Island Flame Part 21

Old Dr.Sanderson, arrived more than three hours after being sent for. He responded to Jon's growling demand to know what the h.e.l.l had kept him by pouring Jon a stiff whiskey and telling him brusquely to stay out of the way. As he mounted the stairs to the upper floor shaking his s.h.a.ggy white head, the doctor was heard to mutter that he would rather deliver twenty expectant females than deal with one prospective father. The women were usually far more stoical.

To Jon's intense annoyance andPetersham's con-ternation, the whiskey helped only marginally. Jon downed great quant.i.ties of the stuff, but his mind was so desperately attuned to what was happening upstairs that oblivion eluded him. When Cathy's screams rose to such a pitch that he was sure she must be dying, all he could do was stride about the hall outside her bedroom, cursing and praying in the same breath. The thought of her suffering tore at his vital organs like red-hot pincers, making a mockery of the cold contempt he had convinced himself he felt for her. b.l.o.o.d.y fool, he castigated himself, as emotions he had thought long dead struggled for resurrection. Would you love her now, after all she's done to you? No, his mind screamed in reply. Any love he might once have felt for her had been foully murdered by her treachery.

Another piteous moan from inside the bedchamber made Jon flinch.Petersham silently pa.s.sed him another shot gla.s.s of whiskey, and Jon bolted it down. It didn't help. With a great flash of insight it burst on him that his l.u.s.t was solely responsible for Cathy's pain. Shuddering with self-loathing, he remembered how he had callously ignored her pleas that first time on the "Margarita," his own hungry pa.s.sion driving him ruthlessly on until he had possessed her completely. And he had not been content with merely stealing her virginity. Oh, no! He had taken her time and again until the end result was the agony she was even now suffering. Listening to her anguished cries, he vowed never to touch her again as long as she lived.If she lived. He was hideously afraid that he might already have killed her.

All through the next day Jon refused to move from the vicinity of the bedroom, rejecting food with an impatient shake of the head.Petersham shook his head over him, thinking that Master Jon was drinking enough whiskey to fell a horse and hardly showing it. The valet did his best to coax Jon to lie down on the sofa in his study for a brief rest, or to step outside for a breath of fresh air, but Jon curtly dismissed all such suggestions. He continued to prowl the hall just outside the bedroom, swallowing shots of whiskey like water and morosely pouring himself more. Every time Cathy made theslighest sound he winced, and when she screamed he went as white as death. Martha, bustling from the room occasionally to fetch hot water or towels for Dr. Sanderson, was shocked at the state he was in and did her best to cheer him up. Really, the poor man seemed to be suffering almost as much as Miss Cathy!

Toward dusk Cathy's screams grew to a shattering crescendo. Jon froze outside in the hallway, his eyes fixed fearfully on the closed bedroom door. Finally he could bear it no longer. With a frenzied rush he burst through the door only to stand transfixed just inside the threshold, one hand still on the k.n.o.b. Dr. Sanderson was holding a tiny, blood-covered infant by the heels, and, even as Jon watched, administered a sharp slap to the miniscule b.u.t.tocks. Jon's mouth gaped open as the child let out a wading cry, and then Dr. Sanderson was laughing and pa.s.sing the baby to Martha, who was smiling with big glistening tears rolling down her plump cheeks. Jon felt his knees sag with relief. At last the ordeal was over!

"Cathy?" he questioned hoa.r.s.ely. Both Martha and Dr. Sanderson turned shocked faces toward him, not having heard him enter. For a moment two sternly reproving sets of features regarded him, and then Dr. Sanderson's old face quivered into a smile.

"Relax, Captain," Dr. Sanderson said dryly. "From the looks of you, Mistress Hale is in better shape than you are.

"You've got a son, Master Jon," Martha put in joyfully, proffering the infant, wrapped in a blanket, for him to view. Jon glanced at it abstractedly, vaguely registering a red, wrinkled face and a thatch of black hair. It looks like ared Indian, he thought even as his gaze was leaving the sleeping bundle to fix hungrily on the girl in the bed.

"Wait until we get her cleaned up, Master Jon," Martha urged softly, seeing where his eyes rested.

"I want to see her now," Jon said stubbornly. At a resigned nod from Dr. Sanderson Marthadiscreedy withdrew a few paces.

"Cathy?" Jon's voice was husky as he came to stand beside the bed, staring down with pained eyes at her small, pale face. Her bright hair was wet with sweat and wildly mussed, trailing in great snarled strands across the plump white pillows. Her lips and cheeks were practically bloodless. Jon was afraid for one shattering instant that she had died while everyone in the room had been taken up with the baby. Then her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled weakly as she saw who was looking down at her.

"Jon," shemurmured, her eyes great pools of tiredness. "I did it, Jon."

Her way of putting it brought a slight, rueful smile to his lips. Dr. Sanderson was right. She did seem to be in better shape than he was, mentally at least. Giddy with relief, he took her hand, carrying it to his lips and pressing his mouth pa.s.sionately against the softness of it.

"Thank you for a son, my love," he murmured hoa.r.s.ely, the endearment slipping past him before he could catch it.

Cathy smiled up at him tenderly, her sapphire eyes glowing. It was the first time he had called her that sincethe soldiers had come to Las Palmas. She badly wanted to hear more. He looked terrible, his eyes bloodshot and his jaw unshaven, his hair standing up wildly all over his head as if he had been running his fingers through it. He had been worried about her, she saw with satisfaction.Desperately worried, from the look of him. She took a deep breath, wanting to answer him, to encourage him to say other soft words. The unmistakable smell of stale whiskey hit her nostrils as she inhaled.

"You stink," she mumbled, surprised, and then her eyelids fluttered down and she was asleep.

Jon's mouth curved in a foolish grin at that, and he pressed another ardent kiss to her hand before tucking it reverently beneath the covers. He turned from the bed, still grinning, and walked on unsteady legs to the hall. No sooner had he reached it than his knees gave out and he collapsed with a crash. By the time Dr. Sanderson reached him, he was snoring loudly. The doctor shook his head, and called for Petersham to come and help him get the captain to his bedroom. The whiskey had finally, belatedly, had its effect.

Jon slept like a stone through the rest of that night and well into the next day. He finally surfaced, when the reedy cry of an infant pierced through his fogged brain. Frowning bemusedly, he shook his head to clear it, reaching for the water jug to rinse the stale taste from his mouth. What was a baby doing at Woodham ? Then he remembered. The cry must be coming from his son! Why was no one seeing to the child? Groaning, he hoisted himself to his feet, running a hand over his wildly tousled hair as he walked very carefully out of the room and into the hall. The cry seemed to come from Cathy's bedroom and he approached it with grim determination. Just as he made it to the door, it opened before him. Martha's startled face blinked at him,then moved over his crumpled form. She grinned,then quickly a.s.sumed a serious expression as Jon frowned at her.

"Good morning, or should I say, good afternoon, Captain," the woman said demurely, squeezing around him as he stood swaying, blocking the doorway with his big body. "If you'll excuse me, Captain. . . ." Martha's words trailed off as she disappeared down the hall.

Leaning back against the door jam to recover his strength, Jon realized that the cries had stopped. Looking around the room, his slightly unfocused gaze came to light on the small figure that was regarding him with some amus.e.m.e.nt from the depths of the big four-poster. Cathy! Jon's eyes went over her appreciatively, feasting on the lovely picture she made. Her golden hair had been neatly brushed and swirled into a top-knot, high on the crown of her head, from which little curling tendrils escaped enticingly. Her eyes were as clear and blue and serene as a pool of water on a summer's day. Her cheeks were flushed rosily, and her lips were turned up in the smallest of shy smiles. As his gaze lowered, he found the reason for her shyness. Cradled against her bare breast was the tiny form of his son, the small head turned away as the infant suckled greedily. Cathy blushed even more rosily as she realized where Jon's eyes rested, but the look she turned on him was warmly welcoming.

"How do you feel?" Cathy asked solicitously after a moment's silence, her smile broadening as her eyes ran over his unshaven face, pale beneath itssunbronze . He looked as if he, and not she, had just pa.s.sed through some death-defying ordeal.

Her question took a moment to penetrate the whiskey haze that still clung to him. When it did, he permitted himself a small groan.

"Like somebody tried to split open my skull with anaxe," he admitted, the slash in his cheek deepening humorously. "But more to the point, how do you feel?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she a.s.sured him, her mouth curving in a tender snide as she glanced down at the infant at her breast. "Won't you come over here and meet your son?"

Jon stared from her to the baby and back again.His wife.His son. The fierce possessiveness that accompanied the thought rocked him back on his heels.

"I-I need to clean up," he stammered, thinking desperately that what he really needed was a breathing s.p.a.ce. "I must reek of whiskey."

"You do," Cathy answered frankly, her eyes warm as they twinkled over him. "But never mind. Neither Cray nor I mind in the slightest."

"Cray?"Jon questioned absently as he moved almost against his will toward the bed. The tenderness in her huge eyes drew him like a magnet. During all those terrible weeks in prison, even under the lash of the whip that she had ordered, he had dreamed of her looking at him like this. . . . Despising himself as a weak fool, he nevertheless came to stand beside the bed. Cathy looked so small and helpless as she smiled up at him, almost as small and helpless as the infant in her arms. He wanted to stand between her and the world, and cursed himself for letting the lingering effects of the whiskey cloud hisjudgement .

"I thought we would name him Jonathan Creighton Hale, junior-Cray, to keep things from getting confusing around here as he grows older. Is that all right with you?

Her eyes were caressing as they traveled over his lean face. Jon felt like he was being drawn helplessly into two deceptively limpid whirlpools. He didn't have the strength at this moment to resist her blandishments. When she reached out and caught his long-fingered hand in her smaller one, tugging on it gently, he obediently sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Cathy and the child were so close he could feel the heat of their bodies, could hear the small sucking sounds that Cray made as he nursed. His eyes met Cathy's, and he smiled at her against his will. She smiled back at him tenderly, and then his eyes traveled down to rest on the child at her breast. My son, he thought with amazement, and reached out a finger to wonderingly touch the tiny, perfect hand that kneaded Cathy's breast. It closed over his finger with surprising strength. Jon stared at his son for a moment,then his eyes rose to meet Cathy's. She laughed with a little catch in her voice at his astonished expression.

"Is Cray all right with you?" she repeated patiently, her eyes tender on his handsome face. Jon, dazzled by what he could have sworn was the genuine affection in her eyes, had to forcehimself with a strong effort of will to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Yes, of course," he muttered, tearing his eyes away from hers before he drowned in them. He would have risen to his feet, but Cray still clutched his forefinger.

Jon stared at his son rather helplessly, not knowing how to free himself without hurting the child.

"He's strong," Jon said finally, unable to think of anything else to say.He was uncomfortably aware of her soft breast swelling warmly beneath the hand the baby held.

"Like his father."

Cathy's soft voice was deliberately seducing him, he thought desperately, urging him to abandon his distrust and fall once again victim to her spell. Her breast burned against his hand. His breathing quickened, and he had to grit his teeth against the impulse.

"Jon . . ." Cathy began, and the blue depths of her eyes, as he lifted his own to meet them, were his undoing. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, until his mouth was just scant fractions of an inch away from her soft lips. Some remaining instinct of self-preservation made him hesitate, but she defeated him. Her lovely, rose-colored lips moved up to press against his, warm and unbearably sweet, drawing from him a ragged groan. His mouth slanted over hers with starved pa.s.sion, his free hand coming up to cup the back of her neck so that she couldn't move away. He kissed herhungrdy , urgently, his tongue hotly exploring the willing hollow of her mouth. Long denied need flamed with searing heat in his loins. He wanted her with a greedy pa.s.sion that threatened to consume him. No other woman would do, and he acknowledged the fact with a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach.

Cathy's hand came up to curve around the back of his neck, and she responded to his kisses with an ardor that matched his. Her fingers sensuously stroked his tense neck muscles,then curled wantonly into the cl.u.s.ter of black curls at the back of his collar. Jon realized with a fierce tightening of all his muscles that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. The trembling of her slight body made that plain.

Drawing a deep, ragged breath, he started to push her back down into the bed, his desire for her so hard and furious that he was oblivious to everything but his need for satisfaction. An indignant squall halted him on the brink of a total, unconditional surrender. Shaking his head to clear it, he glanced down at his son, who was regarding him balefully. Apparently, the child did not take kindly to having his dinner interrupted. ThankingG.o.dfervently for Cray's timely reminder, Jon determinedly drew back. Without his son's intervention, Jon knew that the witch would have had him once again hopelessly in her thrall.

Cathy could only watch distressfully as Jon's mouth hardened and his gray eyes iced over. She loved him so much, and had thought that he was beginning to soften toward her. But his eyes as they met hers were stony with hatred, his mouth cruel. Her own eyes filled with hurt tears as he stood up abruptly, almost jerking his hand free of Cray's grip.

"You must really think me a fool," he said softly, his eyes glittering maliciously down at her. "I may make a mistake once, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I do it twice. Beneath that sweet face you're as hard-hearted and calculating as the worst of the waterfront wh.o.r.es. I'd sooner bed with a snake than you!"

Cathy gaped at him dumbly, tears overflowing her eyes to spill helplessly down her cheeks. With a savage curse Jon swung on his heel, striding furiously toward the door. Cathy collapsed with hurt sobs as he slammed out of the room. Cray's frightened cries joined hers.

In the days and weeks following Cray's birth, Cathy scarcely saw Jon. He was working harder than ever before at makingWoodham a paying operation. In his mother's time, free workmen had been hired to cultivate the fields, but when his father had marriedIsobelle she had insisted that money would be saved by buying and using slaves. Marcus Hale had given in to her demands as always. Jon himself had always despised the inst.i.tution of slavery, but the economy of the south was now built around it.Alarge percentage of his money had been sunk into theplanation , and if it did not turn a profit with this year's cotton crop he would be hard put to support his family. Of course, he could always return to the sea. But he considered this a last resort. For Cray's sake, and Cathy's, too, if he was honest, he wanted to provide a secure, stable home.

In a rough compromise with his conscience, he refused to hire an overseer and directed the field workers himself. He worked from sunup to sundown, driving himself as hard as he drove the men. When he had finished for the day he was usually too tired to do more than eat his supper in silence and fall into his lonely bed. Sometimes he slept immediately, but more often he was haunted by images of Cathy. The remembered silken texture of her bright hair, the softness of her flesh, the feel of her warm body trembling with pa.s.sion in his arms, dogged the hours between dusk and dawn. Many times he was tempted to go to her room, to ease his l.u.s.t by taking what was after all his by right. But he was afraid that she would coax him into surrendering more than just his physical self. She would never be content until he wasgrovelling at her feet, he mused savagely. And he was d.a.m.ned if he would give her that satisfaction!

Other women were available and he was chagrined to admit that he didn't want them. On his occasional trips to town he was the recipient of certain unmistakable signals from some very lovely ladies, but he could not rouse himself to more than a mild interest in their charms. It was ironic to reflect that the one woman capable of exciting him to the point of frenzy was his legal wife, the mother of his son, and yet he was afraid to take her. If she was bent on revenge, she was exacting more than she knew! And fiercely he vowed to keep it that way.

A combination of fatigue, worry, and plain s.e.xual frustration made his temper hair-trigger quick. Everyone fromPetersham to the lowliest field worker felt the bite of his tongue at one time or another. Cathy was generally spared from these verbal attacks, but the glint in Jon's eyes when he looked at her told her that she was the real target. She returned his flaying looks limpidly, and redoubled her efforts to attract him. As water eventually wears away rock, she felt that she was making slow but steady progress. One night soon he would abandon the struggle and come to her, and she would be ready. And from his bed it was a very small step to his heart.

Jon was at first cynically amused and then infuriated by her transparent attempts to seduction. Soon after Cray's birth he had commissioned a fashionable Charleston seamstress to replenish her almost nonexistent wardrobe, and now he realized that he had made a tactical error. In the gossamer thin, low-cut, sleeveless gowns that were best suited to South Carolina's climate, she was as tempting to him as Eve must once have been to Adam. Just the sight of her slender, curvaceous figure as she flitted about the house or gardens was enough to send him up in flames. The soft smiles and provocative looks she lavished on him were pure torture. He l.u.s.ted after her with a fierceness that left him time for thoughts of little else. Night after night he was reduced to taking moonlight swims in nearby Miller's Creek in an effort to cool his ardor. It barely helped at all.

As the weeks pa.s.sed and he realized that she had had sufficient time to recover completely from Cray's birth, his control was strained almost to the bursting point. There was no physical reason why she shouldn't a.s.sume the intimate duties of a wife. Grimly Jon clung to his sanity. The b.i.t.c.h had stolen his heart once, and then callously trampled it. He'd see her in h.e.l.l before he would give her the chance again!

Word spread through Charleston's plantation community that another generation of Hales had taken up residence atWoodham . Hardly an afternoon pa.s.sed without a carriage rolling up the drive to disgorge two or three fashionably dressed ladies come to make the acquaintance of their new neighbors. Cathy, well-dressed and demure, served tea and macaroons and fielded probing questions diplomatically. When the ladies discovered that she actually possessed a tide (Cathy suspected Martha of divulging this information) they fell over themselves in an attempt to make the new arrivals welcome. Mistress Gordon, the neighborhood matriarch, set the final seal of approval on them by revealing that she had been close friends with Jon's mother, Virginia. After that, Cray was cooed over, Cathy p.r.o.nounced "the sweetest thing," and Jon described by the dazzled ladies as too romantic for words. Jon was cynical about this approbation, but directed Cathy to accept a few of the invitations that were showered upon them. If they were to makeWoodham their home, it would not do to live like recluses.

Cathy selected a ball given by a young couple namedIngrams for their social debut. Jon was unenthusiastic, but grudgingly consented to accompany her. Inwardly, he felt that it might do him good to be in the company of other beautiful women besides his wife. It was incredible that he, who had bedded scores of women over the years, had been reduced to wanting only one. Perhaps he needed to take a closer look at what else was available.

Cathy, for her part, looked forward to the ball the way a cat antic.i.p.ates its Sunday bowl of cream. She would dress to kill, and flirt judiciously with all the handsome men present. Jealousy would bring Jon around if nothing else would, she thought smugly. She knew he wanted her, it was plain in his eyes, but he was too d.a.m.ned stubborn to give in. A slight smile tilted at the corners of her mouth. When he had begged sufficiently for her favors, she would very sweetly submit. In the flaming of his pa.s.sion, she hoped to touch his heart.

Cathy's mouth went dry when she thought of Jon's lovemaking. It had been so long since he had possessedher-almost nine months. If she were honest, she would have to admit that she wanted him too. The l.u.s.tful glances that had touched on her half-exposed bosom when he thought she wasn't looking, the imperfectly concealed tremor in his limbs when she oh-so-accidentally brushed her body against his, excited her more than she had dreamed was possible. She had always thought that only men were subject to physical needs, but she was painfully learning her mistake. It would have been very easy just to go to his room one night and offerherself to him, but she wanted more than just s.e.xual gratification. She wanted his love, and if he had to be driven to the point of madness before he could recognize or admit it, then that was what she had to do.

The night of the ball Cathy made an elaborate toilette. Herballgown was the most beautiful she had ever possessed, ordered especially for the occasion. It was cloth-of-gold, a whispering tale of enchantment as it shimmered in the candlelight. The tissue-thin bodice was suspended from two fragile straps that caressed her shoulders before widening to cross over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in wide swaths of material. The material crossed again in back,then came around to hug her slender waist before billowing out into an enormous bell of a skirt. Her neck, shoulders, arms, and the gleaming upper slopes of her bosom were left delicious!}'bare . Perfectly plain yet daring in design, the dress was dependent for its effect on the wearer's own beauty. On Cathy, it was superb.

Martha styled her golden hair very- simply, gathering it in a sapphire clasp at the crown of her head then coaxing it to stream down her back in cascading ringlets. Sapphire-and-gold earbobs swung coquettishly from her ears, and a delicate matching necklace which had belonged to Jon's mother was clasped about her neck. Tiny gold-heeled slippers and long golden gloves completedthe outfit. With her wide, sapphire eyes and perfectly-etched features, Cathy looked like a princess from a fairy tale.

"Lovey, you look a real picture," Martha said with satisfaction when Cathy was finally dressed. "Master Jon'seyes'll pop."

Cathy smiled ruefully at her nanny. Not much escaped Martha's keen eyes. But she was too excited, too filed with antic.i.p.ation to reprove her nanny as she supposed she should do. Instead, she pressed an impulsive kiss on the plump cheek nearest her as she caught up her spangled stole.

"That's the idea, Martha," she twinkled roguishly, and then vanished out the door with a swish of her full skirt.

Jon was testily pacing the downstairs hall as Cathy descended toward him, and she had an opportunity to study him un.o.bserved. Dressed in charcoal gray velvet with a silver waistcoat, he was incredibly handsome. Her eyes ran over his lean, powerfully muscled frame with possessive pride. He was every inch the arrogantmale, and just looking at him made her heart beat faster. His hair was neatly brushed for once, and gleamed blue-black in the fight of the candles. His dark face was smoothly shaven, emphasizing the hawkish cast of his features. Silky black eyebrows met over his eyes in an impatient frown. Cathy smiled. He looked like he wasn't in a very good mood, and, if her plan succeeded, he would be in a worse one before the night was out.

He glanced at his pocket watch,then up the stairs, stopping dead as he saw her seemingly float down toward him. His eyes flickered over her, touching on her shining hair, her face, the nearly naked globes of her bosom, her tiny waist. His mouth tightened angrily, and he swung away from her, but not before she saw the raw hunger that blazed for an unguarded moment in his eyes.

"Shall we go?" he asked with commendable coolness as she came up beside him, her head not quite reaching his shoulder. She laid her hand lightly on his reluctantly proffered arm, glancing up at him in time to surprise his eyes feasting greedily on the rounded flesh left bare by her gown. A dark flush spread over his cheekbones as she caught him out, but he said nothing more. Cathy was likewise silent as he escorted her out of the door and handed her up into the waiting carriage.

The ball was a tremendous success from almost every viewpoint but Cathy's. Dozens of candles lit the long ballroom, and an orchestra on a raised dais at the far end of the room played haunting melodies. Ladies, in floating gowns ranging in color from the demure pastels that were de rigueur for debutantes to the more daringscarlets and emeralds favored by dashing young matrons, twirled about the highly polished floor in the arms of soberly clad gentlemen. After greeting their host and hostess, Jon swung Cathy into the laughing throng for a stiffly silent dance. He held her at the correct arm's length, and vouchsafed not a single word to her. Nettled, Cathy hardly waited until the music stopped before pulling away from him to smile at a young man nearby. Theboy, dazzled by her beauty and not deterred in the least by Jon's monitory scowl, immediately asked her to dance. Cathy agreed with a little curtsey, and twirled away without a backward glance.

After that, she wasbeseiged with invitations to dance from nearly every gentleman present. The young, unmarried ones were the most vociferous, and Cathy encouraged them with sparkling gaiety helped by the gla.s.ses of champagne punch that were constantly being pressed into her hand. From the corner of her eyes she caught occasional glimpses of Jon dancing with this or that lovely lady. He seemed to have no interest in the blushing girls, preferring the older, more experienced women. Cathy felt real physical pain as she saw him smile with devastating charm down into the face of a lady who, all too plainly, knew what men-women games were all about, s.l.u.t, thought Cathy furiously, turning away to redouble her own efforts at flirtation.

When supper was announced, Cathy allowed her partner of the moment, a handsome young man of twenty-five named Paul Harrison, to escort her. It was the custom for married ladies to dine in their husband's company, but her last glimpse of Jon had found his dark head bent intimately over the auburn one of that s.l.u.ttish female. Cathy had no inclination to wait for him after that. So she laughed and flirted with Paul as if she didn't have a care in the world. No one would have guessed that her head hurt, or that her meal might have been sawdust for all the enjoyment she took from it. Finally, across the room she spied Jon-and his partner. It was the same woman, and she was looking at Jon with an avidity that positively sickened Cathy. Furiously she swallowed another gla.s.s of champagne punch, bestowing a dazzling smile on the bemused Paul as she begged sweetly to be taken back into the ballroom.

Paul danced with her twice more after that, each time growing just a little bolder. His hands caressed her waist discreetly, and Cathy, instead of pulling away, smiled up at him with deliberate enticement. This night was not going at all as she had planned, but she had no intention of letting anyone guess her sick dismay. If Jon had no care for her-why, then, she would have no care for Jon! When Paul swung her in the direction of the veranda, she made no demur.

The cool night air brought her to her senses. As Paul whirled her down the veranda she pulled back from him, and was just opening her mouth to tell him to take herback inside when she saw a long black shadow loom up over his shoulder. Jon's hand descended on Paul's shoulder with rather more force than was proper, and his voice had a steely ring to it.

"Excuse me, Harrison, but I'd like to finish this dance with my wife." The words were perfectly even, but Paul dropped Cathy like a hot coal. To his credit, he had forgotten until this moment that hisenamorada had a husband. Now, confronted with Jon's formidable strength, he sketched a quick bow before retreating with more haste than dignity.

Cathy faced Jon boldly, tilting her chin at him as if daring him to make something of what she had done. Inwardly, she was not nearly so sure of herself. He had been furious enough to kill her that time with Harry- and this time she had deliberately invited another man's attentions. Besides, she was now his wife. But at the moment she didn't much care what he did. If he could bask under that predatory woman's advances, then surely she was ent.i.tled to a little harmless enjoyment!

To her astonishment, his voice when he spoke held none of the furious anger she had expected. Instead, he was icily controlled.

"I suggest that we go back inside and finish this dance. Your behavior tonight has already caused quite enough talk. I don't think we'll provide the gossips with a brawl to further their entertainment."

He reached out and grasped her upper arm with long strong fingers that bit deep into her skin. Cathy peered at him through the darkness, trying to read his expression. It was impossible. The shadows were too dense to permit her to see anything more than a tall, dark silhouette.

"What about your behavior?" Cathy hissed, trying to pull her arm free of his grasp. She was d.a.m.ned if shewould let him intimidate her! If her actions had been reprehensible, his had been worse!

"Jealous, my wife?"Cathy could see the brief gleam of his teeth as they showed in a mirthless smile. "You have no reason to be. I turned the lovelyAnnabella down-in favor of you. You see, tonight I've decided to give you what you've been wanting."

He was drawing her inexorably toward the ballroom as he spoke. As the light fell on his face, Cathy caught her breath sharply. On the surface was the urbane mask of a gentleman; only someone who knew him as well as she did could detect the savagery in his eyes.

"Smile, wife," he said almost pleasantly, swinging her through the wide doors and into the movement of the dance. "We wouldn't want the good people to think we were fighting, would we?"

Cathy glanced about her, saw the interested eyes on them, and smiled. Inside she was a trembling ma.s.s of nerves. She had never before seen him in such a quiet, terrible rage. But still, she thought, tossing her head and dimpling at him for the benefit of the onlookers, what can he do to me? He wasn't a wife beater. If he proposed to share her bed, then that would fit in with her plans very nicely. Why then did she feel so frightened?

When the music ended, her husband led her through the throng, his arm about her waist in a gesture of casual affection. Only Cathy could feel the iron hard muscles that kept her clamped to his side. Mechanically she smiled and called gay answers to the men who still pleaded for dances. To the disapproving looks bestowed on her by chaperones she responded with suitable penitence. Privately she rebelled. d.a.m.n the old cats, she thought, and continued to smile.

When Jon went to fetch her wrap Cathy almost ran off and hid. The thought of being alone with her husband in a closed carriage for the half an hour or so it would take them to get toWoodham was unnerving. She had a feeling that he had some punishment in store for her-but what? As she considered the possibilities he returned with her wrap, and the chance for escape was lost.

Jon held her arm lovingly as they bade smiling good-nights to theIngrams . Cathy was frighteningly aware of the strength in the hand that held her. The polite smile dropped from his face like a mask as they left the house. She was right-he did intend some punishment for her. The angry glitter in his eyes made that plain. Cathy felt her heart quake as he lifted her silently into the carriage, folding the steps himself before giving the coachman the order to drive.

The interior of the carriage was lit by a single stationary lantern. By its light Cathy watched the grim face of her husband as he took the seat opposite to hers. He met her eyes, and slowly smiled. The mirthless grimace gave him the look of a malevolent satyr.

"Come here, wife," he said very softy. When Cathy only stared at him, her eyes huge and wary, the smile left his face to be replaced by a snarling frown.

"I said come here!"

The command cracked like a whip. Cathy moistened her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue. Jon's gaze centered on her mouth, his expression savage.

"W-why?" she stammered, shrinking back against the velvet upholstery.

"I'm going to give you what you've been wanting from me for weeks now. You're surely not going to try to deny it?"

"I-I-if you mean to make love to me, I have no objection. You are my husband, after all, and I realize that you have certain rights." The words were meant to sound coolly reasonable. Instead they were pitiable. But she was inexplicably frightened of him. He knew it. She could see the brief flare of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Yes, I do. And I mean to exercise them.Now." His hand reached almost casually across the s.p.a.ce between them and closed over hers, jerking her toward him, Cathy half-fell across his lap. He pulled her around until she was sitting on his knees, his hand around her throat. He stared down into her pale face, his own twisting angrily.

"Jon, please . . ." Cathy whispered humbly as his face loomed closer to hers. "Wait. . . ."

"Do you deny you've been trying to get me into bed for the pastmonth! " The words were growled against her ear. "Or that your little act with that unfortunate youth tonight wasn't designed to make me jealous? Well?"

"It wasn't like that . . ." Cathy protested feebly, responding despite her fear to the hardening of the muscles beneath her soft b.u.t.tocks.

"Wasn't it?"

His eyes glared down into hers, and then his mouth silenced all further talk.

Sixteen.

Jon was lost. He had known it from the moment he had watched Cathy disappear onto the veranda with that swaggering pup. Jealousy, fierce and primitive, had ripped at his insides. He had wanted to kill, even though he knew full well that her whole performance had been designed for just that purpose. Well, she had succeeded in her aim: against his will he had come after her, and had only just stopped himself from making a furious scene. The thought of the triumph that would gleam in her eyes was all that held him back. For months she had been trying to wrest his heart from him. Tonight, he acknowledged with a furious anger, she had done just that. He loved the little b.i.t.c.h still, G.o.d help him. And G.o.d help him if she should ever find it out.

His mouth as it twisted over hers was deliberately brutal, his tongue raping her mouth with no thought of her pleasure or even comfort. The feel of her soft little mouth opening under his, her arms twining around his neck, her small tongue caressing his lips and teeth lit the fuse of both his starved pa.s.sion and his mounting rage. She was actually responding to a kiss that was intended to insult her! She thought she had won at last, he realizedinfuriatedly . The evening was ending just as she had planned-with him making love to her. Well, he would take her because he could no longer help himself. But my lady wouldn't have everything her own way. Jon smiled savagely, his hand coming up to clench over the top of her extravagantballgown before jerking downward with all his might.

The flimsy material gave with a satisfying rip. Cathy gasped against his mouth, placing both hands against his chest and trying to push away. Jon let her draw back a little, wanting her to see his face-he knew it would be frightening with its furious mixture of hatred, pa.s.sion, and rage. The sleepy satisfaction vanished from her eyes as she stared at him. Jon knew he must look mad, as indeed he was. She had finally succeeded in driving him insane.

He held his stare as he plunged his hand, with brutish strength, down the front of her chemise. His fingers closed over her breast, pinching cruelly at the soft peak. She cried out with shocked protest, trying to squirm free. His arm tight around her waist kept her clamped firmly on his knees.

'What's the matter, wife?" he jeered cruelly, jerking her chemise down over her shoulders so that her rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s popped free. The neckline of the chemise trapped her arms at her waist, and she had no way of holding him off as he bent his head to suckle at her breast. His mouth clamped ferociously over the tender nipple, ravaging her, hurting her.