Murders not withstanding, it's a very long first night. Including Rogers flashbacks of events between S2 and S3

(Warning: explicit sex scenes.)

Chapter 19 - The Pearl

As she lay in his arms - relaxed, her head in the pit of his arm, her body fitted to his - Rogers stroked her arm gingerly with the tip of his fingers. Her hand rested on his slowly beating heart and her nails fooled around with his chest hair. His mind was a sea of jumbling and contented memories. He licked his lips and smiled at the taste of Her, like the beach or a sea breeze. Her shuddering moan and breath, while her fingers pulled at his hair, as he had sucked on her shiny, pink pearl hidden below the downy hair of her mound and crowning the petals of her deep, pink flower, was still fresh in his memory. And the recollection of her involuntarily spasms, her pushing him away while simultaneously giggling and whining, "Stop! Please, stop!" when he continued to suckle made him grin.

Eleanor shifted beneath his arm, and he glanced across his nose at her. "You liked that, no?" Her sole answer was a shy simper, a blush and burying her face from view in his chest. I liked it too. And come to think he had lambasted his friend Clipperton in the Talbot over his offensive speech once.

"So, I've been to the trial of your Queen of Nassau. Makes you wonder what is beneath the hood of that icy exterior," said Clipperton. "Is she blonde everywhere? I betcha that all that ice melts away if you tickle her." Though John liked to dress as a gentleman, he was anything but, with a temper that flared easily but made amends just as quickly.

Rogers rolled his eyes. "Don't be gross."

Defoe said, "She is pretty for a pirate. It would be a pity to see such beauty hanged."

"Ah, she's not going to hang," declared Clipperton with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Our governor-to-be here will offer her life for her help as informant." He waggled his eyebrows at Rogers. "He just wants to make her squirm first, you bastard."

Alexander Selkirk joined them with a new set of pints. When Rogers first met him on Juan Fernando, he was healthy looking, strong and cheerful. But his return to England and Scotland had turned him to drink and brawling again. Even his health had declined. He could outdo John easily in crassness. "I'd have her squirm and rub my red moustache against her blond beard until she pleads for mercy. Would save you the hassle of a trial." He shook his head and wiggled the droopy prongs of his moustache. "I love nothing more than the glow on a woman's face after that."

Clipperton hooted. "That's my man. Is that how you got that dairymaid to elope with you to London, with your tongue? Where is she by the way?"

"I seem to have misplaced her." Selkirk and Clipperton laughed in unison.

The two men had sailed together on the expedition with Dampier in 1703. Alexander ended up marooned, while John ended up a captive of the Marquis of Villa-Rocha for four years. In the end, John returned to England a year after Rogers had saved and brought Selkirk back to England. Their vulgar talk had rarely bothered Rogers before. Despite the differences in family background and station, the sailor world as he had known it in Newfoundland was the sole company where Rogers felt he could be more himself. Not that he would ever be provoked into coarse language like them, but none of these men recoiled at the sight of his scar or judged him for his rasher bravery.

Something had provoked him that evening though. "Enough!" Rogers had slammed the palm of his hand on the table. "Miss Guthrie might be a pirate, but she comes from a finer stock than you two buccaneers. I won't stand for such talk about a lady."

"Oooh," said Selkirk with a leer. "Sounds like our Mr. Rogers here actually likes the pirate he caught."

"Not in the least," Rogers replied coolly. "I don't find her particularly attractive, and I would have preferred it if Captain Hume had caught those I actually wanted – the father and Flint. But I do admire how she managed to have such control over thousand pirates. The manner in which she carries herself during this trial not only shows her mettle but her class as well."

"You just don't want our words to ring as a memory in your ears whenever you have a tête à tête with her," griped Clipperton, while he nudged Selkirk with his elbow. "Get it? That's fancy French for head to head."

Guffawing, Selkirk spit ale, while Rogers slammed his fist in Clipperton's face and Defoe clung to him to prevent him from doing any more damage. Baffled, John tested his broken lip and swiped blood, while rage flared hotly in his dark eyes. Before Clipperton could swing at him though, Selkirk jumped on John to prevent an actual brawl. Clipperton shrugged Alexander off, muttering, "I'll be fine. It's not worth it." And then to Rogers he said by way of apology. "I'll buy you a drink. You're right. It's no way to talk about a fine lady."

That had settled the matter, but darn Clipperton for being right. When he sat at her desk in her prison cell, while she wrote down the name of Charles Vane on a piece of paper and he studied her face for the first time from that close, some of that vulgar talk did ring in his ears and he even developed the onset of an erection. He had looked at her from the very beginning with an eye to censure in beauty and in character, but time and acquaintance had hushed the critic. Now, he started to believe the detractor had been born out of fear for his heart, a lie to drown out his soul murmuring that she could make him her slave the very first instant he had laid eyes on her.

"Yes, Dyson. What is it?" he had said when his manservant appeared in his library of his rented London home.

"A gentleman has come calling, sir. He says he's the Captain of the HMS Scarborough, Captain Hume, and he just arrived from the Bahamas at port with a prize, as you requested."

Rogers dropped his pen and stood. "Show the man in, Dyson. This is great news! At last!" He welcomed the Naval Captain with a broad smile. "My manservant just told me the good news. You have Richard Guthrie!"

The captain raised his eyebrows. "Alas, you have been misinformed, Mr. Rogers. Richard Guthrie is dead, murdered by pirates." He was not a tall man, of average height, like himself, but broad around the waist and rosy cheeked. His voice was surprisingly high pitched and he spoke with a slight lisp.

Baffled, Rogers blinked, but remembered his manners. "You have been on a long voyage, Captain." He called out to his servant. "Dyson, bring us some refreshment." He waved at his lounge chairs. "Sit, please. And you must stay for dinner this afternoon."

"Very much obliged, sir," said Captain Hume. He took off his hat, laid it down and eased himself in the lounge chair. All of his demeanor told Rogers that Captain Hume was a second or third son of nobility. Since such men did not stand to inherit in most cases, they usually had to make a living elsewhere, in the army or the navy.

"So, Richard Guthrie was murdered, you say." Rogers pressed his lips together. "A great pity." Without Richard he feared that he could forget further aid from Boston, and Richard was probably the sole man who could have transferred him all of Nassau smoothly for a pardon.

"As Governor Tailer requested I sailed for Harbour Island from Boston to arrest Richard Guthrie and hunt Captain Flint for you more than half a year ago," the captain began his report. He disclosed how he happened upon both Flint and Richard at Richard Guthrie's home. "I could have caught the two birds with one stone."

Eager, Rogers sat up on the edge of his lounge chair. "You got Flint for me?"

Captain Hume sighed. "I wish it were so, but alas, not him either. Had I known Flint and several of his crew were there, I might have come with a bigger force, but unfortunately we were outnumbered. Both birds flew to New Providence, where I was expressly forbidden to go."

Rogers sighed and nodded. "I understand, Captain. So, Richard sought refuge with the pirates."

Dyson entered with a bottle of wine and glasses, and Rogers offered them to the captain with an obliging smile. Although in fact Rogers started to get impatient with the captain who did not return with the two men Hume had been sent out to retrieve. Having moved into these circles for a few years now though, Rogers knew to smile, appear interested and allow the arrogant windbag to take all the time he wanted to finally get to his point.

"I lay at anchor at Harbour Island for a fortnight, awaiting Captain Bryson of the Guthrie enterprise in Boston." Captain Hume folded his hands together. "He is their best captain. Sailed Velazquez' route for a decade and was never bordered. The Guthries of Boston entrusted him with the mission to liquidate Richard Guthrie's holdings, warehouses and the rest of his business in Nassau as well as cooperate with me to set up a trap for Captain Flint." Finally, Rogers actually started to get intrigued by Hume's story. "A brave and loyal man, sir, this Bryson," said Hume. "When the captain learned that Richard had fled to New Providence, he volunteered to go to Nassau, pretending as if everything was normal in order to gain access to Richard. He assured me that he could make Richard see reason to assure the implosion of commerce on the island in return for pardons in Boston."

"And did it work?"

Hume grinned. "Sort of. Richard dissolved the business and sought refuge in the interior with the settlers."

"Do they know of my coming?" Rogers suddenly asked worried. The least the pirates knew, the better.

"No. They only know that England's eye has fallen on Nassau, but not how, who or when. Not even Bryson knew such particulars."

Reassured, Rogers breathed a little more relaxed and gestured, "Please go on, Captain."

Captain Hume continued his story, how Bryson had set up a trap to lure Flint into open sea and help Hume catch him. "Unfortunately we only caught up with Flint and the Andromache by nightfall. Flint made sure to stay under the cover of darkness. Bryson sacrificed himself and blew up his ship with gun powder so I could locate him. Flint sailed off before I could get to him, however, not without losing one of his own crew members, whom I fished out of sea. I convinced the young man to see reason."

"Convinced him how?"

"Had him tied underneath soaked leather left to dry on the beach," Hume said with some glee that made Rogers dislike the captain. "I offered him and nine men of his choosing pardons if he could deliver me Flint." Hume sniffed his nose and shook his head. "To be truthful, I never saw that young man again, but ten others showed up – Captain Hornigold and nine of Flint's crew - with an entirely different prisoner - Richard's daughter, Eleanor Guthrie."

At this point Rogers raised his eyebrows skeptically. "And what use is she to me?"

Captain Hume smiled, sat back, took the glass of wine and sipped from it. "Richard Guthrie ran the fencing operation from his fine looking house at Royal Harbour, but it was his daughter who oversaw his business in Nassau herself."

Rogers eyebrows lifted even higher. "Richard had his daughter deal with the pirates?" What sort of father was that? And what woman would even do that?

"Oh, yes. You wanted the head of pirate commerce and a cunning fighter pirate willing to hunt other pirates? Richard is dead and Flint is God knows where. Admittedly, Captain Hornigold is not that young anymore, but experience makes up for a lot. And well, Eleanor, if ever anyone knows the pirates and how to control them it is she. It was all I could do in the time allotted to me."

That's what I have to work with – an old pirate who had been semi-retired already and some unnatural woman. He pictured her as some hideous creature whom Richard had to hide from the rest of the world to scare those pirates into obeying him – a dragon whom the pirates themselves would not even lift a finger at.

"Under normal circumstances," said Hume, "I should hand her to the Admiralty for her abetting in the treasonous practices of High Sea Piracy. But since you intended to make Richard your ally with a pardon to begin with and the Admiralty cooperates with whatever you require, I thought I would let you decide, first."

"You haven't turned her over yet?"

"No, sir."

"She's still aboard the Scarborough?"

Hume nodded. "If you wish it so, I can bring her here. Though I must warn you that she is far less reasonable than her father - and less of a coward. She barely ever knew civilization. Even tried to set up a consortium with pirates after her father dissolved their business - a true Pirate Queen. Not even her grandfather would lift a finger to protect her. Truth to be told. I think he'd rather see her hang than live."

Deep in thought and deliberation, Rogers met Hume's eyes. The captain seemed to enjoy this. Rogers dropped his arm onto the armchair. "I will not stand between you, your legal duty and your superiors, Captain. I trust your opinion in this. A trial and a conviction may make her see reason."

After dinner, he escorted the captain to port and his ship, intending to return home immediately. But on the last minute, he changed his mind and told his driver to wait, just when Captain Hume and soldiers escorted Eleanor Guthrie, gagged and bound, across the plank. Rogers hardly could believe his eyes. If looks could kill, Captain Hume should have been long dead. But as fierce and angry as her eyes were, she was some dainty, fair looking young creature. Not a dragon at all.

For a moment, he almost instinctively had the urge to leave the carriage and order Captain Hume to escort her to his house, where he would offer her a pardon and reveal to her she need not fear him – some protective instinct. Cunning, false and manipulative, Captain Hume had called her though during dinner. And so, Rogers reminded himself that a fair exterior was nothing but a deception, and said, "Drive on, Rogers."

Of course, now Rogers realized that he would not have feared her renowned ability to manipulate if he himself had not felt vulnerable to her charms to begin with. He took Eleanor's hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips.

Dozing, Eleanor floated on a sea of warm, gentle emotions and contentment. The image of him coming to her, already naked, and saying, "Let me," to lift her chemise still burned into her memory.

He had gathered the silk of her underdress between his fingers around her hips and lifted it over her outstretched arms in one fell swoop. Then he held her chemise to his nose, while staring into her eyes, before he dropped it on the floor and pushed her shoulders to make her sit down on the bed.

"Lie down," he had murmured and pulled the sashes of her stockings loose to unroll them, while he kissed her foot when first one and then the other dropped onto the floor. He reclined beside her and whispered, "I want to kiss you…"

As if under a spell, she had been unable to speak and solely nodded in answer. Of course you can kiss me. She adored kissing him. But he meant kissing all of her. He began with her lips, tongue, mouth, but then moved on to her throat, neck and nibbled and suckled her earlobe in such a way that she came to believe she could reach an orgasm if he solely did that for the next half hour. Even his feathering kisses on the inside of her arm, her wrist and the palm of her hand coursed through her like tremors and shockwaves. Like a meticulous explorer he left no skin of her unchartered, and she was ever captivated in curiosity which section he would investigate next. Of course he had surveyed her breasts and her nipples – and the tip of his tongue trailing her areola and suckling of her nipple awoke a slow heating fire within - but also the sensitive skin between and underneath them. Oh, and her stomach and bellybutton. She never knew that her knees were that ticklish and yet she never wanted him to stop grazing his teeth over them. It had become a sweet torture of jolts.

At last, he had nudged her legs open and whispered hoarsely, "here," as if all the preceding agonizing kisses had been a long pause before finishing his sentence.

Eleanor had tensed in anticipation, her breath was shallow and her heart beat a thousand thousand. But he made no move, until she finally lifted her head and gave her consent. She had shivered and quivered like a feather when he blew a breath on her, then barely touched her with the tip of his tongue. She shuddered when he pressed both lips on her and she melted when his warm tongue swiveled around to give her the most of exquisite pleasures. Whether this was a glorious hymn in heaven or positively sinful mattered not. She had wrapped her hand on his head and pushed her hips up, wanting more. When he started to suckle that divine, throbbing treasure of bundled pleasure doused nerves, all awareness unraveled and her mind went into oblivion, except for the wish that he would never stop. Only after she had become completely undone – she had no knowledge of time between beginning and ending - could she hear her own husky moans and sobs and thought for a moment she must have cramped a curling toe. And yet he still did not stop, and it was fast becoming too much, too ticklish, painful almost, oversaturated with delight, and she attempted to scramble away from his kiss. No more. Enough.

She had curled up on her side, to come back to earth and awareness, when he settled against her back, caressed her ass, kissed her earlobe and thrust inside her. That was a pleasure she could bear, and she met him by moving her buttocks in his lap and sought his mouth with hers. It was not long before he came hard breathing and fast, whispering her name. Since then, she had been smiling blissfully, hovering happily, feeling loved. And just to think it had all began very differently, after he asked her to stay.

Rogers remembered every delicious moment of it. Instead of a chest laden with gems and pearls, he had discovered one round, pink pearl on an island, hidden in a forest of soft, blonde curly hair and pink folds. With patient kisses and licks it shyly came out of its shell in all its glistening luster and excellent orient. It was as if she herself had entrusted him that pearl with its hard, hot and silky texture. And as he made love to it, he enwrapped himself with the wonder of her, hearing, feeling and seeing her in rapture of the pleasure only he gave her. How he had labored, patiently, not in darkness, but in the pouring candlelight of the many chandeliers. And there had been nothing crass about it. No, it had been an act of poetry. While he lay there, her snug in his arms and himself sated, he thought, I may be in moral error, but this is no madness. Could be no madness. It was beautiful. It was joy. Look at how she glows! An accident got her caught in his pirate trap, but now he felt himself fortunate in every sense. A thousand thousand. And yet, he could have done it all wrong but an hour ago.

His head had been so full of what Vane had done to her, the understanding of the man's hold on her, that when Eleanor intended to leave him by himself, the greedy clutches of jealousy overwhelmed him. The thought of Eleanor walking off to lay in a "pirate's bed"; it was too much, even though Vane had never actually slept in it. In truth, he had felt that spike of jealousy before, when she admitted that Vane had been her lover. But she is mine now. And only mine. She gave herself to me.

When he whispered her to stay, he felt like a beggar, clutching at straws instead of fisting her petticoat. He dragged her to him, pressing his mouth onto hers, passionately. The desire to possess her was ferocious. He ripped open her mantua, tore at the laces of her stay, enough to loosen it and cup a breast. His mouth lunged for her nipple, sucking it hard, grazing it with his teeth. And as they whirled around, struggling with clothes and limbs, they bumped into his desk. Items fell on the floor with a clangor. The chandelier wavered dangerously. He lifted her and set her on the desk and he tried to get the petticoat out of his way as he brazenly sucked her tongue into his mouth. She seemed to answer his lust in kind, for her fingers flew to unbutton him. Next, her delicate, cool fingers wrapped around his engorged cock and massaged him. Her thumb brushed across his tip, smearing the lubricating drop around. He had hissed in response.

What followed was a tug of war with clothes, limbs and tongues to get her beneath him, so he could fully claim her, fill her. He shoved her legs open, jerking his cock off for more lubrication and guiding himself to seek entrance, bumping against her inner thigh. He felt her hand at her mound and realized she tried to make herself wet enough for him. He opened his eyes and stared at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were drawn to their near union and her brow was furrowed with an anxious frown. This is wrong, he realized suddenly. Was this how it was for her with Vane? A complete act of abandonment, of lust. He did not just wish to replace Vane. Rogers did not want to be the next man at all. He wanted to be more to her, the man.

Eleanor sat up, leaning her head on her elbow that rested on his chest. "What made you change your mind?"

"Huh?"

"The desk," she whispered and lowered her eyes.

He reached for her face, caressed her cheek with his knuckles and tugged some of her blond tresses behind her ear. "It felt wrong, for our first night. You deserve better." Then he squinted at her. "Why? Would you have preferred it?"

She blushed and buried her head in his chest. "No." She peeked again from her hiding place. "Well, I mean. I'm certain I would like it. But it would have been different."

One moment they had stood frozen, Rogers exhaling into her neck as he tugged at her skirt. Next, he was rough, impatient. And she had tried to cup his face, but his face lunged for her breast. A part of her, that wild part, was inherently excited to witness such animalistic passion in him. It was the type of ardor that had always excited her with Charles. Now why was she thinking of Charles? And when he shoved her legs open, she quickly licked her fingers to lubricate herself. Yes, she had thought as she surrendered, drive the memory of him out of there. But when nothing happened, Eleanor opened her eyes and stared into his deep blue eyes that had a wildness about them that she had rarely seen before. His face hovered over her, panting, his scar angrily illuminated in the shadows and dancing flames of the candles. Why do you stop, she thought.

Eyes softening, Rogers had planted an almost pious kiss on her lips, stroked her face with his hands, leaning his forehead against hers. Next, he wrapped one arm beneath her legs, and the other around her back and carried her to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his boots. Her heart felt like bursting as he set her down carefully on the floor. Why is he so wonderful to me? He slid his hands across her cheek, traced the tip of her nose with his finger, lifted her chin and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Rogers took a step back, turned around and began to undress – the jacket, the waistcoat, the stock-tie, toeing off his boots.

"Will she ever come here?" Eleanor bit her lower lip, ashamed of asking about his wife.

Rogers flicked his eyes at her. He shook his head. "She and I are separated."

"Why?" If he can be this wonderful to me, then why had his wife ever let him go? She must be crazy!

Rogers blew a long breath, and disengaged his arm from her. She frowned at being pushed away from him. He got up, put on his men's gown, and padded to his private office to pour himself a glass of limewater. He returned with a glass for her as well and sat on the side of the bed, with his back to her. "Sarah and I were young. She had it all planned out though, our life." He drank from his glass. "Life rarely happens exactly as we plan it. Instead there was financial loss, and then I left on my voyage for three years, left my family. I wasn't even there when our third child was born, a daughter. I lost my brother." He shifted and turned his head to her and pointed at his cheek. "Came back with this, full of bitterness, grief and bile. More financial loss. Our child died. I could not forgive her. She could not forgive me. It was all broken and impossible to repair."

Eleanor sat up, letting the sheet drop away from her chest. She traced his scar again, and he closed his eyes, sighed and pressed his head into her hand. "You still love her."

Rogers opened his eyes, pressing her hand to his cheek. "I always will. She is the mother of my children, even if I barely know them myself."

She dropped her hand. It finally dawned on her what it meant to be the mistress of a married man in a civilized Nassau. He could spend a lifetime here with her, never return to England, never see Sarah again, but in the eyes of history and his own, Sarah would always be 'wife and mother'. Eleanor could never be either. She might have the man, but never the status. It confused her, because she had never sought marriage or motherhood. Nor did she care about her reputation. It was that she felt like his wife in her heart, but neither he nor the rest of the world would ever look at her in that way.

Rogers took her hand and brought it to his chest. "Eleanor. Look at me." She glanced up. "I wanted to show you how precious you are to me. You are my pearl, my good fortune. And I'm not going anywhere. I give you my word."

Eleanor decided that having the man was enough for her. She threw her hands around his neck and kissed him. Before long they were kissing like lovers again, while his hands went down to the small of her back, hesitated, and then squeezed her buttocks as he pressed her against him.

She pulled him back into bed, while he undid the sash of his robe, shrugged out of it and mumbled in between the kiss. "God, woman, you're going to exhaust me."

(The Talbot: historical pub in London, originally The Tabard (see also Canterbury Tales, Chaucer). After a fire in 1676 a new inn was rebuilt at the same site and renamed as the Talbot.

John Clipperton: sailed with Woodes Rogers' book. He returned to England in 1712, while Selkirk returned with Rogers in 1711. A Pacific atol in Central America was named after him as Clipperton Island (discovered by the French in 1711). Allegedly, he used it to attack the coastlines of the Spanish Main. In 1719 Clipperton sailed as Captain for a privateering mission against the Spanish, around the world, captured his own previous captor Marquis de Villa-Rocha, governor of Panama, and returned home in 1722, only to die a week later. During this voyage he marooned two men on Juan Fernandez as punishment.

Selkirk: became a celebrity after his rescue. After a few months in London he became his pre-marooned self - a brawler. He was charged with assault of a shipwright in 1713 in Bristol. He may have been kept in confinement for the ensuing two years. After Bristol he returned to Scotland where he met the dairymaid Sophia Bruce and eloped with her in 1717 to London. He never seemed to have married her at all. He enlisted with the Royal Navy and went back to sea on the HMS Seaworth on anti-piracy patrols off the West coast of Africa. He married a widow and innkeep Frances Candis in Plymouth in 1720. He died of yellow fever in December 1721 off the coast of Africa, Ghana, and was buried at sea.

Structure:the 'present time' and sole chronological scenes are Rogers' and Eleanor's pillow talk ending with Eleanor's insecurities regarding Sarah (parallels Rogers' jealousy of Vane). The sexual flashbacks are in reverse order - from Eleanor's climax to Rogers' original intent. The desk scene parallels Vane-Eleanor's first sex scene in S1(lust). Rogers puts his lust aside and makes love to her with a kiss. He is the seducer here. Rogers' not actively recalling that he penetrated her afterwards and climaxed, while Eleanor does remember it in terms of feeling desired and wanted. This emphasizes Eleanor as a love interest in Rogers' POV and parallels S2 Vane-Eleanor sex scene (softer version).

London Flashbacks: One contrasts the cunnilingus - a vulgar sex talk scene, while the act itself is loving, and the missionary position and pure penetration intent on the desk becomes vulgar in Rogers' mind. The other flashback puts Hume's actions (and Bryson's) in S1 and S2 in a completely different light, as was hinted already. Rogers alone is responsible of Eleanor having to go through the trial. Rogers does an emotional retcon - now, he feels he loved her at first sight (Tempest's Fernando). This is not entirely true. But the chemistry was so strong that Rogers' heart senses he is vulnerable to Eleanor. When he then does give in to this completely (per his act of this chapter), all the thoughts, actions and behavior that attempted to halt the process become mere rationalisations and lies in retrospect.

Cupid & Psyche: a socially unrecognized wedding night, light over dark, sight over hidden, the attempt to climax closely together; Rogers as off-screen plot-mover of Eleanor's fate)