Free Sea Fire by Karen Robards

breath.
    “I—I. . . . You don’t want to marry me, Harold,” she said at last, moistening her lips with her small pink tongue. She felt as if her worst nightmare was coming true. “I’m not the wife for you. You need someone worthy of you, a young lady with an unblemished reputation. If the reason you want to marry me is for the money, I’ll find some way of breaking the trust, I swear!”
    “The money’s a prime inducement, I’ll admit,” Harold answered smugly.“But I want you, too. You hate me, don’t you, Cathy? Well, I don’t like people who hate me. You’re going to have to pay for that—in my bed!”
    “I can’t do it,” Cathy said, feeling sick at the images conjured up by his last words.
    “Not even for your pirate?” he taunted. “And I thought you loved him. It’s the only way I’ll help, cousin. Otherwise, he’ll hang.”
    “Harold, please. . . .” Cathy was trapped and she knew it. She had exhausted all other avenues open to her. Jon would die in six days if she didn’t do something, and Harold was offering her a way to save him. But if she married Harold, she would be cutting Jon out of her life for good. He would never forgive her for what she knew he would consider her betrayal, and, anyway, she would be another man’s wife.
    “Those are my terms, Cathy. But I can see you’re not interested.” Harold turned and began to walk out of the room. Cathy stared after him in an agony of indecision.
    “Harold, wait!” she cried as he reached the door. Slowly he turned back to face her. He was smiling triumphantly.
    “I—I’ll marry you,” Cathy said, her voice low. She felt as though her heart would break.
    He returned swiftly to her side.
    “I felt sure you would, my dear,” he said. Cathy had to fight back an acute attack of nausea as he enfolded her in his arms.
    His touch revolted her. She could feel the clamminess of his palms through her thin dress as he clutched at her back. His mouth was loose and wet on hers, and he kissed her as if he wanted to drain every last drop of sweetness from her mouth. Cathy went rigid in his arms, eyes tightly shut, fists clenched at her sides as she tried not to remember that by agreeing to marry him she had given him the right to kiss her like this. After the ceremony, he could do anything he liked with her. At the thought of the physical intimacies he would undoubtedly insist on sharingwith her, she shuddered. “Oh, Jon!” her heart cried, but she knew that she had to endure Harold because, simply, she had no other choice.
    “We’ll be married day after tomorrow,” Harold told her thickly, raising his head at last. “And after we’re wed, I’ll expect a little more cooperation from you, my dear. After all, it’s not as if you were inexperienced.”
    The sneer in his last words made Cathy long to hit him, but she was at his mercy, and both he and she knew it.
    “And Jon?” she asked unsteadily, struggling to remain composed under his taunting eyes.
    “I’ll see to it—after we’re married,” Harold said, and turning on his heel, left the room.

    H er wedding day—her second wedding day—was the most miserable of Cathy’s life. As Martha helped her dress, tears stood in her eyes, eyes that were already red and swollen from the tears that had kept her awake all night. Every fiber of her being revolted at what she was about to do. To be married to Harold—to be his wife; the thought made her want to throw up. Martha, sniffling audibly behind her, was no help. Instead of her usual practice of looking for a silver lining to the blackest of clouds, the woman was clearly as upset as Cathy. Together, they were doubtless the most mournful pair who had ever made ready for a wedding.
    Two things kept Cathy from breaking down completely: one was the thought of Jon’s long body dangling from the end of a rope that was slowly choking him, his handsome face blue and swollen, his features contorted with agony; the other was the hope