Devi's Paradise (6 page)

With her emotions at full tilt sleep evaded her. She got up, slipped a lacy negligee over her nightgown and quietly opened the door. The passage was deserted; in fact the whole ship seemed to be sleeping. It rocked gently on the swell, moving ever onward. She wasn’t quite sure what she intended, having some vague notion of bumping into Joshua. She visualised him as ever wakeful, guardian of the ship and those who sailed on her, studying maps or the stars as he navigated. She crept towards the companionway that led aloft.

Then she heard a noise and stopped dead as she listened. It came again – a sigh – a moan. Perhaps someone was having a bad dream. The sound was coming from one of the cabins on her right. George’s, if she remember correctly. She approached it stealthily and found the door was ajar. Whoever was within had forgotten to lock it. Had it been left open on purpose so that an expected person could enter? Possibly Alvina? Romilly had caught them flirting madly together, witty, cynical members of the young society hell raisers.

She applied her eye to the crack in the door and what she saw exceeded all her wildest speculations. George was there all right, but it wasn’t a woman with him. Lieutenant Clive Morrison, one of the youngest and best looking of Joshua’s officers, was bent over the bed, his breeches down about his ankles, his naked buttocks raised. George was behind him, stripped to the buff, in the act of applying lubricant to Clive’s anus.

‘Oh yes, sir… yes!’ squealed the young man. ‘Do it, please do it. Let me feel your todger inside… that’s right… stick it right up me. Oh… ah…!’

‘Keep still, you tart!’ George commanded, heaving against his bare rump and sliding his cock between those taut cheeks, finding the slippery orifice and penetrating in one hard jab.

He slid his hands under Clive, finding his erection and rubbing it fiercely as he pistoned his hips in and out. It was a most extraordinary sight, and though Alvina had hinted about bum-boys and some men practicing sodomy with their own sex, she had scarcely thought it possible. But here was proof and she couldn’t deny it. Her nipples tingled and she pinched them into peaks of pleasure, and her nubbin ached and demanded attention. She slipped a hand down between her legs, frigging herself as she watched George’s antics with his lover.

It seemed that he wanted to prolong the experience and, just when she thought he was about to finish, he withdrew his fiery domed cock, reached for a whippy cane and started to whack Clive. The young man stifled a yelp, but spread-eagled himself on the quilt, groaning with pleasure more than pain as the rattan stippled his buttocks. George’s eyes were shining and he laid on the punishment with enthusiasm, his stiff prick swaying from side to side and dribbling pre-come. Romilly couldn’t stop working her clitoris. It ached, it burned, it grew larger and harder and she slowed down, waiting for George to resume arse-fucking Clive.

She didn’t have long to wait. He threw the cane aside and leapt upon him, driving in his engorged member. Clive was handling his own penis, matching George’s rhythm. Romilly fell into it too, reproducing their sensations, using her fingers to share their ecstasy when, finally, George emptied his spunk into Clive at the moment when the youth spurted onto the counterpane.

George sank down at Clive’s side, cuddling him and stroking his hair. This made Romilly aware of her solitary state. There was no one to caress her in the afterglow. Silent as a shadow she sped up to the deck.

Joshua hadn’t been able to settle after dinner. Perhaps it was that game of lanterloo with his exceptionally pretty female passengers. He could see what Lady Alvina was – a light-minded aristocratic baggage playing with men as her fancy dictated. But the other one, the delicately beautiful Romilly, was a different kettle of fish entirely. He’d stake a year’s pay on her being a virgin. And as for that dandy who was her betrothed? Joshua foresaw trouble ahead and he hardly knew them.

The foppish George was as transparent as glass, obviously ready to thrust his cock into any opening offered, be it male or female. Joshua did not condemn this. He had spent too many years at sea to criticise men for seeking relief among their own kind. Necessity was the mother of invention and he turned a blind eye to any device his crew might use for satisfaction. For his own part, his hand became his mistress when the pressure in his testes was too great.

On shore he took his pleasure where he willed, but without commitment. He was an abstemious man. The sea was the love of his life and he needed no other, yet Lady Romilly had captured his imagination and he had gone on deck because the first mate had come to him predicting a change in the weather, but mostly in the hope of maybe seeing her.

The mate was right; Joshua was aware of the increased swell lifting the stout oaken hull. He sniffed the stiffening wind as he went on deck. The dark clouds gathering on the horizon were obscuring the moon. He issued brisk orders and men scampered aloft like monkeys, furling the main sails. Then to his surprise he came across Romilly, and approached, more concerned about her safety than anything else.

‘My lady,’ Joshua said, appearing out of nowhere and bowing as he addressed her. ‘May I ask what brings you here at this hour of the night?’

‘I needed to feel the breeze on my face,’ Romilly lied, not quite sure how to handle the situation now it had arisen. She was very aware of her damp pussy and the naughty scene she had just witnessed that roused her so much.

‘It is unwise to be alone,’ he said, with a sternness that made her tingle. ‘My men have been long at sea and this makes them restless. They are looking forward to landing so that they may enjoy the bounties of women once again.’

‘You think one of them might rape me?’ she said, pretending to be frightened, but was all too aware of the flimsiness of her attire. The wind was stronger now. It flattened her negligee against her limbs, ruffled the lace on her bosom and tangled with her unbound hair. Such a state of undress before a comparative stranger gave her a delicious sense of wantonness.

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,’ he demurred, casting an eye around, seeing that the seamen were carrying out his commands. ‘The punishment would deter them, I think, but you are putting yourself at risk up here on your own. Where is your chaperone?’

‘Asleep. Besides, there are times when I like my own company and don’t appreciate her prattling.’

‘Or that of your fiancé, Lord James?’ he asked seriously.

‘He’s well enough,’ she replied with a toss of her head, annoyed at having him brought into the conversation. Then, on impulse, she came out with a blunt question. ‘Are you married, Captain Willard? Or is it true what they say about sailors – that they have a wife in every port?’

He was standing close beside her at the rail, just as Jamie had done earlier. She was very conscious of his strong body in its plain dark blue coat and breeches. There was nothing flashy about his attire; it was serviceable and functional. He wore his own hair, chestnut brown and curling to his shoulders and he was clean-shaven. She wondered as to his age, and placed him in his late twenties. He was confident and trustworthy and she liked him enormously, feeling his arm at her back as the strong motion of the water threw them closer together.

‘Married, my lady?’ he said with a smile, looking down at her with those keen blue eyes. ‘No, mine is a roving life and I’d not expect a woman to wait at home for me to return, maybe after months away at sea. It would not be fair on her.’

‘But if she loved you she’d not mind waiting, surely?’ Romilly said quickly, wanting him to make some move, hold her hand or kiss her, perhaps, but he seemed preoccupied, staring at the sky.

‘I’d not ask it of her,’ he said at last. ‘Besides, it would distract me from my duty. I’d always be longing to sail home and this wouldn’t be good for my career. One day, maybe, when I’ve had enough of the sea and retired.’

‘But captain, don’t you long for love, a woman’s touch?’ His arm tightened about her as the vessel dipped and rose, timbers creaking. This stalwart person was a challenge. She wanted him to be weakened by desire for her, setting aside his principles and letting passion sweep him away.

He continued to look down at her, making her feel small against his tallness. Just for an instance she was sure he was about to pounce, sweep her into his arms and take her, then and there, on the scrubbed boards of the deck.

It lasted a heartbeat, no more, then he said steadily, ‘I am not without feelings, my lady, but now is not the time or the place. Let me take you back to your cabin. The wind is rising and I think we are in for a storm.’

‘But…’

‘No buts. I shall feel happier if I know you are safe below. Come,’ and he took her firmly under the elbow and did not stop until she reached her cabin door. He bowed again and gave a little quirky smile that told her he was aware of their attraction towards one another, then he left.

Romilly flew into her cabin, shut the door firmly and threw herself across the bed. A tiny spark had been ignited between Joshua and her, and she determined to encourage it even though it might never blaze into passion. She was betrothed and he a dedicated mariner, but hope springs eternal in the human breast and Romilly felt decidedly hopeful. She curled up under the quilt and went to sleep with a smile on her face, ignoring the ever strengthening rise and fall of the ship, the sound of the wind and crash of the sea hurling itself against the fragile timbers.

Romilly was riding round the estate at Harding Hall, the family seat of the earls of Standford. She was chasing a fox, the pack of hounds forging ahead, the leading huntsmen shouting, ‘Tally-ho!’ and their horns blaring.

It was a blustery day, the rain lashing the trees, but the riders were indomitable, her father urging her on. ‘That’s it, girl! Go! Go!’

She saw a hedge ahead, saw his stallion take it in a mighty bound, dug her heels into her mare’s sides, encouraging her to go full stride. The mass of greenery came closer. The mare leapt. Romilly lost her seat, tumbled to one side and off, hitting hard, hard ground, jolting every bone in her body.

‘My lady! My lady! Wake up!’ shouted Jessica, as Romilly opened her eyes and found herself on the cabin floor.

‘What’s happening?’ she said, the dream fading as reality struck.

‘The storm! The terrible storm!’ Jessica cried, hurrying around as well as she could in the dangerous tilt of the cabin. She was scrabbling to pack a few necessities in a leather valise. ‘It’s a hurricane, so the captain says, and we’ve to abandon ship.’

‘What?’ Romilly repeated, stupefied, getting up and managing to stay up by clinging to the bedhead.

‘He’s ordered his men to launch the longboat and we’re to take our chance in it. The vessel is going down, my lady! Oh, merciful heavens! Make haste!’

The lamps swung crazily on their gimbals overhead and every object not clamped down was sliding and crashing everywhere. The sea lashed against the portholes, the
May Belle
bobbing like a cork, then dipping with dizzying speed into the troughs of the huge waves. There was no time to dress and Romilly grabbed her over-robe and Jessica flung a blanket around her. Then they struggled to open the door, tumbling out into the passage. Alvina was there, clasping her jewel box to her breasts, equally dishevelled. Kitty was sobbing hysterically, till her mistress slapped her across the face.

‘There you, Romilly! Come on! We’ve got to get on deck and into the boat. It’s the only way,’ shouted Jamie, white as a sheet, while George was attempting to buckle on his sword. Their valets were lumbered with bags containing the gentlemen’s clothes. Water was pouring down the companionway, but somehow Romilly managed to climb it.

Dawn was breaking over the chaos on deck, everything at an alarming angle, ropes dangling, winches squealing, one mast snapped and lying across the stern like a felled tree, the others gaunt and bare, the sails tightly furled. She saw the grim faces of the sailors as they tried to lower the two boats that would not hold all of them, never in this world. Some would have to rely on casks, planks, anything that would float and support a man and keep him from drowning.

Joshua was there, a formidable figure, magnificent and courageous and she wanted him at that moment, blindly seeking to be caught up in an emotion as vast as the fury of the elements. He seized her, lifted her and thrust her into the longboat that was hanging precariously over the side, the men fighting to lower it. Alvina climbed in, followed by George, Jamie, and their frightened servants. Romilly clung on, closing her eyes against the pounding sea, expecting the boat to be smashed to smithereens at any second. It jerked, the winches squealing as gradually it swung out from the steep sides and reached the ominously treacherous sea. Several sailors had volunteered to man the oars, and in a matter of moments the longboat bounced and jostled but succeeded in keeping afloat, the
May Belle
retreating into the distance. The last person she saw was Joshua, standing at the prow looking in their direction, before the vessel vanished, overwhelmed by a massive wave.

‘My God!’ Jamie exclaimed, holding her tightly, the oarsmen battling to make progress.

Alvina was ashen-faced but brave, comforting Kitty and Jessica. The valets, Tom Harraway and Gaston Pruet, showed a fresh side to their natures, helping those manning the oars to the best of their limited abilities.

But the storm had not abated and, although the men pointed to a distant hump on the horizon beyond the turbulent waters, shouting, ‘There’s land ahead!’ it seemed that their chances of making the shore were slim.