Devi's Paradise (3 page)

‘Father wants to send me to Jamaica!’ Romilly raged, pacing up and down like a caged tigress. ‘The colonies are savage, uncouth places, with no parties, no theatres, no shops. Dull, dull, dull! I won’t go. I won’t!’

‘I’ve heard tell that they are none of these. The towns are fine and so are the houses. There are plantations and the wealthy own slaves, making heaps of money from sugar and tobacco,’ Jessica said placatingly. ‘It might be just what you need, and your betrothed will go with you.’

‘No! No! No!’ Romilly repeated

‘But yes, my girl, yes,’ said a strong masculine voice. Her father walked in. He carried a cane in both hands, striking the left one lightly across the palm as he strode towards her. ‘Bend over,’ he ordered. ‘Clasp your ankles. Wade, throw her skirts back over her shoulders.’

‘But, sir… my lord…’ Jessica protested.

‘Do as I say, Wade, unless you, too, want to feel the weight of the rod. I don’t know what’s got into women these days, always arguing with their betters.’

Romilly hesitated for a second only, then she gripped her ankles, head hanging down, bottom raised, feeling the cold as Jessica hoisted up the silk skirts and the shift. Romilly waited, anticipating the blow but still unprepared when it fell. Her buttocks went numb, then pain flamed through them. She cried out, unable to restrain herself though hating to give him the satisfaction. It was some years since he had beaten her and now she found it all the more humiliating. She was a grown woman and yet he still considered it his right to chastise her as he thought fit. Presumably Jamie would do the same, once the knot was tied. No matter how sophisticated and modern the young bloods thought themselves, they would still treat their wives as possessions over which they ruled.

Her father paused, took off his coat and rolled back his sleeves, his actions proclaiming his intention of making every blow count. Romilly endured, bracing herself, legs spread, well aware that her private parts were on show. Jessica stood to one side, ready to restrain her should she attempt to escape. Her pride refused to allow her to cry, protest or try to flee. He would see that she was made of as stern a metal as him.

It was all very well to make resolutions, but harder to carry out. The cane swished and landed with an agonising crack and she jerked involuntarily, her hinds bathed in fire. Again and again that punishing rod bit into her tender flesh and she could feel consciousness slipping away. She staggered and Jessica upheld her.

‘Well, my girl, do you concede to my command?’ he asked sternly, and she was dimly aware that he liked this no more than her and was but carrying out what he considered to be his duty.

She prayed this was so, for Alvina had hinted that there were those who enjoyed inflicting pain and, even stranger, those who actually liked being whipped. The idea horrified Romilly, yet a thrill shivered through her. What would it be like to be mastered by a big, handsome brute of a man? Putty in his hands, to do with what he willed?

Her father straightened and she turned towards him, managing to hold her head high and look him straight in the eye. He was sweating, droplets trickling down his red face from beneath the long grey lappets of his tightly curled peruke. At the moment she both loved and hated him. ‘How can you send me away, father? I’m your only child,’ she whispered reproachfully.

‘It is for your own good,’ he insisted, wiping his face with a snow-white handkerchief. ‘There is far too much licence abroad these days. London is a hotbed of sin. God knows I’m no prude, but the Court has gone too far and all follow the King’s example. I want to see you happily settled and my sister will enjoy helping you. You need an experienced woman to give you advice on how to comport yourself. It won’t be for more than a twelvemonth and then you can return and we will celebrate your marriage to James in high style.’

‘I have no choice, have I?’ she muttered, her bottom bruised and aching, but her stubborn pride undiminished.

‘No,’ he answered bluntly, and Jessica held his coat while he stuffed his arms into it and then straightened his lace cravat. ‘I shall make arrangements at once. One of my merchant ships will be sailing to Port Royal within the month. You will travel aboard her. In the meantime, you’ll go nowhere unattended and if there’s the slightest hint of impropriety, you’ll feel the weight of my stick again.’

‘Damn him! To the devil with all men!’ Romilly raved when he had gone. Jessica made no reply, busying herself by rearranging the many gowns hanging in the wardrobe. ‘How dare he beat me? The bully. As for ordering me abroad… my God, if I only had money and independence. I’d show him!’

A tap on the door, and Jamie was admitted. He looked sheepish, giving her a timid glance and advancing with caution. ‘How fare you, sweetheart?’ he asked.

She sprang at him, though the effort cost her dear. He dodged aside as she shrieked, ‘How do you think I am, traitor? You tattled about my acquaintance with Mr Westbury, and father has just beaten me.’

‘It appeared to be more than mere friendship, my love,’ he said, nervously producing a silver box, opening it and placing a tiny dune of snuff at the base of his thumb, then inhaling it.

‘Oh, is that so? And what about you and those tarts? How dare you judge me? The upshot is that father is sending me to the West Indies.’

He applied a kerchief to his nostrils and said, ‘So I understand, and I am to escort you. It should be entertaining. Your aunt, Lady Fenby, is exceedingly rich and lives in high style, so I’m given to understand.’

‘Indeed. But first there is a tedious sea voyage during which I shall undoubtedly be sick, and arrival at Jamaica where my relations are to drill me into becoming a virtuous wife!’

‘Don’t fret, my darling,’ he murmured, bending to whisper in her ear, ‘we shall be together and maybe able to find privacy in which to make love. Under clear blue skies and waving palm trees you shall become my pagan goddess, and I’ll ram my prick up you and give you heavenly delight.’

If he hoped to impress her with this it had the opposite effect; Nathan‘s face sprang to mind and not only that – his kisses, his caresses and the sight of his manhood. Desire warmed her loins, spreading from her overheated buttocks, a part of the pain and ache. Hot on this came the realisation that she wouldn’t be able to see him again. Jamie seemed a very poor substitute, though this might improve – she had tasted sensual delights and was unlikely to be satisfied with anything less. It was like opening Pandora’s box.

Jessica hovered closer, mindful of the Earl’s strict instructions and reluctant to feel his wrath. ‘Please excuse us, your lordship,’ she said to Jamie, bobbing a curtsey. ‘But I must put my lady to rights and make sure that she rests. I believe you are invited to supper. You will see her again then.’

He bowed himself out, one hand on his heart, the other resting on the basket hilt of his sword, and it was then that Romilly cracked, throwing herself across the bed and crying as if her heart would break. Despite her boldness, inside she was like a frightened child. Jamaica was so far away. The other side of the globe!

‘Don’t upset yourself, my lady,’ Jessica soothed, bending over and stroking her hair. ‘I shall be with you… and so will your betrothed.’

‘If only Alvina could come, too,’ Romilly sobbed, tears dripping onto the pillow.

‘Maybe she can. Why don’t you ask her? Her father and yours are friends, aren’t they? This might be arranged.’

At that Romilly sat up, tears drying on her cheeks. ‘Perhaps it could.’ She flung her arms impulsively round Jessica. ‘What a capital notion! She will be here anon, and I shall speak to her and we can ask our fathers.’

It was cool in the cave below the fortress. A stream trickled between the rocks, cascading into a deep dark pool, where several beautiful women and handsome youths frolicked. They splashed each other, gave shrill screams and laughter, fondled naked breasts and thighs, phalli and clefts, totally at ease and ready to give or receive fulfilment. Bejewelled, bizarre and barbaric, they satisfied the eyes and the senses of their lord and master. At a word or gesture they would pleasure him in any way he wanted.

He lay back on a regal couch placed on a dais where he could see them, these spoils of sea battles, inland raids, plunder and pillage. He allowed lust to race through his magnificently honed body that bore scars here and there, relics of many a vicious duel. He was bronzed and fit, rippling with muscle, ready for anything. His hair was wet, rendering it jet-black, falling to well below his broad shoulders for he had just come from the beach, via a secret way. He had been pitting his strength against the waves that thundered in to run up the shore of this tropical island paradise that belonged to him as well as all he surveyed and much that he didn’t, the most feared man in the length and breadth of the Spanish Main.

He enjoyed sex and money and conquest, but above all he relished power, and had acquired this in plenty throughout his chequered career. A goblet of vintage wine gripped in one mighty fist, he considered the girls, selecting one or maybe two to bring him to orgasm. He wore a silk robe, open down the front over his muscle-packed belly and thick thatch of black pubic hair from which an enormous penis stood proud. It was fully erect, long and as thick as a bough. He palmed it, rejoicing in the hardness, the smoothness, and the dew seeping from its single eye. He rotated the ring that pierced the glans. This suffused him with a rush of feeling and his cock bobbed, moving of its own volition. He controlled it as he controlled everything and everyone that swam into his ken. But this appendage of his was like a difficult stallion, full of self-will and often refusing to be mastered – mastering
him
.

The urge to climax was almost unbearable, but he took his hand from his cock and concentrated on his surroundings in an effort to subdue the monster. The cavern was huge, a natural formation made by the volcano that had formed this island millions of years ago. It was furnished luxuriously. Many decadent, colourful objects robbed from his prey over the years had been taken there to enhance it.

Massive wax candles, snatched from a church, wept creamy tears that trickled down and solidified on the wrought iron-girandoles that held them. They cast a glow over the scene, though they had not been intended to illumine debauchery. Natural pillars of rock supported the ceiling that reared up into the darkness like the fan vaulting of a cathedral. They reminded him of religious ceremonies, as did the smell of incense, like that wafting from censers swung by altar boys, one of whom had been him long ago. A different time, a different place, before his world had been turned upside down and, in the confusion, honour, family traditions and loyalty to crown and country had been destroyed forever.

With it had gone compassion towards his fellowman. It stripped him of emotions, leaving a void within him that nothing could fill. It was a dark place, and cold, and he had replaced love with lust, encouraged passion fired by cruelty, and indulged in the urge to experiment with each facet of the senses. He had succeeded, exploring every pathway of sexual deviation. He was master of all he surveyed – feared – admired – copied even, by lesser men who wished to share his reputation for wildness and mastery. But try as they might to emulate him, there was only one Armand Tertius, born a French comte but now a pirate king.

He was roused from his musing by the feel of soft fingers trailing down his back. He looked round as the woman snuggled up to him, one thigh thrown across his as he lounged there. She was exotic and lovely, the light glimmering on her dusky skin, her ebony hair coiling into a hundred little beaded ringlets round her shapely head, her proud mien that of an African goddess.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, master?’ she purred, and reached down and pinched his wine-red nipples, causing a shudder to pass through him to his groin.

His hand clamped on hers, crushing her slim fingers, but she made no protest. ‘Perhaps there is, Sabrina,’ he growled. ‘I need a diversion. I’ve seen this all before. It is time for fresh blood to be brought here.’

‘I understand, master,’ she murmured in that intriguing Creole accent, a free woman who chose to be his slave for her own advancement. ‘Be patient. I have read the cards for you and foresee that a change is coming.’

‘A woman?’ he asked, only half believing her ability to foretell the future with Tarot cards that she kept in a sacred bag.

‘Oh yes, my lord. Certainly a woman, and a beautiful one.’

‘Will she love me?’ He was not aware of the wistful note in his voice, but Sabrina was, and her dark eyes were troubled.

‘Who could not love you, master?’ she asked quietly.

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Many! And if they say they do, then how can I be sure they are sincere, or just protesting love through fear or greed or seeking to fulfil their own ambitions?’

‘Does it matter? Do you need love?’ Sabrina wound her subtle arms round his neck, sinuous as a snake.

‘No! That’s romantic shit. All I need is
this
.’ He threw her on her back and reared over her. ‘And
this
.’ His fully erect phallus found its goal and he thrust inside her, using the force of his strong hips as he plunged in and out, finding the rhythm that would take him to the heights.

Sabrina responded quickly, her brilliantly patterned silk skirt falling away, the sequinned scarf that partly hid her breasts opening to his questing hands. She welcomed him between her thighs and raised her legs, scissoring them round his neck, drawing him ever deeper into her scented mysteries. His acolytes, watching this erotic performance, began to ape his movements, lost into a welter of passion, legs and arms entwined, males with females, girls with girls, men with men. It didn’t matter, just as long as there were cunts and cocks, breasts and arseholes. The cavern throbbed with excitement and arousal and uninhibited desire.