The Rebel's Bride

by JoAnn DeLazzari

  He was thinking about her lips when he recalled why she was with him. Not only was she an unwanted bride, but she had been involved in a scandal. What man could resist such a morsel? She was exotic in appearance, yet there was a look of precious innocence in her eyes. The contradiction provoked him and he stepped away from her, dropping his hands into fists at his sides.

  “So you are my bride,” he growled. He knew his stare was hard and cold by the way she seemed to cringe. He noticed as she averted her eyes. Was there something she did not wish him to know?

  “Yes,” she said so softly he had to recall what he had said to require a reply. “Is . . . that all, m’lord?” she asked. She backed away slowly when he remained silent.

  Ransom’s temper flared. She appeared to be executing an escape and he wondered why. “No, madam,” he said, his voice had dropped to a husky whisper. He stepped before her and circled her arm with his hand. Flexing his arm, he drew her against him. Her hands splayed over his chest to hold him off. He would have none of it. He wrapped his hand in her cascading hair and twisted it until he could hold her still.

  He ignored her wide eyes and concentrated on her mouth. Her lips were parted as she panted. He was filled with a burning desire to possess those provocative lips. His head lowered to possess what he wanted. For several moments, he was lost in the moist warmth of her mouth. She fought him at first. But then she ceased to resist and did not participate. His blood turned cold.

  He shoved her away from him and didn’t even flinch when she fell hard against his desk and cried out. He strode toward the door; his mood was black. With his hand on the knob he spun to glare at her, “Welcome to Hell, madam!” And he was gone.

  It took several moments for Catherine to realize exactly what had just transpired. Her fingers rose to console her bruised mouth. His kiss had been savage. He acted as though he hated her. Fighting the urge to cry, she struggled to move away from the support of the desk.

  Slowly, she made her way to the front door. She slipped outside to stumble toward the stand of trees flanking the house. Anyone seeing her from a distance might think she was passing some leisure time, unless they came near. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she made no effort to stop them.

  At the base of a newly foliated oak, she pressed her cheek against the bark and sobbed. What had she done? She was married to man who not only hated her, he could not even offer the common courtesy due to a spouse.

  And she had been such a coward in his presence. Why couldn’t she speak to him? Why didn’t she remind him she was as much a pawn as he? An answer echoed in her brain. Because the man was terrifying; so tall and so dark he could well have been some demon.

  She recalled his words. He had welcomed her to Hell. She threw her arms over her face and slid to the ground, to the sparse grass, her body wracked with her crying. In her whole life she never remembered being so despondent. The last of her dreams for the future crumbled.

  * * *

  Ransom took the stairs two at a time to escape the captivating woman he had wed. It was no wonder men panted after her enough to cause a scandal. Even as a stranger he was driven to take her in his arms, seeking all she would give him.

  He slammed his door against the wall with the force of his dark mood. Better she had died. It would have alleviated the problems he faced in her presence. “Damn,” he swore. He should have taken a woman in New Orleans while he was there.

  He stripped off his shirt, ready to toss it on a chair when he paused. Slowly, he turned about, taking in the changes to his room. Crisp, clean curtains blew before an open window. The sunlight streamed down on a washed floor and across a warm carpet set beside his bed to make his morning rise more comfortable. He could see the white of fresh linens on his bed and noticed all his clothes were neatly hanging in the wardrobe.

  When was the last time he had enjoyed the luxury of a clean room? How had he allowed his home to get to such a state of disrepair that even he would notice when it was cleaned? As he changed into a clean shirt, he held the fabric against his nose and inhaled the fragrance of fresh air. Perhaps he had been a bit too rash in intimidating his wife. She obviously had some talents he could enjoy.

  He thought again of her soft mouth and the firm breasts he had pressed to his chest. He knew there were many things he could enjoy about her, but he refused to give her or any woman power over him. She was his wife because his father needed it to be so. He buttoned his shirt, tucked it into his breeches, and headed for the door.

  The bargain was met. He had no desire to go beyond the vows with her. He had no intention of consummating this farce of a marriage with a woman who might, even now, be carrying another man’s child. Descending the stairs, he decided he’d best let her know.

  Ransom entered the library expecting to find her there, but the room was empty. He thought of calling her, but he still didn’t know her given name. Instead of appearing a complete fool, he went in search of John, but it was Alice he ran into first.

  “Cap’n,” she smiled. “So you’re finally home.”

  Ransom frowned. “What has been going on around here?” he asked, his tone concerned but not unkind.

  Alice glanced about the room. “Isn’t it just grand?” She waved her hand and had him follow her through the dining room to the kitchen. “The mistress has done wonders.”

  The clean, organized kitchen she led him to see left Ransom dumbfounded. He sniffed with pleasure at the aromas drifting there. He had visited the kitchen only once before and the stench of rotting food had driven him out at once.

  “How did she manage?” he mused, truly impressed with the changes. He didn’t expect an answer.

  “Did most of it herself, she did,” Alice announced. “Ain’t a bit afraid of hard work, your missus. Nope, she pushed up her sleeves and set to puttin’ all the rest of us ta shame, seein’ as how she was so sick and all.”

  Ransom raised a dark brow. Alice appeared to be putting it on a little thick. But he knew his wife could work. He’d caught her at it. Going to the stove, he lifted a lid and inhaled deeply.

  “I didn’t know Beatrice could make fish chowder,” he sighed, anxious to taste the savory stew.

  “Beg yer pardon, Cap’n,” Alice sniffed. “I made that chowder.” Her chin rose, and he knew she had more to say. “Bea was fired the day the mistress began to set this place ta rights.”

  “Is that so?” Ransom struggled with a grin, trying to imagine the large, loud Beatrice coming to blows with the little mouse he had met in his library.

  “It’s so, I swear it,” Alice stated.

  So the lady had a temper, he mused. He would have to remember that when next they met.

  “Have tea sent to my library, Alice, as soon as Holden arrives.” He started to leave and paused. “I’m sorry I overlooked your culinary talents all this time. If the chowder tastes as good as it smells, you are assured a job for life.”

  Smiling, Alice turned to call one of the maids away from the laundry they were doing and sent her to inform the mistress that the captain was home.

  * * *

  “Good lord, man! What’s happened here? This place looks like a real home,” Holden exclaimed as he entered the library.

  “My wife,” Ransom sneered, not bothering to look up.

  Holden fell into a chair. “I forgot all about her.”

  “So had I,” Ransom retorted. He lifted his head to gaze across the room at nothing. He had been trying to make a list of the remaining arms they had confiscated, but he kept seeing visions of long hair the color of—what? It was beyond description. Shaking off the gut wrenching effect of his thoughts, he glared at his friend. “Is the Ebony safely moored?”

  “She is,” Holden replied. “Now what about the muskets? You want them sent to New York?”

  “Not yet. I don’t like the news of troops moving through further north. It’s possible they’re planning to take the river.” There were constant rumors about the movement of the British troops, but Ransom
knew he possessed an uncanny ability to feel when it might be true. “We’ll have to stop them along it if they do.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep the muskets on the ship. That way we can distribute them at a moment’s notice.”

  Alice opened the door to announce dinner after greeting Holden. He commented on the house, but Alice again assigned most of the credit to the mistress. Ransom frowned at her apparent dedication to the woman, but let it pass.

  He anticipated a good meal, and he wasn’t disappointed. The chowder was more than he could have hoped for, but there were also soft-shell crabs and fresh sturgeon served with young carrots floating in a creamy sauce, and new potatoes from an early spring crop. When still-warm bread was set on the table, he fairly swooned.

  “You should have found a bride a long time ago,” Holden teased as he reached for a golden brown piece of fish.

  His friend’s ill-chosen words halted his fork half way to his mouth. His bride. Again he had forgotten her. Surely she knew the meal was on the table. Had she chosen not to dine with him? Tossing his fork to the table, he rose, not bothering to explain to a clearly bewildered Holden where he was going.

  “What room is she in?” Ransom asked the moment he pushed open the kitchen door.

  Alice smiled and called over her shoulder, “The one across from yours.”

  * * *

  Catherine drew the brush through her hair slowly. She was still feeling the results of her tears. Occasionally a dry sob escaped her and she frowned, hating the reminder. She had come to a conclusion while she sat beneath the tree. She was going to stay out of the man’s way the entire time he was in residence. She didn’t think she could tolerate his harsh treatment of her.

  She knew he believed she had been involved in scandalous activities, but that did not entitle him to treat her so poorly. Many marriages were not love matches, but surely the brides were not treated like excess baggage for the circumstances of their vows.

  The longer she thought about it, the angrier she felt. After all, she had endured to arrive and relieve his father of his debt; she was not going to be abused. She decided she was going to make it perfectly clear to him that she would appreciate it if he would simply leave her to her own devices. She would make sure he understood she wanted no claim to him or his wealth. All she wanted was to—

  The door to her room burst open. She looked up to see the man standing there. This was her first good look at him, and what she saw made her pulses leap. He was incredibly handsome in a sinister way. His hair was almost the color of ink. Tied back, it accentuated his long straight nose and the taunt line of his mouth. His eyes were the color of dark tea.

  Catherine realized she was behaving boldly. She lowered her eyes. She turned her back to him.

  “Are you ill, madam?”

  “N-no,” she stammered, hating the fear she could hear in her own voice.

  “Then why are you not dressed for dinner? Surely you are aware it is being served.”

  Catherine was suddenly sorry she had not let Alice see to something suitable for her to wear in his presence. “I lost everything when the ship went down. I have n-nothing but . . . a few things Alice found for me to wear.”

  He strode to her closet and opened it. She could see pitiful little from where she sat and wondered what he would do. To her surprise, he grabbed a dark skirt and a pale yellow blouse and tossed them at her.

  “Put these on and be down in five minutes,” he ordered. He was gone as quickly as he entered.

  The instant he was out of sight, Catherine drew herself up and placed her fisted hands on her hips. He was positively insufferable! She considered defying his order, but feared the alternative more than the mandate. Donning the serviceable outfit, she sat before the mirror.

  She sighed. Why wasn’t she at least pretty? Perhaps then he would have treated her more kindly. She gazed at her hair for a moment, twisted it about her hand to pin it atop her head, but decided she lacked sufficient pins to keep it in place. The last thing she needed was for strands to tumble down when she was trying to make an impression.

  Behind her neck, she gathered her hair with a ribbon and tied it neatly to hang down her back. It was the best she could do. Her fingers brushed the fading bruise on her cheek. There was little she could do about that either, but he might not notice the pale tint still visible, especially if she kept her head lowered and away from him.

  When she was sure her five minutes were up, Catherine made her way to the dining room. Even though she didn’t think she could eat in his presence, she would humor him by being there.

  At the door, she halted when she heard voices. She hoped he had a visitor so she would not have to endure his presence alone. Swallowing hard against trepidation welling in her throat, she stiffened her spine to enter with as much grace as she could.

  A man she did not know was ready to stuff the last of a piece of fish into his mouth when he looked up and saw her.

  “Lord-a-mercy!” he exclaimed and dropped his fork.

  She quickly took a step backward, hoping not to draw Ransom’s attention. Unfortunately, he turned. He seemed surprised by her appearance, despite his decree to join him. Perhaps it was her attire or her lack of a proper hair dressing. She gripped the folds of her skirt in a desperate attempt to still her hands. Gone was her desire for courage. She was ready to turn and run, but the stranger rose and came toward her.

  “May I escort you to the table, madam?” he asked.

  Pleased by the kind voice and gentle touch of his hand upon her elbow, Catherine slowly smiled at the pleasant man. He was as fair as Ransom was dark. But he had a boyish charm about him, despite being about the same age as her husband.

  “Thank you,” she replied shyly. He escorted her to the table and held her chair. A grumbling noise came from Ransom. She thought it might be intended for her until she saw the man nod tersely in Ransom’s direction before returning to his chair.

  “Would you introduce us?” the man asked of Ransom, who only frowned. The man grinned in her direction. “I am Holden Blakely, a long time friend of Ran—of your husband.” She nodded once to acknowledge him. “You seem to have recovered very well from your accident.”

  She enjoyed the warmth of Holden’s smile, but did not understand the sparkle in his eyes. “Thanks to Alice, I carry few reminders,” Catherine replied. She wondered at the scowl on Ransom’s face, and his bad manners. Holden leaned forward, clearly ready to continue the conversation.

  “If you are through, Holden,” Ransom stated firmly, “you may go see to the cargo we brought in.”

  “Of course,” Holden replied with a glance in his direction. “If you will excuse me, Lady Kent,” he smiled at her. “I’ve been given my orders.”

  She nodded, afraid to challenge Ransom, but aware of proper etiquette. “It has been a pleasure meeting you and I hope we can—”

  “Now! Holden,” Ransom interrupted her. She frowned and would have risen to leave the table, but Holden shook his head at her.

  “Enjoy your dinner, m’lady.” One glance in Ransom’s direction and she knew that would be quite impossible. Holden turned to Ransom. “Thank you for the dinner, my friend.”

  Ransom made a strange grumbling sound as Holden chuckled and left the room with a smile.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  Ransom waited until Holden was gone before turning his attention to his dinner. The food had lost its appeal, but he refused to let this woman think she could disturb him. He had somehow managed to ignore her scant attire in her room, and he was certainly able to get past her coy display with Holden.

  “Eat,” he ordered when he noticed she was sitting with her hands in her lap.

  “I am not hungry, m’lord,” she murmured without looking at him. He realized he was annoyed with her withdrawal and wondered what thoughts were filling her head.

  He scowled as he leaned back in his chair in leisurely fashion. “You will call me Ransom,” he stated. He watched her nod on
ce as she accepted his mandate silently, but he would not be put off. “Say it,” he demanded. His body stiffened with unexplained anger.

  “As you wish,” she breathed. Her eyes remained lowered. “Ransom.”

  The sound of his name from her lips was like a caress that caused his body to spasm sharply. Quickly, he reminded himself she was not the innocent she pretended to be or she would not have played up to Holden the way she had. He toyed with his knife as he looked at her, struggling to present a nonchalance he was far from feeling.

  “And pray tell, madam, what should I call you?” he asked, hoping to at last discover her name. His attempts to get it from the staff seemed destined to failure. They were content to call her “Mistress.”

  “My name is Catherine.” He saw her look up for a moment. She still seemed nervous. Yet the instant she caught him watching her, she looked back into her lap.

  “Very well, Catherine,” he sighed, trying to appear bored. “I am often gone. You have done an admirable job with my house and may continue. All I ask—no, demand—is that you stay out of my library.”

  “As you wish,” she said curtly.

  “And I would prefer you not leave Devil’s Head without an assigned escort.” She nodded her acceptance as he went on to explain. “These are troubled times. It would not be safe.”

  He realized that despite his clipped tone, he had expressed a compliment about the house and sounded concerned with her safety. Unwilling to give her the wrong impression, he thought he had best explain in terms she could not misconstrue. “I realize you may find Devil’s Head boring after London, but you will do as I wish or you may leave to fend for yourself.” He frowned at her silence. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very clear,” she murmured. “But I . . . should like to stay.”

  “Then you will be in charge of my house unless I deem it otherwise.”

  She squared her shoulders, apparently wishing to leave the table. He stifled a grin. She was submissive to his wishes, yet she had taken on and beaten Beatrice. Where was her courage now?