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 diefor 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 astorm, 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
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 diefor 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 astorm, 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
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