Rogue Lover by Leon Phillips - Chapter 01

Genre: Historical Fiction / Carribean Pirates

The swashbuckling saga of Lawrence Harlow, swordsman, adventurer and scourge of the Spanish Main – a man designed for violence and driven by lust – and the women who shared in his turbulent life:

COUNTESS OF WARWICK — lush, passionate aristocrat who stopped at nothing in her desire for men ...

MERCEDES – beautiful Spanish spy, once Harlow's mistress and now his deadly enemy …

FRANCESCA — his seductive slave, won in combat and devoted body and soul to his every whim …

BEATRIZ — lovely, virginal and unawakened—and ready to give herself to Harlow in the completeness of her love.

CHAPTER 01

IN many respects the London of 1631 was the same city it had been twelve years previous, but Lawrence Harlow, shouldering his way through the waterfront crowds gaping at the barque, Albatross, ,that swung at anchor in the Thames after carrying him across the Atlantic, was seeing England through different eyes.

He had been a frightened, bewildered boy, without a friend or relative on earth, when he had sailed off to the New World. Now, in his twenty-eighth year, he was a man of considerable experience. He had explored the vast, silent wilderness of the North American continent, he had twice visited the thriving settlement of Jamestown in Virginia Colony and, on the island of Bermuda where he made his headquarters, he was universally known and respected.

The captain of a band of hard-bitten adventurers whose leader he had become by virtue of his skill, strength and daring, he hired himself and his men out as mercenaries to any ship's owner who wanted to attack the rich Spanish galleons that carried the wealth of America across the Caribbean to the greedy nobles of Madrid and Barcelona.

A scar on Lawrence's chin and several others on his body were reminders of the score of battles he had fought when he and his dreaded Company of Rogues had boarded Spanish merchantmen. Hatred of Spain had shaped and guided him ever since the day he learned that his parents had been killed by Spaniards when the ship on which they had been traveling to Venice—had been halted in the Mediterranean and they had been hauled off to Cartagena.

His father, an importer of glassware, had been accused of heresy and put to death by the Inquisition. His mother, who had never harmed anyone, had died in prison of abuse and starvation. Then, as now, it had been King James' policy to placate Spain, and Lawrence was always grimly pleased when he reflected that, in spite of England's vacillation, he had done a great deal to avenge his parents.

It was good to know that he had come home to England for the specific purpose of persuading the Crown to take a stronger stand against the grandees who were planting the flag of Aragon and Castile everywhere in the New World.

Lawrence was the elected representative of the buccaneers and other fighting men who used Bermuda Island as their base for their raids against Spanish shipping, and had been sent to London for the specific purpose of enlightening the King, so James would understand that England's best interests would be served if diplomatic relations with Spain were severed. It would be so easy for the King to grant official recognition to the men now labeled as pirates, Lawrence thought; they were patriots who were checking the spread of Spanish influence in America, and they deserved high honors for their gallant conduct.

When Lawrence had first heard the plan to change England's policy, he had been convinced the scheme was mad but that had been before his own selection as the freebooters' representative. Since that time he had changed his mind, chiefly because he had learned that the buccaneers were being supported by one of the most influential peers in the realm—Robert Rich, the second Earl of Warwick.

The Earl and his equally powerful brother, the Earl of Holland, were the leaders of an openly anti-Spanish faction in the House of Lords. Warwick had been one of the principal investors in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in New England, although his influence there had waned in the past year or two. Lawrence knew none of the details concerning his business interests, but was very much aware of the fact that the Earl quietly encouraged the activities of the Bermuda freebooters, and in return for the ships, arms and supplies he gave them, he received a share of the profits of every buccaneer raid.

In the event the government should become openly antagonistic to Spain, the sleek fighting ships built and financed by Warwick would augment the Earl's income even more than they already did, and in a sense it was he who was responsible for Lawrence's journey to London. One of Warwick's openly acknowledged henchmen, Captain Daniel Elfrith, the most fearless of the Bermuda freebooters, had suggested the scheme to send someone to see the King, and had, in fact, nominated Lawrence for the task.

Elfrith, who made it a practice to visit England at least once in every two years, had advised Lawrence to procure a new wardrobe before seeing Warwick, much less the King, and had recommended the Earl's own tailor for the purpose. Now, as he walked from the wharves toward the center of town, Lawrence was mildly amused to see gentlemen in bright-colored velvet, with fine lace at their throats and cuffs, jeweled rings on their fingers and gaudy plumes on their hats. Certainly no buccaneer in Bermuda would dare appear before his companions in such glittering attire.

Lawrence's instinct for danger, which had saved his life often in the past, roused him from his reverie, and he glanced up to see that his path was blocked by three burly men whose black-tasseled stocking caps identified them as residents of Southwark, the notorious section of London across the Thames which was considered unsafe for respectable citizens.

All three of the bullies were armed with thick clubs, and the leader of the trio pointed his weapon at the battered leather case Lawrence carried in his left hand. Its contents were not valuable, but comprised all of the luggage he had brought with him from the New World. Since he had no intention of giving up his belongings, Lawrence tightened his grip on the iron handle of the case.

"We'll take that from yer," the bearded man from Southwark declared.

Lawrence smiled at him pleasantly. "I think not," he said in a deceptively mild voice.

The bullies studied him intently for a moment. Their precarious living depended on their judgment of the strength and courage of their prospective victims, and they were not encouraged. The man who stood before them was lean, but his slender build was muscular. Six feet tall, with crisp brown hair and sober, gray eyes, he did not appear to be particularly dangerous, however, and certainly his clothes were unprepossessing. His boots of natural leather were old and faded, and his woolen breeches, old-fashioned doublet with slashed sleeves and leather cape obviously did not signify a man of wealth. On the other hand, the case he carried was rather enticing.

"From the looks o' ye, ye've been away from England for a spell," the leader said nastily, "so mebbe ye've not heard o' the South'ark Boys. Give us that there case or we'll lay yer head open. Take yer choice."

Lawrence saw that the pedestrians who had crowded the street had now disappeared. Shrugging back his cape so it would not interfere with his movements, he curled his long fingers around the hilt of his sword. "Neither of your alternatives appeals to me," he drawled. "Be good enough to step aside, and I'll return the favor by making no more of this incident."

The trio from Southwark laughed loudly, but the sound died in their throats when Lawrence drew his sword and pricked the leader's throat with its point. With a delicate flick of his blade he sliced the dirty scarf that was wrapped around the man's neck, then deftly cut a button from the jacket of each of the others. He was still smiling as his sword danced in the watery sunlight for an instant, then once more hovered in the vicinity of the spokesman's Adam's apple.

"I don't like it when my orders aren't obeyed," he said, impaling his' victim's cap on the point of his sword and casting the headgear into a slimy pool beside the road.

The leader of the group, white-faced and servile, stammered an apology of sorts while his companions inched away from him.

But Lawrence's manner turned ominous and his blade suddenly whipped back and forth in a vicious semi-circle.

"Stand aside!" he commanded.

The thieves shrank against the nearest buildings and offered no further resistance, while Lawrence, undisturbed by the incident, resumed his walk. Having gauged the temper of his opponents, he realized they were too frightened to rush him from behind.

Dismissing the matter from his mind, he continued toward his destination, the tailoring establishment of the Brothers Radford on Prince Henry Street, the thoroughfare named after King James' elder son who was still mourned almost twenty years after his untimely death.

A pleasant surprise awaited him at the tailoring shop where all three of the Brothers Radford greeted him obsequiously.

They had been expecting him, they said, ever since receiving a letter about him from Captain Elfrith.

Lawrence, alarmed when they began to spread their most expensive merchandise in front of him,' hastened to explain that his funds were limited. He did not bother to tell them that, unlike so many of the freebooters, he was not a man of means. Vengeance against the Spaniards, not profit, had been the motive for his buccaneering activities. But the Radfords waved aside his protests. Captain Elfrith, they insisted, had demanded that they clothe him in the best possible style, and since Elfrith was an old and valued customer, they intended to obey him to the letter. Lawrence's credit in their house was unlimited, they said, as Captain Elfrith had informed them in confidence that he had come to England to perform a special mission for the Earl of Warwick, The Earl was as generous as he was wealthy, the brothers declared, and as he himself did them the honor of patronizing their establishment, they knew him well.

Lawrence, unaccustomed to such glib tactics, was baffled by their smooth insistence, and therefore purchased a number of items as gaudy as those at which he had smiled.

After two hours of fittings he was led before a pier glass, and blinking, scarcely recognized himself. His white velvet coat had flaring skirts, and its contrasting sleeves of red silk, the Radfords assured him, were in the latest mode.

Over his doublet he wore a red leather belt with a large pearl buckle decorating his chest.

He wore a wide, white linen collar, edged with Dutch lace, and his black velvet breeches were tucked into knee-high boots of the softest white leather. A huge, white ostrich plume curled around his high-crowned beaver hat, his knee-length black cape was lined with bright red satin, and dangling from his belt was a small tobacco box of solid gold, with an inlaid looking glass. This, the Radfords assured him as they presented him with a bill for the staggering sum of two hundred and seventy-three guineas, was the newest of new accessories, and no gentleman could afford to appear in public without one.

As Lawrence made his way to the Scarlet Hare, a small inn in the hostelry district of Fleet Street where he had engaged a room, he told himself it was now urgently necessary for his mission to succeed. He had no idea how much money the Earl of Warwick would offer him in return for his services, but he felt certain he would leave England with a purse as empty as it was at this moment, regardless of the extent of the Earl's generosity.

The proprietor of the Scarlet Hare, judging him on his appearance, promptly charged him three shillings instead of two for his room and demanded a ha' penny for the sheet of parchment he needed to write a letter informing the Earl of Warwick of his arrival.

The communication was soon prepared and dispatched by messenger, and Lawrence, hungry after his morning's activities, repaired to the common room of the inn where he ate a simple meal of fried eels garnished with whiting, a mutton and kidney pie, a rib of beef and a chicken stuffed with chestnut and sage dressing.

When he returned to his room he was gratified to find a brief letter bearing the Warwick seal waiting for him.

Breaking it open, he quickly read the brief message which stated that the Earl would receive him that evening at six.

He was delighted that Robert Rich, like himself, was not a man who allowed time to slip through his fingers. With any luck he would make an appearance at Whitehall within the week, present his arguments in favor of a more stringent policy toward Spain to the King and sail for Bermuda on the next barque leaving for the New World. So, he reasoned, he would be there by spring, when the sea lanes once more would be filled with galleons taking precious cargo from America to the vaults of the Spanish grandees.

Lawrence curbed his eager impatience for the rest of the afternoon, which he spent studying the notes he had made after each raid in which he had participated. It would be best, he thought, to be prepared for any questions the Earl might care to ask him. He left his room an hour before the appointed time, and, dressed in his new finery, strolled slowly to the lower end of the Strand, where the Warwick mansion was located.

The bell of a nearby church tolled six times as he approached the gate of the four-story house and announced himself to the liveried servant on duty there. Few homes in London were the equal of the magnificent house that Robert Rich had built for himself, and Lawrence looked with interest at the extensive grounds, the imposing stone building that stood in the center of the property and the complex of kitchens, stables and servants' quarters that formed a semi-circle behind it.

A butler in silk livery and a powdered wig was waiting in the mirrored entrance hall of the mansion, and led the guest through several ornately furnished antechambers to a marble staircase located in the middle of the building.

The doors at the far sides of these small reception and sitting rooms were open, and Lawrence caught a glimpse of the main dining hall, a huge room with two enormous crystal chandeliers hanging from its ceiling. He noticed the library, too, and was impressed by the long rows of books on every wall.

The marble in the broad stairs was worth a prince's ransom, and the slender, graceful railing at the right side of the steps was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The Earl, Lawrence reflected, might be a patron of the Puritans but he certainly didn't share their taste for simple and severe living.

As the butler led the way down a long corridor, Lawrence realized that everywhere they walked there were rugs underfoot, a luxury in which not even royalty indulged.

A double door stood at the far end of the hallway, and Lawrence expected that he was about to be admitted to the main hall of the house. To his surprise, however, when the servant tapped politely on the wood panel, a faintly husky woman's voice called out permission to enter, and a moment later the visitor found himself in an overwhelmingly feminine sitting room. Lace frills decorated the peach satin drapes, there were similar frills on the arms of the chairs and the scent of a faintly sweet, exotic perfume permeated the air.

The Earl wasn't there, but sitting on a divan at the far end of the room, beneath a double window, was an exceptionally attractive woman in her early thirties. Her blonde hair was curled and piled over a high wire frame, and it was a moment or two before Lawrence realized that it was sprinkled with small diamonds. The stiff front of her tight-fitting bodice emphasized her breasts by pushing them up to the wide, low neck of velvet gown, and her shoulders were set off by a high, stiff collar of lace sewn to the back of her dress. Her skirt, over its drum-shaped hoop, showed more of her yellow silk stockings than was considered proper.

Her full mouth, heavily rouged, assumed a slight pout when in repose, a diamond pasted onto a beauty patch studded her high left cheekbone and her large, heavy-lidded hazel eyes surveyed Lawrence lazily. He had known many women in the years he had been alone in the world, and experience had taught him to distinguish a harlot from a lady; this woman was a trollop, he told himself, but hastily repressed the thought as the butler bent his back respectfully.

"Your ladyship, Master Harlow," the man said, and withdrew.

"You are the Countess of Warwick?" Lawrence asked.

"Of course." She smiled and demonstrated the informality of her welcome by extending her hand, blazing with sapphires and emeralds.

As Lawrence raised her fingers to his lips, he had to curb an impulse to remove his hat. It was now the fashion for a gentleman to wear his headgear in the house, and he didn't want to appear gauche.

"I trust you enjoyed your journey?" She waved him to a seat opposite her, so near that their knees almost brushed.

"Sea voyages are no novelty to me, milady," he replied dryly.

"To be sure." Her throaty laugh sounded intimate. "How careless of me to forget." The Countess reached out to a table beside her, filled two silver goblets with sack and handed one to Lawrence. "According to the stories I've heard, you're rather a ferocious warrior. I must confess, though, that you look surprisingly mild and gentle to me.

And rather elegant."

He always felt uncomfortable when women chose to amuse themselves by discussing him with such objective calm. "I save my ferocity for the Spaniards," he told her.

"And as for my elegance, it's newly acquired. I bought these clothes only today."

"Ah, you did get them, then." Her eyes opened wide for an instant, and looked shrewd, calculating. Then she raised her goblet to her lips, and again appeared languorous.

Lawrence was surprised that she knew so much about him. "You heard I was intending to purchase them?"

"Naturally. Captain Elfrith made a full report to my husband."

He wondered why he gleaned the impression that she was a trifle uneasy. "Our success in this world," she added airily, recovering, "is due to our ability to gather thousands upon thousands of details."

"How interesting," Lawrence murmured politely, and wondered what to say next.

The Countess saved him the trouble by reaching forward unexpectedly and stroking the scar on his face. "Did you get this decoration in a personal duel or a fight with the Spaniards?" Her touch was lingering, like a caress.

"It was a gift of the Spaniards." If she weren't the wife of one of the most prominent nobles in the land, he would swear she was inviting his advances.

"When you mention Spaniards, something happens to your voice and your face," she said, shivering slightly.

"You must hate them very much."

"I do." Lawrence hoped he didn't sound rude, but had no intention of discussing his feelings on the subject with the Countess or any other woman.

"My husband and I think very highly of them," she replied, and laughed mockingly. "So much of our wealth comes from them that we'd feel quite lost if it weren't for the fat treasure ships of King Philip and the greedy Count of Olivares."

Lawrence joined her laugh, and she refilled their goblets to the brim from a silver decanter bearing the Warwick crest. When she raised her cup in salute, he had no choice but to follow her example. "Has milord Earl been detained?" he asked delicately.

"Milord Earl is always detained." The sudden bitterness of her tone startled him, and he had the strange feeling that a mask had fallen away from her face. Her mouth sagged at the corners, her eyes were abruptly venomous." Milord Earl keeps himself busy every day and every night.

He has his finger in every pudding in England that might show a profit. Some men would be satisfied if they had reached his station, but he won't be content until he's been made a duke. Didn't you know?"

Lawrence, embarrassed at being exposed to the facts of domestic disharmony in the Warwick household, merely shook his head. There was a brief silence, and then the Countess regained her composure. She shrugged, and in that single gesture seemed to forget the problems caused by her marriage. Draining her goblet, she peered at Lawrence over its rim, and in her hazel eyes was a bold, speculative challenge that no man could mistake. Her frank sensuality drew him to her, of course, and he wanted her, but at the time he warned himself to watch his step.

They were strangers, and he realized that any reasonably attractive man would arouse her interest in her present mood. She was restless and disgruntled and, like the wives of several of Bermuda's ships' captains who lived lonely lives while their husbands roamed the Caribbean, she was searching for relief from her boredom. Nevertheless, he thought, he had come to England to join forces with the Earl in a cause that meant much to both of them, and it would be foolhardy to jeopardize his mission by giving in to his desire for the wanton Countess.

He had reminded himself during the ten weeks of the voyage on the Albatross that the time had come for him to mend his ways and build toward a solid, secure future.

In the past decade and more he had risked his life repeatedly, but he had acquired only his scars and a reputation for gallantry that would be of little use to him if he were severely wounded.

Several of his friends had urged him to pay more attention to the taking of plunder and less to the extermination of Spaniards, and he knew they were right. His sergeant-major, Jimmy O'Ryan, who had an unerring instinct for the location of bullion in the holds of Spanish ships, soon would be in a position to retire, and Lawrence, knowing that only a few years remained before the life of a professional raider would become too arduous for him, had made up his mind to follow O'Ryan's example. Certainly if his dealings with Warwick proved successful and together they persuaded King James to sanction their attacks on Spanish shipping and grant them the right to assault the colonies of New Spain, he would make a small fortune in the next year or two.

"Perhaps I'd better return later, when his lordship comes home," he suggested.

"If you leave now," the Countess retorted, "I'll consider it a personal insult. Unless," she added, her eyes narrowing, "you find my company distasteful."

"Certainly not, milady I" Lawrence protested vigorously.

Mollified, she patted his arm, let her hand trail down his sleeve and then made herself at ease by leaning back against some embroidered cushions. She looked her most attractive with her head thrown back, for her posture called attention to her out-thrust breasts. For a long moment she neither moved nor spoke; aware that her pose was seductive, she let desire build within him. "Are you by any chance married?" she asked suddenly, her tone indicating that his reply, whether affirmative or negative, would have no effect on their relationship.

"No, milady."

"Surely you have a mistress in Bermuda, then."

It was Lawrence's turn to smile and shrug. The Countess had guessed correctly, but he had no desire to talk about Mercedes Wilcox, the elder of two orphaned, well-to-do sisters, with whom he had been conducting a passionate romance for the better part of a year. He had long ago realized that he should marry Mercedes, whose background and education entitled her to be considered a lady.

His reluctance to make her his wife was the direct result of blind prejudice, nothing more. Her mother was the daughter of Don Alonso of Toledo, and Lawrence realized that he shrank from the idea of marriage to a girl who was half-Spanish.

However, his life in Bermuda had nothing to do with the Countess of Warwick.

Stung by his silence, she rose to her feet and stood directly before him, her hands on her hips. "Several members of the court have their own quaint ideas of pleasure, and a rather alarming number of our more handsome young gentlemen take no interest in women," she said, and although her tone was flat, her inference was plain.

Lawrence knew she was goading him, but felt compelled to take exception to her implication. He laughed, rather boisterously.

The Countess raised a plucked and painted eyebrow and, as he stood, she twisted and inclined her body toward him.

"Oh?"

He reached for her then, and was about to take her into his arms, but forced his hands back to his sides. She was bewildered and gazed up at him inquiringly. Lawrence, unable to reply verbally, glanced significantly at the closed double doors.

"I wouldn't have suspected you of cowardice," she said, not moving.

"Prudence is not cowardice, milady," he told her, wishing the scent he had first noticed when he had come into the room was not so insistent. " I've traveled many thousands of miles for a specific purpose, and I'd hate to let a lack of discretion ruin my future."

The hazel eyes were dark for an instant. Then they softened and the Countess, stepping forward, slowly curled her arms around Lawrence's neck. "His lordship," she murmured, her voice very quiet but distinct, "has been ca11ed away by one of those crises that occur every day of his life and can be resolved only by him. Under no circumstances is it possible that he'll return before eight o'clock."

Lawrence hesitated no longer, and although he realized that the Countess had undoubtedly thrown herself at many other men in this same way, her proximity and the knowledge that she was his for the taking made the temptation too strong to resist. Accordingly, he pulled her to him, bending his head, and her lips parted to receive his kiss.

She responded to him with savage ardor and pressed against him while her arms circled his neck. Lawrence, startled by the intensity of her passion, began to caress her soft, sleek flesh and suddenly discovered that in some inexplicable fashion her clothes had dropped away from her left shoulder, which was now bare. Her skin was smooth and cool to the touch and when he cupped her pulsing, pink-tipped breast in his hand he awoke stormy appetites in both of them.

Kissing her again, violently, he thought dimly that he had never made love to a more demanding and ardent woman.

The Countess' long nails raked the back of his neck and dug into his arms. She strained against him in wanton frenzy, all the enticing curves and hollows of her lush body blending against his lean, hard length. Her hair came undone and her eyes turned hot and luminous as she gave herself up in complete surrender to his impassioned caresses.

After a long, dizzying moment during which the world seemed to be spinning around them, the Countess pushed herself free of Lawrence's embrace. There was a heightened coloring to her face and her breathing was ragged and uneven.

She stared avidly at him, then hurried toward the adjoining bedroom beckoning him to follow. As she minced across the room in her high heels she unhooked her gown, freed the voluminous petticoats from her legs. When he joined her in the bedroom she was completely naked and yielded herself to him with an agonized moan. He forgot everything then in the wild tumult of their union.