Free Sea Fire by Karen Robards Page A

that, somehow, she might be able to evade Harold. If he kept his promise and arranged for Jon’s release immediately after their wedding, then it was just possible that she wouldn’t have to carry through her end of the bargain. If she could keep him outof her bed until Jon was free, then all bets were off: she would immediately petition for an annulment. That such a plan was strictly dishonorable, Cathy knew full well. She also knew full well that she couldn’t care less.
    The dress that Martha was helping her into was pale gray silk, almost the color of mourning. Its somber hue exactly matched her mood; if her choice disturbed Harold, then well and good. She cared not a whit what he thought as long as he kept his word about freeing Jon.
    Martha drew Cathy’s hair back severely from her face, arranging it in a sober knot at her nape. The tiny white frills edging the high collar of the dress framed her face, which was almost as pale as the lace. Cathy noted with satisfaction that she looked awful, her face colorless and drawn, her eyes swollen from weeping. If ever a girl had looked less like a bride she would not like to see her, Cathy thought starkly, and then when she could delay no longer she turned slowly away from the mirror.
    “We’ll be back right after the ceremony, I imagine,” Cathy said evenly to Martha. “Unless Harold wants to stop somewhere to celebrate.” She put bitter emphasis on the last word.
    “Oh, lovey, I hate to see you go through with this,” Martha choked, tears welling up in her eyes.
    “Not nearly so much as I do.” Cathy forced the joke, then grew serious once more. “Don’t worry about me, Martha. Whatever happens—it’ll be all right.”
    “I hope so, lovey, I surely do.” Martha gave her a fierce, quick hug, which Cathy returned rather desperately. Then, while she could still summon the courage to do so, she went out of the room and down the stairs to where Harold awaited her.
    Cathy became Lady Stanhope less than an hour later, in a dingy registry office on the outskirts of London’s bustling business district. Her hand shook visibly as she held it out to receive Harold’s ring. Looking down at her white, trembling fingers, she saw toher horror that she had forgotten to remove the gold and diamond bands that Jon had placed on her finger so many months before. Harold’s face reddened angrily as he followed the direction of her gaze, and he made a gesture as though to snatch the rings from her finger. Cathy forestalled him, jerking her hand from his grasp and removing Jon’s rings herself. For a brief moment she clutched them tightly in her palm; then, with a defiant look at Harold, she slipped them into her reticule.
    After it was over, she endured her aunt’s triumphant congratulations before numbly taking Harold’s proffered arm and allowing him to lead her outside. It was a misty, gray day, with wisps of fog rolling along the cobbled streets. Cathy thought that she had never seen a place that depressed her as much as London, and then she ceased thinking at all as Harold ceremoniously handed her up into the ornate brougham that awaited them. As he released her hand she shrank back as far into one corner of the plush seat as she could, wishing desperately that Harold had not chosen a closed carriage. It would be just like him to try to make love to her on the way back to her aunt’s house! And with Jon still very much at the mercy of Harold’s whims, she would be forced to accept whatever he meted out.
    When Harold clambered inside at last, he was smiling. Cathy looked at his white skin, nearly as soft and well cared for as her own, at his round cheeks and thinning red hair, at his pursed mouth and beady blue eyes, and felt hatred so intense that she fairly blazed with it. She was sickened at the thought that she now belonged to him, that this very night he was planning to violate her body, which he had every right to do. He was her husband—how the thought flayed