Sea Fire (44 page)

These reflections were brought to an abrupt halt by Virginia’s lusty wail. Cathy,
her cheeks still hot with temper, pulled the discarded nightshirt over her head and went to pick up her child, who lay in a makeshift cradle on the floor nearby.

“Hush, darling,” she soothed the little girl, sitting down in the one straight chair and setting her to nurse. “Hush, my lamb, while Mama thinks up ways to kill your Papa!”

Over the next few days, a state of icy warfare existed between Jon and Cathy. When they were in the company of the ship’s crew, they spoke to each other when it would have been awkward not to. On one occasion, Cathy even brought herself to smile at Jon for the benefit of Mr. Corrigan’s interested eyes. But when they were alone they were coldly silent. They shared the bunk, but only to sleep. At night, Cathy would turn her back to Jon pointedly, not even saying so much as a chilly good-night. Jon, for his part, did the same thing. It was difficult, to share such cramped quarters without touching, but Cathy did her best and thought that she succeeded pretty well. Jon did nothing to indicate that he found the sudden cessation of sexual relations bothersome. In fact, if Cathy hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that he was almost unaware of her existence.

It was a cool, misty morning in late July when they sighted Plymouth at last. The
Victoria
had only to sail up the English Channel, and they would be in London. Cathy, standing on the deck with Virginia in her arms, Captain Davis’ dark blue cloak fastened around her neck, realized that their journey would be ended before another day had passed. And still nothing had been settled with Jon! She was much inclined just to walk out of his life forever when they were safely arrived in London. If it weren’t for Cray, and Virginia, that was precisely what she would do, she told herself, her little chin tilting proudly. But for their sakes, she would give him one final chance to make amends. If he apologized with sufficient humility, and swore that he had only accused her of such dreadful things in the
heat of anger without meaning a word of it, and told her he loved her, she might possibly consider forgiving him. . . .

Jon, standing further along the rail, was nonetheless aware of Cathy’s presence downwind. She looked very beautiful standing there, Virginia sleeping in her arms, her golden hair caught by the brisk sea air to ripple like a bright golden banner behind her. Captain Davis’ voluminous dark blue cloak, with its epaulettes and gold frogging, became her vastly. Huddled inside it, she looked to be little more than a child herself. But as he knew all too well, and to his extreme discomfort over the past few days, she was very much a woman.

He had to get things straight between them today. As he had decided before, despite her typically female untrustworthiness, he meant to keep her. Quarreling with her had been a mistake, both because it was futile to keep raking up the past and because it had cost him sorely in terms of physical discomfort. Despite what she was, he had not been able to stop himself from wanting her. Her presence in that hellishly narrow bunk beside him, when he had promised himself he would keep his hands off her, had been pure Purgatory.

When she had demanded that he confess his love, it had flicked him on the raw. He did love her, and that was the trouble. He despised himself for his weakness, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. The little witch had him hopelessly in her thrall. During their pseudo-marriage, he had been as putty in her hands; she had played with him and twisted him as she chose. He had even begun to trust in her love, telling himself that all women were not after all like Isobelle, his father’s whore of a second wife who had taken pleasure in openly flaunting her many affairs, carried on right under the old man’s nose. No, he’d almost managed to convince himself that Cathy was different, that she was as sweet and innocent and devoted to him as she seemed. Then she had left for England,
and his carefully rebuilt life had seemed to collapse around him like a house of cards.

He would keep her, but this time he meant to be very much the master in his own house. She would do as she was told, and he meant to make it very clear that if she so much as looked sideways at another man he would beat her to within an inch of her life. Like some dogs, women had to be taught how to behave by fear of the consequences if they stepped out of line. Before, he had been too soft with her; he didn’t mean to make the same mistake again.

Jon spent the rest of that day out on deck, turning his hand to the hundred and one chores that had to be performed before the
Victoria
arrived at her destination. An experienced seaman, he knew what he was about, and had spent most of the trip helping out where he could. The sailors had come to hold him in considerable respect. His seamanship was one reason, but Jon was not such a fool as to discount the benefits accruing to being taller and stronger than most of the ship’s crew—and having a very beautiful so-called wife. To a man, they envied him. Jon grimaced wryly: little did they know. . . .

Cathy, once she had made up her mind to give Jon one last chance to apologize, felt the usual feminine urge to look her best while he did it. Rather shyly, she asked Mr. Corrigan if it would be possible for her to have a bath. The man assured her gallantly that it would be a pleasure to arrange, and not long afterward two burly sailors were knocking on the cabin door, one carrying a serviceable porcelain hip bath and the other lugging steaming buckets of water.

When the bath was filled, Cathy stripped, and sank down into the warm water with a sigh of pure bliss. She soaked luxuriously for a while, and then sat up and began to scrub herself vigorously with soap. When every inch of her skin was pink and glowing, she washed her hair. It felt wonderful to massage the thick white suds through the long strands, then to sink down beneath
the water for a rinse and know that her hair was squeaky clean. Virginia whimpered a little, wanting attention, as she wrung the water from her hair. Cathy stood up, wrapping a towel turban-fashion around her head, then, still dripping, went to pick up her daughter. She brought the little girl back into the tub with her, and held her carefully on her knees while the two of them played a watery version of ten little pigs.

Later, when Virginia had settled down for a nap, Cathy went out on deck to dry her hair in the sun. She took a small straight chair with her, and placed it in an out of the way spot near the rail. Dressed in breeches and shirt, with the blue cloak around her shoulders, she seated herself, and began to run her fingers through the long damp strands, spreading them out so they would dry. She was aware of Jon watching her throughout this operation, but determinedly ignored his narrowed gray eyes. If he thought to keep her immured for the rest of her life like a nun in a convent, then he could just think again!

Her hair was almost dry, fanning out around her shoulders like shimmering gold silk, when Captain Davis came to stand beside her. He was a nice, rather nondescript young man, perhaps in his middle twenties, with fair hair and hazel eyes. He had been unfailingly kind, and Cathy rather liked him. As he joined her, she smiled welcomingly at him, unaware of the effect her radiant beauty could have. He was clearly dazzled by the warmth of her smile. A watching pair of gray eyes, seeing this, glinted dangerously.

“Would you think me presumptuous if I said that you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen in my life?” Captain Davis asked deeply. Cathy dimpled. Compared to Jon, he was very much a boy. He meant no harm, she knew.

“It’s always nice to receive compliments,” she said demurely, but her smile was kind.

“You must receive dozens—no, hundreds!” he murmured, enthused. “You’re
the loveliest lady I’ve ever met.
If I. . . .”

“I thank you on behalf of my wife,” a cool voice said behind them, with a faint biting emphasis on the last two words. Captain Davis started guiltily, his face reddening. Cathy, recognizing those gravelly tones very well, slanted a glittering look up at their possessor.

“Oh, uh, hello, Hale. I was just—uh. . . .” Captain Davis squirmed uncomfortably. Cathy, taking pity on him, said sweetly to Jon, “Captain Davis was kind enough to bear me company for a few moments while I dried my hair. It was most considerate of him.”

“Indeed,” Jon murmured dryly, his eyes flickering meaningfully over Cathy. “Then I must thank you doubly for your care of my wife when I was busy elsewhere. But now that I’m here, I will of course bear her company myself.”

Again he placed that slight but unmistakable emphasis on the phrase “my wife.” Captain Davis cleared his throat.

“Uh, yes,” he said. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Hale, Mistress Hale, I must be getting on. I have duties about the ship. . . .”

“Don’t let us detain you,” Jon murmured satirically. Captain Davis stammered, blushed, then prudently took himself off.

“Oh, go away,” Cathy said crossly to Jon after Captain Davis had left. “There was not the slightest need for you to act like a heavy-handed husband! He’s a very nice man, and he merely stopped for a moment to pass the time of day. And you can take that frown off your face: it doesn’t impress me the least little bit! What I do is absolutely no concern of yours. If I want to talk—or anything else, for that matter—with a man, I will. And if you don’t like it, then that’s just too bad. Need I remind you that I’m
not
your wife?”

Cathy repeated the last two words in mocking imitation of the way he had claimed her to Captain Davis. Dark red color crept up along
Jon’s brown cheekbones as he absorbed this speech. His jaw hardened. The sunlight striking his eyes made them look almost silver as they glinted down at her. His hand reached out and grasped her upper arm beneath the enveloping cloak, not hard enough to hurt but with just enough pressure so that she could feel his steely strength. A humorless smile curving his mouth for the benefit of onlookers, he lifted her easily to her feet.

“I think we need to talk,” he gritted through that stiff smile. Cathy tossed her head, tilting her chin until she could look him squarely in the eyes. His tone, grip, stance were clearly intended to intimidate her. That’ll be the day, Cathy promised herself grimly. Her lips curved in a mock-sweet smile.

“I agree,” she said clearly. His hand still on her arm, he turned her about. Catching up the chair she had been sitting in in his other hand, he escorted her firmly to their cabin.

“I’m ready to hear your apology,” Cathy announced cheekily when they were alone.

Jon snorted, leaning back against the closed door and crossing his arms over his chest. He regarded her for a moment in silence, his gray eyes calculating.

“I think we need to get a few things straight,” he drawled finally. Cathy lifted her eyebrows at him in haughty inquiry.

“I’m prepared to take you back to Woodham with me,” he said, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to say anything. “And I’ll provide a home for you and Cray and even Virginia. And, of course, any other children that we may have. But I’m not putting up with your constant flirting—or worse. I want that clearly understood.”

“What makes you think I want to go back to Woodham with you?” Cathy demanded icily, feeling her temper soar at the condescending tone of his offer.

“You should be grateful for the opportunity,” he told her grimly. “With two children and no husband, if I left you to your own devices as you deserve, you’d be a social outcast.”

“You forget—I
have
a husband,” she said very sweetly,
only her sparking blue eyes revealing her anger. Jon’s lips tightened into a hard, straight line.

“I don’t forget anything,” he grated. “But I am prepared to overlook your past behavior, provided that it isn’t repeated. Hell, I’ll even marry you, if you can get rid of Harold.”

“Are you proposing, Captain?” Cathy mocked lightly, all the while feeling furious blood pounding in her veins. She was so furious that she could have slain him there and then. Far from apologizing, he was repeating his insults, even adding to them! And then to inform her in such a lordly fashion that he was prepared to marry her . . . ! Cathy silently ground her teeth.

“If you want to take it that way,” he said, sounding suddenly better humored. “But from now on you’re to confine your feminine wiles solely to me. If you give me reason to even suspect otherwise, I won’t be answerable for the consequences, I warn you! You really can’t expect me to put up with having another bastard foisted on me!”

“What do you mean, ‘another bastard’?” Cathy’s voice was ominously quiet, although all her nerve-ends were screaming.

“We’ll never be sure of Virginia’s paternity,” he said reasonably. “She could be Harold’s just as easily as mine. In fact, easier. She was very small to be a full-term infant. . . .”

“You—can—go—to—hell!” Cathy uttered the words very slowly, to make certain he got the message. A red haze of fury seemed to descend over her eyes, bathing everything in its glow. “I wouldn’t marry you if you got down on your knees and begged me! I won’t go back to Woodham with you, either, so you can stick that in your pipe and smoke it! When I leave this ship, I never want to see you again! My children and I will do very well without your noble sacrifice. Who knows, I might even stay married to Harold! He may not be as handsome as you, but as Martha always said, handsome is as handsome does, and that leaves you at the starting gate. And he’s certainly of far higher
birth! Maybe he’ll even adopt Cray. Think of it, Jon: your son may one day be Lord Stanhope!”

“You can, of course, come back to Woodham or not just as you wish.” Jon straightened away from the door, his hands clenched at his sides and a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth. “But if you choose not to, you’re not keeping my son.”

“
My
son,” Cathy corrected between clenched teeth. “And just how do you propose to take him from me? There’s not a court in England that would award his custody to you. A convicted felon, who just managed to escape the gallows by the skin of his teeth!”

“You think that a judge might decide he’d be better off with his whore of a mother?” Jon grated, the way he was clenching and unclenching his fists indicating that he was now as angry as she. “You may be right, at that!”