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Her fingertips traced the heavy muscles of his shoulders and he dipped his head to touch her lips with infinite tenderness. “You were magnificent, like a great raging storm.”

The mocking amusement was back in his eyes. “And you, my darling, were insatiable.”

She laughed and blushed. “You take me beyond control so that my needs scream aloud for fulfillment.”

“They no doubt heard your screams below,” he teased unmercifully.

“Oh, Rory, how will I ever be able to face them?” she asked contritely.

“Any man who saw me sweep you up those stairs must have been green with envy. Any who heard your cries of love would die for one night in your bed. Come, sweet, we must return to the ship.”

“Beast! I can’t move a finger. You’ll have to dress me,” she teased.

Dutifully he propped her up and put her gown on over her head. His lips tickled her ear and he whispered wickedly, “I’m not finished with you yet tonight.”

“Rory,” she said the next morning as he came back down to the cabin from the quarterdeck, “yesterday I saw a man who was quite obviously a Grenvile.” She let the statement hang in the air to see what he would say.

A quick frown came between his brows. “At the warehouses? You don’t think he saw me, do you?”

“I don’t think so … I don’t know. Who is he?”

“It must have been Richard … Sir Richard Grenvile. He was a general in the late King’s army, but he and Chancellor Hyde hated each other with a vengeance. When he offered his services to Charles, they were not accepted because of the ill feeling with his chief minister. It embittered Richard so much he chose to live in exile and swore never to set foot in England again.”

“That’s strange—I saw him at Stowe a few weeks ago.” As soon as she said it, she knew that Richard Grenvile was a spy. This was important information which she could pass on to the King. Actually she was unsure where Rory’s loyalties lay and it made her uneasy now that she had begun to think about it. He certainly was no stranger to Dutch soil. Though she sometimes lusted for adventure and was usually ready for any madcap risk, she was deeply loyal to king and country. One of the things she most admired about her husband was his commitment to duty. She probed lightly: “Rory, is your first loyalty to Charles?”

He grinned at her. “My first loyalty is to myself, Cat.” He changed the subject immediately. “I’ve arranged for you to go shopping today. I can’t leave myself, I have to wait for the goods I ordered yesterday, but I’ve asked Hans to accompany you to interpret the language. I think you’ll be astounded when you see the fashionable shops. I’ve given him enough gilder to pay for anything you desire.”

“You are very lavish with your money, sir. Do you come by it so easily?”

His eyes showed their amusement. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but I hope I’m man enough to afford whatever my woman desires.” He looked into her eyes. “You are my woman, Cat, aren’t you?”

She lowered her lashes. “You know I am, Rory.”

“You’d better hurry and put your gown on before I prove it to you.” He winked. He closed the bedroom door as he went into the cabin he used as his office. She wondered if Hans spoke any English and ran after him to ask, but he had already left the outer office. Suddenly she heard his deep voice just outside the door. “Keep her away from the ship until three. I don’t want her to be here when de Ruyter comes.”

Summer was stunned. Everyone in England knew that the famed de Ruyter was the mastermind of the Dutch fleet and England’s premier enemy. She couldn’t believe that Rory would have dealings with the famed sea captain—no wonder he didn’t want her to know anything about it! Her first thought was that she should inform the King. She shuddered … she knew she could never betray Rory. When they had first met, he had warned her that he was a scoundrel, that he had always been the black sheep of the family, and for the first time she was ready to believe it.

She went ashore with Hans, a blond giant who had been ordered to protect her with his life. He looked incongruous in the ladies’ shops, doling out gilder for Summer’s purchases, but she would have been unable to manage without his ability to interpret Dutch and French to English. As Rory had predicted, she was amazed at the high style and vast number of establishments which were mostly run by French couturiers.

She bought a flame-colored gown which opened down the front to reveal a petticoat of gold lace tissue. It was a spectacular gown, one which needed the confidence of a queen to wear, but Summer had always possessed that quality. At another establishment she chose a beaded gown of clinging material which changed colors with the light. One moment it was pale green, the next it was a shimmering silver. She couldn’t resist a wrap made of fox fur, outrageously dyed a pale green shade to match the gown. She knew no one in London had a pastel fur and reasoned that someone like Barbara would be willing to kill for such a garment.

It began to rain, and when it rained in Holland, it did a thorough job of it. The heavy pewter sky made Summer’s spirits sink and no matter how she tried to push away the disturbing thoughts about Rory, they crept back insidiously, fueling her active imagination with one unsavory plot after another. She almost insisted that Hans return her to the ship so she would walk in on Rory and de Ruyter, but she thought better of it and allowed the blond giant to escort her to a fine restaurant for a good hot meal to ward off the chill of the wet weather.

She decided she needed a drink to banish the darklings, and when a light golden wine was suggested, she shook her head emphatically and ordered gin. Hans looked alarmed. If he had dared to refuse her, he would have done so. He was all too aware of the potent and immediate effects of the clear, strong liquor. By the time he guided her back to the Phantom, Summer was in the state of intoxication which made the timid bold. In Summer’s case it made her downright aggressive. She boarded the Phantom and watched with knowing eyes as the faithful Hans went up on the quarterdeck and reported to Black Jack Flash that she had almost disgraced herself by guzzling gin.

She divested herself of her gown and high heels and donned the white duck pants and knotted his white lace shirt at her waist. She tied a red kerchief about her hair and, barefoot, went up on deck to beard the lion in his den.

Rory’s eyes followed her progress with amusement as she took extra-careful steps to match the ship’s roll as it rode at anchor. Today his amusement annoyed her. She’d wipe that damned smile off his face if it was the last thing she did.

She swaggered up to him insolently, fists dug into her hips, and said, “I’ve decided I don’t like this stinking country, when are we leaving?”

Rory’s eyebrows went up slightly. “When I give the order to leave.”

She uttered a stable oath and he looked down at her from at least six feet and said in a mocking voice, “I should teach you how to curse in another language, it sounds so coarse in English.” He was filled with arrogance, dash, and swagger. He could be rude or charming, but she knew he would never be anything other than self-assured, and today it simply grated on her nerves.

“English is quite good enough for me,” she said with narrowed eyes. “I hate fraternizing with my enemies even if you do not!”

“I believe you are slightly drunk, Cat. Seek your cabin,” he said quietly.