Part 23 (1/2)

”I'm cold, too,” she whispered demurely, her hand stealing out from beneath the quilts to run tentatively up his thigh. ”Won't you warm me up?”

”Ah, G.o.d, Cathy, you're still drunk,” he groaned. Cathy smiled in the darkness. Yes, she was drunk. Drunk on the heady nectar of his love. Her hand moved higher, her fingers running teasingly along the hard bulge in his breeches. He started to pull back,then stopped. A low growl sounded deep in his throat and his hand came down to cover hers, pressing her fingers against him.

”I want you.” His voice sounded strangled. Cathy's fingers curled against the soft velvet, kneading, probing. She touched the hard roundness of a b.u.t.ton, freeing first it, then its fellow. Her cool little fingers slid inside to delicately stroke his hot flesh.

”Ah, G.o.d,” he groaned, coming down beside her on the bed. His arms went around her and he strained her body against his hard length. The thick quilts were between them and Jon kicked them aside impatiently, his mouth twisting across hers with searing need. Cathy twined her own arms tightly around his neck, returning his kiss with abandon, sobbing endearments against his mouth. She could feel the tremors that racked his corded limbs as they pressed her to him.

Through the thin silk of her nightdress, Jon's fingers burned on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thighs and belly. Cathy writhed under his caresses, thrilling to his touch.Her own hands came away from his neck to tug at his s.h.i.+rt. The b.u.t.tons popped, allowing her access to his furred, muscular chest. She pulled her mouth away from his, pressing wanton kisses on his body. His breath rattled in his throat as though he was dying.

Jon sat up suddenly, and Cathy could have screamed at the removal of his warm flesh.

”Darling?” she questioned huskily, moving to kneel behind him where he sat on the edge of the bed, her soft arms sliding around his waist.

”I have to take off my d.a.m.ned boots,” he gritted, tugging at the offending footgear.

Cathy chuckled softly, the sound seductive. She pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tightly against the hard muscles of his back, and he groaned, his hand leaving what he was doing to pull her head around for a brief, burning kiss. Then, dropping his boots to the floor one at a time, he stood up, stripping off his clothes with hands that shook. Cathy stayed where she was, kneeling on the edge of the bed, watching him boldly. In the flickering firelight his flesh looked orangey-bronze, as hard and pagan as any savage's. Cathy admired the bulging muscles of his arms and thighs through half-closed lids, reveling in his strength. When at last he was naked, her eyes swept him with a long, desirous look that made him catch his breath. With every pore of her body she was aware of his maleness and his pa.s.sion.

”Wanton,” he murmured, coming to her and pulling her nightgown over her head with a swift movement, leaving her as naked as he. She pressed against him un-inhibitedly, loving the rasp of his body hair against her soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the heat and hardness of him. He bore her backwards, his knee parting her thighs as they came to rest on the softness of the mattress.

When he possessed her, Cathy felt throbbing burning ecstasy. She arched against him, grinding her softness to his strength, sobbing her need against his mouth. He was gasping, his heart beating so hard that it sounded like a drum being pounded between them. He took her to the edge of rapture once, and then again. When at last he was still, his mouth pressed warmly against the curve of her neck and his hand gently stroking her hair, she felt as if she had died and gone to heaven. Her fingers came up to touch his mouth wonderingly, and then before she could tell him of her joy she fell asleep.

Jon slept too, but not as deeply as Cathy. He awoke just as the sun was peeping over the horizon, the first of its rays slanting into the room, to find his arms wrapped tightly around her naked body. Jon ran a lazy hand over her silken skin, then when that brought no response he propped himself up on one elbow, staring down at the sleeping loveliness of her face.

His eyes touched tenderly on the dark lashes that layin long, feathery crescents against her delicately tinted cheeks, her small nose,the lovely, seductive curve of her rose-colored mouth. He admired the fine-boned curve of her jaw, her slender neck, the strawberries-and-cream perfection of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The quilts were still twisted about their feet, and the slenderness of her waist, the rounded turn of herhip, her long, lissome legs were all laid bare to his appreciative gaze. He thought of the incredible bliss she had given him in the night, and marveled at the depth of his pa.s.sion. Never before in his life had he experienced anything like it.

A stray sunbeam touched a curling lock of her hair, bringing it to vibrant, s.h.i.+mmering life. Jon picked up the strand, testing its silken texture with his fingers, lifting it to his nose to inhale its sweet fragrance, pressing it reverently to his lips. He froze in the act. He was behaving like some besotted half-wit! Last night the devouring love he felt for her had blinded him to everything but her beauty and his need. Daylight, with its accompanying return to sanity, had come not a moment too soon. Jon thanked G.o.d that Cathy had slept through his awakening. If she had not, he would have confessed his love, imploring her on bended knees if necessary to return it. G.o.d, how she would have enjoyed that! Her revenge would have been complete.

Jon got off the bed hastily, gathering up his discarded clothes from where they had fallen. A scowl furrowed his brow. He needed time to think before facing Cathy again. They could not go on as they were. At least, he could not. Not bothering to do more than pull on his breeches, he let himself quietly out of the room.

The day was well-advanced when Cathy awoke, the sun high up in the sky. She stirred sleepily, missing the warmth that had curled around her in the night. Her eyes blinked open, and she pressed her face lovingly tothe indention in the pillow next to hers. Jon must already have gone out to the fields. What a slug-a-bed he must think her! And what a shameless hussy, she thought, blus.h.i.+ng as she remembered her boldness of the night.

Jon loved her. The thought rang with a clarion purity through the otherwise confusing memories of last night. Could she doubt it, remembering his wild lovemaking? Slowly a frown marred her features as less welcome memories began to intrude. He had taken her more than once, last night. The first time was in the carriage on the way home from the ball. With sickening detail, Jon's brutal rape of her body replayed itself in her mind. G.o.d, how could he have done such a thing?If he loved her? Had he actually said that he loved her, or had she only imagined it because she wanted it so much? She concentrated, trying to remember. A deep, painful blush crept up over her face to the very roots of her hair as the events of the night came back to her. G.o.d, she had acted like a b.i.t.c.h in heat, practically begging him to make love to her! She remembered the way she had touched him, had pressed wanton kisses all over his body, and wanted to die.

He didn't love her. He couldn't. Not after the b.e.s.t.i.a.l, disgusting way he had taken her in the carriage! The champagne she had consumed had combined with her desperate need to make the words up out of thin air! G.o.d, how he must be laughing at her! How he must despise her! Or worse, maybe he just didn't care. Maybe such nights were so common to him that he wouldn't even give her behavior a second thought.

A discreet knock at the door interrupted her agonized musings. She took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm.

'Yes?”

”About time you woke up, Miss Cathy,” Marthascolded good-humoredly, opening the door. ”Master John told me to let you sleep, but enough's enough. Master Cray is making such a to-do that you'd think he was about to starve!”

”You've seen Jon this morning!” Cathy said with as much coolness as she could muster.

”Yes,and a fine feather he looked to be in, too. You must have stirred his blood for him, last night!”

In spite of herself, Cathy could feel a blush stealing across her checks. There was no doubt that she had, as Martha put it, stirred his blood! Humiliation rose like bile in her throat, and Martha's amused chuckles didn't help.

”Was he going out to the fields?” She had to know how much time she had to prepare for her next meeting with him. Martha's eyes widened with surprise.

”Why, no,lovey , he said he had to go to Atlanta on business. He said he'd be gone about a week. Didn't he tellyou! ” Martha sounded suddenly concerned, as if she was beginning to suspect that something was not quite right. Cathy swallowed, and did her best to produce a bright smile.

”Oh, yes, of course he did. I just forgot, for a moment,” she lied. ”Did you say Cray was hungry? Poor little boy! Bring him here, please, and I'll see what I can do about it.”

Cathy went through the rest of the day like a zombie. She smiled, she played with Cray,she made all the right responses while one thought pounded repeatedly in her brain: Jon cared so little for her, thought so little of what had happened between them the night before, that he could take off to Atlanta for a week without a word, without even saying good-bye! Dear G.o.d, the thought hurt! Cathy had never felt so totally forsaken in her life.

Late that afternoon as she played with Cray in therose garden she heard a carriage roll up the drive. What now, she thought dismally, and prepared herself for a gossip session with a catty neighbor. Some pretty probing questions were likely to be directed atherself , she realized with a blush. Last night had been a disaster on all fronts.

”You've got a visitor, miss,”Petersham came out to tell her, sounding vaguely disapproving. Cathy looked at him, puzzled by his tone.

'Who is it?”

”A gentleman, miss. He wouldn't give his name.”

Which accounted forPetersham's disapproval, Cathy reflected. She hoped fervently that it wasn't Paul Harrison come to apologize for his behavior of last night, or, worse, to pursue their acquaintance. Cathy carried Cray with her as she followedPetersham back into the house, hurriedly smoothing her hair as Petersham indicated the parlor.

”I put him in there, Miss Cathy. If you need me, I'll be within call.”

Really, did he expect the man to attack her in her own house? Cathy frowned at him impatiently,then pushed open the parlor door. A nattily dressed, silver haired gentleman stood with his back to her. He turned slowly as Cathy opened the door. Cathy recognized him as soon as he moved. A glad cry rose in her throat, and she practically ran across the room to embrace him.

”Papa!Oh, Papa, I'm so glad you're here!”

Seventeen.

”Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Miss Cathy?” Martha sounded deeply troubled as she poured steaming cans of hot water into the ornate bath.

”Yes, Martha, I'm sure.” Cathy's reply was clipped. Inwardly she wished she was really as certain as she claimed to be.Part of her longed to tuck Cray under one arm and her portmanteau under the other and fly back toWoodham -and Jon-as if her feet had suddenly sprouted wings. But that was the soft, weak, feminine part. With the rest of her-her pride, her self-respect, her common sense-she knew that the time had come to cut her losses. Jon did not love her-his behavior had made that more than clear. It was folly-no, madness- to stay with a man who sooner or later would take her heart and break it into millions of tiny pieces. She had to get away while she still had the strength of will to do so-and before she had another infant growing under her skirt. Now that the ice had been broken and he was once again taking her to bed, it would not be long before she found herself with child a second time. And the bonds that bound her to Jon would be stronger than ever. Even now, she could only hope that his seed from those last two encounters had not taken.

The thought of Jon's reaction to her leave-taking made Cathy swallow nervously. But luckily she wouldn't be around to see or hear it, she thought, s.h.i.+fting Cray to a more comfortable position as he nursed. By the time Jon returned toWoodham , the ”Unicorn” would be well out to sea. He had said he'd be gone for a week, and two days had already pa.s.sed. Two more would see the ”Unicorn” on her way to England.

Her father's presence was providential. Without Sir Thomas she would never have been able to arrange pa.s.sage in the time available to her. But Sir Thomas had already reserved one cabin on the ”Unicorn,” and with his influence it was easy to arrange for two more.

Something about her father's att.i.tude puzzled Cathy. He acted worried, guilty almost, and he went to great pains to a.s.sure himself that both she and Cray had not been harmed. He had even questioned Martha as to how they had fared, and when the woman told him roundly that Captain Hale treated both his wife and new son with the utmost kindness Sir Thomas became thoughtful, even morose. When Cathy had announced her intention of leavingWoodham while her husband was still away, Sir Thomas had seemed almost reluctant to help her. He had only relented when she had broken down and cried on his shoulder.

But finally, she had gotten her own way as she always did with him. And here she was, in a luxurious cabin aboard the English s.h.i.+p ”Unicorn,” her son at her breast, her nanny to care for them both, and under the protection of her father. Why then did she feel so miserable?

”Lovey, won't you change your mind before it's too late?” Martha's words broke into her thoughts. Cathy stirred restlessly in the chair by the bed, one hand joggling Cray's diaper-clad bottom as she stretched her aching back.

”No, Martha, I won't.” Cathy was tired of the endless discussion and her voice reflected it. ”It's best that we go back to England for a number of reasons you know nothing about.”

This attempt to quell Martha failed abysmally, as Cathy should have known it would. Instead of being silenced, Martha merely s.h.i.+fted the focus of her attack.

”You'll break the poor man's heart,lovey . He's that daft about you.”

Cathy slanted Martha a reproachful look,then deliberately s.h.i.+fted her attention back to Cray, whose grip on her nipple was lessening as he struggled with sleep. A fond smile curved her mouth as she watched his silent battle. As long as her son lived she would never be able to forget his father, she thought a trifle sadly. The two were so alike, even in Cray's infancy, that it was uncanny.

”Captain Hale's a fine man, Miss Cathy. You'll be hard put to it to find another to match him, or his care of you.”