat and ordered, ‘Come here.’

Romilly wanted to refuse, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. ‘Why do you want me to sit beside you? And why didn’t you stay with your paramour?’ she asked waspishly as she obeyed him.

‘Cat? No paramour. She’s an old and trusted friend.’

‘So it seems.’

‘Do you care?’

‘Certainly not. You mean nothing to me.’

‘Is that so? And what about this?’ His cock was exposed and he grabbed her hand and folded her fingers round it.

‘Vile beast!’ she hissed, but couldn’t help moving them, feeling that rock-hard appendage.

He bent and ran his lips over her half exposed breasts and throat. She closed her eyes, fighting the intense pleasure his touch evoked. His cock leapt in her hand and she traced the path of the golden ring. It pierced his helm, in one side and out the other. ‘Didn’t this hurt when you had it done?’ she enquired, as breathless as if she had just run a mail.

He laughed. ‘Of course, but it was worth it. One day perhaps, if you stay with me, I’ll have your labia ringed and you will see how much it adds to the pleasure.’

‘If I stay with you?’ She could hardly think coherently as his lips found her mouth and fed on it. She turned her face away, clinging to sanity and adding, ‘I thought you were going to send me to my aunt.’

‘Oh yes… that. I may or again I may not. You won’t know and it depends on my mood and your behaviour.’

‘But I thought… you said… are you going back on your word?’ It was awful to be practical when all she wanted was to drown in his kisses.

‘We’ll see.’

He pushed down the front of her bodice and his tongue flicked over her nipples. Then he sucked them and she was helpless to fight the desire growing within her like some poisonous blossom. He slowly lifted her skirts and explored her thighs and fork, finding the pleasure nubbin that contained all her desires. She was ashamed that he should feel the wetness that bedewed her cleft, released by his kisses. It was impossible to deny that she was feverish with desire or stop herself from parting her legs in welcome.

‘Did you really think you could refuse me or that I would take ‘no’ for an answer?’ he mocked, and thrust his fingers inside her repeatedly till she was mad for more, wanting him to palpate her bud and then push his cock into her.

She was intoxicated with need, writhing in his arms, pushing her pubis against his hand, her needy clit throbbing and on the edge. ‘Oh, do it. Go on, I’m almost there!’

He suddenly tumbled her off his lap and she landed in a heap on the carriage floor, crazy with frustrated desire. ‘Why did you do that?’ she cried shrilly.

‘I am your master, or had you forgotten? I say when you’ll come or not, according to my whim. You will do everything I command; perform any task, no matter how unpleasant. You can hate me, I really don’t care. In fact, I enjoy you more when you hate me. Whatever happens you’ll be wise to obey me, especially if you want to continue your journey to Jamaica.’

His eyes glistened in the candle glow and she read an untold depth of experience in them, things that she could only guess at, depravities too deep and dark for her inexperience to comprehend.

‘You may keep me prisoner, but you can’t stop me hating you,’ she retorted.

‘Stubborn minx. Will you never learn?’

He pulled her up and forced her across his knees on the velvet seat. She struggled but he was too strong for her, holding her steady with one iron hand while he lifted her skirts high, exposing her bare bottom. She knew what was going to happen. Yearned for it. Her cunt was on fire and her bud aching. She wriggled against his muscular thighs, trying to rub herself to completion. She could feel his erection thrusting against her side, bare and seeping pre-come, and marvelled at his self-control.

Her face was buried in the musty cushions and the air was cool on her naked flesh. The anticipation was dreadful, stretching out like a protracted scream. She heard his voice, above her and close to her ear. ‘If you are a well behaved and grateful slave, I may give you what you want.’

She felt him sit up and heard the swish as his hand came down flat on her naked hinds. She yelped but did not dare budge, her bottom on fire. Again and again she felt the impact as his hand, hardened by fighting, slapped down across her reddening skin. The pain was excruciating, but not so bad as the frustrated need to have him frig her to climax and then drive his phallus into her up to the hilt.

She wondered if he would take her to bliss before the coach arrived at its destination. She suffered six more smacks and then he said, ‘Will you obey me in everything?’

‘Yes, oh yes, finish me off, you devil!’ she cried.

The coach jolted and rattled, totally lacking in any form of springs, but Romilly was blind and deaf to anything as he turned her over, kissing her breasts, biting her nipples, and rubbing her bud relentlessly till she plunged into a climax so intense that she blacked out for a second.

When she recovered it was to find him on his knees between her legs, thrusting his cock in and out and coming in a quick rush. The coach stopped, and recovering she saw lights beyond the window and realised they had entered between gates that led to a large, well lit, white-painted house.

‘I know you hate and despise me, but how do you feel, seeing Tertius going off with that haughty bitch?’ Lafette asked, eyeing Cat shrewdly.

They were still sitting in the taproom and Starling had brought a plate of cold meat and bread, washed down with a quantity of ale. It was getting late but the night was warm, the cicadas chanting their eternal song and the moon high. She was in a maudlin mood; too much booze and too little loving. Although she had fucked Phil, he fumbled about like the inexperienced schoolboy he was, and she had been forced to bring herself off, impatient with his clumsy groping.

‘How d’you think I feel?’ she answered, her head swimming. She didn’t usually drink like that but seeing Armand with Romilly had given her a nasty shock.

They were alike as two peas in a pod. Oh, not physically perhaps, that huge man and the petite girl, but inwardly, spiritually maybe. Cat couldn’t explain this weird feeling. She might have been depressed about it, but was made of sterner stuff. If she wanted anything as badly as she wanted Armand then she would fight for it, and fight dirty if need be. It had never before occurred to her that he might lose his heart to a woman, though she had realised that eventually he would want to return to his own kind. She knew a little of his story and loved him all the more for it, but secretly feared that one day she might lose him entirely.

A foreboding inside her whispered that the time had come, and that if she wanted to prevent it she must do something about it, even being nice to Lafette, if need be. Perish the thought! She knew that many women adored him, but she had never been able to see his charm. However, it was wise to keep on the right side of such an influential brigand, so she decided to give him a chance to prove his skill as a lover.

It was lonely at nights when all the customers had staggered home, wherever that might be; hut, ship or street corner. She could talk with Starling or Phil but Cat was easily bored, restless, needing a challenging adventure. Lafette, for all his faults and they were many, was never boring. Better to wake with his raffishly handsome face on the pillow than alone. She untied the bandana that covered his head and his stygian locks fell forward, shrouding them both as he kissed her.

‘I’ve always wanted to do this,’ he murmured, his breath overlaid with rum.

‘And now you have. What next?’ She tugged at his gold hoop earring.

‘It’s your call. I’d not force myself on a lady.’ Sometimes he adopted a kind of mock gallantry as if, indeed, he might have come from wealthy stock. She rather suspected that his father had been born into the elite but that his mother was probably a housemaid.

His hands were on her breasts, cupping the warm globes, and though she wished it were Armand she allowed herself to slide into that tipsy state when it didn’t much matter. ‘In the dark all cats are grey,’ she muttered, and led him by the hand to her bedroom above the
Kicking Donkey
. He wasn’t Armand, yet he might prove useful. There was a plan working like yeast in her brain.

A tall Negro in green and white livery, who unfolded the step and then stood back so that Romilly might alight, opened the carriage door.

‘Well met, Jake,’ Armand said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Is all in order here?’

‘Yes sir, running like clockwork.’

‘Excellent. Where’s Mr Stanley? Ah, there you are.’ Armand addressed a dapper little man who was very spruce from the top of his grey peruke to the tips of his highly polished buckled shoes. ‘We have guests, as you see. I want them to receive the best of attention during their stay.’

‘Yes, sir, of course, sir.’

‘He is my steward, and looks after the place during my absence,’ Armand informed her.

‘You own this house as well as the island?’ Romilly was impressed despite her misgivings.

He nodded and gave brisk orders. Soon the baggage had been taken indoors by underlings, and Armand led his enforced guests up a flight of wide, shallow stone steps to a veranda that ran round the lower storey, supported on white pillars. Shutters enclosed many of the narrow windows and lush green creepers twined between them. The perfume from their purple flowers filled the warm air.

‘You are wondering how I acquired such a place?’ he commented with a cynical smile. ‘I won it at the turn of the dice. Dame Fortune favoured me.’

‘You’re a gambler?’ Romilly asked. This wasn’t the first time she had heard of men losing fortunes, property, everything they owned at the gaming tables. She sometimes worried about Jamie. What would happen to her if, after they were married, he threw his prospects and her dowry away?

‘Occasionally. More so when I was young.’

‘What a lovely house!’ Alvina was rapidly revising her opinion of him. A person of such obvious taste could not be all bad.

Inside was even better. Candles blazed everywhere, and the hall was tiled in black and white, like a chessboard. A staircase made of delicate ironwork curved aloft. Kitty, Jessica, and the valets were led up to the bedrooms to prepare for their employers. The others were conducted to a magnificent, airy, white-painted reception room where a couple of uniformed mulattos with impassive faces served drinks and sweetmeats.

‘This is all very well,’ Jamie said suddenly, putting down his crystal goblet of wine and addressing Armand. ‘But we came here with one purpose, surely. That of arranging our release.’

‘I am well aware of that,
monsieur
.’ Armand was dignity itself, leaning elegantly against the marble mantelpiece, looking like a grandee in his silks and white ruffles, his jet-black hair caught back in a queue.
He gave a little laugh and spread his hands wide. ‘Would you prefer that I cast you into a dungeon or maybe the basement? I see no reason why we should not get along while you are here, providing you don’t try to escape. For believe me, I’m no fool and can be quite merciless.’

Romilly shivered. She could well believe it. His behaviour in the coach proved it, and her buttocks stung every time she sat down, a reminder of his strength and passion. She wondered where she would sleep that night – in a guestroom or the master chamber?

Servants arrived to light the guests upstairs.

Romilly had hoped she might share with Alvina, a false hope as it turned out. She found Jessica waiting for her in a bedroom that excelled itself in grandeur.

‘Yes, my lady, it is his,’ Jessica said when they were alone.

‘He expects me to sleep in
that
?’ Romilly pointed at a four-poster so large it resembled the entrance to a mausoleum. ‘With
him
?’

‘I don’t know, your ladyship, and that’s for sure, but isn’t this a surprise? I was afeared that we’d be staying in that tavern or somewhere equally squalid. He’s a man of many parts, and that’s no fairytale.’

‘He’s a pirate. We must never forget that.’ Romilly was voicing her own doubts aloud. It would be all too easy to be lulled into a state of false security. ‘Where are you sleeping?’

‘A little way down the hall, within call should you need me. My dear lady, I have been conversing with Peter Quidley, and he holds Captain Tertius in high esteem.’