The Rebel's Bride

by JoAnn DeLazzari

  He took her hand and kissed it lightly. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said, and stepped aside to let her pass. “Catherine,” he called as she paused near the door.

  “Yes, Holden?” She looked back over her shoulder with a smile. To her surprise, he appeared worried again.

  “Nothing, except . . . you look lovely,” he murmured and left.

  She was ready to call after him, but Alice arrived. There were no longer any excuses to avoid her husband’s summons.

  Alice entered first with the dinner tray. Catherine stepped just inside the door after her. She wanted to ask Alice to stay, but knew Ransom would not be pleased. She stared at the floor and winced when she heard the door close. A deep breath allowed her some calm, but she refused to look up. He would announce himself when he was ready.

  “Good evening, madam,” he finally spoke from the far side of the room.

  Catherine followed his deep voice and saw him. He was dressed in snug black britches and a white shirt left unbuttoned to the waist. She noticed he wore no boots. In fact, his feet were bare. She thought he looked much like a pirate she read about once in one of her father’s books. He moved out of the shadows and she saw his hair was not tied back, but hung freely to his shoulders.

  “G-good evening, sir,” she replied, struggling to get her voice to work in her tightened throat.

  Ransom moved to pull out a chair for her. “Please, sit.”

  She nodded and skirted him to take the chair. Glancing back to thank him, she gasped when she saw his gaze caressing the exposed expanse above her breasts. It took all her resolve not to raise her hand to cover herself. Fortunately, he did not touch her, but went to the far side of the table to take his own seat.

  “Wine?” he asked politely. He poured when she nodded. He placed a full glass beside her hand and held up his glass to indicate he wished to make a toast. She picked hers up and waited. “To a memorable evening, madam,” his voice rasped. Their glasses clinked and each drank, but she needed several swallows to stop her hand from shaking.

  Ransom lifted off the lids to several courses. He served her, much to her chagrin. For days she had been caring for him. The reversal of roles unnerved her. Gazing down at the plate he set before her, she didn’t have the heart to tell him she could not eat in his company.

  * * *

  He watched her pick at her food, stifling a smile. She was obviously nervous. He could tell by the amount of wine she consumed. She was lifting the bottle a third time when he reached across the table to stop her. His brow arched.

  “You don’t care for the dinner?”

  She released the bottle over to him and drew her hands into her lap. “It . . . it is fine. I am just not very hungry.”

  “I see the gowns fit well,” he commented, enjoying the view of cleavage above the neckline of her gown. The French style suited her. He became enthralled with the rise and fall of her nearly exposed breasts. Memory of them bared to his touch and his tongue brought a surge of renewed desire, but there was business to see to before he found relief. “I hope you are pleased.”

  She raised her eyes and he marveled how closely they matched her gown. “They are lovely,” she sighed. “I deeply appreciate your . . . your generosity.”

  He leaned back to drape one arm over his chair. “How much, Catherine?” She frowned and he reached out his other hand for her to take it. “Come show me how pleased you are with my gifts.”

  Catherine placed her hand in his and he drew her around the table until she stood between his spread thighs. Usually skittish in his presence, he surmised the wine helped calm her, but he didn’t trust her not to bolt.

  “Thank you,” she sighed through slightly parted lips. He cocked a dark brow when she ran her tongue over her dry lips. Clearly ready to kiss his cheek, she leaned forward.

  He groaned suddenly and she drew back.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Are you hurting?”

  He was in pain, but not the sort of pain she meant. When she bent over him, his field of vision filled with her breasts pressing precariously close to spilling over her gown. He needed more of her than a chaste kiss.

  “Yes,” he groaned as he yanked her to sit on his healthy thigh. He pulled the hand he still held to press it against the junction of his thighs and felt her try to pull away. “I ache here.” He molded her hand beneath his own. When he could stand no more, he released her and slipped his arm about her waist to trap her. His voice rasped, “And you will see to easing my pain soon.”

  He gave her no time to argue. Gripping the back of her head, his mouth took hers. He suspected he frightened her with the intensity of his kiss, but he could not stop. His tongue pressed between her lips in need of more. Unexpectedly, she ceased her struggles and he felt her hands slip about his neck.

  For a moment, he became lost in the tentative exploration and imitation of her tongue against his. They were dueling. It was provocative and exciting. His body was flooded with the hot blood of lust. His hands found the fastenings down the back of her gown. He released them frantically.

  His hands trembled as he drew her bodice away from her breasts. He whispered for her to pull her arms from her sleeves. She hesitated but did not object when he eased the fabric to her waist.

  Ransom sat back to view the parts of her he exposed. She was perfect, he thought—or nearly. Reaching behind her neck, he yanked off the ribbon holding her hair. Slowly, his hands gathered the mass and drew it about her shoulders like a cloak.

  It was all he could do to draw a breath. She was more beautiful than he ever imagined. Her hair fell in riotous strands over her firm breasts, parting and curling about the tips. Her eyes were closed and she, too, was having trouble breathing. Or was she simply well practiced in driving a man to madness with desire?

  The thought made him wince. He nearly forgot who and what she was. Drawing on his resolve to discover the truth about Catherine, he reined in his desires.

  “It has come to my attention that Lady Thorpe’s name is Sabrina,” he announced and sat back to watch her face. She didn’t disappoint him. Her eyes flew wide open and her mouth dropped in a gasp.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He clamped his hands about her waist to prevent her from running. “Would you care to explain how that is, Catherine?” The entire time he spoke, she did little more than tremble. She made an attempt to break free of his hands, but he held her fast and she lowered her head.

  “Let me go and I will—”

  “Talk!” he shouted, making her jump.

  “Please, let me go,” she pleaded. In an effort to push herself free, she pressed her hand to his injured thigh. He groaned and released her. She slipped to her knees at his feet as he clutched the throbbing muscle. “I am so sorry!” she cried. Her hand reached out to him. “I did not mean to—”

  His hand shot out, wrapping in her hair. He twisted it until her head was pulled back. “Explain, my vicious Cat,” he snarled. His gaze raked her naked breasts coldly. “I want my answers before I rid myself of you.”

  “You would kill me?”

  Ransom knew he had her terrified. Her whole body shook. A vicious grin of victory purposely touched his mouth. “No, my lovely, Cat,” he said. “I would hear your story.” She tried to nod in agreement, but he kept his hold.

  “I am Catherine Thorpe,” she moaned. “Sabrina is my cousin!” He released her hair so quickly that she sprawled backwards across the floor.

  It took every ounce of Ransom’s determination not to take her there and then. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and placed his foot on the hem of her gown to prevent further retreat.

  “Go on,” he ordered.

  Catherine sat up and tried to repair her gown. He snickered at her vain attempt. “She is my cousin,” she repeated, turning slightly in an apparent attempt at modesty. “Her father, the Duke of Winthorpe, was my father’s brother. When my parents died, he took me in.”

  The sadness in her voice was convincing, yet her sto
ry was not. “Then how is it you know nothing of London?”

  “Sabrina helped me to avoid it. My father was a younger brother and had no wealth to speak of. I was raised in the country.” She shuddered visibly. “I was terrified of London and Sabrina knew of my fears. She interceded when I was asked to join them at functions.”

  Ransom found himself frowning. Her story was very curious. He could well imagine her cousin trying to hide this beauty—and not out of kindness. “Then it was your cousin who was to come here,” he stated, wondering why Catherine came in her stead.

  “Yes, but she is in love with . . . with R-Rafael.”

  The shiver that ran through her when she mentioned the name brought a deep scowl to his face unseen. “Go on,” he urged when she grew silent.

  “She asked me to come in her stead,” she stated. From his vantage he could just make out the quivering of her chin. “I had no future there. There was no dowry and . . . and I thought that here, it would not matter that I was not a beauty.”

  Ransom almost choked on the wine he had picked up. “Who told you that?” he demanded sharply.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he grumbled, well imagining this cousin doing her best to undermine Catherine at every turn. “Tell me why you came here in her place.”

  Catherine rubbed her brow. “The floor is cold. May I get up . . . please?” He removed his foot and nodded tersely. She tried to put her arms back into her gown, but it was twisted.

  “Put this on.” He tossed her his robe. She stood and presented her back to him as she slipped into the robe. Once covered, she pushed back the sleeves, but did not move. “Now sit, and tell me why you came here.”

  Catherine pushed back her hair, then resumed her seat across from him. Before she said a word, she filled her glass and drank down the wine, missing a moment of amusement in his eyes.

  “I came because I did not think it mattered to you whom you wed,” she announced. She sniffed and lifted one finger to press the side of her nose. He could see the effect the wine was having on her and reached for the bottle before she could take any more.

  “It didn’t,” he admitted. “At least not to me.”

  “It did not matter to me either!” she snapped with the toss of her head. “I did not know you. I only knew Sabrina needed me and . . . and I could help her—and me, too.”

  “How so?” he mused. He found himself utterly fascinated. She was either the best liar he had ever heard, or she was terribly gullible. But he still feared she could be some sort of spy.

  “I would have a house to care for and . . . and someone to belong to me.” He snorted and she stood to slap her hands on the table. “I do not mean you!” she hissed. “I mean a . . . a child if . . . if all you . . . I mean he wanted was an heir!” He watched her raise her hand to her brow and slowly shake her head. “I do not want to talk any more,” she murmured.

  Ransom grinned in vexation. He didn’t want to talk any more, either. Slowly he rose. He was beside her before she realized he had moved. “Come on, Cat,” he gently ordered.

  “Where are you taking me?” she sighed and leaned against his shoulder when he slipped his arm about her waist.

  The scent of her hair rose, tantalizing him further. “To bed, Catherine,” he breathed near her temple. “I am taking you to bed.”

  She nodded slowly. “Good. I am so terribly tired.”

  He felt her begin to slide down the length of him. He caught her before she went too far. Lifting her into his arms, he gazed down at her. The minx had passed out. Laughing lightly, he carried her to his bed to gently settle her.

  “How much can I believe?” he asked her as she slept. He knew he would have to find all his own answers. He stripped off his shirt and lay down beside her. He pulled a quilt over them both then slipped one arm beneath her neck to cradle her against his chest. Should he fall asleep, he wanted to be sure she did not get away.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  Ransom felt her stir and his eyes flew open, but she still slept when he looked down at her. In the dim light of a single candle, he examined her closely. She really was beautiful. If her story was true, no wonder her cousin had kept her hidden. She would have been considerable competition, no matter how attractive this Sabrina was.

  He draped his free arm across his brow to block out the image of the woman in his arms in an effort to examine her story. He didn’t know what he believed where she was concerned. She seemed so very sincere, yet it also made equal sense to him that she had taken Sabrina’s place because the British War Department had set the whole thing up.

  The Duke of Winthorpe, a devout patriot, could have arranged for the entire thing, including the supposed scandal, to get a woman into the United States. What better way than through marriage to an expatriated Englishman?

  This scenario would account for her pleasure with the gowns and her never having been to Whitehall. As an agent, she would be kept in seclusion when not in use. He thought about the day he first saw her. She had been in his library. Surely someone had mentioned to her he left orders it was not to be entered.

  It occurred to him he didn’t want her to be anything but what she claimed, a poor relation searching for her own future. It would simplify the personal side of their relationship.

  A grin twitched his lips. What relationship? Twice he visited her bed, but he had never even seen all of her. The memory of what he had seen caused a familiar reaction. It appeared he could not think of her without desiring her. Perhaps if he took her, quenching the raging passions he felt, he could carry on his life as before. Surely it was the unknown that tempted him. She presented a mystery that, once solved, surely would plague him no more.

  By the clock, she had been asleep for over an hour. Time enough, he decided. He needed to rid himself of the ache she inspired. Gently, he eased his arm from beneath her and sat up. He rose to place a fresh candle in the holder beside his bed. He would be denied nothing this time. She would be his totally.

  Ransom sensed a movement. He peered into the mirror before him and saw she’d awakened. He knew she couldn’t tell he watched her. At once, her gaze went toward the door. Obviously she judged the distance and wondered if she could make it before he caught her.

  With care she eased her feet off the bed, glancing furtively at his back. She reached for the knob when he called to her.

  “Where are you going?” He saw her shoulders slump as he turned to cross his arms over his bare chest.

  “I’m leaving,” Catherine said, her tone one of defeat. “Not just this room, but this country.” Again she touched the knob, but this time she paused on her own. “I am sorry we—I played you false. I had no right to expect—” She drew the door open and prepared to pass through the portal.

  “Catherine!” His voice demanded she stop.

  She whirled, her eyes wide with anger. “What do you want from me?” She drew her hands into tight fists. “I have told you everything! I will admit to whomever you choose that we were wed under false pretenses.” He stared at her, but revealed nothing. Obviously furious, she moved a step toward him. “Don’t you understand? You can get this farce annulled. You can be rid of me. You can be rid of a wife you never wanted!”

  As he watched her temper escalate, he knew he wanted this woman more than any he had ever known. She was fiery and a tempest. She heated his blood to boiling and he felt more alive with her than at any time in his life.

  “There will be no annulment, Cat,” he growled.

  She backed up slowly. “T-that is absurd. We . . . we certainly cannot go on like this!”

  He lowered his arms to his sides and moved toward her. “We won’t be going on like this,” he explained. He moved to her right, forcing her to retreat in the other direction. She realized too late the move put him between her and the door.

  Catherine wet her lips. She gazed about like a trapped animal seeking escape. “You said you did not want a wife.” He took a step toward her. “
I deceived you!” He moved closer still. “I lied to you and . . . and I would not know how to—” She tried to push past him in an effort to make it to the open door.

  Ransom spun, kicked the door closed and grabbed her about the waist. To save his leg from further abuse, he flipped her up over his shoulder and carried her to the bed. He heard the breath whoosh from her as she hit the mattress. Before she could draw a new one, he pressed over her, his hands yanking hers high over her head.

  “I don’t give a damn who you are,” he snarled, gathering both her hands into one of his. “I don’t care why you came here or what sense of duty drove you to deceive me.” He lifted his chest off her to pull open the dressing gown she still wore. “Tonight, Cat, you are going to be my wife.”

  She tried to wiggle out from beneath him, but he rose off the bed and rolled her over on her stomach. “What are you doing?”

  Ransom didn’t wish to waste any more energy trying to subdue this wild cat of a spy. She probably had a knife on her person, just waiting for the perfect moment to catch him off guard. He pressed his knee into the small of her back and yanked the sash free from the dressing gown. He tied one end securely to her wrist. Her threats were muffled in the bedding, but he knew she used every expletive she could summon. He flipped the sash around the bedpost and grabbed her other wrist.

  “You can’t do this!” Catherine cried when he turned her to her back. Bare to her waist, she groaned when he leisurely looked her over. “Why?” she begged with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  He was not deaf to the tremor in her voice, but his body ached. “You used me, madam.” His own voice quivered with his need for her. His hands went to her gown where it lay about her waist. Slowly he drew it down over her hips. “It’s time you completed the full measure of your deception.”

  * * *

  Catherine squeezed her eyes tightly closed. She tried to block her mind to what he was doing, but the coolness of the room told her he had removed everything but the robe trapped beneath her. Without looking she knew he watched her and saw her as no other man had. She did not know what would follow, yet she did not expect the gentle caress moving up her leg.