Chapter 11
Ruark Helford was faring no better than his monarch. After he left Her Majesty’s drawing room he made his way to the fashionable house he had rented in Tothill Street for Mistress Ann Ashley. He let himself in quietly then realized there was little need for quiet since she was not yet at home.
He made himself comfortable by removing his hat and coat and helped himself to a bottle of burgundy. He could not question her maid as she was nowhere to be found and so he sat back to wait with his feet propped up casually on a polished table.
After an hour and the burgundy had both disappeared he was spoiling for a fight. He opened a small drawer in the table and began to leaf through Ann’s bills. The muscle in his jaw clenched like iron as he found she had run up five hundred pounds in clothes and jewels this week alone.
She came in with her maid, saw the look on his face, and said quickly, “Leave us, Millie.”
Ruark Helford greeted her with neither word nor kiss, and she saw by his stance that he was in a very dangerous mood. She threw her fan, muff, mask, and cloak into a chair and began to undo her gown. She knew she must get him into bed as quickly as possible. She said breathlessly, “Ruark, darling, I thought you were with the King tonight. If I’d been expecting you, I wouldn’t have dreamed of going to Elizabeth Hamilton’s supper party.”
Still holding the bills, he regarded her figure from head to foot and she babbled, “I needed a new gown, Ruark.”
He slanted an eyebrow. “One?”
“Well, three then … and I thought perhaps you’d like to make me a gift of the pearls as a sort of goodbye present.” She pouted prettily. “I wish you weren’t leaving for Cornwall, darling, I’ll simply die of loneliness.”
She had removed her gown and stood before him in her busk, a small corset which uplifted her breasts, and a pair of lace stockings with pink garters. She prayed the dishabille would divert him. It did not.
“Are there any more of these or is this the lot?” He casually waved the fistful of bills.
She approached him carefully. “You’ve spoiled me so much, my love, let me thank you in the way you love best.” She removed the busk and he glanced down at her small, pretty breasts and tiny waist. She stood on tiptoe and slid her arms up about his neck, bringing her bared breasts in contact with his wide chest.
He removed her arms from his neck and stepped away from her.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, eyes blazing. “You act as if you don’t want me to touch you!”
“I don’t,” he said simply, “not until I’ve learned where you’ve been.”
“I told you I was at a supper party—”
“Ann, don’t insult my intelligence,” he warned. His eyes were so cold, she reached for a silk robe to cover her nakedness.
“You’ve been listening to gossip. There’s always someone at Court ready to run to you with lies.”
“The rumors link you with the King’s brother, James.” He said it flatly and awaited her denial. It came in a great rush of protest. She ran the gamut from anger to swearing before God, to the prettiest tears to which a man had ever been subjected. Finally she threw herself facedown upon the bed and waited for the mattress to dip, telling her she would be in his arms in another moment.
She waited in vain. Fear crept up her spine. She could never manipulate Ruark Helford the way she could other men. That’s what made him so damned attractive. His face was always dark, hard, and impossible to read. His mouth had a hint of the ruthless savage about it. It was the kind of mouth that made a woman die for his kisses. She felt the danger in the room ready to explode, and it made her breasts tingle and the spot between her legs throbbed with the ache to have him fill her.
She cursed herself for a fool for flirting with James, Duke of York, before Ruark was out of the picture, but when he’d told her he was returning to Cornwall, her loss had been so great, so devastating, she had acted irrationally. Her loss wasn’t just financial— one rich man could always be replaced by another rich man—her loss was emotional and physical. She had allowed herself to fall in love with him and allowed herself to dream of marriage.
She could never quite believe her own good fortune in attracting the most virile, desirable male at Court. He could never be replaced by any other courtier save a royal one, and that was the reason she’d encouraged the King’s brother. She rolled over onto her back and temptingly stroked the sole of a lacy foot along her other leg. She asked breathlessly, “Are you going to punish me?” She needed his hands on her body, one way or another.
His hazel eyes darkened to deep brown and he half closed his eyelids to mask the pity in them. “You will be punished for your actions, my dearest Ann, but not by my hand.” He hesitated, then said quietly, “James has syphilis.”
Her eyes widened in fear and the blood drained from her face. Ruark silently picked up his coat and his wide-brimmed hat. “I’ll take care of the bills,” he said quietly, and took his leave.
    Two tall, dark men walking from opposite directions came face-to-face in Birdcage Walk. Ruark Helford swept off his hat in deference to his king. Charles’s cynical voice drawled, “Nothing like a stroll in St. James Park at four o’clock in the morning.”
“No, Sire. ’Tis the only way to avoid the riffraff,” replied Helford sardonically.
“I’m rather fond of riffraff,” mused Charles.
Helford raised an eyebrow to mock himself, “I think we’re in the same boat, Sire.”
“Women!” snorted Charles. “Where the hell can a king get laid?” He lifted his head to see that the first faint rays of dawn lightened the sky. “A fast game of tennis until daylight? It’s the only sport we’ll get this night.”
Ruark bowed his acceptance. “If you don’t think we’ll get carted off to Bedlam with the rest of the lunatics.” His body screamed for action. He would have preferred being behind his ship’s wheel in a storm, or riding a blooded stallion across the moors, but in a pinch a brutal game of tennis might rid him of his spleen.
They walked briskly through the park to the tennis courts, and as they passed the grassless alley where they played pall mall with wooden mallets, sending the ball through hoops fifteen feet from the ground, Charles said, “I’d prefer a game of pall mall but I don’t suppose we could round up eight other fools at this hour.”
Their play was so fast and furious they were soon shirtless. The two athletic, powerful men were so well matched it took two full hours of play to determine an even number of games won by each would have to be called a draw.
As the two companions donned their shirts and coats, Charles said, “Ruark is an Irish name isn’t it?”
Helford nodded. “My mother was Irish.”
“That gives me an idea, by God! I’ll put Barbara’s title through the Irish peerage since Clarendon refuses to sign it!”
“Brilliantly devious, sir,” said Ruark, flashing white teeth.
Charles said seriously, “One learns to be devious when dealing with women.” The two men were walking across St. James Park toward Whitehall when the King got another brilliant idea.
“Auntie Lil!” he said, stopping in his tracks.
“I beg your pardon?” said Ruark.
“We’ll call on Auntie Lil … she’s right here in Cockspur Street. I’ve a mind to be introduced to some pretty young thing, and what better place than Auntie Lil’s?”
Ruark demurred. “I was introduced to a young woman at Auntie Lil’s once … before I was done, she cost me a fortune and wasn’t even virgin.”
Charles laughed. “Virginity isn’t all its cracked up to be—just thinking of all the necessary breaking in fatigues me.”
Ruark knew he was thinking of Queen Catherine.
“You know, Ru, in my experience, which is rumored to be extensive, women are all the same.”
Ruark silently disagreed with him. If he could meet an attractive lady who hadn’t slept with the King and half his court, he’d probably consider marrying her.
The King continued, “On the surface Catherine and Barbara seem worlds apart, yet underneath both use sexual favors to get their own way. Then if they don’t get their own way, they withhold those favors.”
“Well,” said Ruark, “there’s not much point in my going to Lil’s with you, Sire. I’m for Cornwall in a week’s time and the last thing I need is a female entanglement. I’ve only just managed to extract myself from one.”
“Helford, you swore an oath to support your monarch in any undertaking. As your superior, I command you attend me.”
Ruark lifted one brow, dark as a raven’s wing. “I have no superior, Sire.”
Charles looked at him with admiration. “’Sdeath, I do believe you speak the truth.” Charles’s face was transformed by a lazy, charming smile. “As my friend, come and give me moral support.”
    The white Persian cat had chosen to sleep in Summer’s chamber, but by the door scratching it was now doing, it obviously needed to go outside. She threw back the covers, hesitated a moment over going downstairs in the snowy nightgown so exquisitely trimmed in ribbon and lace, then she scooped up the small ball of white fluff and ran downstairs. She reasoned that before six in the morning none would be about.
She was startled by a knock on the front door just as she was about to open it and fell back in wonder as two tall, dark gentlemen stepped confidently into the foyer. The cat, alarmed, scratched her and jumped from her arms. “Oh, you little hellcat,” she murmured as her eyes went wide over the magnificently garbed pair of gentlemen callers. One was dressed in purple velvet with gold braid, the other in black velvet with a powder blue ostrich feather sweeping from his wide-brimmed hat. Powder blue, begod! She’d never seen anything like it in her life.
Her eyes began at their thigh-high cavalier boots and traveled upward to their black, shoulder-length hair and frankly assessing eyes. One of the men held her gaze for what seemed a lifetime as panic rose within her at her state of undress. Relief swept through her as one of her aunt’s footmen stepped into the foyer and she fled upstairs, her black cloud of hair in wild disarray and her cheeks stained crimson.
Ruark Helford stared up the stairs long after she had gone. The girl’s looks had almost bowled him over. Her darkly dramatic features were exotic, unusual, almost mysterious, and she was physically exciting in the extreme.
The pristine nightgown she wore with the little bows all up the front sent his imagination soaring. Today’s fashions were so voluminous a man couldn’t gauge a female’s figure accurately until he actually stripped her of her whalebone and padding, but the prim white garment had fallen about her in soft folds which hinted at the delicious swell of high-pointed breasts and round bottom. When she ran up the stairs, he’d actually glimpsed bare feet and slender ankles and he prayed that the limbs above the ankles were lithe and slim.
He had already made up his mind about one thing. The first time she came to his bed he wanted her in that white thing with its row of ribbon fastenings. The thought of opening them one by one made his throat go dry. There was that about her which suggested a man might find unmatched, pleasurable fulfillment if she would ever deign to bestow her favors.
Though he knew he had never laid eyes on her before, she reminded him of something or someone. He imagined himself deep inside her and he was instantly swollen with lust.
Ruark Helford said to the King, “I feel it only sporting to let you know I’m in the running after all.”
“Not a chance, Helford! Gad, I believe that’s the first unpainted face I’ve seen in two years.”
“Fifty pounds say I taste her first,” wagered Ruark.
“You are ordered to Cornwall, Helford, and I see no possible reason for delay.”
Summer’s auntie Lil was about to descend the staircase as the breathless girl flew past her. Lil’s eyes narrowed with speculation as she saw Charles Stuart larger than life in her foyer. At the foot of the staircase she swept into a deep curtsy and drawled in her plummy, provocative voice, “Your Majesty, you honor me by your visit but must it be before six in the morning, Sire?”
“Lady Richwood, your humble servant, madame,” Charles said, smoothly raising her jeweled fingers to his lips. “We are such intimate friends I believed I should be welcomed at any hour.”
She slid her eyes over the King’s companion. “Lord Helford, I believe you near frightened my niece to death with your dangerous good looks,” she drawled suggestively.
“Your, er … niece,” said the King delicately, “has caught my eye and I beg an introduction.”
Lady Richwood stiffened instantly, and to show the King of England he had committed an almost unforgivable faux pas she dropped the drawl and spoke crisply. “Gentlemen, that really is my niece, Lady Summer St. Catherine. I summoned her to London because of her father’s health. Sadly he passed away yesterday. We are in mourning.”
It was an age of loosest morals, but strictest manners.
“Lady Richwood, forgive us for clumsy fools. My deepest condolences, madame, on the loss of your brother. Helford, your suggestion to come here today was most ill timed.”
Lil Richwood’s voice softened immediately as she drawled, “You are quite forgiven…. I’m particularly partial to tall, dark cavaliers.”
Both men bowed formally and very deeply before they departed.