Stormfire (46 page)

Impatient, she turned to leave, but he spun her about. "Is it rape you've learned to prefer?" Jerking her to him and twisting one arm behind her as she struggled, he closed his free hand over her breast. "Is this what you want? And this?" He thrust his hand down into the bodice so abruptly the material ripped. This time, to his surprise, he met no resistance, only implacable contempt.

"I don't care what you do! I'm going to stay with him as long as he wants me!"

Liam's look of desire altered to hopelessness, then to cold fury. He pushed her away. "Then you're a fool, like all the rest of his women! Is the bastard really that good in bed? Are you in love with him?"

"I don't know if I love him, but. . . yes, he
is
that good in bed."

Liam started to slap her, then slowly dropped his hand. She stared at him coldly, brazenly refusing to close her bodice, and he had never seen her look so magnificent. She had become a sensual woman, tawny-skinned and ripe. Her houri eyes filled with a promise that made him want her more than ever. "Did you know Sean has ruined your father? That the bogus antiques shipment he's just arranged will not only destroy your father's hope of financial recovery, but his reputation as well?"

Again, the reaction was not at all what he expected. Catherine only looked at him. "Sean told me about Father. In Kenlo."
                 
^!

He stared. "You believe him?"

"Yes," she said bleakly, "because my father is a murderer . . . and worse."

"Did you also know Sean's mounting an armed rebellion against the Crown?"

"I've known for months. I saw the guns in the blockhouse. At first I meant to use you to get away."

Liam's bitterness welled up. "But you couldn't. You'd spread yourself for my whoreson, rutting brother, but you'd not let me make love to you, even to save England!"

"You exaggerate, Liam. England's in no danger. Rebellion is hopeless. By escaping, I could have saved Irish lives."

He smiled grimly. "Do you think my brother intends to fight alone? I suppose he neglected to mention we expect company tomorrow?" He was rewarded by a blank look. "Ah, at last I see there's something you don't know. Our guests are French."

She went pale. "Sean's bringing in French troops?"

"Not just Sean. The United Irishmen sue sponsoring this entertainment. Theobald Wolfe Tone, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and Arthur O'Connor are only a few of the conspirators who riddle the government and every level of society. Tone has been in Paris arranging a campaign with the Directorate. We've been promised, at least three warships under the command of General Humbert, who will shortly embark from prance to support the rebellion. Napoleon sends his regards."

"But Napoleon wants Ireland as a door to invasion of England!"

"But of course, my little amateur."

She caught his arm. "Liam, Sean cannot. . . you mustn't let him!,"

"What, pray, would you have me do? Thrust my neck into a noose for the sake of a nation I detest?"

"For Ireland! If you bring in the French, you'll be exchanging one yoke for another! Doesn't Sean realize that?" At his indifferent shrug, she flared, "Damn you, you self-pitying ninny! Get up on your hind legs and fight! If a weapon fits ill to your hand, then ply your wits!"

Liam stared at her. This wild-haired, brazen termagant was no longer the woman with whom he had been obsessed, but now he determined to meet the challenge of breaking his brother's hold on her, of breaking her to his own hand. "What do you expect me to do?" he asked sullenly.

"Where's the main gun cache?"

"You've been sleeping over it. The cellar wine racks conceal chambers cut in rock. He has artillery pieces hidden in the silos. Shelan has the largest stockpile of arms outside Dublin"—his lips quirked sardonically—"and apparently the best hidden. Your British General Lake has disarmed practically all the rest of Ulster this past month."

She looked at him intently. "If we could think of a ruse to clear the house, we could blow up the magazine and the silos."

"The hell you say! I'll not scatter my inheritance to dust. It's all I have, after all." He paused. "Besides, how do you think your lover would react to his harlot's treachery?"

Oh, God, Sean! . . . Napoleon in Ireland! She turned away. This decision had been inevitable. To think it could be avoided had been foolish, only now she would be twice a traitor, to Ireland and Sean.

"I see you have the idea. He'd kill you with his bare hands."

"The authorities must be warned. Help me escape, as you promised."

"That was before I knew you'd been using me. Now, there's a price."

She knew, but she had to hear him demand it. Hear her own irrevocable answer. "What is it?"

"Marry me before we leave."

"Liam, I'll never love you in the way you want."

"I don't care."

She silently stared toward Shelan, then answered tone- lessly, "I'll marry you."

"In Ruiralagh before the priest? With nuns as our witnesses."

"Apparently, you've made all the arrangements."

 
"Every step of the way. I've plotted and covered our route from here to Londonderry. Sean will never see you again. Not until the day he hangs. And I'll expect you to watch, Catherine. You'll be mine from then on." He cupped her breast.

She stiffened, then shrugged away from him. She would have to keep him on the run, moving continually. Anything to keep him from consummating their union. Liam's vengeful hatred of Sean canceled her former desire to repay him the loss of his homeland. Once in Londonderry, she would get an annulment.

Liam had not lied about their visitors. At Shelan, servants scuttled about, abristle with cleaning paraphernalia. Peg cheerily greeted her at the bedroom door. "I see the sea air agreed with ye! Yer cheeks have blooms like Spanish roses." She closed the door behind them. "Sean, he always turns black as a pirate." Her smile turned gleeful. "I knew ye'd do him good. He's been grinnin' like a heathen all day."

"If only I
were
good for him," Catherine murmured, then tightly hugged the housekeeper. "Stay with him, Peg. He needs you more than you realize."

The older woman patted her shoulder. "Now, now. 'Tis a young woman the scamp needs." She held Catherine away, studying her face intently. "He's in love with you, did ye know that?"

"I wish for his sake he weren't."

Peg frowned. "Do ye feel nothin' for him?"

"I feel something . . . I cannot think when he touches me, and yet when he lets me go . . ."

"Ye harken back to him like a lark to the wind. "Es nothin' to fret about, lass. It's gentleness he needs." She took Catherine's hand arid drew her to the bed. "See what came on the
Sylvie
for ye! I've been atwitch since late mornin'!"

Flung across the counterpane were gowns in a profusion of muslins and silks, all in Le Roy's deceptively simple cuts; all fabulously expensive. Dainty gold, silver, and tinted silk sandals were matched to each dress. Peg pointed to a velvet packet. "There's even paints and po
mades like Josephine and the society ladies wear." She flipped open a silk-lined box to reveal crystal vials of perfume. Removing a stopper, she wafted it under Catherine's nose. "An't that sinful?"

Catherine almost flinched. A flacon of the identical scent was evaporating on the dressing table at home. Sean had overlooked nothing, even a broadcloth riding habit in the latest style with a short jacket and saucy veiled hat. By the armoire, Spanish riding boots gleamed next to his own. She sagged onto the bed and gazed numbly at the splendid array.

With a mock frown of disapproval, Peg waved a gossamer wisp of lingerie from a finger. "Disgraceful."

Waiting impatiently in the Rose Salon, Sean replaced his wineglass on the mantel and turned as his mistress entered the room. His breath caught. Catherine's beauty had often taken him unaware but never more than now. By the firelight's glow, she was a slender column of white
h la Diane.
Amused by the name of the creation, he had included the dress as a prank. Caught at one shoulder in imitation of a tunic of ancient Greece, it was split at the sides from waist to ankle to reveal a slim underskirt and golden sandals. Tiny bell rings were at her toes and fingers and polished black hair fell to her hips. Gilded eyelids fired her opal eyes with Circean allure and her lips had the ripe warmth of pomegranates. In that moment, Sean knew she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen or would ever see again. "I thought that little rig might suit you," he said lightly. "In Paris,
les merveilleuses
dispense with the underskirt and wear nothing but tights, sometimes nothing at all."

Ignoring his teasing suggestion, she replied softly, "You're most generous. Alexander's Roxanne could not have been more richly dressed."

"I'ye no wish to be an Alexander." He traced the line of her jaw with a fingertip. "I have all the world I need."

"Have you?" She gazed up at him. "Sean, you cannot have Ireland
and
me. Your people would never support a leader with an English mistress. I would continually be suspected of twisting your judgment. They would call you a self-indulgent fool, even a traitor."

" chérie, I've no illusions about the difficulties of keeping a woman like you, even under ordinary circumstances. I might as easily take a stroll through Soho at midnight with gold coins stitched to my coat. And becoming
ri eireanne
was my mother's ambition, not mine. Ireland's freedom is all I swore to gain. I've no wish to rule."

"You'll have no choice. The abilities and ancestry that rally Irishmen to your standard will also compel you to accept their leadership in peace. To remain free, Ireland must remain united; and for a time, perhaps all your lifetime, your name obliges you to supply focus for loyalty." She turned away. "There's another difficulty."

He came up behind her. His closeness made her feel weak, but she forced herself to go on. "You must have legitimate heirs. My . . . my children would become liabilities. Inevitably, another woman would take my place in your arms, perhaps in your heart."

He lightly caressed her throat. "Would that matter, my taking another woman?"

"Yes," she whispered.