Virginia Henley (16 page)

Patrick set his wineglass down with a noisy clink. He knew immediately that Catherine was in trouble. He had just finished dinner when the forceful premonition stabbed through him. He was on his feet and running between one heartbeat and the next.

When he opened the cabin door the acrid stink of vomit caught in his throat. Maggie was fast asleep in her berth while Cat lay in a small heap on the floor. When Patrick swept her up in his arms, he felt that she was soaking wet, icy cold and unconscious. He removed her from the cabin and took her along to his. He had no way of knowing if she had been throwing up, but she looked deathly pale. Patrick took a small flacon of ginger wine from the cupboard and proceeded to disrobe her. He had no time to search for undergarment tapes; he simply tore off the wet petticoat. Then he wrapped her naked body in one of his blankets and sat down with her on his knee. He smoothed back her damp hair and tapped her cheek lightly. “Catherine, Cat, wake up; look at me.”

Though she didn’t know where she was, Cat felt warmer and safer, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She heard the slow beat of a drum in the distance, far away, yet incessant. Gradually it became so loud and so close that her eyes flew open. Dazed, she found herself in Patrick Hepburn’s lap, her ear pressed against the slow, steady drumbeat of his heart.

“I want you to drink this, Catherine.” He was looking so deeply into her eyes that she felt mesmerized, without a will of her own. Obediently, she opened her mouth and began to sip the potion he held to her lips. The spicy ginger with its bitter under-taste warmed her throat and her belly.
He’s rocking me as if I were a babe.
She didn’t realize it was the ship that rocked her. Her lips curved.
I like being rocked!
Her eyes wanted to close and finally she stopped fighting the desire. Within five minutes, she was fast in the arms of Morpheus.

With gentle hands, Patrick unwrapped the blanket and gazed down at her delicate beauty. When he had looked his fill, he rolled her so that she lay across his knee, face down. His eyes lit with amusement as they studied the tattoo at the top of her bottom cheek. Patrick simply couldn’t resist. He reached out his fingertips to stroke the little black cat until he imagined he could hear it purring. A wave of tenderness rose up in him; she was so small, so vulnerable, and he knew he had never felt this protective about any other female he had ever known.

Patrick carried her to his berth and gently laid her down. Then he stripped off his clothes, turned down the lantern and climbed in next to her, pulling a soft, lamb’s wool blanket over them. He eased her onto her side and then curved his long body against her back so that she was lying in his lap. The moment her bare flesh touched his cock he hardened with desire, but a will of iron curbed his passion from flaring out of control.

Patrick tucked her head beneath his chin and slid his powerful arms around her, cupping her breasts in the palms of his hands. It felt so right, so perfect, he knew this was the way he wanted to sleep for the rest of his life. His mouth curved with tender amusement as he imagined her wild reaction if she had known that they were lying naked together in bed. The names she would call him would blister his ears, and all of them would be deserved. He remembered how she had pummeled his chest earlier. If she knew what he was doing to her now, she would use more than her fists. She would likely kick and bite him. His cock throbbed against her bum and Patrick felt totally unrepentant. He wanted Catherine Seton Spencer and he intended to have her. How fortuitous that she came with abundant wealth and estates.
Little Hellcat!

The sleeping draught that Catherine had taken was inducing strange dreams that were filled with fantasy yet felt amazingly real at the same time:

 

The dream changed without rhyme or reason, transforming her from a feline into a female:

 

Catherine came up through the layers of sleep and lay with her eyes closed, lulled by a gentle rocking sensation that made her feel languid. Finally, she summoned enough energy to open her eyes. She felt slightly disoriented, as if the cabin were the wrong way about. She sat up slowly and stared at the two huge hunting hounds sitting with beatific expressions on their faces. “Satan, Sabbath!” She suddenly knew whose cabin she occupied, and then she realized that she was naked.

The door opened and Patrick Hepburn entered, balancing a tray. He kept the door open with his foot. “Off you go. Don’t want a cat and dog fight over breakfast.”

Her eyes flashed their warning. Her tone was icy, her words measured. “How did I get here?”

“I drugged you and carried you to my bed.”

“I am serious, sir!” she snapped angrily.

“So am I, Catherine.” His eyes lingered on her face, then took in her disheveled cloud of hair with appreciation. Until now she had always been immaculately groomed. “I thought we could eat in bed.” He winked. “By the way, I owe you a petticoat.”

The look on her face told him that his words had devastated her. He tried to make amends. “Cat, I’m teasing you.” Her look of relief mauled his pride. “I’ll go and get Maggie so that your cabin can be scrubbed. I think there’s enough breakfast here for both of you.” He set the tray down and departed.

Cat arose from the berth and wrapped herself in the blanket. Her nose detected his unique male scent.
It must be on the blanket—it couldn’t possibly be on my body!

Later, in the early afternoon, when the sea appeared to be calm, Catherine ventured up on deck. She wanted fresh air, but, more than that, she longed to experience the adventure of being aboard a sailing ship on a voyage at sea. She pulled her blue wool cloak about her and walked slowly with her hand upon the rail. The breeze played merry hell with her black curls, but it felt so exhilarating that for once she didn’t care. She filled her lungs with the invigorating salt air and eagerly scanned the horizon. She experienced a sense of total freedom for the first time in her life as she became one with the wind and the sea.

When she turned around to walk back, she spotted the chamber pot resting against a coil of rope. She glanced about quickly to make sure none were watching, then went to retrieve it. As she reached out her hand, the ship’s deck tilted slightly and the pot rolled away from her. She quickened her step and pursued it, determined that the obstinate object would not elude her for long. As she grabbed the handle firmly, deep male laughter rolled over her. Her head snapped up and she saw Patrick Hepburn standing directly above her on the quarterdeck. She had no idea how long he had been watching her. She blushed furiously. “What the devil are you laughing at?”

“You.” He could not contain his amusement.

Still clutching the handle, she stalked up the steps to confront him on the quarterdeck. “Well?” she demanded.

“The sight of the elegant Lady Catherine brings tears to my eyes as I watch her throw caution to the wind and chase after a—”

“Piss pot?” she shouted, glaring daggers at him. Suddenly, it struck her that the ridiculous situation was rife with humor and she began to laugh. When he joined in, Cat laughed harder. “You are a devil, Hepburn! I get the distinct impression that you have been laughing at me since the moment we met.”

“That is an unjust accusation. There have been times when I wanted to tan your arse.”

As she set the china pot down, her eyes narrowed. “Your retribution was worse. You found another way to punish me.”

“Catherine, if your plan for Arbella to marry Seymour had succeeded, they would have both gone to the Tower. If the queen discovered your part in it, you too could have gone to the Tower.”

When he uttered the word
Tower,
it brought back her dream in vivid detail. They had been naked together in the Tower and she had thrown away the key! She recoiled from the memory.

Patrick saw her recoil and was determined to overcome her distaste for him. “Walk with me, Catherine.” He put his hands behind his back so that he would not be tempted to help her down the steps that led to the deck. His hounds materialized immediately and bounded ahead of them. He shortened his steps to match hers as they followed the ship’s rail. “The match with Seymour was abhorrent for other reasons.”

She threw him a challenging look. “What reasons?”

“Arbella is one of the wealthiest heiresses in England. She has already inherited her late parents’ money, and when her grandmother dies she will come into a vast share of landholdings.”

“You think William Seymour wants to marry her for her money?”

“Of course he wants to wed her for her money, but there is no dishonor in that. The match is abhorrent because Seymour is dissolute. His debts are enormous. He owes thousands of pounds to moneylenders, to tailors, to jewelers, to wine merchants and scores of others. He has squandered a fortune on clothes and drink and women, and he needs Arbella’s wealth to tide him over until he inherits from his father and grandfather. On top of everything else, his gambling debts are staggering.” Patrick did not tell Catherine that Henry Somerset pissed in the same pot. He hoped her innate intelligence would now make her begin to question Somerset’s motives for courting her.

Cat looked disillusioned. “Arbella is in love with him.”

“Arbella is in love with the idea of marriage. She is a young woman who fears she will be left on the shelf. She longs for a husband ... any husband.” He made no effort to mask his contempt.

“You cocksure devil! You think you know everything there is to know about women, but you don’t. You, sir, are in for a rude awakening!” She turned on her heel and left him.

He called after her, “You forgot your pot, Hellcat!”

Catherine could hear the laughter in his voice. “You can stuff your bloody pot, you insufferable oaf!”

For the remainder of the afternoon, Cat stayed in the cabin she shared with Maggie. Though she would have preferred to be up on deck, she remained stubbornly secluded so that she would not encounter Patrick Hepburn.

“My lovely gray velvet cloak got soaked last night. I’m afraid it’s ruined,” Cat said with a sigh.

“When it’s thoroughly dry, a good brushing might restore it to respectability,” Maggie mused. “Seton’s not the fashion center of the world. It isn’t Court, don’t forget.”

“I’m not likely to forget, when I’ll be in the wilds of Scotland. I warrant the climate won’t be suitable for half the clothes I’ve brought. Will it be warm in June?”

“Not warm like London. We may be lucky and get a few warm days in July or August.”

“Good God, I shan’t be there that long! I haven’t been given a life sentence,” Cat said with a shudder.

When a knock sounded on the cabin door, Catherine bristled. “If that’s Hepburn, I shan’t speak to him!”

Maggie opened the door and took the chamber pot Patrick held out.

“Are you feeling better, Maggie?”

“I’m right as rain, yer lordship, now that I have my sea legs. Won’t ye come in?” Cat glared daggers at her, but Maggie pretended not to notice.

“Lady Catherine”—Patrick addressed her back—“since I deprived you of attending a wedding, may I escort you to—”