Devi's Paradise (28 page)

‘So we could leave now!’ Romilly jumped up, unwilling to spend another hour in Armand’s odious company.

‘Tomorrow,
mademoiselle
,’ he said. ‘One has to wait for the tide.’

‘Can’t we go onboard tonight?’ Jamie was eager to be off.

Armand nodded coolly. ‘That can be arranged. See to it that you’re packed and ready.’

‘My jewel case and its contents; you’ve not returned it.’ Alvina never lost sight of her possessions if she could possibly help it.

‘I shall arrange that this is done. Now, if you’ll excuse me I must check the moneybags. Come, Henry.’ He turned to leave the room without even looking at Romilly, but was delayed by Peter.

‘Jessica Wade will be staying, sir,’ he said. ‘She has done me the great honour of consenting to be my wife.’ Jessica crept over and he took her hand. ‘Do you give your permission?’

‘Does she realise that you are an outlaw, and she’ll live with you among the pirates on San Juliano?’

‘Yes, sir, I know that,’ she murmured. ‘I’m happy with this, all too happy to be with him. I love him, you see.’

Armand hesitated, and his stern expression softened. ‘Very well, I have no objection. You will be able to help him nurse our wounded when we come back from taking ships.’ He looked over her head to where Romilly was watching, then stalked from the room.

Jessica flew to Romilly’s side. ‘Oh, my lady, I don’t want to leave you, but you understand, don’t you?’

‘Yes, yes, you’re lucky to have found love,’ Romilly said, devastated by Armand’s coldness.

‘I’ll help you pack,’ Jessica offered, but on her own terms. She was no longer a servant, but soon to be married to a doctor, one who came from a good family. Only the sons of the rich could afford to be educated and follow a medical career.

‘Come along, don’t stand there looking as if you’ve lost a guinea and found sixpence.’ Alvina hustled Romilly upstairs. ‘Port Royal awaits us! We shall be the talk of the town, and when we get to London tales of our adventures will enliven many a supper party. Why, if King Charles hears about it we may be invited to the palace to regale him. There’s so much to look forward to!’

Romilly trailed after her. Never had she felt so miserable, envying Jessica who had found her heart’s desire, and wishing that she could feel as gay and excited as Alvina. Of course she wanted to see her father again, and it would be pleasant to meet her aunt.

As for her marriage to Jamie? Perhaps she could persuade him that they were not suited and help him to find another heiress. Maybe in Kingston he might meet the daughters of colonials far wealthier even than the Earl, although he had expressed his desire to be in London. Alvina would help, she was sure, unless she, too, became enraptured with Jamaica and found a husband there.

And Joshua? Something had taken place while he was away, and although she was relieved in many ways, she missed his adoration He had behaved differently when they met briefly. In all, there was little for her to look forward to, but she refused to accept that it was her feelings for Armand that were causing this knot of unhappiness lodged in the region of her heart.

All went according to plan. Within a short time one coach carried their luggage, along with Kitty and the valets, and Romilly, Alvina, Jamie and George occupied another. Joshua and Clive rode horses supplied by Bella Vista’s stables.

Jessica bade them a tearful farewell, hanging on Peter’s arm, but there was no sign of Armand. The drivers cracked the whips and the vehicles rolled into motion. That’s it then, Romilly thought, leaning back against the padded seat. I shall never see him again.

‘Thank God we’re free!’ Jamie chortled, gripping her hand in his sweaty palm. ‘We’ll forget this episode and start again, shall we, sweetheart?’

She didn’t reply, watching the trees and bushes pass the window, while the coach jolted and rattled over the uneven road. Cayona was fast approaching and she wished time would stop. At the quayside Joshua guided them to the right ship and soon their goods were stowed aboard. Alvina lifted her skirts, showing a shapely ankle as she was helped up the gangplank.

‘Come along, Romilly, you sluggard,’ she called back.

‘Give me a moment.’ Romilly couldn’t move. It was as if her feet were glued to the wharf. Everyone else passed on to the sloop’s deck, and still she hesitated.

Then as if in answer to her prayer she saw Armand’s carriage drive in, the finest of the lot with a crest emblazoned on the door.

Without hesitation Romilly ran towards it, ignoring the hulking coachman who wanted to know her business, dragged open the door and hauled herself up and in.

It was dark but her hands reached out and found him. ‘Armand… oh, Armand…’ she whispered, the tears running unchecked down her face.

She flung her arms round him, leaning into him as he sat there motionless. Then he gripped her by the hair, dragging her closer to the window so that he might read her expression. ‘What do you want?’ he grated.

‘To stay with you,’ she gasped.

‘Is that true, Lady Romilly?’ He was so close, his eyes, his hair, everything about him sending bolts of desire shooting through her. ‘You want to stay with me, a pirate, a scoundrel, as you’ve so often dubbed me? Is this a game you’re playing?’

He was hurting her, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of her arms. She would carry his bruises for days. ‘No game,’ she said breathlessly, feeling the heat and hardness of his body and never wanting to know anything else.

He shrugged, but pulled her closer. ‘It means nothing to me. You know me for what I am. My plans don’t include love.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Let the others sail to Jamaica. I want to go back to the island with you.’

‘To be my slave?’ His lips were on her face, her throat, her breasts and she was in heaven.

‘Whatever you wish,’ and she relaxed across his lap, her face buried in his chest, enjoying the moment.

He suddenly reached up and rapped on the roof of the coach with a cane. ‘I shall use this on
you
when we get to Bella Vista,’ he warned with a throaty laugh, as the vehicle swayed into motion.

‘Oh, don’t hurt me, master,’ she said, but they both knew she didn’t mean it.

‘Hot-arsed wench!’ he muttered, and pulled up her skirts, displaying her naked belly and fair bush. ‘Why should I be bothered with you, eh? I thought I’d got shot of you for good.’

‘Is that what you really want?’

‘I never do anything I don’t want.’

Soon they were driving between the gates that led to the house and he helped her descend, and then hurried her to his bedchamber. Within seconds she was pushed across the bed, her vulnerable backside bared to receive his slaps. Not at once – he made her wait, the tension building till she wanted to scream at him to begin.

She felt his hands on her, running over every inch as if committing it to memory. He was behind her, standing between her legs. She wanted to turn and look at him, imprinting his image on her brain, but he held her down, subjecting her to the scrutiny of his fingers.

He was so clever, keeping her on the rack, unsure of his next move. Was he about to give her bliss or agony?

He swept her hair up from her neck and placed his lips there. Then she felt cold steel as he took his dagger to the lacing of her bodice and stays, cool air inching across as the material fell open.

His hands coasted up and down her spine, making her writhe with the tingling pleasure of it.

‘Tell me how much you want to experience that rare pottage of pain and joy,’ he murmured in that low, richly accented voice.

‘I can’t… I don’t…’ she wasn’t sure, utterly confused.

The air rustled as his palm descended upon her buttocks. She moaned at that all too familiar sensation, like fire striking through her to her loins.

He spanked her again, harder this time, and she revelled in the power emanating from him. He was her master, in truth, deny it though she might. Feelings rushed through her like the ocean that lapped the island’s shore. They were every bit as primitive and overwhelming as anything Nature could design.

His hand fused with her tender flesh, as if they were part of one being. Then he stopped chastising her and plunged his cock into her warm, wet vagina, at the same time slipping a hand beneath her and palpating her love-bud.

Riding her he chased his end, and she climaxed with a violence that shocked through both of them. She heard the sounds of his coming on his breath, and felt his seed pouring into her. This time he didn’t leave her when the spasms were done, but took off his clothes and lay with her, arms folding her close as she drifted into sleep.

Sometime later Armand woke Romilly and said, ‘You must write a letter to your aunt, explaining why you are not with the rest. I’ll send a messenger with it before the ship sails at dawn.’

‘What shall I say?’ She was still bemused with sleep and quite delirious with happiness, waking in his arms and in his bed. ‘And will you return my ransom money?’

‘Tell her the truth,’ he said, and provided paper, a quill, sander and an inkwell. ‘As for the money? Ask her if you may keep it as a loan. I’m sure your father wouldn’t want you to go short.’

‘He won’t care, and will be angry if I’ve disobeyed him and refused to marry Jamie.’

After much quill sucking and deliberation, she wrote,

Dear Lady Fenby, Honoured Aunt,

Thank You for providing money for Me. I beg to inform You that I have had a change of Heart and shall be Remaining here. So will my Chaperone, Jessica Wade, as she is betrothed to a doctor. It is my Sincere hope to visit You in Kingston ere long.

I am Well, as I Trust You are.

I remain, Your Affectionate Niece,

Lady Romilly Fielding
.

The theatre was packed. King Charles was attending the opening night of a new play by his friend, Lord Rochester. Rumour had it that the audience could expect to be titillated by another of that rakish nobleman’s bawdy works.

There was a stirring in the ranks of the foplings and painted ladies in the pit as a couple arrived and took their place in a stage box. ‘D’you see who has just come in?’ twittered one, all lovelocks and laces, a beauty patch covering a pockmark near his chin.

‘Who is it? Do tell,’ begged another, tweaking the exposed nipples of the whore at his side.

‘My dear, don’t you
know
?’ The eyebrows of the first speaker shot up to his curly fringe. ‘That’s the Comte de Tertius and his Comtess. Most frightfully rich, so ’tis said, and what’s more he made his money through piracy. What d’you make of that?’

‘Ha! There are enough pirates in business or politics or the law courts as it is. One more won’t make all that difference. But, tell me, wasn’t she Lady Romilly Fielding, daughter of the Earl of Stanford?’

‘You’re right, and she was once betrothed to Viscount Milward, but something happened when they went to the Indies.’

‘She’s as brown as a gypsy. Most unfashionable. Ladies like to have white skin or it looks as if they have to work on farms for a living,’ said one of the women spitefully.

‘La, how unfortunate! That will never happen to me, unless my debt collector catches up with me, and even then father will bail me out. He’ll be pushing me into finding a wife soon. In fact, he has one in his sights. She’s old, all of twenty-five, my dear, and plain as a pike-staff, but has a large dowry so that’s all right.’

Romilly looked down with a smile, knowing that she was the subject of much gossip and speculation. She and Armand had only just arrived in town, having spent several months in Paris or on his estate in the Loire Valley. He had achieved the object for which he’d striven so hard, that of buying a pardon from the French government. The fact that her father was an Earl had helped the situation and she could see that this was one of the reasons why he had married her. After the ceremony they left Devil’s Paradise, heading for Europe, his days as a pirate over. As comte and comtess they had been received by King Louis XIV at the Palace of Versailles.

Armand’s chateau was enchanting and the peasants glad to see him, for they had suffered under his mercenary relatives. Though Romilly might miss the freedom of San Juliano, it came naturally to her to be lady of the manor, besides which, Armand was a restless person and would want to go travelling again. She anticipated seeing Italy and Spain and Austria, when he took her on the Grand Tour.

The Earl had forgiven her, accepting and even liking his son-in-law. Alvina and Jamie had both made good matches in Jamaica, and George had returned to his stamping ground in London. Jessica was now Mrs Quidley and had given birth to a son. Peter, too, had been pardoned through Lady Fenby’s intervention, and they now resided in Port Royal where he had a flourishing practice.

It was only after Romilly had been with Armand for some time, that she realised how much he wanted to go home. With the money he had accrued, he could afford to employ lawyers to fight his case and restore the family chateau and lands that were rightfully his. San Juliano was empty of pirates now, reverting to the jungle and Awan’s tribe. Johnson and the others had been absorbed into the Indies, following their unlawful trade, with the exception of Henry Moorcross who now worked for Lady Fenby as her accountant, Joshua was in charge of her little flotilla, and Sabrina, Armand’s one-time concubine, had joined forces with Cat and opened a brothel.