Island Flame (31 page)

“I should think not, my lady,” sniffed Mason, plainly scandalized at the thought. He responded to another tap on the door, relieving the man in the hall of Sir Thomas’s trunk without ever letting him catch a glimpse of Cathy. Cathy smiled. It felt a little strange to be so protected again. She realized that reverting to her rightful role as a high-born lady might require some adjustment. She had become accustomed to freedom on the pirate ship.

Cathy dismissed Mason with a smiling thank-you, and rummaged through her father’s trunk herself. Martha had packed four dresses and a nightgown as well as the necessary underclothes, hairpins, and paraphernalia without which a lady could not claim to be properly attired. Her garments took up a goodly portion of Sir Thomas’s trunk. Mason wouldn’t like that, she thought, grinning. Mason had always been determined to keep her father dressed in the very height of fashion, and if he had consented to turn over some of his master’s precious
luggage space to her needs, then everyone must have been more concerned about her than she had imagined. It was a small sign of devotion, but it touched her as nothing else had done.

One of these dresses would be her wedding gown, she reflected as she shook out the garments. They were all lovely—all her clothes were, as Jon had once remarked—but she had always had visions of marrying in white satin, with a lace veil and a bouquet of orange blossoms. She allowed herself a gentle moment of regret and then decided on a silk dress of a luscious peach, trimmed with yards of creamy Viennese lace. Martha had thoughtfully included the matching slippers, and her truly beautiful matched pearl necklace and earrings. With an elegant hairstyle she would do, she decided, and summoned Mason to iron her dress. While he was gone she bathed her face and hands in the basin of warm water, thinking with a momentary pang of the sweet scents that were most likely reduced to ashes in the ruins of Jon’s house. Martha had pointedly not included any scent.

Cathy struggled into the three petticoats that were
de rigueur
, and laced her stays as well as she could herself. It was lucky that she was naturally slender, she reflected wryly. Somehow she couldn’t quite picture Mason helping her lace.

When he returned with the dress, she had him wait outside the door while she donned it. Once respectably clad, she let him in to do her hair. He was surprisingly handy with a brush and hairpins, and Cathy teased him about his skill. He maintained a dignified silence as he swept her hair up into an elegant Grecian knot. Finally, he passed her a small hand mirror, and Cathy surveyed
her reflection critically. Without conceit she decided that she looked as lovely as she ever had in her life. Under the gentle coaxing of the tropical sun her cheeks had taken on the same glowing color as the dress, while the rest of her complexion, down to the gentle swell of her breasts that was just visible above the frilled neckline, was a lovely creamy white. The perfectly matched pearls were looped twice around her neck to rest with a cool heaviness in the hollow between her breasts. Pearl studs shone delicately pink-white against the lobes of her shell-like ears. Her months with the pirates had given her face a fine-boned purity of outline that had not been apparent before. She looked like a woman now, not a girl, and her cheeks flushed becomingly as she thought about her imminent marriage to the man who had made her so.

Mason went to inform Sir Thomas that she was ready. Cathy forced herself to sit quietly as she awaited her father’s return. Suddenly she wished for a few moments alone with Jon before their wedding. If he truly disliked the idea. … What could she do? She was committed to it now, and so was he. If he disliked the idea, then he would just have to dislike it. She was not going to draw back at this stage. If she were honest, she would admit that she didn’t even want to.

Sir Thomas, when he rejoined her, assured her that all the arrangements had been made. Captain Winslow of the
Lady Chester
would perform the ceremony, and Mason and Sir Thomas himself would be the only witnesses. Besides Captain Winslow, no one outside of the family would know the details of her hasty wedding. And that was the way it should be, her father cautioned. If it became known that her new husband had once been a
pirate, then the respectability that the marriage was supposed to achieve would be destroyed forever.

Cathy was caught by surprise when the door to the cabin swung open after only a perfunctory knock. Sir Thomas frowned at this breach of etiquette on the part of the two sailors detailed to guard the prisoner, but Cathy had eyes only for the man in the middle. His face was bruised and streaked with a combination of gunpowder, soot, and sweat. His clothes were torn and filthy, and his eyes glittered oddly as they moved almost contemptuously over Cathy’s elegant form. She nervously moistened her lips with her tongue, and his expression changed to a savage sneer. It was only as he was thrust roughly forward by his two captors that she saw the heavy chains that swung between his wrists and ankles.

For the second time that day she could neither move nor speak. She could only watch with horrified compassion as he stumbled over the chain that stretched from ankle to ankle. He managed to right himself with an effort, and stood regarding her as her father dismissed the men.

“Well, well,” Jon drawled, when neither Cathy nor her father spoke. “To think that I was worried about you. I should have remembered that cats always land on their feet.”

“Why, you … !” Sir Thomas snarled, taking a hasty step forward. Jon swung around to face him, chains rattling, teeth bared like some savage animal. Cathy ran across to her father’s side, clinging to his arm.

“No, Papa!” she said urgently, her eyes wide as they moved between the two men. Then, in what was almost a whisper, “I want to speak to him alone, Papa. Please.”

“Impossible!” Sir Thomas growled, his eyes narrow with hatred as they fixed on the tall, muscular form of the animal who had abused his daughter. His mouth was dry with bloodlust. If it were not for Cathy’s presence, he would have taken great pleasure in blowing the rogue straight to hell.

“Papa, please!” Cathy repeated, her eyes pleading with him. Sir Thomas looked down at her whitening face, his own softening.

“My dear, it is quite impossible,” he said patiently. “He kidnapped you once before, and he looks quite capable of using you as a hostage again to win his freedom. I’m sorry, child, but there it is.”

“Your father is right, Cathy,” Jon said slowly, his eyes gleaming at her with an expression she found hard to define. “If you come too close I might wrap these chains around that sweet little neck and snap it with a single jerk. Better not risk it.”

“Shut up, you!” Sir Thomas barked, the gun pointing unwaveringly at Jon’s heart. “You can thank my daughter that you’re still alive! If she hadn’t told me of the child that you forced on her, I would have let you hang with great pleasure. As it is, you are going to do what you can to repair her good name!”

“Papa!” Cathy cried in despair as she saw Jon’s face darken ominously. This was not how she planned to tell him! If they could only be alone, she could persuade him that marriage to her would not be the purgatory he was plainly expecting.

“I forced the child on her?” Jon repeated, his voice savagely mocking. “If that’s what she told you, she lies.”

Angry blood rushed into Sir Thomas’s face. It was all
he could do to restrain himself from pulling the trigger. His finger ached with the effort it cost him not to do so. Cathy flushed herself under the stinging taunt of Jon’s words, but she clung steadfastly to her father’s arm.

“I take it you want me to marry her,” Jon said with a viciousness that tore at Cathy’s heart.

“And why not?” she cried, stung. “It’s your child, you know it is, and you share the responsibility for it! The least you can do is make certain that it doesn’t grow up a bastard!”

“You opportunistic little bitch,” Jon snarled, and Cathy whitened under his raking glare.

“If you speak to my daughter in such a manner again, I’ll shoot you down on the spot.” Sir Thomas had regained his composure. His voice was icy cold.

Neither Jon nor Cathy replied. They glared at each other, anger and pain in both pairs of eyes, neither recognizing the other’s hurt. Sir Thomas looked from one to the other and relaxed slightly. He was well satisfied with the way this interview was going. If the bastard kept on in this present frame, Cathy would be hating him before the ceremony was completed.

“And if I refuse?” Jon asked after a long moment.

“You’ll hang,” Sir Thomas responded positively. Cathy bit her lip. Jon’s eyes swung to her.

“Do you agree with that?” he demanded curtly.

Cathy looked at him miserably. “Jon, I know you don’t want to marry me, but I have to think of the baby. I’m sorry.”

“You do agree.” He swung around so that his broad back was turned to them, and swore savagely under his breath. Cathy longed to go to him, sliding her arms
around that hard waist, but both Jon’s own attitude and the presence of her father held her back. There would be time enough for making it up to him after the ceremony, she thought.

“It seems I have little choice,” Jon said coolly at last. The look he turned on Cathy made her flush. “I hope you’re not expecting a proposal in form.”

Cathy flinched from his cruel mockery. He really was a bastard, she thought furiously. Her father had been right. Jon definitely didn’t love her!

Now that the minor matter of the pirate’s consent had been settled, Sir Thomas dealt with the rest of the formalities with his usual efficiency. Less than twenty minutes later Cathy was standing at Jon’s side in front of Captain Winslow, while that bewildered but game gentleman read the words that united them in holy matrimony. She was surprised at the cool sound of her own voice as it made the correct responses. Inside she was a quivery mass of pain. Jon sounded equally composed. Suddenly she found herself hating him. His callous disregard of her needs and the baby’s was despicable!

When Captain Winslow got to the part about the ring, Sir Thomas hurriedly pulled the gold signet from his own finger. In the rush he had forgotten the need to procure a proper wedding band, but that could be attended to once they were safely in England. Jon took the ring from him without a word and slid it onto Cathy’s finger, making as little contact with her as he possibly could in the process. Cathy could have wept at the feel of his warm hand holding hers so distastefully. Whenever she had imagined marrying Jon, it had certainly been nothing like this! His cold dislike of her almost made her sick.

She numbly signed the paper that Captain Winslow held out to her, and Jon wrote his name below hers in a firm black scrawl. Then the captain was pronouncing them man and wife, and Cathy lifted her face to him hopefully. He stared down at her for a moment, his lips twisting in a jeering smile.

“I hope you don’t expect me to give you a chaste bridal kiss after that farce,” he drawled, and, before Cathy could think clearly, she slapped him hard across the face. The mark of her small hand was plainly visible against his dark cheek. He snarled, reaching for her, and his action mobilized the other three men who had been watching the little scene with stunned surprise.

Sir Thomas’s pistol cracked down hard on Jon’s head and Captain Winslow’s caught him on the back of the neck. He went out like a light. Mason ran to the door and bellowed for the guards, who appeared on the double. They dragged Jon away between them while Cathy stood biting on her clenched fist to stop herself from crying out. She had provoked Jon’s violence, she knew, and she bitterly regretted it. She hadn’t meant him to be hurt.

“Papa, could you see that he’s all right?” she asked after a moment, voice low. Her father looked at her sharply, then nodded, shepherding the other two men out of the cabin with him. Cathy was standing over by the window when he returned, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sir Thomas felt a renewed surge of hatred for the pirate.

“He wasn’t hurt, was he, Papa?” she faltered. Sir Thomas crossed the room to her, putting his arm around her waist. Cathy clung to him miserably.

“Not at all, my dear,” Sir Thomas said sorrowfully. Cathy looked up quickly at something in his voice.

“Papa …”

“My child, I hope that what I’m going to say won’t hurt you. You plainly don’t love the pirate any more than he loves you, so I want you to look on this as a blessing.”

“Papa … !”

“He’s escaped, Cathy. Abandoned you, and your child, and my promise of a pardon for him. Now, my dear, was I right?”

Twelve

L
ondon was nothing at all like Cathy had imagined it would be. Instead of stately mansions surrounded by acres of parkland, there were narrow town houses separated from the streets by tiny yards and wrought iron fences. Carriages rattled over cobbled streets at all hours, while street vendors touted their wares from dawn to dusk. Garbage filled the gutters and no one seemed to pay the least heed to its stink. It was not at all unusual for the contents of a chamber pot to be emptied from a second story window onto the head of an unsuspecting pedestrian. The London of her dreams had been elegant and gay and extremely fashionable. The London of reality was merely dirty.