Commanding Heart (16 page)

At her sorrowful admission, Knight
drew Catherine to his chest. He wrapped his arms about her, his hands caressing
her with gentle warmth. Catherine did not resist. She leaned against Knight, her
head tucked against the fabric of his jacket, reveling in the comforting
solidity of his chest. Her secret efforts of the past days, the threat of
marriage to duMont that loomed ever closer, and the loneliness she’d felt ever
since reaching the island had left her exhausted. She knew it was wrong, chided
herself for her weakness, but in the arms of Captain Knight she found a safe
shelter from the storm.

With soothing tenderness, Knight’s
hand moved to Catherine’s face, gently tipping her head back to look in her
eyes brimmed with sorrow. His look of concern burned through Catherine’s soul. She
watched in fascination as slowly, deliberately, his head lowered to hers in a
soft, sensuous kiss. Catherine marveled at the touch of his lips softly brushing
her own in gentle caress. She felt herself melt against his protecting warmth
and slid her hands across his chest, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.
The frantic passion that had marked their earlier encounters was gone; in its
place was gentleness, a mutual respect and admiration so deep that it was hard
to define.

It felt like coming home.

After several blissful minutes, Captain
Knight pulled his head away at last and tucked Catherine’s head against his
chest once more. His arms wrapped round her tightly as they stood clasped
together, no sound but the waves and the cry of the gulls to interrupt their
strange, silent embrace. With sadness Catherine noted the sun’s rays shining low
across the water, bathing the sea in its golden glow as the day drew to a close.
The lovely sight was bittersweet for Catherine – for she knew she must make her
way home at once. She gently pulled away from Captain Knight, saying softly; “It
is getting late. I must return to my father before I am missed.” Catherine turned
to leave but Knight stepped forward to stay her progress. “Catherine,” he said,
taking possession of her hand once more, “Please, promise me you won’t do
anything foolish. Leave the investigation to me – you must make no further
enquires that might endanger you.” Catherine nodded her head in agreement; “You
have my word, Captain. I leave the investigation in your hands,” she said
quietly, as she pulled her hand free from his grasp, “but duMont is another
matter. He is to accompany my father and me to a ball at the Governor’s house
tomorrow night. I suspect they plan to announce my engagement to duMont.”

Catherine could not look at Knight as
she spoke the words, could not bear to see his contempt – or his pity. This
strange interview with Captain Knight had been a revelation. Somehow they had found
a balance, sharing with each other as equals, but it was too late – much too
late. Catherine steeled her nerves and raised her head once more. Her beautiful
blue eyes stared into the dark depths of his own; “Good bye, Captain Knight”
she said with finality, then turned away and walked the water’s edge before
disappearing up the path to her father’s estate.

Alone on the shore, Captain Knight stood
starring out to sea. His mind was racing at her news; his worst suspicions had
been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. He knew he must act, and quickly, on
behalf of the Admiralty and England. In truth, however, Knight’s motivations
were much more personal, guided by an emotion he would not allow himself name.

Chapter XX

The grand ball at the home of the Governor
was one of Jamaica’s most eagerly anticipated society events.  The celebrations
were the most magnificent the island could offer, with no expense spared to
delight guests. The grand receiving rooms shone with reflected light from
dozens of mirrors and chandeliers, elaborate bouquets of exotic flowers graced
every surface, and upon the grand dining tables the polished silver shone in
glittering testimony to the Governor’s considerable wealth. It was a scene from
a fairy tale where even the servants, who rushed about busily preparing for the
arrival of his lordship’s acquaintances, seemed filled with the wonder and
magic of the evening’s promise. Excitement danced in the evening air as all was
made ready.

Only short miles away, however, a
very different scene played out at the home of William Gibson; here, all was
shrouded in uncomfortable silence as Catherine and her father made their separate,
joyless preparations for the evening. No one laughed in delight or merry
anticipation; all was solemn as a tomb.

The austere tone had been set earlier
in the day with the arrival of duMont’s own man. The unfortunate soul had come
at his master’s command to deliver a gift to Catherine. The valet placed the
proffered velvet box in Catherine’s hands with all best wishes from his master.
He gave a polite bow and turned to depart, but not before noting Catherine’s
dismay at the bequest, a stark contrast to her father’s great delight.

Catherine held the crimson box with
trembling hands, the blood singing in her ears so loudly that she did not hear
her father’s repeated requests for her to open the gift. She felt the room tilt
dangerously as her mind raced with frantic thoughts, a fearful apprehension
knotting in the pit of her stomach. William Gibson’s urging for her to open the
box grew more heated and finally cut through the fog of Catherine’s disjointed
thoughts. Drawing in a deep breath, Catherine grudgingly opened the velvet treasure.
Beneath its lid she found an elaborate pendant set with diamonds and sapphires.
William Gibson was in raptures but Catherine felt the complete opposite. She
said nothing as she reached for the short message included with the necklace:

To my dearest Catherine –

A cherished gift to mark the
evening – and my eternal regard.

- P. duMont

Catherine could not help the shudder
of revulsion that passed through her as she read the offending card. The
message and the gift were a complete mockery and Catherine did not feel she
could continue this charade any longer. She closed the lid without a word and
dismissed duMont’s servant without offering any reply for his master. The sight
of his daughter’s lackluster reaction made Gibson seethe with anger. He wagged
his finger in Catherine’s face and reprimanded her harshly; “You thoughtless
girl! You should be thrilled at such an honor! There can be no other necklace
of such beauty and price in the whole of the island. Go upstairs and prepare
yourself for the evening. I will have no more of this ridiculous behavior!” he roared
angrily, then stormed off to his study to toast his good fortune alone.

Catherine watched her father go with
relief. She ascended the stairs sadly, hoping to find solace in the quiet of
her room. It was not to be, however. Wherever she looked, no matter how determinedly
she directed her attention elsewhere, her gaze was drawn back to the offending
necklace. Like some malevolent thing, it forced its presence on her conscience
again and again. Now, several hours later, Catherine sat alone at her dressing
table starring blankly at the rich jewels before her. She struggled against
them, refusing to concede to their power. She would not put them on until the
last possible moment.

All of Catherine’s other preparations
for the ball had been completed much earlier: she was beautifully attired in a
silk gown of pure white; on her hands was a pair of elegant gloves that stretched
the length of her arm; and her lady’s maid had arranged her golden hair in a loose
bun at the nape of her neck, with a small spray of blush roses twined in the
golden tresses. The effect was simple and elegant, accentuating Catherine’s
natural beauty, but she took no pleasure in the sight. Everything was marred by
the wicked, winking charm that confronted her from the dressing table’s surface,
and by ominous thoughts of the man the jewels represented.

Catherine stared bitterly at the
hateful necklace. She longed for relief, for some respite from the enormity that
faced her on this evening, but she knew there could be no turning back. Yesterday’s
meeting with Captain Knight had made Catherine hopeful. A fitful night’s sleep,
however, had slowly eroded her confidence. As the sun burned away the day with
determined rays, she had to admit that it was too late, there was nothing that
could be done. Catherine must resign herself; Captain Knight was capable of
many things, but this situation was too far gone for even he to correct. A
final ray of the setting sun crossed the room to wink evilly from the surface
of the gem before her. The necklace seemed charmed with the power of speech, and
its message was clear; ‘
You know it to be true!’

A deep rush of anger coursed
throughout Catherine’s body, bringing her to her feet. In silent fury she swept
the wicked pendant from its place on her dressing table, strode across the room
and opened her writing desk to stuff the offending necklace deep into a drawer.
As she closed the lid once more, a bitter smile came to her lovely face. She
might be sold into bondage this night, but she refused to display her chains
for all to see.

Catherine’s moment of self-congratulation
was soon interrupted by the sound of a carriage in the drive; she knew without
looking that it would be Monsieur duMont. Catherine gathered her reticule and
took a final look in the mirror. She gave herself a small smile of
encouragement and lifted her head proudly, then left to meet her fate below.

In the foyer, William Gibson and
Philippe duMont stood with casual nonchalance, sharing one of their customary
rough laughs. At her appearance on the stairs, however, duMont straightened up
and wreathed his face in an ingratiating smile; “Catherine, my dear,” he
breathed with false grace, “How charming you…” his voice trailed off suddenly
as Catherine came fully into view. The welcoming smile fell from his face,
replaced by a look of burning anger: the treasured necklace was nowhere to be
seen. Catherine could not help the feeling of delight as she watched his
careful façade crack. Philippe duMont’s smooth, imperturbable appearance was
replaced by the mean, bitter visage that Catherine had known lurked just below
the surface.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Catherine
said innocently; “Shall we depart?” At her honeyed words, duMont turned an even
angrier shade. Through gritted teeth duMont ground out a reply; “Of course we
cannot leave just yet, Miss Gibson. You have not completed your preparations.”
William Gibson, who had been watching duMont’s reaction in confusion, finally looked
at his daughter and recognized the source of his friend’s anger. “Damn it,
Catherine!” he blasted at her with venom, “How could you have forgotten M.
duMont’s gift, you thoughtless girl.” This time, Catherine turned her silky charm
on her father; “I have not forgotten the
trinket
, dear Papa” she said with
antagonizing sweetness, “I do not choose to wear it this evening.” Catherine
felt her knees tremble as she spoke; what she was doing was beyond careless –
it was suicide. She looked at the growing rage in her father’s face and knew in
an instant that she had gone too far. William Gibson lurched forward and
grabbed Catherine’s arm in a punishing grip. Catherine was shocked by the
violence of his action, at the sight of the angry spittle forming at the
corners of his mouth. A tremor of fear ran through her body but she fought to
hold her ground.

It was to no avail.

With rough jerking motions, William
Gibson dragged his daughter unceremoniously up the stairs and down the hall to
her room. Catherine slipped several times, losing her footing, but Gibson did
not slow in his ruthless march. He pulled her along in his wake like she was a
rag doll. When they reached Catherine’s room he threw her violently inside, and
began looking round like a madman. “Where is it, damn you!” he shrieked. “What
have you done with the necklace?” Before the terrified Catherine could speak,
her father began searching her dressing table, then her nightstand, knocking everything
over in his quest for the gem. Finding nothing, he turned at last to
Catherine’s writing desk. Catherine stepped forward quickly, her arm
outstretched to stay his progress. Gibson sneered knowingly at her response and
upended the entire desk in one brutal motion. The elegant piece crashed to the
floor, splintering apart with a horrible crash. The contents of the desk
spilled forth in a mad tumble; papers, pens, trinkets and ribbon scattering
across the floor at her father’s feet. Catherine froze, her breath caught in
her throat; there, among the debris, lay her many sketches of Captain John
Knight.

At first, in his fury to find the
necklace, Gibson did not register any detail of the sketches.  He kicked at the
rubble before getting to his knees to search for the pendant, moving the sheets
impatiently to discover what lie beneath. As the images accumulated, however,
Gibson slowed in his progress, finally recognizing the secret he held in his
hand. He gathered the papers, snatching at each with icy fury. Gibson returned
to his feet, several sketches of Captain Knight clutched in his hand: “You worthless
bitch” Gibson said with wrath, “What is the meaning of this?” he finished
hotly, shaking the papers in Catherine’s face. Catherine was terrified but she
would not respond to his low behavior. She tilted her chin angrily and refused
to answer his accusation.

Catherine soon regretted her actions.
Gibson stepped closer and grabbed her once more; “If you think for one moment
that I will allow this… this... insubordination any further, you are more
stupid than I believed possible.” He drew Catherine closer, his angry breath
fanning her face, and then threw her bodily to the floor. Catherine landed with
a crash among the broken desk and its scattered contents. Her arms were already
showing bruises from his rough handling and the fall wrenched her ankle quite
badly. She looked up at Gibson with a mixture of contempt and shame – he was
not her father. No father could treat her as he did now. They were complete
strangers and ever would be.