Devi's Paradise (5 page)

Romilly looked at her friend, admiring her green watered silk gown, with its tiny waist and low neckline. Her breasts were rounded domes, pushed high by the stiff busk and lacing. Her skirt sprang out over several petticoats, and she wore satin shoes with square toes, long tongues and spindle heels. The emphasis was on bare necklines, throats and shoulders, the gowns designed to look as if they might well slip too low, displaying rosy nipples. There were flowing scarves and capes and feathered hats with big brims, the whole effect one of Arcadian freedom, these styles popularised by the King’s bevy of mistresses.

‘Darling child, you have everything to be confident about.’ Alvina reached out and took her hand, stroking her fingers. ‘Think of it as an adventure. Jamaica! Heavens, what sport!’

‘Will you come with me?’ Romilly sank down in front of her and rested her head against those luscious breasts. ‘I can’t leave you, dearest friend.’

She breathed in her perfume, a combination of lilies, the scent of her hair and that special, intimate and sweet odour all her own. A strange thought entered her mind of how fortunate was the lover who enjoyed the bounty of Alvina’s lush body. She experienced a sharp ache in her womb and a sensation of longing to hold and be held in those alabaster arms.

‘It’s possible,’ Alvina said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve heard reports that the West Indies and the coasts thereabouts are strange and marvellous places, with natives and sea monsters, pirates and I don’t know what-all. I should like to see it for myself.’

‘Dare I hope that you will come?’ Romilly’s spirits were already lifting at the prospect.

‘I shall speak to my father who will talk it over with yours. Yes, my love, I’d like that. Jamaica! Who knows, I might find my future husband there, or a string of lovers at the very least.’

‘How much longer, Captain Willard?’ Romilly asked, seated at the dinner table in the oak-panelled, well-furnished main cabin in the stern of the
May Belle
.

He smiled at her, a ruggedly handsome man, a mariner to his fingertips, controlling his crew, the vessel and his passengers with an ease born of long practice. ‘A day or two at the most, my lady, if the wind proves fair. It should do if I’m any judge of the elements, and I’ve been a sailor since I was fourteen. We’ll reach Jamaica ahead of time.’

‘La, what a relief that will be,’ sighed Alvina, eyeing him encouragingly as she had done since the moment they boarded at London docks. But she’d not made much headway, for he took his duties very seriously. His officers, however, were more susceptible.

Two had joined them that evening, and they were young and personable, swaggering in the presence of the guests, well aware that they held positions of authority, sons of noblemen, following a tradition of seafaring.

‘To step on dry land again, I’ll second that,’ put in Jamie, not a good sailor, subject to
mal de mer
.

Romilly and Alvina had not suffered this condition, but they were lucky. Jessica and Kitty had gone around pale and listless after the
May Belle
put to sea. So had Lord George Althrope, who’d come along for the fun of it. It hadn’t been very funny to be confined to one’s stateroom for days on end, with a chamber pot to hand.

But after this initial baptism of fire all had begun to enjoy the journey. They rose when they willed, with their servants to wait on them, ate at the captain’s table and enjoyed an excursion ashore when they stopped off at Madeira to take on fresh water before beginning the lengthy haul across the Atlantic Ocean. Kitty Rigg, Alvina’s high-spirited, curly-headed maid, spent much of her free time exchanging saucy banter with the crew, an occupation scorned by Jessica who behaved like a confirmed spinster. As for Alvina? The officers paid court to her, and of course there was the intriguing Joshua Willard, but he appeared blind to her blandishments.

Romilly was still resentful, blaming the Earl, considering his treatment of her as callous and uncalled for. Despite the fact that he had difficulty in controlling his emotions when she left, declaring that he would miss her sorely, she had not forgiven him. She took it out on Jamie, while he was endlessly patient. She would have respected him more had he shouted at her, instead of idling with George, playing cards and making silly wagers, like how many seagulls would fly across the top-sail within a given space of time, or if a porpoise would surface. Captain Willard was much more to her taste.

‘Is Port Royal civilised?’ she asked him, while the steward refilled her wineglass.

His blue eyes twinkled as he replied, ‘It’s fair enough, growing larger all the time. You should enjoy your visit.’

‘But you will be leaving us?’ She looked at him from under her lashes, alarmed by her own boldness.

‘Naturally, my lady. I shall take goods aboard and transport them back to England.’

‘To my father’s warehouse in Wapping?’

‘Indeed,’ and he nodded sagely.

They settled down for a game of lanterloo when the table was cleared. Joshua and his officers joined in, whereas he usually excused himself and went about his duties. The players were subject to forfeits and it was a popular pastime at Court where more and more outrageous demands were made on those who lost. Kisses were the price, at the very least. Alvina inveigled herself into giving such tokens to everyone present, including Romilly.

‘Get Joshua to kiss you,’ whispered Alvina against Romilly’s lips, as she held her in warm, scented arms.

‘You cheat to get your way,’ Romilly accused.

‘Of course, sweetheart. What woman worth her salt doesn’t? He’s hot for it, hard as a broom handle down there when we embraced.’

Romilly shook her off, stood up and said to the others, ‘If you will excuse me, I’m tired and seek my bed. Goodnight, gentlemen.’

They all rose and Jamie said, ‘Wait, my love. I suggest we take a stroll on deck before retiring.’

Damn, Romilly thought, even as she smilingly agreed. He was forever seeking opportunities to caress her and, while her body responded, she missed the thrill Nathan had given her. The idea of marrying him, tied to him for the rest of her life, did not appeal. She needed someone more exciting, a hardy man like Joshua Willard, or an adventurer similar to the actor. If anything, Jamie was boringly safe. She had known him too long. He was more like a brother than a lover.

It was a warm night, scented with a salty tang and the faint odour of cinnamon from spice islands. The moon hung overhead, surrounded by a retinue of stars, and the ship sailed on, its canvas bellying out, bearing Romilly to – what? Unknown adventures? Or a dull stay with a fussy aunt who would wrap her up in cotton wool and lecture her on what was required of a good, faithful wife?

Jamie gave her his hand as she mounted the companionway, and then led her to the rail, overlooking the dark sea carved by white spume as the
May Belle
drove through it. Such power of motion made the vessel judder. It was exciting and alarming, making Romilly aware of how puny humans were in the face of such an omnipotent force.

She leaned her elbows on the carved balustrade, and then Jamie slipped his arms round her from behind, straining her to him. He swept her hair away and placed his lips on the sensitive nape of her neck. That touch shivered down her spine and connected with her nipples and loins, but she wished it was Nathan or Joshua caressing her. His hands moved over the silk, finding her every curve. She remembered him saying that they might find more freedom to be alone together once on the voyage, and this had proved true, especially at night for Jessica retired early. He had become bolder, insisting that there would be no harm in intimacy as they were to be married, but something deep within her urged restraint.

‘I should go below,’ she said, but he spun her round and captured her lips with his, tongue penetrating, seeking, demanding. She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him away. ‘No, Jamie,’ she said firmly, though her heart was thudding and dew wetting her cleft. ‘I’ve already told you I won’t do it till our wedding night.’

He stood back, with frowning brows and sulky mouth. ‘Then you don’t love me.’

‘That’s foolish talk. I’m being sensible, and know that you’ll lose respect for me if I give in. I’m a lady, not a whore.’

‘You’re my darling and I adore you,’ he protested, throwing himself on his knees in front of her and then pushing up her skirts and grabbing her legs, sliding his hands higher till they reached the buckled garters that upheld her stockings.

Romilly was riveted, knowing she should resist, but unable to control the pleasure that bounded through her as his fingers found the soft, silky skin of her inner thighs and going further, the curly hair that shielded her secrets. Nathan had done this to her but they were interrupted before she climaxed. Now there was nothing to stop her and she wanted this sensation, recreating it herself sometimes, but always daydreaming of Nathan.

Emboldened by her lack of resistance Jamie burrowed beneath her gown. She felt his breath on her pubic hair, then his fingers parting her labial wings and his tongue darting to that sensitive little nodule that crowned her delta. She gasped, clenched her hands on the taffrail and went with the flow. She was unable to help herself, Jamie’s tongue and lips a miracle, delving and prying, dipping and sucking. She could almost forget there was anyone there beneath her voluminous petticoats and imagine that his tongue was a disembodied creature, created purely for her pleasure.

She forgot that there might be members of the crew on duty. Someone was on watch all night, so Joshua had said. Thinking of him and wondering if he, too, would enjoy using his mouth on her, brought her ever closer till she reached her extremity, giving a little cry, her hips jerking. Jamie held her still, licking and slurping, taking her down gently from those delirious heights.

His face appeared from beneath the silken covering and he was smiling, his lips glistening with her juice. He stood up and his breeches were undone, his penis jutting forth, not so large as Nathan’s but an impressive weapon nonetheless.

‘Pleasure me as I’ve just pleasured you,’ he whispered, holding it in his right hand and working the foreskin up and down over the darkly infused helm. ‘Touch it. That’s right, and stroke my cods.’

She wanted to help him, wanted to hold a man’s cock in her palm again. It was weeks since she’d been caught with the actor. It felt smooth and hard and hot, and Jamie groaned as she took it in her fingers, playing with it for her own entertainment as much as his need. It was so fascinating a thing – and he opened the flap in his breeches wider so she could see and feel the heavy balls that hung beneath it.

A transformation was taking place in Jamie. No longer the languid, fashionable dandy, he yielded to his primordial instincts. He thrust into her palm, her thumb and forefinger forming an O, a makeshift orifice into which he could work his needy prick. It was quickly over. He threw back his head and gasped. His cock jerked and his semen shot out in milky jets, once, twice, thrice, wetting her hand and the front of her gown.

Dear God, she thought, for she hadn’t known what to expect, will he ever stop? His emission was warm and sticky and she didn’t know what to do, till he handed her his kerchief. ‘Dearest girl,’ he said softly, ‘that was heavenly. So you do love me, don’t you, poppet?’

‘I suppose I must,’ she answered, but was uncertain.

‘This will get better and better,’ he promised as he tucked his cock away and buttoned up. ‘Wait until you feel my pork sword within your very being.’

‘When we are married,’ she reminded primly, having second thoughts now the heat in her blood was cooling.

‘If you insist,’ he said with a shrug. Having shot his load he was prepared to humour her. ‘Come, dear heart, I shall escort you to your cabin.’

He helped her down the narrow stairs and along the passageway. Accommodation was cramped, but they each had a cabin to themselves, though Kitty shared with Jessica and George and Jamie’s valets bunked down together. The toilet arrangements were primitive, but not so very far from those to which they were accustomed at home. Water was brought in a jug and poured into a washbasin for daily ablutions, and the call of nature answered in a slop bucket or china pot. In the case of the gentlemen travellers it was convenient to relieve themselves over the ship’s rail, providing the wind was in the right direction.

Jamie kissed her at the door, and she could feel his phallus stirring again. How many times a night would he want it once they were wed? she wondered. To say nothing of daytime frolics. The prospect was daunting. Despite what he liked to think, she wasn’t in the least in love with him. A romantic at heart, loving poetry and stories of gallant knights rescuing their beloved damsels, she yearned for something more than the mere gratification of the senses.

Jessica was there, waiting to unlace her, brush her hair and tuck her into bed. Romilly endured this, but once Jessica had retired she lay in the narrow bunk and thought about what had just transpired between her and Jamie. She slipped a hand between her legs under her white lawn nightgown, feeling that thrill as her fingers lightly explored the crisp hair, the cleft with its damp wings, and the sliver of flesh between that hardened at her touch. She was wet from Jamie’s administrations, and she felt again his tongue and lips and wanted more, but not necessarily from him.