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"Where on earth isPetersham ?" she wondered aloud, then mentally scoldedherself for the inane question that revealed all her sudden nervousness.
"Cathy.. . . ," Jon began, only to stop abruptly asPetersham appeared in the open doorway, carefully bearing a bowl of steaming gruel. Behind him came Harry. Cathy took the bowl fromPetersham and set it on the bedside table as the two men crossed to the bunk. Jon grinned up at them weakly.
"Sorry to disappoint you gentlemen, but I'm not dead yet. "Thank G.o.d!"Petersham's voice was fervent.
"It's good to have you back with us,Cap'n ," Harry reached for Jon's hand, pumping it vigorously until Cathy felt forced to intervene.
"Harry,"she warned. "You'll start him bleeding again if you're not careful."
"Oh, sorry," Harry said, dropping Jon's hand as if it had suddenly burned him. Jon's eyes narrowed slightly at the familiarity between the two of them, but he said nothing.
"How do you feel, Master Jon?"Petersham asked. "I'll live," Jon granted.
"He's very weak," Cathy put in. "And he needs to eat this gruel and then rest. If you'll excuse us. . . ."
"Of course," Both men took the hint, shook Jon's hand again, and left.
"Bossy little madam, aren't you?" the invalid said when they were alone once more. He eyed her
thoughtfully as she carefully stirred the bowl of gruel. While she was so occupied he tried to lever himself into a sitting position only to fall back with a groan.
"G.o.d, my leg!"
"You're not to move," Cathy told him severely, coming to sit beside him, the bowl of gruel within reach.
"If you start bleeding again, you may very well not live."
"And just how am I supposed to eat?" he asked crossly, disgruntled at his own helplessness.
"The same way you've been eating up to now. Like this."
She wiggled over until she was sitting behind him, carefully lifting his head onto her lap. Then she tucked
a pillow beneath it so that he was propped in a half-sitting position with her body supporting his weight. He grunted derisively, but allowed her to situate him as she wished.
"Now, if you'll hold the gruel," she said finally, placing the bowl in his lap. 'You can eat."
Dipping the spoon into the steaming mush, she raised it to his mouth. Jon rolled his head around until his eyes found hers.
"Are you actually meaning to feed me like some just-weaned infant?" he asked disbelievingly.
Cathy looked down at him admonishingly. "Yes, I am. And I've been doing so every day since you've been ill. If you object, I'll havePetersham feed you. But you're not strong enough yet to do it yourself, as
you would quickly find if I let you try it." Jon stared up at her,then broke into a reluctant smile. "The next time I take a female captive, I'm going to pick a nice, gentle, timid one. Not a bossy little spitfire who takes the bit between her teeth the first chance she gets. "Very funny," Cathy snapped, not liking his reference to other femalesorcaptives. "Open your mouth." Jon slanted another quick glance up at her. Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, and opened his mouth.
When the gruel was finished and the bowl set away, Cathy started to gently extricate herself. Jon caught her wrist, holding her in place while his mouth moved to nuzzle at the inside of her elbow.
"Don't leave me," he whispered huskily.
"I have to," Cathy's voice was weak as she battled the shivery sensations invoked by his warm lips.
"You need to rest."
"Stay with me," he murmured, his mouth tracing down the soft underside of her arm. 'You look like you need some rest, too. We can rest together."
"Jon," she warned in a shaky voice. "You're too weak for . . . for. . . ."
"I know." He looked up at her appealing!}'. "I just want you beside me. I sleep better that way. I have nothing else in mind, I promise. If I try anything, you have my permission to slap my face and get up."
"Well . . ." Cathy wavered.
"Please," he said softly.
"Oh, all right," Cathy capitulated with a sigh."Just as long as you remember. If you start to . . . to. . . .
Well, I'll get up."
"I won't," he promised, and watched as Cathy slid off the bed to lock the door.
He said nothing as she slowly came back to stand beside the bunk, a faint flush staining her cheeks.
Knowing the cause of her sudden confusion, he grinned.
Cathy turned her back as she slowly unfastened her gown. She undressed down to her last petticoat, feeling absurdly shy. Now that Jon was awake and aware, she was regaining some of her former reserve with him. Don't be a fool, she scolded herself, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks as she turned back
to face him. The blush deepened as his eyes rested hungrily on her scantily covered bosom. His mouth crooked teasingly as the warm gaze traveled gradually up to her face.
"Blushing, my cat?" he mocked gently. "There's no need. I have seen you in less, you know."
Cathy forced herself to meet his gray eyes, determined to downplay her ridiculous embarra.s.sment if she
possibly could.
"I know," she managed evenly. "But that was . . . was different."
The stutter in her last words dismayed her. That too-knowing grin was making her even more
uncomfortable.
"Because then I took your clothes off and now you're doing it?" Jon guessed astutely. "Well, never mind,
sweet. Consider it your duty to humor a sick man."
"Oh, hush," Cathy said, annoyed.
"I will," he promised, seeing that she was about to turn away. "Come to bed. Please."
Cathy glared at him, but then broke into a reluctant smile as she pretended to cower away.
"You really are impossible, you know. I've a good mind to havePetersham take care of you from now on."
"Petershamlacks your-er-skills. Come to bed."
Cathy frowned at him severely,then gave up. The dratted man was really beginning to get to her, she thoughtvexedly as she slid into the bunk on his uninjured side. She would have to watch that she didn't grow too fond of him. That would mean only heartbreak.
But despite her reservations she allowed him to draw her close against his side, her head snuggling cozily into his shoulder of its own accord.
"Go to sleep," he murmured, his arm tightening around her.
And to her surprise, she did.
Seven.
"Why did you run away?" The question, asked in a carefully offhand manner, caught Cathy by surprise. She stared down at the playing cards she held for a long moment before replying.
"I should think that was obvious." When she looked up at last, she found Jon's eyes fixed on her intently. He frowned, as if considering her answer, then shook his head.
"Not to me." His hand of cards lay forgotten on the quilt beside him. Cathy sighed. Plainly he was not to be distracted from the subject.
"You must have known that I'd try to escape if I could. Heavens, you act as if I'd done you some grievous wrong! You're not my father, brother, husband, or even fiance, you know. You're the pirate who abducted me and forced me to . . . to. . . . Well, I was and am under no obligation to stay with you."
"Are you saying that you ran away because your pride obliged you to do so?" Jon frowned at her thoughtfully. Cathy sighed again, not feeling adequately prepared to cope with the conversation. But she resolved to do her best to make him understand her position, without giving away the ambiguity of her own emotions at the present time.
"Jon, I don't think you realize the enormity of what you've done to me. I was brought up to be a lady. A lady does not-uh-uh. . . ."
"Make love?" he interjected, smiling a little. Cathy tilted her chin at him haughtily.
". . .does not allow a man to take liberties with her person before marriage. You raped me brutally-not once, but many times. Of course I was going to run away from you the first chance I got!"
"So you're telling me that you ran away because you couldn't stand me making love to you?"
"Raping me!"Cathy corrected sharply.
"Call it what you will." Jon dismissed the nomenclature as unimportant. "Is that why you ran away?"
'Yes!" she answered, relieved to be done with the subject at last.
"You are lying to me, my cat," he chided. "You like the way I can make your body feel. You can't hide it from me. I know."
Cathy flushed bright crimson under his penetrating gaze. Howhad she ever gotten involved in such a conversation, she wondered desperately. More important, how was she ever going to get out of it without revealing to him more than she meant to?
"You're very conceited, Captain, if you think that," she managed, not quite meeting his eyes. She could not, for the life of her, control the betraying redness of her cheeks.
"So I'm back to being Captain, am I, when you've called me Jon very nicely for the past two weeks. Very well, if that particular subject displeases you, we will return to another." Jon's voice was sardonic. "Tell me, my cat, since the damage to your virtue had already been done, wouldn't it have been wiser to wait until I was ready to let you go? Why run away, and put yourself in such danger? Good G.o.d, you're not going to try to tell me that you weren't glad to see me when I walked into that h.e.l.l-hole! Hosannas sang out of your eyes!"
"I was glad to see you,Iadmit." Cathy bit her lip. "But the circ.u.mstances were unusual."
"Agreed."Jon said nothing more for some time, his brow furrowed as he mentally worried the subject like a dog with a bone.
"You went for help." The words sounded like an accusation. Cathy just managed not to squirm uncomfortably, staring down at the cards in her hand as if fascinated by them. This was the point she had been dreading ever since he began the conversation.
"Would you prefer that I hadn't?" she countered de-fensivelv.
"No, I confess I like living." Jon paused, intent on the small face that was carefully averted from him. "Cathy, look at me."
Unwillingly her eyes lifted to his. His regard was frankly speculative, while hers was wary.
"Why did you go for help? If you dislike my love-making so much, you had the perfect opportunity to be rid of it-and me-forever. I even told you where the constabulary was located! Why didn't you take advantage of it?"
Cathy met his probing eyes defiantly. If he was waiting to hear her confess to an undying love for him, he'd wait for a long time, she vowed. Anyway, it was nothing like that!