Island Flame (26 page)

Jon frowned a little, thinking of Cathy as his wife. As contented as she seemed to be on Las Palmas, she was accustomed to a totally different mode of life. She was a titled lady, the daughter of an earl, and was entitled to a place in the highest circles of society. Every care and luxury had been hers until now. If fate had not intervened by pushing her into his arms, she could have married whom she chose. With her beauty and background, even royalty would have been within her reach.

But she’s mine now, Jon thought defensively, and what is mine I keep. He was wealthy enough to support her stylishly, and, if it would make her happy, he would even give up his present way of life. England was closed to him—he had preyed on too many English ships—but he could take her back with him to South Carolina. Despite everything that had happened there, it was still his home. It was not quite what she was used to, but Jon felt that it might be enough. If she loved him.…

A handful of cool water splashed down on his sunwarmed midriff, jolting Jon abruptly out of his reverie. The subject of his musings stood giggling at his feet, her blue eyes alight with laughter and her golden hair curling wildly about her slender body. Her hands were cupped, and even as he stared at her she sprinkled more water on his chest.

“I’ll teach you to throw water on me,” he growled with mock anger, springing to his feet and grabbing for her. She eluded him easily, as light and quick on her feet as a young gazelle, her teasing laugh floating behind her as she sprinted for the safety of the sea.

“You’d better run, vixen,” Jon called threateningly after her, and followed at a more sedate pace to frolic with her in the waves.

Jon was very quiet that evening, and Cathy found herself casting him anxious looks from time to time. Could he possibly be angry with her about something? His gray eyes, when they rested on her, were brooding, and his manner was distracted. He drank several glasses of wine with his meal, but left his food practically untouched. Was he sickening for something, Cathy worried. Or maybe his leg was hurting him and he didn’t want to own up to it.

Finally she could contain herself no longer.

“Jon, do you feel well?” she asked anxiously.

He looked up, his eyes vague. It took him a minute to focus on her.

“What? Yes, of course I do. Why?”

“Does your leg hurt?” she persisted, his lack of attention puzzling her even more. Lately he had listened with great interest to her every word. What was wrong with him? Was it possible that he was beginning to tire of her?

“My leg feels fine. Why suddenly so worried about my health?” His eyes were lazy, his tone desultory. He still seemed to be about a million miles away.

“Then what’s wrong with you?” she burst out. She had to know, even if the answer was unpleasant.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, so far as I know. Should there be?” he asked with faint interest.

“You’re so quiet. Are you angry with me about something?” Cathy hadn’t meant to sound quite so abject, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t bear it if he was even now thinking of a way to break it to her gently that he no longer wanted her.

Jon laughed, his gray eyes suddenly warm as they rested on her.

“I was only thinking, my love.”

“About what?” Cathy asked suspiciously.

“You’ll find out. One day.” He was being deliberately mysterious, she thought crossly.

Jon grinned at her annoyance, standing up and moving away from the table.

“Juta, we’ve finished,” he called to the housekeeper, then walked around to Cathy’s chair and pulled it out for her with a gallant gesture. Cathy stared up at him, then looked suspiciously down the table at the half-empty decanter of wine. Could he be drunk? He certainly didn’t look it, but then maybe he carried his drink exceptionally well. Some men did, she had heard.

She stood up at his urging, smiling at Juta as she came in to clear the table, and allowed Jon to lead her into the large sitting room. The long French windows were open to the night, their thin veiling of mosquito netting fluttering in the gentle breeze. The only illumination came from a pair of wall-bracketed candles.

“Come for a walk with me?” Jon asked, nodding toward the windows. Cathy acquiesced, still faintly puzzled as she followed him out into the lush garden. The moon was a large, pale disc floating high over the tops of the palms, and the garden was alive with a chorus of insects. Sweet perfume from the brilliantly colored hibiscus trees floated in the air. Cathy breathed the heady fragrance deeply into her lungs.

“It’s beautiful here,” she murmured, more to herself than him. Jon’s arm came around her waist, pulling her loosely against his side, supporting her as they strolled away from the house.

“Beautiful,” he agreed huskily, but his eyes were on her.

“You’re very gallant tonight, Captain,” she teased lightly. “Are you trying to soften me up for some bad news?”

“As a matter of fact, I do have something to tell you,” Jon answered, his tone matching hers. “Whether it’s bad or not I leave up to you.”

He hesitated, and Cathy cast a quick glance up at him. Was he about to tell her what had been worrying him all evening?

“Well?” she prompted impatiently.

“I have to go away for a few days,” he said finally. Cathy felt faintly uneasy at something in his tone.

“Go away? To where?”

“There’s another island near here—Tenerife. I had word this afternoon that a man there is willing to buy the
Margarita
’s cargo. I had meant to dispose of it in Cadiz, but circumstances intervened.” He slanted a look down at her. Cathy walked slowly on, not noticing whether he was moving with her or not. Was he not planning to take her with him?

“May I come?” she asked in a small voice, not looking at him. Her feet came to the edge of the small cliff overlooking the beach and she stopped automatically, not even aware that she had done so.

Jon shook his head.

“Not this time, my cat. Tenerife’s a rough place, and I’ll be busy. I won’t have time to look after you properly. I’d rather leave you here, where I know you’ll be safe.”

He came to stand behind her, his arms sliding possessively around her small waist, pulling her back against his
chest. Cathy stared unseeingly at the reflected moonlight shimmering on the ocean below. The gentle roaring of the waves echoed in her ears.

“Will you miss me?” Jon asked huskily, his mouth nuzzling at the soft curve of her neck.

“You know I will,” Cathy whispered, her pride deserting her. She turned in his arms to slide her own around his neck. Jon stared down at her small face, admiring the translucent gleam of her skin in the silvery light. With moonbeams catching in her hair and her lips softly parted, she was so lovely that she took his breath.

Cathy stood on tiptoe, reaching for his mouth with hers. At the same time Jon’s head came down, and their lips met with an explosion of passion that set them both to shaking. Jon’s big hands moved over her body, slowly at first and then with increasing urgency. Cathy moaned as his trembling fingers slid inside her bodice to cup her breasts. Before she quite knew how it had happened, she was standing naked in the moonlight, Jon’s eyes dark with desire as they ran sensuously over her. Her fingers were unsteady as she helped him unbutton his shirt, and then with an animal-like groan he lowered her to lie in the tall grass by the cliff. The ground was cool and prickly against the bare skin of her back, but Cathy scarcely noticed as she held up her arms to Jon beseechingly. When he came to her at last, he was as naked as she. Their bodies coupled fiercely, with no thought of preliminaries, conscious only of a raging need so intense that they were both caught up in its flames.

Ten

C
athy was sick for the third morning in a row. She lay gasping over the porcelain chamber pot, racked by violent spasms of nausea. When her exhausted stomach was finally quiet, she made her way back to bed, trembling, and rested weakly against the cool linen sheets. What on earth was the matter with her? Had she contracted some strange tropical disease? If this morning was like the other two, she would soon feel all right again, able to go about her business as if nothing had happened. Besides her one bout with seasickness, she had never been ill a day in her life before. This intermittent vomiting was beginning to alarm her.

“I bring coffee, mam.” Juta’s cheerful brown face appeared around the door. Cathy smiled at her wanly. Useless to expect either Juta or Kimo to knock. They treated Jon’s house as their own, and herself and Jon were catered to as if they were honored guests. Cathy could not quite get used to them walking in unannounced, but Jon had told her with a shrug that there was nothing to be done about it. He had merely forbidden the servants to enter the little room Cathy used for dressing or the big bedroom that he and Cathy shared. Juta appeared to consider that Jon’s absence negated that last prohibition.

“Mam, you all right?” Juta asked, concern in her velvety dark eyes. Cathy sat up to sip her coffee, still feeling a trifle shaky.

“I’m fine, Juta. I’ve just been a little nauseous lately. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Juta agreed, turning to leave Cathy to drink her coffee in peace. “Baby’s nothing to worry about. Cap’n will be pleased. Proves him plenty strong man.”

Juta sailed majestically from the room while Cathy slowly put the delicate china cup back down on the tray, her hand unsteady. Baby! It couldn’t be! She thought back quickly, and blanched. So much had happened to her over the past three months that she had completely lost track of her monthly courses. The last one had been—let’s see—about a week before she had sailed with the
Anna Greer
. Her hand crept to her stomach, still firm and flat beneath the filmy nightdress, with a feeling of awe. Juta was right. According to all the signs, she was going to have a child.

Cathy’s emotions dissolved rapidly into a wild mingling of happiness, worry, and fear. She would love Jon’s baby as she loved Jon. Already her arms yearned to hold her child, to lavish care and affection on it. What would it be—a little boy with black hair and swarthy complexion or a little girl with gray eyes? Cathy faltered. Would Jon be pleased? Would he learn to love her as the mother of his child, or would he turn from her, as she grew big and unwieldy, to seek out females with a more seductive shape? Perhaps he would even send her back to her father, once she was no longer able to please him? She suddenly knew that she didn’t really care if she never saw her father or Martha again. Her life was with Jon now, and as long as he wanted her she would stay with him. And if she had her way, he would want her for the rest of his life.

A frown puckered her brow and her hand caressed her belly protectively. According to the tenets of society, her child would be a bastard—unless she did something about it. If there was any way she could manage it, her baby would have a right to his father’s name, would be able to hold up his head with anyone as he grew to manhood—or womanhood. In that moment she resolved to persuade Jon to marry her by any means available. Whether he loved her or not, he had a duty to their unborn child. She didn’t think he would shrink from it.

She thought about Jon’s background, and chewed her lip. Did she want a pirate for her baby’s father—for her husband? A thieving, murdering brigand who would certainly hang if he were caught? Well, like it or not, he was the father of her child. And she loved him. She would marry him and take her chances on the rest.

Cathy got rather gingerly out of the big brass bed and began to dress. She would really have to see about getting a new wardrobe. Few of her clothes were suitable for the tropical heat. Then she thought about how her stomach would bulge in the coming months, and smiled. She would soon be needing a new wardrobe in any case.

Dressed, she wandered out of the house and down toward the smaller dwelling at the end of the garden where Petersham stayed. After the incident with Harry, it seemed that Jon was taking no more chances with her. He had ordered her not to go out of sight of the house without Petersham in attendance. The men on the island would keep their distance as long as she was protected, but if some of the more unscrupulous characters were to come on her while she was alone, they might consider her fair game. Cathy obeyed Jon’s instructions more from a desire
for company than from fear for her own safety. The days were long and tedious without Jon, and Petersham was at least someone to talk to.

The valet was sitting on a chair outside the front entrance of the palm-thatched cottage, carving busily at a piece of wood. He smiled when he saw Cathy approaching, his faded eyes crinkling in appreciation of the lovely picture she made with her golden hair piled high on her head for coolness’ sake and her simple white dress emphasizing her youthful sweetness. Master Jon was a lucky man, Petersham thought, had he but the sense to know it.

“You’re late, miss,” he grinned at her. “I thought you might have decided to sleep all day.”

“Just most of it,” Cathy twinkled in response, and waited while he carefully took the wood he was carving inside.