The Rebel's Bride

by JoAnn DeLazzari

  A shiver ran down her spine as she thought of what had just happened—and what could have happened. She knew how drink affected men, but she had never expected the coldly arrogant Ransom Kent to resort to force. If she hadn’t stopped him—

  Again she was plagued by the image of Sabrina and her lover. She could not imagine Ransom touching her like that. She closed her eyes to erase the picture, but swore she could still hear the moans coming from Sabrina’s throat.

  “No,” she cried softly and covered her ears. “Not to me.” Tears slipped through her tightly closed lashes. Catherine rolled to her side, clutching the lap robe tightly about her shoulders. She let her mind wander in an effort to find sleep. To her surprise, she recalled the day that she had wanted Sabrina to explain things to her.

  Perhaps if she had, before that dreadful night, she might have better understood, but it was far too late now. Ransom’s behavior convinced her she would always have to fight him.

  Her eyes shot open and she sat up. All her life Catherine had quietly complied with the wishes of others, even when it went against her own desires. But not this time. She had not only fought Ransom, she had won. A smile appeared with the realization that she quite enjoyed both the argument and the victory.

  No longer afraid, she blew out the candle. She could take care of herself at last. Filled with confidence, she relaxed and soon slept in her makeshift bed.

  * * *

  Ransom yawned and tried to stretch, but he found himself wrapped in blankets. Struggling to be free, he noticed he still wore his robe. He started to sit up and clutched at his head with a groan. It felt like cannons were being fired in his brain and the reverberation made him drop back down.

  How could he have been so foolish as to consume so much brandy? The Ebony needed to be put to sea on the tide or it would lose a full day in a scheduled rendezvous. Although in no shape to captain at the moment, he had to sail.

  This time he rose further. He rubbed his brow in circular motions until the worst of the headache eased. One eye opened. When it adjusted to the light of the room, he opened the other. Nothing looked familiar. Glancing about, he noticed broken pottery, then some clothing he didn’t recognize on the back of a chair.

  On shaky legs, he gained his feet. The moment he gazed down at the assortment, he grimaced. He’d done it now. This had to be Catherine’s room. Struggling with a surge of nausea, he returned to the bed and plopped down on it, only to lean forward until he could finally hold his head in his hands.

  “Damn,” he moaned in an effort to recall last night’s events. He remembered—vaguely—coming to her room. He sighed, aware of the why, yet he couldn’t remember if he had been successful in his quest. He looked down to find his robe secure about his waist and decided nothing had happened.

  At first he felt relieved. Too much drink had brought him to her room—drink and a weak moment. He remembered thinking he could have her and still ensure no child would be his. He drew a deep breath.

  A clear head would be needed if he were to retrace his steps of the night before. He stood and went to the bowl, then grimaced when he realized the broken pottery lying about was the pitcher that went with it. Moving carefully away from the mess, he made his way back to his own room.

  In minutes, he had doused his head with cold water, shaken off the bulk of his hangover, and dressed. Once again things were crystal clear. She cleaned his home, saw to his food, and now she could make herself useful to him—personally.

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  Ransom stood over the sleeping object of his search. He said nothing to the servants, wanting to keep this a private affair. Besides, he did not know whose side they would be on. All he ever heard from them were praises regarding their new mistress. To assure success, he moved quietly through the house alone until he found her.

  She chose wisely in the parlor. He checked every room on the second story before moving to the ground floor. In that time, she could have awakened and fled. He even took the time to dress in the event he had to give chase, but fate finally smiled on him where she was concerned.

  For a moment, he stood to enjoy her beauty and her silence. She might be the perfect woman if he could keep her asleep. Her beauty was intoxicating, yet he thought her tongue too sharp. She called him several names no one had ever dared call him. Bastard, indeed—and he the product of England’s bluebloods.

  Shelving his aggravation with her name calling for a later confrontation, he knelt beside the sofa. Despite his headache and the queasiness in his stomach, he found himself stirring to life the nearer he got to her, clear evidence he had not taken her the night before. He should have known with his great need this morning.

  “Wake up, madam,” he snarled as he shook her shoulder.

  Catherine sighed and stirred before her eyes fluttered open—wide. In a desperate attempt to escape, she tried to scurry beneath the arm he braced across her the moment she fully awoke. When her attempt failed, she glared at him. “Go away! Leave me alone!” She shoved at his chest.

  He gripped her wrists to yank her arms over her head. “We have some unfinished business, madam,” he said, his words forced between clenched teeth. She seemed about to reply, but he had no desire to waste time listening. He stood and drew her up to her feet roughly.

  “Will you walk or shall I carry you?” He knew he had the upper hand this time, and cared naught whether he sounded smug. He had underestimated her once, but this time he came to her prepared.

  “You can go to— No!” She cried out when he hoisted her none-too-gently over his shoulder. She moaned and he suspected she would have loved to scream for help, but this was his home, and he was the master. Instead, she kicked furiously as he made his way out into the foyer.

  “Hold still.” She did not, and he brought his hand down hard on her barely covered bottom. “This should not be too distasteful if you cooperate.”

  “You don’t understand!” she continued. “You can’t do this. I have never—”

  “I will not be stopped this time, madam.” Ransom reached the stairs, his purpose such that he would not be swayed by anything she would say. He shifted her weight so he could move her into his arms. She squealed and clutched his neck, apparently afraid he would drop her. Looking into her fearful face, he grinned sardonically. “Who knows, Catherine, you might even enjoy it with me, though I realize I am not your scandalous lover.”

  He took the stairs two at a time, his body anxious to find fulfillment inside her lovely form. He could recall her breasts, full and firm, exposed to him the night before. The image brought a surge of desire to his groin so intense he moaned.

  On the landing he stopped in his tracks. Not for her begging, or the resumed tension in her, but because of the sound of his name called strongly from below. He turned to see Holden standing in the foyer, his cap twisted about his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Ran,” he said, regret clearly in his voice. “But we have to leave. Now.”

  Ransom felt Catherine’s relief. Thwarted yet again, but this time the fault belonged to him. He knew all along he needed to leave, yet he pursued her. His desires were stimulated even though there would be no time to fulfill them. He swore harshly and she winced.

  “Give me a moment,” he replied, his own voice revealing the depths of strain he endured. Without pausing to hear if Holden added anything, he continued toward her room. Shouldering open her door, he carried her to the bed and dropped her onto it. “You seem well pleased with the turn of events.” He gazed down at her and his mouth twisted in the parody of a smile. “This is not over, madam. When I return, be prepared to share my bed.” Catherine gasped and sat up. Fury was apparent in her eyes, but he had no time for a tantrum.

  “Perhaps I shall have a turn of luck, sir!” she yelled at him as he made his way to the door. “Maybe you will not return, you bloody devil!”

  Ransom spun to see defiant victory flashing in her eyes. The vixen fairly dared him, he thought, and he found h
e relished it. Long strides took him back to the bed. He knelt beside her and gripped her arms to pull her to her knees before him.

  “Pray I do not, madam,” he seethed, more from frustration than anger. “So you have named me, so I may well demand your soul.” His mouth fell over hers, grinding hard against it.

  When she tried to twist away from him, he wrapped his hand with her braid and pulled back her head to force her mouth open. His kiss immediately changed. Though fraught with restrained violence, he attempted to make her react more favorably.

  Ransom’s tongue traced her lips. She gasped. Was it surprise, or pleasure? He grew bolder and pushed aside her robe to seek the warmth of the flesh left bare by her torn gown. As he strove to ignite her passions, he fell prey to his own devices. “God, woman,” he groaned into her mouth and twisted about to press her down on the bed while he moved over her.

  Her body tensed as his hands moved greedily over her bared breasts. He sought the tightened peaks and heard her moan. The sound reached his saner side. He slowed his actions to enjoy every aspect of what they were about to do. He lowered his head to run his tongue along her jaw and down her neck. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart. She was ready to let him make love to her.

  Reaching to unfasten his breeches in preparation for an end to his torment, Ransom heard the knock at the door. He knew he had left it ajar and hoped Holden had the good graces to stand aside. With relief moments away, he knew it would be denied him. His head fell to her breast. He could not resist leaving her aching, too. His mouth covered one peak and he suckled until he drew a cry from her.

  The taste of her almost made him yell to Holden to leave without him, but he knew he would hate himself later. Reining every bit of his determination, he demanded his body forget its need. Though not an easy task, he managed a modicum of control.

  He rose swiftly from the bed, lest he forget himself again. Ransom stood to glare down at her. Her tattered gown lay parted to reveal her to the waist. The hem was twisted about her lovely thighs from their earlier struggles. She was exquisite, but he banked his desires with thoughts of her laying like that for another man.

  “That should keep you warm until I return,” he stated in clipped tones. “Be ready, madam.” He turned and left her staring at him, her eyes ablaze with hatred.

  In the hall, he sighed when he saw Holden standing near the stairs. “Let’s go,” he demanded, his mood anything but cordial. Threats broke the silence and something crashed against the wall. Suddenly Ransom chuckled.

  “She don’t sound too pleased you’re leaving,” Holden offered.

  Ransom stopped at the door and gazed back up the stairs. “She is going to be less pleased when I return.”

  * * *

  “That miserable, arrogant—” Catherine threw a gutted candle against the wall.

  “Catherine? You all right, child?” Alice ventured forth.

  She sniffed and swiped at her tears. “Yes, I’m fine.” She glanced about at the havoc she had wreaked. Her arms went limp at her sides and she lowered her head. “No, I am not fine,” she sobbed. “I am a terrible wife because . . . because I hate him!”

  Opening her arms, Alice held her when she fell into them. “Easy, dear,” she murmured. “Don’t cry. He’s gone and ya can rest easy.”

  Catherine did not resist when Alice led her to the bed. Alice reached to draw her parted gown together. “Did he hurt ya, dear?”

  “Y-yes,” Catherine muttered, weeping into her hands. “I mean no, but— Alice?” She raised her head woefully. “What can I do? He wants to— When he returns he is going to—”

  Alice frowned and sat at her side. “All brides have this fear, but it’s not so bad after the first time.”

  “You don’t understand,” Catherine moaned and jumped to her feet in agitation. “He thinks I—” She turned to face Alice. She bit her lip. Could she trust her? Would she run to Ransom the moment he returned?

  “What is it, child? What’s plaguing you?”

  Catherine dropped to her knees before Alice’s matronly form and let her story spill from her lips. She left nothing out, including her fears from what she had seen Sabrina doing with Rafael. When it was all out in the open, she grew silent.

  “Oh, child. That’s quite a story,” Alice sighed. She gently stroked the tangles in Catherine’s hair.

  Catherine sniffed. “It is the truth, but I fear telling him.”

  “And well you should, child. The Cap’n hates lies more than anything. He’s paid dearly for another woman’s untruths.”

  Catherine raised tear-filled eyes to look at Alice. “Then what should I do? If I do not tell him, he will know after— And if I do tell him, he will also know.” She rose to think over the entire situation that brought her to these shores. “Either way he will be angry and it will be my fault, won’t it?”

  Alice rubbed her brow. “Only part of it, child. You simply trusted those you love and that ain’t always smart.” Catherine frowned. She was in no mood for a lecture. “Maybe if ya talked ta him, explained it all, he might . . .”

  There was no reason to finish the thought. Catherine knew it would be impossible for either of them to figure out what he would do. The only saving grace as far as she could see was the few days he would be gone. Perhaps she could come up with a solution in the allotted time.

  One thing she knew, she couldn’t dwell on what had happened before he left. Her body instantly tensed when she recalled the way he touched her.

  “I think I’d better get dressed,” she murmured to dismiss the subject—and Alice, for the time being. “I will be down shortly.”

  * * *

  The Ebony sailed out to the open sea. Tension aboard eased as she outran the last possible threat. Ahead lay the mission and a few days of freedom on the ocean’s rolling surface. Ransom ordinarily relished his freedom, but not today.

  For the first time since he began his work for the United States government, he wished he could have passed on this assignment. More than anything else at that moment, he wanted to possess the woman Catherine. She was such a strange blending of passion and innocence. He could not explain his feelings for her. He felt a moment of anger at himself for falling prey to her wiles. Yet, he reasoned, why shouldn’t he? She belonged to him now. For better or worse.

  The wind blew against his face and he found he wanted to smile, not with the joy of the sea, but with the prospect of what awaited him at home. No matter how she struggled against him, he knew there were moments when he had nearly breached her defenses. That their relationship would be a battle intrigued and excited him.

  Holden joined him. He braced his hands behind him as he moved to Ransom’s side. “If the weather holds, we should make good time.”

  “It will hold,” Ransom stated, almost daring the elements to delay him.

  Holden peered sideways at him and grinned. “You sound as if you are already anxious to return home, and we have just left.”

  Ransom glared at Holden for a moment, then revealed his amusement. “I am, my friend.” His mouth twitched. “It seems the battle with the British has moved to the home front.”

  Holden laughed. “You’re actually enjoying this.”

  Pondering the statement, Ransom nodded. “That I am, but not as much as I plan to.” Prepared to carry on the bantering, Ransom heard a cry from the crow’s nest. Immediately, both men stiffened in alert. There was a ship behind them not yet visible from the deck. Since it would not be dark for another hour, it was imperative they stay far ahead of it until darkness shrouded them.

  All of Ransom’s attention now focused on the safety of his ship and crew. Jesting would have to wait until after the potential danger had passed. In all probability, the ship following was the enemy and they could not afford to be caught. They had a rendezvous to make and guns to deliver. They could spare no thoughts for personal matters now. Lives depended on it.

  * * *

  A soft rain began at dawn. Catherine rose, weary from
her lack of sleep. She had spent the night trying to decide on a way to tell Ransom the truth. She didn’t know why it was so important for him to think well of her. He was arrogant and insufferable, but he was still the man she might be forced to spend the rest of her life with.

  She pushed back the curtain and looked out on the gray mist, barely visible through the tears brimming on her lashes. Why couldn’t she have been born a boy? Then, when her parents died, she would have been free to live her life as she saw fit instead of needing the protection of a man.

  She could run the entire household, stretch coin until it yielded its greatest worth, and endure as well as any man, as her recent exploits revealed. What fool had mandated that a woman needed a man? A smile twitched at her lips. A masculine fool, no doubt.

  And why shouldn’t men convince women it should be this way? It gave them all the freedoms with none of the tasks. With a simple ceremony by some clergy, a man gained a woman to share his bed when he chose, a legal heir if there were issue, and any possessions the woman might have before her marriage—while she only gained his proud name. Hardly a fair exchange, she thought.

  A streak of independence shot through Catherine’s veins. She did not need Ransom Kent. She could fend for herself. Their vows were exchanged when she lay in an unconscious state. If she left a note telling him the truth without having to face him, he could use it as proof to have the marriage annulled. She would avoid his anger, salvage what remained of her pride, and prevent him from following through with his threat to bed her.