Devi's Paradise (2 page)

A conglomeration of stale sweat, dust, must and grease paint filled the air, a heady brew that invaded Romilly’s nostrils and fired along her nerves. It symbolised the theatre, that make-believe world where anything was possible – and Nathan was a denizen of this magical place.

He lost no time, placing his fingertips on hers and then drawing her ever closer to his body. He was wearing a white shirt with billowing sleeves. It was unfastened down the front over a hairy chest. Still holding one of her hands, he guided it through the opening so that she touched the warmth of his skin.

She drew breath on a sharp gasp, ‘Oh!’

He gave a wry smile, the lines each side of his mouth deepening, as he said, ‘Don’t tell me that you’ve not felt a man before, my lady.’

‘Er… n-no, I haven’t, in very truth,’ she stammered, embarrassed that he should know of her innocence. It was as if it gave him an advantage.

‘Unusual in one so fair,’ he commented in his beautifully modulated actor’s voice. It caressed her and penetrated her almost as if he had done so physically. ‘Place your arms around my neck,’ he added, and she could refuse him nothing.

‘Ah… you smell so sweet,’ he murmured. ‘So young, so fresh, after the much used, aging charms of Lady Barbara.’ And he kissed her neck and nibbled her lobes, setting the pendant earrings swinging, and she was in the seventh heaven of delight, nipples crimping, thighs yearning to open to his invasion.

’Don’t you love her?’ she managed to squeak.

He chuckled, deep in his chest. ‘Love her? Indeed I don’t, but she wants me and is willing to pay for my favours and in return will make me London’s leading actor.’

‘And her husband doesn’t mind?’

‘There’s no love lost between them. A marriage of convenience, nothing more. He has his whores and she has her lovers,’ he whispered, and his fingers toyed with her breasts, exploring the smooth area above her bodice and dipping into the front.

Such cynicism offended the romantic streak within her, but she had been reared to accept the sense in this. Love marriages only existed among the lower ranks – servants, tradesmen, shopkeepers, not the upper echelon. But now all sensible considerations were far from important. She was where she had wanted to be – in Nathan’s arms. He was so gentle, pushing her back against a wicker dress-basket and lifting her so that she was perched on the lid. Then he carefully parted her legs and lifted her voluminous skirt and frothy white petticoats as if unwrapping a precious gift. It was in no way alarming, for Nathan had learned to be a practiced seducer; it was part and parcel of his trade.

By now Romilly was putty in his hands. Her heart was beating wildly and mad thoughts were winging through her brain. If she allowed him to breach her maidenhead and became with child could she yield to Jamie, convince him that it was his and push forward the date of the wedding? More urgent than this, however, was the crying need to experience everything with Nathan, her body urging her to surrender and enjoy and damn the consequences.

He had lifted her breasts from their covering, the nipples like hard cherries, and then his lips found hers, parted and explored them, his tongue tangling with her own in a dance of passion. His hand, meanwhile, cruised up her stockinged legs and found her fork. It was not thought modest to wear drawers, as these were a mannish garment, so her parts were bare beneath a long chemise and frou-frou of skirts.

‘Darling girl,’ Nathan breathed, combing through her pubic floss. ‘You’re like a pure young goddess – so beautiful. Let me breathe in your nectar,’ and he dived under her clothes and she felt the outrageous shock of his mouth on her cleft.

‘Mr Westbury!’ she gasped, while her loins convulsed with pleasure. ‘What are you doing, sir?’

His face appeared momentarily, dark eyes sparkling, lips wet with her dew. ‘I’m supping on ambrosia, the food of the gods,’ he declaimed, and then his hand went to his breeches that were gaping open. He withdrew his cock, long and thick and fully erect.

‘Oh… oh!’ she exclaimed, wide-eyed as she stared at it.

He thrust it into her palm, losing control as he almost snarled, ‘Rub it! Don’t be shy!’

It felt incredibly warm and smooth and she obeyed instinct more than his instructions as she eased her hand up and down, aware of wetness around the helm and hearing him groan. Her own moist delta ached with a need she did not comprehend, only knowing that she wanted his touch there again – lips, fingers – this monster that was filling her hand. Was this what fucking was all about? Small wonder the world was obsessed by it. So curious a sensation, so compelling that one was blind to all else. Poems were written extolling love – art depicted it, yet it was like the jungle or farmyard, simply Dame Nature’s way of insuring the survival of the species.

He held her mons, parting the hair-fringed wings and fondling the seat of her sensation – that sliver of flesh surmounted by a nubbin. She had discovered it long ago and touched it briefly, alarmed by the tingle that ran along her nerves. Frightened and certain that it was wicked to fondle it, she now discovered that Nathan was producing the same feelings, but more acute and demanding. He fell into a rhythm, rubbing the little protuberance steadily and she found herself doing the same to his cock.

The strange feeling in her increased, leading her on and on to – where? Bliss. Paradise. A fulfilment that she could only begin to guess at. And Nathan was plunging his cock into her hand and withdrawing, then pushing back in feverishly.

‘Oh, sweeting, don’t stop,’ he groaned. ‘Bring me to the heights, while I do the same for you!’

‘I will! I will!’ she cried, lifting her hips to meet his slippery touch, unable to stop, chasing that extraordinary feeling.

Then the door was flung open abruptly and Jessica Wade was framed there. ‘My lady! Whatever are you doing?’ she thundered.

Nathan shot away from Romilly, turning his back on the duenna and rearranged his breeches. Romilly sat up and adjusted her skirts. ‘Did I send for you, Wade?’ she answered haughtily, maintaining authority, even though her bud was throbbing at the point of explosion.

Wade stood her ground. Gawky and plain, she was obeying her employer’s orders, not those of his wayward child. ‘You did not, milady,’ she said firmly. ‘But I was worried when I found you had vanished.’

‘She did right to tell me,’ thundered Jamie, appearing behind her and pushing to the front. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’

Romilly had regained her composure and with it her annoyance. How dare he speak to her like that? ‘I am not your slave,’ she said regally. ‘If I chose to permit Mr Westbury to show me round the property rooms, then that is my business. As I recall, sir, you were engaged in talk with the actresses, were you not?’ She permitted the slightest note of reproof to enter her voice.

Jamie reddened, and turned his wrath to Nathan, hand on his sword hilt. ‘You, sir, should know the rules. A young lady goes nowhere without her chaperone. Were you a gentleman I should call you out.’

‘Then it’s lucky for me that I’m lowborn and not allowed to wear a weapon,
my lord
.’ Nathan laid mocking emphasis on the title.

‘Indeed it is. Had you not been a commoner I’d have challenged you to a duel at dawn with the weapon of my choice – rapier or pistol. Even so, I can have you whipped by my servants.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Jamie,’ Romilly broke in. ‘You must trust me. I’d do nothing to tarnish your honour.’

‘You have offended me deeply,’ he said grumpily, glowering at Nathan who stood there unconcerned. ‘Your father shall hear of this.’

‘Of what?’ she snapped tartly. ’My speaking with an actor whose performance I have just enjoyed? What do you expect him to do? Lock me in my bedchamber?’

‘That might be a solution,’ he snapped. ‘I know he is already concerned about your unladylike behaviour.’

Nathan made for the door, turning with a bow as he said, ‘If you will excuse me, I have work to attend. A rehearsal for tomorrow’s rendition of
’Tis a Pity She’s a Whore
. Come and see it. You might find it amusing.’

With that he raised a brow at Romilly, smiled mockingly at Jamie, and took himself off.

‘And what have you been doing, my girl?’ thundered the Earl of Stanford.

Romilly outfaced her father, head raised, chin set at a mulish angle, totally unaware of how much she resembled this proud nobleman who had sired her. Not so much physically, of course, she being a slender girl, but in her mien and determination to have her way on every issue.

‘Doing? Why, nothing of note, sir. Shopping at the Royal Exchange with my maid,’ she responded sharply, drawing her fingers from her gloves and shrugging off her fur-lined cape. But her pulse was racing and she knew by the expression on his harsh features that someone had told him about her dalliance with Nathan.

And dalliance was all it had been, she regretted. Another few moments and I should have been transformed from an ignorant girl into a woman of experience.

‘I’m not speaking of this morning, chit,’ the Earl said heavily, standing spread-legged before the fire blazing on the wide hearth, hands clasped behind his back. ‘James came to see me early and Wade has corroborated his story. You were caught in a compromising position with a vagabond actor or some such. Is this true?’

‘No, it is not,’ she lied. ‘And Jamie is a fine one to talk. He’s forever ogling the dancers.’

‘That’s different. He’s a man.’

He loomed over her, big and imposing, a peer of the realm and master of vast estates in Devon and Cornwall. She had always held him in awe and had had little to do with him, brought up by nursemaids, housekeepers and governesses. As she grew older he had taught her to ride and hunt and, later, to take her place in London society, but there was never any easy intimacy between them. She was sure there should have been and she missed this – keeping her distance, as he did from her. It was only when he was angry that she felt he was truly noticing her and this made her defiant and equally enraged.

She stood in front of him, arms akimbo, hands on her hips, a golden-haired termagant. ‘A man, quotha! So that gives him licence to do as he pleases? I don’t think so, father.’

‘You know nothing about life, you foolish child. Men are a different breed… they know how to comport themselves and it is their duty to look after the frail sex of their own class.’

‘Ha!’ she gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘That I can’t stomach.’

‘We follow the teachings of the Bible,’ he shouted, his face turning puce, with a little vein throbbing in the centre of his brow.

‘Stuff!’ she exploded, her gown swishing as she took a pace towards him in her high heels. ‘You hardly ever attend church, only when you have to, at Christmas or Easter if you happen to be residing at Harding Hall. Don’t give me this religious clap-trap.’

He raised his hand as if to strike her and, for an instant, she wondered if he would, imagining the shock as his blow descended. ‘Wicked, blasphemous and wanton! You deserve to be punished!’ he roared. ‘Get to your room at once and I’ll deal with you later. Meanwhile think on this… I am sending you to Jamaica.’

‘Where?’

‘To Port Royal in Jamaica, an island in the West Indies,’ he retorted briskly. ‘Your aunt, Lady Paulina Fenby, lives in the nearby town of Kingston. She’s my sister. You’ve never met her, for she went abroad with her wealthy husband years ago. He owns several plantations, you know. Enormously rich, but that’s by the way. I shall write to her at once, saying that you need a woman’s guidance and godly company to free you of these silly notions. An actor indeed! You are betrothed to a fine young man. He shall accompany you and, on your return to England, I fully expect you to have given up your wild ways and settled down to be a good, faithful wife.’

‘And if I refuse to go?’ she challenged, though her stomach gave a lurch and she was shaking.

‘You won’t,’ he declared heavily. ‘Not by the time I’ve finished with you. Prepare yourself, Romilly, for I intend to chastise you. I can’t have you smirching our good name. I have always believed in the old adage, “Spare the rod and spoil the child”.’

She bowed her head and trembled. This would not be the first time he had punished her for some misdemeanour, but not of late. As a child she had been regularly caned by those in authority over her, from not learning her books to racketing around like a tom-boy, but he was the one to be feared most of all. His palm was heavier, his whip harsher, his rod a whippy, pliant devil of an implement but, most of all, she hurt inside at having offended him, this sole parent whom she longed to please.

Romilly flounced from the room and up the wide, curving staircase. She wanted to scream at Jessica and give Jamie a piece of her mind. She wanted to find Alvina and talk the matter over. She wanted to run away, putting miles between herself and all these bothersome people! She stamped her foot and slammed her bedroom door.

‘You!’ she yelled, in the worst rage of her life.

‘Now, my lady… be calm…’ the duenna expostulated, ducking to avoid a savage swipe across the cheek.

‘Calm? I’ll give you calm, you traitor! How dare you tell tales on me to my father!’

‘He pays me to look after you,’ Jessica said calmly, ignoring this temper tantrum. ‘And Lord James was angry, too. He visited your father this morning and complained of your behaviour.’