Sea Fire (16 page)

Cathy opened her eyes, the deep blue of her irises staring for a moment directly into his. Jon got the eerie impression that she didn’t even see him even as his conscience flicked at him again. She looked so helpless, and so damned young. . . .

“You do look like a wolf,” she murmured incomprehensibly, and then that appalling giggle sounded again.

“Cathy. . . .” Jon said, shaken by the sound. Then he broke off. The words that had leapt to the tip of his tongue had been an apology for his treatment of her, and he was damned if he would apologize for that, or try to explain! Why should he? She had given her body to Harold easily enough, and without, he would wager, all these heartburnings!

Jon rolled off the bunk and onto his feet, fists resting lightly on his naked hips as he stood staring frowningly down at her. Her slender body was glistening with his sweat, and dotted here and there with his dark hairs. Her legs and arms were still spread in the ignominious position in which he had tied her.

Cathy was staring at him, her eyes quite blank. Jon felt a frisson of alarm shiver down his spine. What the hell ailed her? As he watched her, half angry, half concerned, giggle after giggle began to ripple from her throat. Her eyes were soulless as they met his; she was laughing as though she would never stop. Jon felt the hairs lift on the back of his neck. It was the most frightening sound he had ever heard.

She was hysterical, of course. Jon realized that with a tremendous sense of relief.
For one horrible moment, he had feared that she had lost her mind. He bent to untie her, working as quickly as he could, resolutely dismissing the little voices that chided him for treating her in such a way. As that awful laughter continued to flutter around him like dry, crackling leaves born on intermittent bursts of wind, his hands grew clumsy. It was some little time before he had her loosed. Even then she made no move, but lay in the same position in which he had taken her, laughing.

“Cathy, that’s enough! Stop it!” His voice was sharp as he grabbed her by the shoulders, unable to stand that hideous sound another second. Ruthlessly he yanked her into a sitting position, shaking her until her head snapped back; still her eyes were wide and staring, and that awful trilling laughter sprang from her throat.

“Cathy!” Desperate to silence her, Jon lifted a hand and slapped her with deliberate force across the face. Instantly the laughter stopped. As her eyes came back to focus on him, he was glad to see that they had regained a little of their awareness. Then, to his torment, she began wrenchingly to cry.

Her sobs tore at Jon’s heart, harden it against her as he would. Cursing inwardly, he sat down heavily on the side of the bunk, attempting against his better judgement to draw her into his arms.

“No!” she screamed, pushing him away with such force that he almost fell off the bunk. “Don’t touch me! I can’t stand it if you touch me!”

“Cathy. . . .” His voice as he said her name was husky. He cleared his throat, not knowing quite what else to do. Obediently, afraid of bringing on another outburst of that spine-chilling laughter, he dropped his hands to his lap, where they rested rather awkwardly against his bare thighs.

“I’ll never forgive you for what you did,” she told him tonelessly, her sobs drying up as if suddenly dammed. “Never as long as I live. As far as I am concerned, whatever was between us is dead.
You mean absolutely nothing to me. It’s funny, but I find that I don’t even hate you anymore.”

Jon stared at her without speaking. She looked lovely and fey and a little wild sitting there with only her tangled red-gold hair veiling her nakedness. Oddly, her words stabbed him. Then, slowly, healingly, he felt anger begin to rise again, and welcomed it. At least it would stop him from making a fool of himself one more time.

“If you think that you can bring me around with tears, you can think again,” he rasped, rising abruptly to his feet. “You’ve given as much to me, and Harold, and God knows how many other men, as I took tonight. That’s what women like you were put on earth for—to pleasure men. I feel not the smallest shred of remorse for putting you to the use for which you were intended!”

Jon was savagely pulling on his breeches as he spoke. Cathy watched him stonily, unspeaking. While he shrugged into his shirt, their eyes clashed in a silent duel. Then, still without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked from the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Cathy stared frozenly at the still-reverbrating panel for a long moment, then collapsed sobbing into the bunk. It was a long time before she cried herself to sleep.

C
athy!”

She was awakened by rough hands shaking her. Resentfully she opened her eyes to find herself looking into Jon’s dark, unshaven face. Sunlight streamed in through the small portholes, illuminating the cabin. For just a moment Cathy forgot where she was, forgot that this man had taken her by force in the night, brutally killing her love for him. She blinked at him owlishly, her blue eyes wide and still dazed with sleep. Then with a small moan she turned over on her side, presenting her curved bare back to him as she faced the wall, snuggling deeper
into the unyielding mattress in a vain attempt to find a comfortable spot.

“Go ’way!” she muttered drowsily.

“Cathy, wake up!” His harsh tone and ungentle hands pulled her relentlessly back from the brink of renewed sleep. Her eyes blinked open again as he rolled her over onto her back. For a puzzled moment she stared up at him, wondering why he looked so cross. She saw his eyes kindle as they roved the length of her body. Cathy followed his gaze, a slight frown corrugating the pale skin of her brow, to discover that she was stark naked, her white body left totally exposed by the faded coverlet that was twisted somewhere down around her feet. The sight of her own unaccustomed nakedness brought the events of the previous night flooding back. With an angry gasp Cathy sat bolt upright, her breasts quivering with the suddenness of her movement as she grabbed for the errant cover and jerked it up around her neck.

“Your little display of modesty is quite charming, if a trifle overdone,” Jon remarked sardonically. Cathy met his eyes, blushing furiously and glaring at the same time. Last night’s blessed emotional numbness had completely worn off, she found. This morning she could feel again, and what she felt was rage.

“Come for your morning jollies?” she taunted angrily, tilting her chin at him. Jon’s eyes narrowed to piercing gray slits at her crudeness.

“Thanks for the invitation,” he drawled, infuriating her. “But I fear I must decline. I prefer my goods to be a little less—shopworn.”

“Why, you . . . !” Cathy gasped, enraged as he had intended. Without stopping to think, she swung her fist in an arc toward his face. This time he forestalled her, catching her hand in midair and squeezing until she gave a little cry of pain.

“I’m warning you: hit me again and I’ll hit you back,” he said through his teeth,
his eyes menacing. “I’ve had just about enough of your spoiled-brat tantrums. Now, get out of that bed!”

With his hand still crushing hers, he jerked her precipitately from the bunk. Cathy would have fallen to the floor if he had not caught her, his strong hands closing about her bare waist as he set her on her feet. Fairly spitting with anger, Cathy shook off his touch.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” she snapped, straightening her spine as she faced him. “Isn’t there anyone else on this ship that you can bully?”

“Get dressed,” Jon ordered tautly, pointedly ignoring her goad. To punish her, he let his eyes run over her with blatant insult. Standing naked before him, her pink-tipped breasts quivering with temper, the skin of her slender little waist and lissome long legs gleaming silkily in the sunlight, she was so lovely she almost took his breath away. But he hid his reaction well, managing a derisive sneer. Those sapphire eyes flashed with fury as she took in his expression, and her cloud of golden hair seemed to shoot off fiery sparks.

“Go to hell!” Cathy replied with admirable succinctness, fixing him with a stony glare. She refused to even try to cover up her nakedness. That was what he was waiting for, she could see! So that he could use her very real modesty as a target for more of his poisonous barbs! Jon’s jaw clenched at her terse response to his order. With a smothered oath he reached out to grasp her by her creamy bare shoulders, his gray eyes glinting warningly down at her.

“Something else you’d do well to remember,” he grated, “is that on this ship I am the captain and I mean to be obeyed. Give me any of your tantrums out on deck, and you’ll force me to respond in a way that I can promise you you won’t like!”

“Impressive as that little speech was,
Captain
,” Cathy sneered, “there was really no need for it. I haven’t the slightest intention of setting foot on your precious deck!”

“Haven’t
you?” Jon smiled slowly at her, his expression unpleasant. “Then I very much fear that you’re doomed to disappointment: you
will
go out on deck, and very shortly, too. And while you’re out there you’ll do just exactly as you’re told. Contrary to your evident belief, this isn’t a luxury vessel like the
Tamarind.
On the
Cristobel
, everybody works.”

“Works?” Cathy was so taken by surprise that the question came out quite normally.

“That’s right, works,” Jon said with evident relish. “Something you’re unaccustomed to, I know. But surely even someone as useless as you can do something. In fact, I insist on it.”

Cathy knew full well that he had just dreamed this up as a way of teaching her a lesson. Her soft mouth tightened. She was not taking orders from him!

“I won’t do it,” Cathy stated, folding her arms over her breasts and giving him a mulish glare. “And furthermore, you can’t make me!”

Jon’s eyes glinted at this last, and Cathy had an instant to reflect that perhaps issuing such a challenge had been a trifle unwise. Then he smiled tigerishly at her, those gray eyes gleaming like a predator’s, and Cathy was certain of it.

“I think we both know that that just isn’t so,” he said almost pleasantly. “I can make you do any damned thing I please, as I thought you would have learned last night. Now, I’m going to leave you to get dressed; like you, I have work to do. But if you’re not on deck within fifteen minutes, I’ll come fetch you. And if you put me to that much trouble, I’ll take a great deal of pleasure in making you regret it!”

“I wish you were dead!” Cathy flung at him, knowing that the reply was childish but too furious to come up with anything better on the spur of the moment. In any case, it was doubtful if he even heard. He was already on his way out the door before Cathy had regained sufficient control of herself to speak.

She was of two minds whether or not to do as he had ordered.
Part of her screamed no, but another part, the cool, rational part, told her that he had been pushed as far as he would go. Any more defiance on her part, at least until he had had a chance to cool off, would be summarily, and humiliatingly, dealt with. Finally, after about five of her fifteen minutes had passed, prudence won the day. Whether she liked to admit it or not, Jon was physically strong enough and determined enough to make her do just about whatever he wished, and it was clear that, at the moment anyway, he would take a great deal of enjoyment from forcibly bending her to his will. At least, if she did as he said, she could deny him that.

Sullenly Cathy crossed to her small trunk which had been pushed into a corner, knelt before it, and opened the lid. It contained just a few of the clothes that Harold had ordered prepared for their honeymoon. Cathy winced a little as she considered what Jon’s reaction would be when he discovered, as he inevitably would, the source of her new wardrobe. Then she resolutely squared her shoulders. She was not afraid of Jon, she told herself stoutly—and if that was no longer strictly true, she vowed that at least he would never know it.

There was one problem with the dresses in the trunk: they were all made of the finest materials fashioned into the latest styles. Certainly none of them had been designed to work in. Work was something far removed from the world of ladies and gentlemen, and the modiste who had created these gowns would be appalled to know the use to which they apparently would be put. Cathy wrinkled her nose. If Jon said she was to work, then work she undoubtedly would, but at what she couldn’t imagine. Knowing Jon, and his temper, she reflected that it would probably be at the most repugnant task he could devise, like scrubbing the decks, or emptying slops!

Cathy selected a dull blue silk afternoon dress almost at random. With its heart-shaped neckline set off by a tiny frill of white lace and its stylish puffed sleeves, it was every bit as lovely and frivolous as the rest of her garments. But at least the color was fairly sober;
anyway, it was the best she could do. If Jon expected her to work, then he would have to provide her with suitable clothes if he didn’t like those she had!

Seeing that her time was nearly up, Cathy quickly sluiced her face and body in the tepid water she found waiting for her in a tin bowl, then began to pull on her underthings. In deference to what she suspected would be a very hot day, she put on only a thin lawn chemise, pantalets, and a single petticoat under the dress. For coolness’ sake (and also, to be honest, because she knew Jon wouldn’t like it) she left off her stays, and the other two petticoats that were
de rigueur
for a properly attired lady. After an instant’s reflection, she also decided to leave off her silk stockings. The only shoes she had with her had high, dainty heels. Somehow she felt that these would be less than suitable on a deck.