Authors: Connie Mason
“Sir Morgan Scott. It does have a nice ring to it, does it not, Sir Scott?” the queen said, tapping Morgan playfully on the shoulder with her fan.
Aging but still vibrant, Elizabeth doted on all the handsome men of her court. But if they strayed or displeased her, she made her displeasure known in many, and diverse, ways. None of them pleasant.
Morgan smiled at the queen in genuine warmth. Elizabeth’s gratitude had been boundless when Morgan presented her with her share of Spanish plunder. In appreciation for his loyalty, she had bestowed knighthood upon Morgan, dubbing him Sir Morgan Scott. His diligent and single-minded pursuit of Spanish shipping had swelled her coffers.
“Your Majesty is most generous,” he replied. “’Tis more than I deserve.”
“Mayhap you are right. We are gratified with your contribution to our coffers but nonetheless displeased with your disastrous marriage. Have you changed your mind about accepting our offer to dissolve your marriage to that Spanish woman? The marriage was performed under duress, if We have the right of it. The Lady Jane is a far better match for one of England’s beloved heroes.”
Morgan shifted uncomfortably under Elizabeth’s steady perusal. The queen had not been pleased with his regrettable marriage and was quick to denounce it. After Morgan had explained how he had been forced to marry a Spaniard, the queen had ordered Morgan to seek an annulment, insisting that it was not legal. Some perverse imp inside Morgan made him balk. Morgan’s resistance nearly caused the queen to change her mind about bestowing knighthood on him. But public clamor had been on Morgan’s side, and Elizabeth had graciously conceded.
“Lady Jane is lovely,” Morgan allowed, “any man would be honored to have her as his wife.” Actually, Morgan considered the Lady Jane a hot little piece who was no stranger to a man’s passion. Though the queen guarded her ladies-in-waiting jealously, she couldn’t be with them every minute of every day and often had no knowledge of their shameful behavior.
Elizabeth sent Morgan a pleased smile. She hated the thought of one of her favorites married to a Spaniard, and with proper incentive felt certain Morgan would see things her way. “Is that not Lady Jane standing across the room? She looks lonely. Why don’t you join her? We promised Sir Drake a private audience. This business with the Spanish grows worrisome. We have no idea where the Spanish fleet will strike, or when it will leave Lisbon, if at all. Sir Drake and the admirals want our navy to sail out and destroy them before they are within striking distance, but I see no reason to act precipitously. I would much rather settle things through peaceful negotiations.”
“I have spoken with Sir Drake,” Morgan said, “and I agree with him. Reports indicate that our navy is better armed and provisioned now than it has been in a very long time. If we strike first we can destroy the fleet before it leaves Lisbon.”
“We must use caution,” Elizabeth advised. “After We have spoken with Sir Drake, We will decide on what course to take.”
“My ship is at your service, Your Majesty,” Morgan offered generously. “I but await your command.”
“We are aware of your loyalty, Sir Scott, except for your stubbornness concerning your marriage. Go now, Lady Jane is anxious for your company.”
Morgan bowed and took himself off, but not to Lady Jane. He stealthily exited through an anteroom to the gardens beyond, deliberately avoiding the persistent Lady Jane. From the day he had arrived at Whitehall, Lady Jane Carey had latched onto him like a bloodthirsty leech. If he sought another woman’s company, Jane’s jealousy was awesome to behold. He had lost count of the times Jane had invited him to her bed, and a time or two he had actually considered accepting her brazen invitation. Lord knows he wanted to. But to his chagrin, something beyond his control prevented him from easing himself between Jane’s white thighs.
Luca. Her name lingered on his lips like a precious memory.
Luca. Luca…
The first few weeks in London had been busy ones for Morgan, leaving little time to think of Luca. He and Stan Crawford had met almost daily with the queen and her privy council, who listened avidly to Stan’s description of the great armada he’d seen gathering at Lisbon. And when Morgan wasn’t dancing attendance on Elizabeth, he was conferring with such notables as Sir Francis Drake and Lord Burleigh. The situation with Spain was growing volatile, and the queen was deliberately dragging her feet in provisioning her navy. Sir Drake constantly bemoaned the fact that he should be sailing to blockade Lisbon instead of sitting with the navy at Plymouth.
Before Morgan knew it, Christmas arrived. He had the presence of mind to send Luca a gift. During those busy weeks Morgan thought he’d succeeded in purging Luca from his mind, so he had no idea why he balked at annulling his marriage. To say that the queen was displeased with his marriage would be putting it mildly, but when she heard the circumstances she’d relented somewhat. But she was still miffed with Morgan for resisting her efforts to free him from an unfortunate match.
Then Elizabeth had offered Lady Jane as a reward for his service to England, and a rich prize she was. All Morgan had to do to receive the reward was discard his present wife. Morgan considered it, going so far as to pay court to Jane, but of late he found excuses to avoid her. Her pale blond beauty might be tempting to some, but Morgan found he preferred dark, sultry women with exotic features, fiery eyes, and shiny ebony curls shorn disgracefully short.
December gave way to January and a round of balls, routs, and boring musicales featuring Italian divas who sang off-key. Morgan visited dens of iniquity with cronies who drank themselves senseless and woke up with whores. Morgan might frequent the lowest hells in London and drink to excess, but he balked at cavorting with whores. He gambled excessively, sometimes losing, but more often winning, large amounts. February came and went and March arrived on the wings of spring. Twice he was enticed into visiting a high-class whorehouse and ended up playing cards below while his friends pleasured themselves with the best and most expensive whores in London. And each time he cursed himself for a fool.
Morgan couldn’t deny he needed a woman. It angered him that he couldn’t be satisfied with just any woman. And in his eagerness to free himself of Luca’s image, Morgan had danced and flirted away the entire season in London. He knew Luca was faring well, for Withers kept him informed of his wife’s well-being. Through it all, Morgan did learn one important fact in London. He learned that Luca would never fit into this kind of life.
Her dark, exotic beauty betrayed her Spanish heritage. She would be accepted by neither his friends nor his queen. If she were French instead of Spanish it might have been different, but she wasn’t. The fact that Luca carried in her veins the blood of those he had dedicated his life to destroy was impossible to forgive. That fatal flaw made a mockery of their marriage. Yet he couldn’t deny that his arms ached to hold her, that he yearned to hear her soft moans when he brought her to ecstasy. He missed unbearably her sweet response to his loving, which was without guile or pretense. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were made for one another.
Morgan shook his head to clear it of such disturbing thoughts. Wanting Luca only complicated his life. Elizabeth was urging him to obtain an annulment, and in the end he supposed he’d be forced to acquiesce and marry Lady Jane, or another woman equally appropriate. He recalled the times Luca had entreated him to send her home to the convent. She probably would be happy if he did so now. She couldn’t be enjoying her circumstances, dumped amid hostile servants and neglected. He’d settle a sum on her and give her a choice of destinations. Perhaps, he thought dismally, she’d prefer to return to her former fiancé. That thought was not a pleasant one.
That’s not what you want,
an inner voice reminded him.
“Nevertheless, I shall do what’s best for all concerned,” he said aloud.
“Who in the world are you talking to, Morgan? What are you doing out here alone? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Morgan forced his fierce expression into a welcoming smile and turned to greet Lady Jane. “Jane, you startled me. I fear you’ve caught me in a pensive mood.”
“Lord Henley said he saw you slipping out the door. Whatever are you doing here by yourself?” The smile slipped from her face, replaced by an ugly scowl. “You’re not having an assignation with another woman, are you?”
“Jane, you wound me,” Morgan protested gallantly. “I was merely seeking fresh air. You know you’re the only woman who appeals to me.” Lord, how he tired of the inane niceties required by society. He’d much rather be straddling the deck of the
Avenger
than reciting pretty phrases into a woman’s ear.
Jane smiled and sidled closer. Her blond, unpowdered hair shimmered like tawny gold in the waning light. She lifted her face, her lips parted and inviting, aware that few men could resist her beauty. Unfortunately, the formidable Morgan Scott was proving to be one of the few. He wasn’t like most men. It made scant difference to Jane that Morgan already had a wife, for she knew Elizabeth was pressing Morgan to obtain an annulment or divorce, and few men had the courage to disobey a vengeful queen.
But Morgan had been deliberately difficult. A few kisses and intimate caresses were all she’d gotten from him, though she’d tried to entice him to her bed on more than one occasion. Rumor had it that his had been a forced marriage, so there was no question of his being in love with his wife. Morgan rarely talked about the Spanish woman, yet Jane was hard put to explain the mysterious yearning in his eyes she noticed at odd times. But that didn’t worry Jane, she was confident the darkfaced Spanish woman couldn’t hold a candle to her own golden beauty.
“I know a place where we can be alone if crowds bother you,” Jane said in a throaty whisper. “’Tis not far.” She grasped his hand. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Morgan hesitated but a moment. Why in the Hell shouldn’t he take what Lady Jane so freely offered? He needed a diversion right now. He needed someone to replace Luca’s image in his mind. Jane was beautiful, shapely, and no simpering virgin. Simply put, he needed to expend his sexual frustration in a woman’s soft flesh.
Morgan was close on Jane’s heels when she led him to a secluded gazebo located in a remote section of the garden. He could see it had fallen into disrepair, a fair indication that few people visited the isolated spot. Few people except Jane, mayhap, and her various lovers. And now she was going to add him to her list of conquests.
“Won’t Queen Bess miss you?” Morgan asked as he followed Jane inside. He noted with dim interest that the interior was furnished with several benches covered with faded pads and little else. The screens were protected by canvas blinds, which could be lowered to ensure privacy.
“She is conferring with Sir Francis Drake,” Jane said as she released the blinds, plunging them into a shadowy world that invited intimacy. “She will not miss me. We have many hours in which to enjoy ourselves.” Sending Morgan a coy smile, she reclined invitingly on one of the benches and held out her arms to him.
Morgan regarded her through slitted lids before joining her and taking her into his arms. Jane sighed happily. She had every reason to believe she would soon be the wife of the handsome pirate who had become one of England’s heroes. She shivered delicately, eagerly anticipating his rough handling. A man who plundered and killed for pleasure would not be a gentle lover, and she would be his willing slave. Didn’t every woman dream of being ravished by a handsome pirate?
Slowly Morgan peeled the dress away from Jane, baring milky white, fleshy mounds. He grimaced in distaste, thinking Jane pallid and unappealing compared to Luca’s golden-skinned beauty. Forcing himself to continue, Morgan released her chemise and corset and took one pale breast in his hand. Jane moaned and grasped his head, pulling it down to her breast. Morgan obliged, taking her nipple into his mouth and laving it with his tongue.
He nearly gagged. Her flesh reeked of strong perfume. Sweet, cloying, and oppressive, it did not appeal to him. Perhaps it was the woman herself who did not appeal to him. Would any woman ever appeal to him after Luca? He tried. Lord knows he tried to purge Luca from his mind. But even as he sucked and strained over Jane’s breasts, he remained unmoved by her moans and passionate writhing. It was as if he had detached himself from what he was doing and watched from afar.
“Oh, Morgan, please, I want you inside me,” Jane panted as she spread her legs and reached for him. When her greedy fingers closed around him, she gasped and looked at him in total confusion. “You’re not ready. What can I do to help?”
Morgan sat back in disgust. There was nothing Jane could do to make him ready for her. He couldn’t force himself to perform when his flesh was unwilling. This had never happened to him before, and he didn’t like it. What kind of spell had the Spanish witch placed on him? He had always prided himself on his sexual prowess. His ability to perform had never been in doubt, often giving and achieving satisfaction many times in one night. It wouldn’t be fair to blame Jane for his lack; it would probably be the same with any woman except Luca.
“This is a mistake,” Morgan said, trying to extricate himself from Jane’s clutches. But Jane would have none of it. She fumbled with his clothing until she found his flaccid manhood. Before Morgan realized what she intended, she pulled it free and took him into her mouth.
“Bloody Hell!” He shuddered violently, thickening and hardening instantly. “Where did you learn that whore’s trick?”