Free Sea Fire by Karen Robards Page B

her! But she was not beaten yet, thought Cathy with a defiant lift of her chin. If Harold thought that he was going to have everything his own way, he was very much mistaken!
    Harold parted the tails of his truly magnificent morning coat, apparently so thathe wouldn’t sit upon and wrinkle them, then sat down heavily beside her. Cathy’s lip curled at this display of concern for the state of his dress. Truly, as dazzling as his raiment was this morning, a little thing like wrinkled coattails would go completely unremarked! The combination of canary yellow breeches, so tight around his pudgy thighs that Cathy was in constant expectation of hearing them split, white satin waistcoat embroidered with tiny yellow daisies, white silk shirt frothing with lace, high-heeled black leather shoes with gleaming brass buckles, and that extraordinary coat made him look like a particularly garish species of tropical bird. Beside him, in her sober gray dress, Cathy knew herself to be positively eclipsed!
    “Smiling, my dove?” he asked coldly, correctly interpreting the sneer she had not had time to hide. “Let me entertain you further. I’m sure you’ll be most interested to hear the details of our honeymoon.”
    “Honeymoon?” Cathy repeated, feeling a chill of apprehension.
    “You didn’t think that I’d ask my lovely new wife to forgo her bride-trip, did you? When you know me better, Cathy, you’ll realize that I would never be so thoughtless! I’ve arranged for us to board the Tamarind at Southhampton this evening. She sails on the morrow for La Coruña. I thought we would explore Spain for a while, then return to London via the Continent. Altogether, I expect we’ll be gone for about six months.”
    Cathy’s mind reeled beneath the weight of this unexpected information. All her hopeful plans for avoiding Harold would come to naught if she were to be alone with him for six interminable months. She had very much counted on her father’s and Martha’s, and yes, even her aunt’s, presence to keep Harold from resorting to physical violence to consummate their marriage. But now . . . ! And there was Cray! She couldn’t possibly leave him for six months. And her father. . . .
    “You’rejoking, of course,” Cathy said with as much composure as she could muster.
    “I never joke, my dove,” Harold answered, clearly enjoying her discomfiture. “After all, you must admit that it’s only natural for a new husband to want to have his bride to himself for a while. There are so many aspects of marriage that are best enjoyed in privacy, don’t you agree?”
    The leering look he passed over her body made Cathy cringe instinctively. I can’t go through with it, she thought. Every cell in her body urged her to jump from the carriage and run before it was too late. The imagined feel of Harold’s hands on her naked flesh, of his corpulent body joined with hers, made her shudder with revulsion.
    “I cannot possibly leave Cray,” Cathy told him coldly.
    “Your bastard is of no concern whatsoever to me, my dove. Be thankful that I allow you to keep the whelp at all. My initial inclination was to hand him over to one of the excellent institutions with which this country abounds. I certainly will not allow him to interfere with my plans.” Harold dismissed Cray with a negligent wave of one pudgy, beringed hand.
    Cathy’s temper boiled at hearing her beloved son called “bastard.” While technically she knew this was so, he had been made with love and born into what both she and Jon had believed to be a true marriage. She would not allow this fat, pompous toad to so slightingly dismiss her son!
    “Why, you . . . !” she spluttered, rejecting epithet after epithet as being too mild for the loathing she wanted to express.
    “I’d bite my tongue, if I were you, my dove,” Harold advised maliciously, his pale blue eyes gleaming his pleasure at having provoked such a reaction from her. “There’s still the pirate, you know. If