Chain of Love

by Anne Stuart

  He stared down into her tear-drenched face for a long, unfathomable moment, and in the darkness his face was anguished. And then his mouth caught hers as he completed their union, his body taking hers with a mastery that left him as much a slave as she was.

  Helplessly she fought the spasms that washed over her, the feel of his strong, powerful body above her, between her, inside her. But it was a useless struggle, one Sin knew he would win long before he carried her into the cabin. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, and dimly she could hear a voice, her voice, sobbing in fulfillment.

  It seemed a long time later that he lifted his spent body away from hers. Gentle hands reached up to smooth her face, and his head bent low to capture her lips. She turned her face abruptly away, her eyes shut tight, the tears still streaming down her flushed face. She could feel him hesitate above her, and the thumbs kept stroking her tear-drenched cheeks.

  “Cathy,” he said gently, his voice tender.

  “Go away,” she grated, her body stiff in his arms. “Haven’t you done enough?” She opened her eyes to stare at him with unalloyed hatred. “I’ll never forgive you for that! Never!” Her voice was low and bitter, and there was no doubt that she meant what she said.

  Slowly his arms released her, the loving tenderness wiped from his face, leaving it blank and cold once more. “No,” he said wearily, sitting up and reaching for his discarded jeans, “I don’t suppose you ever will.” And a moment later he was gone, closing the door silently behind him.

  The engines throbbed to life. He was taking her back, she realized numbly. Traveling at night had suddenly lost its lack of appeal. Turning her face into the pillow, Cathy wept.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  Cathy pressed her foot down on the accelerator, speeding along the Virginia countryside as if the devil himself were after her. When, in fact, he’d abdicated, leaving her to wake, alone and bereft, on the docked ship on the busy island of St. Alphonse. There had been no sign of him as she hastily scrambled into her clothes, and she hadn’t wasted time looking for him. At the last moment, pulling the thin cotton shirt over her head, she noticed the gold chain that still circled her waist. With a savage yank she ripped it off, breaking the delicate links. Throwing it on the rumpled bed, she pulled at her gold wedding band, intending that it should follow suit. But the wedding ring stuck. Desperately she pulled at it, all the while looking over her shoulder, terrified that Sin would reappear and once more exert that devastating power over her. Finally she gave up, grabbing her duffel bag and purse and running from the small yacht without a backward glance, racing along the busy docks of St. Alphonse until she reached the street and the safe haven of a taxi. She leaned back, her breath coming in sobbing rasps, as she sped her way to the airport. She could always send him the damned ring.

  Two hours later she was on a flight to New York. She had taken the first available plane, determined to put the island and her so-called husband behind her as quickly as she could. A night at the airport hotel provided little solace. She could wash the sand, suntan oil and the scent of Sinclair MacDonald from her body. But she couldn’t wash away the feel of his hands on her, the way his long, lean body claimed hers with such deliberate lingering. Sleep had eluded her, and she was on her way by seven that morning, taking the air shuttle back to Washington and a taxi to her apartment in Georgetown.

  But instead of the haven she expected, she stared at the walls in mutinous hatred. Without a conscious decision she emptied her duffel bag of the warm-weather clothes, filling it haphazardly with sweaters, jeans, and turtlenecks. Every warm pair of socks she owned ended in the bag, along with a stack of novels and her seldom used paints. She had only one duty to perform, and then she’d be free. She stopped for a moment at her bank, and then was off, speeding in her little red Honda Civic down the cool autumn highways to her father’s estate.

  For once none of her siblings was in sight.

  There was no Georgia sweeping down the stairs to cast disbelieving eyes over her disheveled appearance, no sneering Travis to puncture her with sly innuendos. She left the car directly in front of the wide front steps, prepared for a hasty exit, and made her way directly to her father’s study. He greeted her precipitous arrival with a scowl, his heavy white brows drawn together.

  “It’s about time,” he snapped. “I’ve sent Travis out looking for you. Why in hell didn’t you call? When did you get in?”

  “Last night,” she said shortly, throwing herself down on the leather love seat.

  His frown deepened. “That’s it? Two words? No kiss? No, ‘Hello, Pops, I’ve missed you’?”

  She eyed him with deceptive calm. “No. Not until you explain what you thought you were doing, siccing Sin MacDonald on me. Why couldn’t you have told me what Greg was trying to do? I certainly wouldn’t have defended him.”

  “How was I to know that?” he countered, moving around the front of his mahogany desk. “You’d been pretty well hooked on him, not to mention putting up with his... peculiarities willingly enough.” A look of distaste shadowed his aristocratic face.

  Cathy’s heart stopped for a moment, then thudded, her face flushing. “Who told you?” she gasped. “Oh, why should I bother asking?” she added bitterly. “Your hired stooge must have provided you with all the intimate details of my past relationships. After all, you were paying him to spy on me, among other things.” For some reason she had thought she couldn’t hurt anymore, but the thought of Sin spilling her confidences in her father’s disdainful ear was still a further twist of the knife that skewered her heart.

  “As a matter of fact, it was Danville who bragged about it,” her father said heavily. “Just to convince me how much power he had over you.” He moved closer, sitting down beside her and taking her limp, unresisting hand in his blue-veined one. “Listen, honey, I was just trying to protect you. Sin MacDonald is the best in the business—I thought I could count on him to distract you and keep you out of Danville’s way. I had no idea he’d go overboard like that. I would have thought arranging to share your hotel room would have been enough.”

  Another blow to Cathy’s solar plexus. “You mean that was part of the whole entrapment?” she demanded.

  “Sin’s a real professional. Of course he arranged it. And if he felt he had to marry you to do his job, then he’d do it. Trust Sin to be thorough.”

  “I thought it wasn’t a real marriage,” Cathy said in a small voice.

  “Apparently it is, according to Sin. I can’t imagine why, unless he thought you’d see through a phony one. Not to worry, though. My lawyers can dissolve it in forty-eight hours or less. I’ll have Harris come over this evening with the papers. ...”

  “I won’t be here.” She rose abruptly.

  “What do you mean, you won’t be here?” her father echoed uneasily. “Of course you will. Meg and Charles are coming for supper. She’s afraid you might be mad at her. I told her no such thing, but I don’t think she’ll believe it till you tell her yourself.”

  “Is she really pregnant?” Cathy snapped, striding to the window and looking out at the winding drive, the neatly landscaped lawns. “Or was that all part of your master plan?”

  “Of course she’s pregnant! What kind of Machiavelli do you think I am?” he demanded, affronted.

  “I really don’t know. All I do know is that I’m not staying.” She turned back to face him, and her face was bleak beneath the honey gold of her newly acquired tan. “I’m going away for a while. Where no one can find me, or bother me. I would suggest you don’t try to find me, Pops. I wouldn’t take kindly to another Sin MacDonald showing up at my doorstep.”

  “But—but what about your annulment?” he protested. “You’ll need to sign the papers if we’re going to get moving on it.”

  “Let Sin file for the annulment,” she said bitterly. “After all, with the nice little bonus you’re going to give him he can well afford it.”

  “Cathy, Cathy, I
don’t know what’s gotten into you, girl,” her father sighed. “I was only looking out for your interests.”

  “I’m sure you were, Pops,” she said steadily. “But right now it’s time for me to take care of myself. I’ll call you.” Without another word she turned her back on him and left the house, ignoring his angry calls. She passed Travis’s Peugeot on the winding drive, ignoring his look of surprise, her face determinedly forward. And she refused to look back until she reached Vermont.

  The next six weeks were long, pain-filled ones. As she burrowed into the tiny log cabin halfway up a mountain, she reveled at first in her isolation. None of her family would ever stop to think of Alice, her old college roommate, much less remember that she owned a house and twenty acres in Vermont. She was safe to enjoy herself in her solitude. She read every book in the tiny house, then began making periodic forays to the two-room library in town to stock up on mysteries, romances, biographies, and thrillers. Deliberately she kept all thought of Sin MacDonald from her mind, even when her eyes happened to glance down at the thin gold band that still adorned her finger. It came off easily enough now. Cathy had lost weight, her figure taking on a more willowy look, but for some reason she kept the gold band firmly in place. It was when she found that she wasn’t pregnant that she began to realize why. Of course she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant, she told herself sternly. Not under those circumstances. She had thought it through very calmly when she realized there was a possibility. She would have an abortion. After all, everyone did nowadays. And what kind of life would the poor baby have, born to a father who manipulated women and a mother who was hopelessly in love?

  That was the key to the matter, Cathy realized, curled up on the couch, her slender fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee. A mother hopelessly in love. Although not a mother this time. And probably never would be. At least, not to Sin MacDonald’s children. And instead of relief she felt an aching emptiness.

  She should write him, she thought for the twentieth time. Send him his damned ring, and inquire politely if he’d gotten the annulment. After all, she should find out whether she was still a married woman or not. Not that it mattered. In the tiny village of Appleton the only single man was eighty-four and stone deaf. She was hardly besieged by eligible admirers.

  But days and weeks passed, and the ring stayed firmly on her finger, and the letter remained un-written. Until finally, on impulse, as the steep hills were covered with a fresh dusting of snow, she drove into town and placed a long-distance call to Meg.

  “Hello?” Meg’s somewhat breathless voice came over the line, and Cathy realized with a shock that she hadn’t seen her sister since her wedding day.

  “Hi, Meggie,” she said softly.

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Cathy?” she shrieked joyfully. “Oh, my God, is it really you?”

  “It is, indeed,” she answered with a laugh, the tension draining from her. “How are you doing? How’s Junior coming along?”

  “Oh, he’s fine. Hanging in there like a trouper. I’m fat as a pig already, but at least the morning sickness has passed. But where in heaven’s name are you, Cathy? We’ve been worried sick. Pops calls me almost every day, asking if I’ve heard from you.”

  “Do me a favor? Tell him I’m fine, but don’t tell him anything else. I—I’d rather keep away from him and the family for a while longer.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “It still hurts, does it?” she asked quietly.

  “Only when I laugh,” replied Cathy grimly. “So tell me, what’s the news? How’s Pops doing?”

  “Pops is just fine, but madder than a wet hen at you for running out. Charles is in seventh heaven, preparing for fatherhood, and Georgia is being as meddling as ever.” She paused deliberately. “Oh, and you’ll want to hear the latest on your exlover.”

  Cathy’s heart lurched to a stop. “Not really. I couldn’t care less about Sin MacDonald.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Sin. I mean Greg Danville. He’s in jail, you know.”

  “In jail?” She was only vaguely interested. “Why?”

  “He was brought up on assault charges. Apparently he beat up a young lady who just happened to be a senator’s daughter. I gather he doesn’t even want to be bailed out. But then, who can blame him after what happened?” There was another suggestive pause.

  “All right, Meg, I’ll bite. What happened?” Cathy asked wearily.

  “Well, just before Greg was picked up he got into a barroom brawl. Apparently he was just sitting in a bar in Georgetown, minding his own business, when this real tall guy came in and picked a fight with him. Broke his nose in three places. The guy sounded a lot like Sin.”

  Cathy’s hand flew to her own nose, touching it gingerly as she remembered her flight from the French restaurant and Sin. “How interesting,” she managed in her chilliest voice.

  Another pause. “Cathy,” Meg said finally, her husky voice earnest, “Sin’s in terrible shape.”

  “Why? Did Greg hit him back? I wouldn’t have thought he’d do much damage to anyone Sin’s size,” she said coldly.

  “Don’t be deliberately obtuse. Sin’s in love with you. He’s been going crazy trying to find you this last month, and all his leads have turned up blank.”

  “Well, he’ll just have to try harder. I’m sure Pops is paying him enough to make it worth his while.” Cathy’s voice was bitter.

  “Pops isn’t paying him anything. He quit. Over the phone from that island, as a matter of fact. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “No. Neither did Pops. Not that it makes any difference,” she said staunchly. But it did.

  “Don’t you care about him at all, Cathy? You never used to be so hard-headed. The man loves you.”

  “What makes you think that? He never told me a word about it,” she shot back, amazed to find her hands were trembling. She hadn’t known it was that cold.

  “Of course he didn’t. How could he tell you he loved you when he had to keep lying to you? He was trying to protect you, Cathy. He deserves something better from you than a complete disappearance. You owe him a hearing at least.”

  “I owe him nothing.” She rubbed her hands together, to get rid of the chill. “And where did you come up with all this?”

  “Sin and Charles really are old friends. They were at Harvard together. Sin’s confided in Charles, and Charles has told me—”

  “With strict orders to pass it on. Well, no thanks,” Cathy finished for her. “He can find some other poor fool and marry her. There are people with more money than us.”

  “One of whom is Sin!” Meg snapped, her sympathy coming to an abrupt end. “He’s George Farwell’s nephew, Cath. He doesn’t need our money.”

  “Oh.” Another part of Cathy’s rage bit the dust. “Well, this is costing us a small fortune. I’ll call some time later. Maybe on the weekend.”

  “How far away are you? When are you coming back?” Meg demanded. “Can I tell Sin you called?”

  “No, to the last. I don’t know when I’m coming back, and I am not about to tell you where I am. Next thing I know Sin or someone equally unwelcome will show up to drag me back to dear old daddy. I’ll be in touch.” She hesitated, then finally asked the question that had plagued her mind. “Oh, Meg, you wouldn’t happen to know whether Sin has filed for an annulment yet, would you?”

  There was a disgusted snort from the other end. “Of course I know. He’s done no such thing. You’re still legally married. I told you, the man loves you!”

  “Oh,” she said blankly. And then hung up without another word. She stayed there in the cold Vermont wind, staring at the silent telephone for a full five minutes, lost in thought. Could she risk it again? Did she dare to take one last chance, on the remote possibility that Meg was right, and Sinclair MacDonald had fallen in love with her? Or would she spend the rest of her life running and hiding, always tied to a man she hadn’t had the courage to face?

  It didn’t take he
r long to decide—the ten minutes it took to drive back up the hill to her cabin were sufficient. If Mohammed wasn’t a good enough private investigator to find the mountain, then the mountain would have to travel back to Georgetown.

  It took her longer than she would have expected to close up the cabin. First she had to arrange to have the water drained and the electricity turned off. The food had to be eaten up or tossed out, the house scrubbed from top to bottom to keep the winter creatures from making an unwelcome home there, to chew through mattresses and get stuck in the fieldstone chimney. Library books had to be returned, the car checked for its twelve-hour trip back to Washington. She checked off each item on the list, staring at it with a look of exhausted satisfaction. She was finally ready. In her purse was Sin’s duplicate set of keys, the set that he’d tossed her on their wedding day with great casualness. The keys to the yacht, their hotel room, his BMW. And the keys to his apart-ment in Alexandria.

  In the past few weeks she had staunchly ignored the ramifications of that casual gift, deciding several times that she would toss them out. After all, she would never have a use for them. But something had stopped her—perhaps an unconscious echo of medieval times, when the mistress of the castle was ceremoniously presented with the keys as a symbol of her rank. If Sin had expected their relationship to be a temporary delaying tactic in the Caribbean, why had he given her his Washington keys?

  As she started on the first leg of her long journey, she glanced at her reflection in the car mirror. There was a light in her green eyes, a sense of purpose to her soft mouth. Some things were worth taking a chance on, worth fighting for, she thought, putting the car in gear and starting down the winding dirt road. And Sin MacDonald was, despite her earlier misgivings, one of those things.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-one