"Jon, don't," Cathy moaned, helpless in his arms. The violence of his mood drove all thoughts of lovemaking from her head.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

He was angry-furiously and savagely angry. Cathy was more than a little afraid of him. He plainly meant to punish her for her behavior earlier in the evening. Just the feel of his mouth sucking viciously where little Cray still nursed did that. She felt her milk begin to flow, and flushed painfully. His use of her was humiliating.

Jon tasted the warm, sweet liquid as it gushed into his mouth, his face contorting fiendishly. His outraged desire rose with an infernal heat, and even as he knew that he had to have her, now, this minute, he felt a curious sneaking shame that he could so abuse the mother of his child. But the b.i.t.c.h deserved it, had asked for it in fact, and nothing could stop him from giving it to her. His fingers dug into her waist and he bore her back against the padded seat. Her eyes were wide and frightened as they stared up into his.

"Jon, please," she begged weakly. Her hands were still imprisoned by her chemise, and his weight on her made struggling impossible. Besides, he was her husband. He had the legal right to take her, when and where he pleased.

"Please what? Isn't this what you wanted?" he demanded viciously, his face just inches away from hers. In the flickering light of the lantern, he looked inhuman, diabolical. Cathy shivered beneath him. His mouth twisted as he felt her fear.

"No-not like this . . . !" she cried, shutting her eyes against the s.a.d.i.s.tic mask that his face had become.

"Like what then?"

"I-I wanted you to love me!" Cathy muttered in despair. His eyes blazed with demoniacal rage at her soft words.

"Far be it from me to disappoint a lady," he sneered, rising to his knees between her spread legs. He was kneeling on the golden skirt of herballgown , leering down at the quivering, rose-tipped mounds of her bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His weight on the material of her dress held her legs immobile. Her arms ached from where the chemise cut into their softness.

Jon's hand went to the b.u.t.tons of his breeches, and he began to unfasten them one at a time, his movements almost leisurely. Cathy's eyes widened with shocked horror. He couldn't mean to take her in the carriage! But apparently he did. His swollen desire jutted out at her obscenely amidst the dark finery of his evening clothes. Cathy couldn't take her eyes from it. Jon laughed, the sound ugly, and reached down to whip her skirts up around her waist. Her lace-trimmed linen pantalets still stood between him and his goal, and he ripped at them until they hung in ragged tatters from her waist. Husband or no, Cathy began to struggle, kicking at him frantically and trying to roll from the seat. Jon subdued her easily, seeming to enjoy her futile fight. His teeth gleamed at her wolfishly as he dragged her back in place. His hands closed hurtfully over her b.u.t.tocks.

He held her like that, her bottom lifted toward where he knelt between her flailing legs, his eyes gloating on her squirming, shamed nakedness. Cathy's breath caught in her throat at the deliberate crudity of his look, her head thrashing helplessly from side to side against the velvet-cushioned seat.

"Jon, please don't!" she pleaded desperately, knowing that if he took her like this, in anger and hatred, something would be destroyed between them forever. When she imagined him making love to her, she had pictured the laughing, tender Jon of Las Palmas, not this hard, brutal stranger who seemed bent on hurting and humiliating her.

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"His voice was vicious, his hands painfully kneading the soft flesh of her b.u.t.tocks. "You're my wife, by your own unsavory little act. I own you. I must admit, keeping a wife is more expensive than paying an occasional wh.o.r.e, but I plan to get my money's worth.Starting right now."

With this speech he pulled her toward him, spearing her with his pa.s.sion, his action brutal. Her cry of pain gave him almost fiendish pleasure. He wanted to hurt her, meant to hurt her. He took her like an animal, kneeling above her, plunging savagely in and out. Her pained whimpers drove him on like red-hot whips. His eyes glazed over with pa.s.sion, his breath rasping harshly in his throat. Cathy's eyes were squeezed shut, tears trickling past her closed fids. She had accused him of rape before. By G.o.d, now she knew what the word meant!

A ragged groan was dragged from deep inside him as his seed spewed hotly forth. For some minutes afterwards he stayed imbedded in her soft warmth, then his eyes opened and he stared expressionlessly down into her tear-wet face. Sneering, he looked her half-naked body up and down, then freed himself and stood up, turning his back as he adjusted his clothing. Cathy lay where he had dropped her, making no attempt to cover herself. Shock and despair had combined to make her totally apathetic to anything else he might take it into his head to do. Jon turned around, his lip curling angrily as he saw that she hadn't moved.

"Hoping for more?" he mocked in an unpleasant growl. The carriage swayed over a pot-hole in the road, and he had to brace himself with one hand against the wall. "I'd be happy to accommodate you, but we're nearly home. Unless you want the coachman to take my place, I suggest you cover yourself."

Still Cathy didn't move. With a furious curse Jon reached down, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her into a sitting position. She cringed away from him, her blue eyes swimming with tears. Jon's face tightened ominously.

"I said cover yourself!" he grated. Cathy made feeble attempts to obey. Her hands were shaking so badly that she was barely able to tidy herself. Jon watched,mouth compressed in a grim line, as she managed to slide the straps of her chemise back up over her shoulders, hiding her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s from his view. She smoothed her skirt down over her legs, but there was nothing she could do about her torn bodice. Itgaped open, revealing her flesh through the thin silk of her chemise.

Jon swore under his breath as the carriage came to a rocking halt. Cathy clutched the front of her dress together with both hands, twisting around so that her back was toward the door. Quickly Jon doffed his coat, draping it around her shoulders before leaning over to blow out the lantern. No sooner had the interior of the carriage plunged into darkness than the door was swung open. The poker-faced coachman stood waiting for them to descend.

Jumping easily to the ground, Jon turned to hold up his arms for Cathy. She submitted woodenly to being lifted down, but when Jon's hands would have left her waist she swayed, feeling suddenly dizzy. Her knees no longer seemed to have the strength to hold her upright. Jon stifled a curse as he felt rather than saw her weakness, and tightened his hands on her waist. Unable to help herself, Cathy closed her eyes, leaning heavily back against him. She was sure she was going to faint.

With an indrawn breath, Jon slid one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, picking her up as if she was a small child. Her head lolled weakly on his shoulder, looking ghostly in the faint moonlight. The coachman stood gaping at the pair of them, and Jon scowled at him.

"Put the carriage away, and see to the horses," he ordered tersely, then moved with long, angry strides up the front steps and into the house.

The hall was deserted, the servants long since in bed. A pair of candles had been left burning on a table at the foot of the stairs for use by the master and mistress of the house when they returned home in the small hours of the morning. His hands full, Jon was unable to take advantage of their light to ease his way up the stairs. Cursing under his breath, he bent to blow them out, mounting the stairs in a thick darkness that was relieved only marginally by the silvery moonlight streaming through the fan-shaped window above the door. Agile and keen-eyed from his years at sea, he managed to negotiate the curving steps without too much difficulty. Cathy lay limply in his arms as he strode along the upstairs hall, not even bothering to put her own around his neck. She felt foully,churningly sick.

Jon paused outside the door to her bedroom, his grip shifting slightly as he struggled to turn the k.n.o.b. Cathy felt herself slipping and instinctively clutched at his shoulders just as the door swung open.

The warm glowof a many-branched candelabra lit the room that was designed to be shared by Woodham's owner and his wife. The huge four-poster, its covers turned down invitingly, loomed large in the center of the floor. A small fire burned in the grate, and in front of it, curled up in a chair, Martha slumbered peacefully.

"You can put me down now," Cathy whispered stiffly, not looking at him, mindful of Martha's sleeping form. "I feel quite recovered."

"You look recovered," he retorted in a stinging undertone, his gray eyes blazing with anger and something else as he looked down into her pale face."Your face is aswhite as death. What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you, anyway? DidIhurt you?"

This last question was ground out with an effort. Cathy could tell from the anxious look in his eyes that he was afraid his a.s.sault might have damaged tissues not yet fully recovered from Cray's birth.

"Yes, you hurt me!" Her response was no less fierce for being whispered."Ithought that was the whole idea!"

"Miss Cathy, is that you?" Martha sat up, blinking sleepily as she looked around the room.

"Yes, Martha, it's me." Cathy was glad of Martha's presence. The sooner Jon left, the happier she would be. To him, she whispered fiercely, "Put me down."

"As I've told you before, I don't take orders from you," Jon growled in her ear, but the arm beneath her knees relaxed its grip, allowing her feet to slide to the floor. His other arm stayed firmly about her waist, and Cathy was secretly glad of its support. Her head swam alarmingly, and if he had released her she was afraid she might have fallen.

"You're late,lovey , and I was. . . ." Martha began reprovingly, just making out Cathy's shape in the shadows beyond the firelight. The woman broke off, her eyes widening perceptibly as she saw Jon standing behind her charge, one arm clasping her possessively about the waist. Martha's sharp eyes traveled from Jon's arm to Cathy's tumbled hair, then touched on her huge, slightly unfocused eyes and bee-stung mouth. Clearly, Miss Cathy would have no need of her services tonight! From the looks of the two of them, all they wanted was to be alone.

"Well, it's plain to see that you won'tbe needing me tonight,lovey , so I'll get along to my own bed. Don't worry about Master Cray. If he wakes, I'll tend him. Dothat young gentleman good to get a taste of a sugar-t.i.t, for a change!"

She smiled at them beatifically as she spoke, her gray hair in its two neat plaits swaying in time to her stately walk toward the door.

"Martha . . ." Cathy gasped out convulsively, frightened anew at the idea of being left alone with her husband. Jon's arm tightened like a vise around her waist, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh as Martha looked inquiringly back over her shoulder.

"Yes, Miss Cathy?"

"Let her go. Do you want her to see you like this?" Jon hissed in Cathy's ear as Martha spoke. Cathy thought of her torn dress, of the unmistakable signs of Jon's possession that still soiled her body, and swallowed.

"Have a good night, Martha," she forced out from between dry lips.

Martha smiled at herwhimiscally .

'You too,lovey ," she twinkled, and left the room, pulling the door closed very gently behind her.

Jon didn't release her immediately. Cathy's every nerve was aware of the strong body behind her, of his heart beating rhythmically beneath her ear, of his breath stirring her hair. She stiffened, trying to pull away. His grip didn't slacken.

'You can let me go now. We're quite alone. There's no need to continue with your touching display of concern." Sarcasm edged the words.

"Can you stand?" Jon's voice was harsh as he ignored her taunt.

"Certainly," Cathy replied with icy dignity. The hard arm around her waist slowly removed itself. Without its iron support her knees quivered, but she forced herself to remain upright. All she wanted now was to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

"Good-night," she said pointedly, taking a few steps toward the bed and then turning to face him. Very casually she leaned against a bedpost, conscious of his eyes on her. He made no move to leave.

"I'd like you to go now, if you don't mind. I'm tired." Despite herself a little quiver racked her voice. She glared at him glacially, hoping he hadn't heard it.

"Get undressed," he said, almost casually, strolling forward into the light. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his gray breeches, rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes hooded as they met hers. Cathy gaped at him disbelievingly,then shut her jaw with a decided snap.

"You've had your fun for the night," she bit off, her knuckles showing white where she still clutched his coat to her. She tried stiffening away from the bedpost only to sink back against it. Without its support, she would have fallen.

"I'm not looking for fun, as you call it," he answered evenly, his eyes never leaving her pinched face. "I want to be sure you're all right. Now, can you undress yourself or do you want me to help you?"

Cathy stared at him furiously. He looked so tall and invincible standing there, so cool and collected, as if the events of the night had affected him not at all.As they probably hadn't. She was the one who had been hurt and humiliated, she reminded herself. He probably only felt relieved!

"It's a little late for you to worry about me, isn't it?" she spat venomously. "After all, if I'm unwell, you're the cause!

"Get undressed, Cathy," he repeated brusquely, strolling over to the fire and seating himself in the chair Martha had vacated. Cathy glared at him, then s.n.a.t.c.hed his coat from her shoulders in a sudden spurt of rage and threw it at him.

He caught it easily. Cathy clenched her fistsimpo-tently ,then sagged back against the bedpost. That little display of temper had completely snapped her strength. She felt light-headed, but she would rather die than have him undress her after the unforgivable way he had treated her!

Thank goodness he was no longer watching her! He had extracted a thin brown cigar from his coat pocket and was leaning toward the fire to fight it on a burning ember. Smoking was a habit he had acquired since returning toWoodham , and Cathy was not sure that she liked it. It made him seem more than ever like a stranger.

Taking a deep breath, Cathy reached around to fumble with the hooks that fastened her dress in the back. Jon was sprawled in the chair, his long legs thrust out in front of him, staring abstractedly at the dancing flames as he puffed at his cigar. The smoke wafted above him, its smell oddly strong. As it floated toward Cathy, surrounding her, suffocating her, she felt her stomach give an ominous heave. She clapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late. She was violently sick where she stood.

When the spasm was over, Cathy became aware of Jon's presence beside her. He reached down and caught her by her upper arms, lifting her gently from where she had collapsed to her knees. He was smiling faintly as he looked down into her woebegone face, and if Cathy had had the strength she would have clawed that superior smirk from his mouth.

"It was your d.a.m.ned cigar!" she choked defensively as he sat her on the edge of the bed, wiping her face carefully with a dampened towel.

"I don't think so," he answered, kneeling to removeher small shoes. Cathy felt too weak to sit upright. She flopped back against the mattress, her feet still dangling over the edge. Jon continued, "How much did you have to drink?"

"I'm not drunk!" Cathy protested indignantly. How dare he imply such a thing! "All I had to drink was punch."

"Champagne punch," Jon corrected calmly. "I saw you swilling it, but it never occurred to me. ..."

"Oh, shut up!" Cathy snapped, giving vent to her outraged feelings. "n.o.body gets drunk onpunch!"

"You managed very nicely, my dear." The laughterinhis voice infuriatedCathy.After all he had done to her tonight, he had the gall to laugh at her! With a tremendous effort she forced herself into a sitting position again, her hand swingingina wide arc that smacked satisfyingly against his hard cheek.

Cathy stared at him defiantly as he raised a disbelieving hand to his face. He was still kneeling at her feet, his startled eyes almost on a level with hers.

'You deserved that!" she told him decidedly,then sank back down against the mattress.

"Deserved or not, you'd be well-advised not to repeat it," he drawled after a moment's silence. "Next time, you might be repaid in kind."

"Bully!" Cathy murmured resentfully, closing her eyes tightly as the ceiling whirled around above her. She opened them again to find Jon towering over her. As she blinked at him his face came closer, swimming into focus.

"Go away!" she hissed, and was rewarded with a reluctant smile.

"In a few minutes,"hepromised gravely, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he turned her over onto her stomach. Cathy could feel himdefly unfastening thehooks at the back of her gown. He tugged it down over her body, tossing it aside,then began to struggle with the lacing of her stays. The strings had apparently worked themselves into a knot. Cathy heard his muttered "d.a.m.n!" as he tried to undo it. Succeeding at last, he deftly loosened her stays, pulling them from beneath her.

"I feel sick," she moaned suddenly as her stomach twitched again warningly.

"I know you do." His voice was soothing, his hands caressing as they lingered briefly against her thighs before sliding her stockings and garters down her legs. "When you're undressed, I'll bring you something that will make you feel better."

"Like strychnine?" The question was pure bravado, and Jon ignored its provocation. He turned her over onto her back, and Cathy was too weak to even want to resist him. She lay limply on the bed, her eyes closed as he peeled her petticoats away. She was left in her nearly transparent chemise and her ruined pantalets. Jon pulled the chemise over her head with a swift movement, then untied the ribbon waistband of her pantalets with deliberate care and slid them down her legs. His hands felt warm against the nape of her neck as he removed first her necklace, then her earbobs, and finally the ornament in her hair. Cathy was drifting off into a troubled sleep when she felt a cool wetness slide across her belly and down over her soft thighs.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, her eyes popping open. Jon continued to sponge her body with a damp cloth, washing her with an intimacy that made her blush furiously.

"You need a bath," he said, glancing up at her briefly, his look almost tender. He drew the cloth one final time between her legs then threw it aside. She was left lyingnaked on the bed, her feet dangling ridiculously over the side as he turned away and strode across the room to the armoire.

"Where are you going?" she asked before she could catch herself feeling strangely bereft. Jon slanted a wry look at her over his shoulder, his hands busy pawing through the stacks of her undergarments.

"I presume you want to sleep in a nightdress?"

"Oh," Cathy murmured,then nodded. Her earlier anger with him was fading, along with her memory of its cause. The crazy spinning of her head was banishing all before it.

"You hurt me," she accused, vaguely remembering a hard, thrusting pain with him as its author.

Jon found what he was looking for and turned back toward the bed, a wisp of silk dangling from one hand.

"You hurt me back," he reminded her, one hand moving to lightly touch the cheek she had slapped. "That makes us even."

This seemed reasonable to Cathy, who was getting dizzier by the minute. She submitted docilely as he pulled her to her feet, leaning heavily against the hard wall of his chest while he dropped the nightgown over her head. The musky man-smell of him was oddly pleasant. Cathy burrowed her face against the cool silk of his shirt as he twitched the sleeping garment into place.

"Into bed with you, temptress," she heard him mutter, his voice husky. His arms slid around her and he was lifting her,then depositing her all too quickly on the soft mattress, this time up near the headboard in a proper sleeping position. Her blue eyes blinked at him reproachfully as he pulled the covers neatly under her chin.

"My head hurts," she said as if it was somehow his fault. He smiled down at her, his face suddenly charming.

"I'll fix it," he promised, running a teasing finger down her small, straight nose. "I'll have to get you drunk more often, minx. You're irresistible."

Before Cathy could do more than frown at him sleepily he was gone, only to return a few moments later with a brandy snifter full of some noxious looking concoction.

"Drink this." He sat down on the edge of the bed, holding it out to her.

Cathy struggled up on her elbows. Even that slight movement made her head spin.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"Hair of the dog, my love, with a slight addition.Drink it."

His arm came around her back, holding her upright, and he thrust the gla.s.s against her lips. Cathy had perforce to swallow. It was vile, and she gagged. But when her stomach had subsided and she was lying once more against her pillows she had to admit that she did feel better. She seemed to be floating, her body weightless,her mind soaring free. The mattress creaked and then sprang upwards as Jon rose lithely to his feet.

"Don't leave me," Cathy murmured, her eyes barely opening as she clutched at his hand. "Please."

"I won't."

"Martha would be so disappointed. . . ." The words traded off, and her long eyelashes fluttered down against her pale cheeks. Jon grimaced. Despite his firmest resolutions, the chit could twist him around her finger with ludicrous ease. He wandered over to the fireplace and stood staring blindly down into the flames, musing wryly on the follies of love-smitten men.

The pop of an exploding ember woke Cathy some two hours later. The room was dark and peopled with mysterious shadows. Cathy blinked groggily, pushing herself up on one elbow to peer around the room. The faint odor of cigar smoke lingered in the air, reminding her irresistibly of her husband. The events of the night were not very clear in her mind, but she could vaguely recall him undressing her gently, his dark voice calling her his love.His love. A smile curled her mouth.

The bright orange glow of a cigar tip caught her attention. She stared at it, just barely able to make out the long, lean shadow that sprawled behind it in the chair before the fire.

"Jon?" she breathed, knowing it could be no one else. The cigar was flipped into the fire, and the dark figure got to its feet and crossed toward the bed. Cathy sank back down, pleased. It was, indeed, Jon.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly, his face in shadow as he leaned over her.

"Lonely." Cathysighed the word, feeling no need to hide her love for him any longer, now that he had admitted his.His love.His love. The words echoed like a benediction in her brain.

"What do you mean?" Jon asked after a long moment, his voice strangely guarded. Cathy wished she could see his expression, but the room was too dark. Ah, well, there would be tomorrow-all their tomorrows-to talk of love. Right now she wanted more tangible proof.