Angel in Black (35 page)

Willy waved the bloody blade in the air with ominous threat and sneered. “You know damn well what I want, you bitch.” He looked at Li and screamed, “Get out!”

Confused and afraid, Li looked to Katrina, who nodded and gave her a shove toward the door. “Go on.”

Seeing her hesitation, Katrina repeated, more firmly this time, “Go.”

Li ran past Willy and out the door. He slammed it closed and locked it; threw the key across the room, where it disappeared beneath a chest.

Katrina faced the deadly sword and the deadlier man wielding it. “So, you’re using swords now to subdue women. Are you not man enough to take me unarmed?”

The derisive sneer in her voice hit its mark, and he tossed the weapon aside. “I need no help, witch.”

Willy leaped at Katrina and managed to grab only a handful of hair when she dodged him. His cruel yank pulled her to the floor at his feet and he wound the length around his hand. His knee held her down and he forced her head back at a painful angle. With his free hand, he ripped his blood-soaked shirt off, loosened his pants to free the hardness within. He moved on top of Katrina, yanking her petticoat up to bare her hips. Willy’s lips came down hard on hers, bruising and demanding as he tore her chemise to bare a tender breast to his roaming fingers.

When his tongue probed her mouth, she bit it, nearly gagging when she tasted blood in her mouth. Willy pulled back and bellowed in pain. Katrina seized a bottle lying nearby and smashed it against the side of his head. She shoved with all her might to throw him off her and scrambled to her feet. Willy was quick and snatched her ankle, stopping her, pulling her down on top of him.

He had a wildcat on his hands as Katrina scratched and bit, her fists smashed painfully into his face and stomach. Rolling, Willy managed to land on top again and struck Katrina hard across the face. The blow might have crumpled most women, but it barely dazed her as desperation gave her amazing strength and stamina.

Neither of the two people struggling on the floor heard the door crash in. Willy was lifted off Katrina and thrown across the room. She looked up at Grant Walker, his face a mask of pure rage.

“Get out of here — I’ll take care of that bastard!”

Katrina had no desire to argue and fled. Li waited outside the cabin and the two women made their way to the deck. The sight before them caused Li to blanch, sickened by the scene of violence and death. Smoke filled the air, hanging heavy around them as it mixed with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood. All about them men fought to protect their ship, or to take it over — it was hard to distinguish one from the other. Katrina knew if they were to escape, it would have to be now, most likely there would be no chance later.

Chapter Twenty

R
EBECCA FELT PROUD AS
she stood between Ryon and Blake. She ignored the curious stares and gossip exchanged from one to another. Two weeks had passed since Blake returned home with his arm bleeding and no explanation offered. The only thing Rebecca cared about was his excessive drinking stopped and he appeared to have come to terms with his overwhelming grief.

Dressed soberly in black, Blake stood out from all the other men who dressed more colorfully. Rebecca witnessed the envious eyes of the women as two of London’s handsomest and richest men walked into the ballroom. She also noticed when Catherine Ramsey spotted Blake, her green eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a nefarious smile. From the look Rebecca witnessed, she was certain it would not be a pleasant encounter.

So, thought Catherine to herself, with that little bitch out of the way, he’s all mine. She excused herself from the two men who bored her and made her way to Blake Roberts. By the time she reached him, Lieutenant Greerson had joined them.

“Blake, darling,” Catherine cooed. “It is so nice to see you. Whatever has kept you away so long?”

Blake flashed a smile, and Catherine felt her pulse quicken. Taking heart, she pressed on.

“I have saved the first dance for you.” Catherine fanned her eyelashes shyly, her head tilted slightly to show off her flawless features.

For the moment, Blake found her game amusing. This sudden shyness was so unlike her he had to still the urge to laugh outright, but he bowed with grace and elegance, mostly to hide the smile threatening to give him away. When he managed to look at Catherine again, he had control of his emotions.

“I would be honored to have this dance, Lady Ramsey.” Blake’s voice was smooth, melodious. Only those who stood close to him noticed his slight slurring of the word
lady
.

In her moment of victorious joy, Catherine did not catch the underlying contempt; in fact she found him to be most agreeable tonight. As Blake whirled her onto the dance floor, she bestowed on him what she considered to be her most becoming smile. She leaned closer, giving him a full view of her ample, creamy breasts, and allowed them to rub enticingly against his chest.

“You have been ignoring me terribly, Blake,” pouted Catherine.

Blake’s golden eyes remained unreadable, his voice guarded. “Have I?”

Biting her lip in annoyance at his lack of concern, she continued, “Yes, you have, but I forgive you, darling. We have all the time in the world now.”

Blake stiffened, but Catherine took it as a good thing and went on. “I could use a breath of fresh air, Blake. Don’t you find it stifling in here?”

Tired of her maneuvering, he guided her toward the balcony doors and out into the night’s fresh air. He saw Catherine watched him from under lowered lashes and waited for him to say or do something. Impatient at his silence, she grew bolder.

The changes in her features and the knowing look in her emerald eyes warned him. She was up to something, and Blake remained patient so he could find out what. Catherine pressed against him intimately and ran a long, tapered finger along his jaw line. She noticed the twitch where she touched him and moved closer, obviously thinking it pent-up desire and not the loathing he experienced.

Blake felt only repulsion for the woman and it took every bit of control he had not to throw her from him in disgust. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his, her mouth parted and eager.

Catherine slowly realized Blake did not respond to her kiss. This hit her hard, like a slap across the face causing her to step back. Color flooded her cheeks, reaching clear down to her breasts and her eyes narrowed in anger. But Blake only cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

She raised her hand to strike Blake’s arrogant face. With ease, he caught it causing her to gasp in pain. “B-Blake … you’re hurting me,” whined Catherine, her fury tinged by fear.

“Have you no pride or shame, Catherine?”

His question surprised her, and she retorted, her voice loud and grating, “What do you mean?”

A sneer crossed Blake’s lips, and he dropped her hand, his distaste apparent. “You know what I mean. I have made it abundantly clear I have no wish to bed you, and yet you persist in throwing yourself at me, like a bitch in heat. I know what kind of woman you are, and there is no passion to blind me to the facts. Give up, Catherine. You will never have my money. You had better find some other fool to take you to his bed; it will not be me.”

His words stung her, hurting her despite her cold heart. Tears sprang to her eyes, not from pain but from anger he knew her so well. “You loved me once, long ago.”

“And I was young and foolish. I have always been grateful you were cruel enough to deny my proposal, and greedy enough to go after another poor soul.”

“But I love you, Blake,” she cried, desperate to hold on to him any way she could. Blake Roberts could give her everything she wanted in life; she would not give in.

“You love only yourself and money. You have no idea what love really is.” He pulled her clinging arms off him and started to leave.

“And I suppose you know what love is?” she snapped, the waspish side now emerging. “Did you love that little bitch, your peasant wench Rina?” When he stopped abruptly, Catherine knew she hit a tender spot and recklessly pressed on. “Is that why you tried to drown yourself in drink?” Her laughter filled the air, bringing a deadly look to Blake’s face. “You mean the infamous Lord Roberts felt more than lust for a woman? You
are
a fool, Blake; she was nothing but a whore, and you couldn’t see it.”

In two long strides, Blake stood in front of Catherine and his hands grasped her shoulders painfully. “What do you mean, witch?” Blake shook her hard, but she was blind to his rage. Determined to destroy his saintly image of Katrina, Catherine lied, for it was her fault Blake did not want her.

“She was a whore — plain and simple. Everyone knew it but you. Why do you think the King married her off so quickly? While you were away, she slept with everyone at court, even your good friends and dear brother. I heard she had a taste for men in uniform — especially a certain lieutenant. She should have died that day in the forest. Lawrence and Randolph were foolish to let her get away.”

Catherine’s eyes widened when she realized what she let slip, but there was no backing out now.

Blake gritted his teeth, his emotions played havoc inside of him. “What are you talking about?”

Catherine knew how jealous Blake was of his little darling and the lies easily fell into place. Pleased she had his attention again, she rushed on. “Didn’t the slut claim the fall miraculously brought her memory back?” Catherine awkwardly groped for more, but Blake was too upset to see it. The confusion and pain she read so clearly in his eyes fed Catherine’s courage.

“We were out on a private little fox hunt when we ran into your precious peasant girl, all by herself in the forest. I must say she was an obliging strumpet, Lawrence and Randolph enjoyed her very much. She tried to get me into the fray, but I like men, not whoring little bitches. Why do you think they did not object to Rina marrying Randolph? They were both looking forward to more of the same.”

Catherine’s evil words twisted in Blake’s still tender heart. His mind whirled as he considered beating the depraved smile from her face. It had to be a lie … but why did he have doubts eating at him, gnawing at the last threads of control? He remembered Katrina’s reluctance to talk about what had happened when he questioned her about the accident. He had known she was lying when she denied knowing who chased her and caused her fall. And what about the obvious tenderness and affection Katrina had for David? Did she promise him something to let the Angel go? His own brother had always been there for her — just as his grandfather had.

What else did she keep from him? What other lies had she told? How many other men had heard her whisper words of love into their ears? If she had truly loved him, she would not have married another man. All lies — how could he have been so easily duped by her treachery?

Without another word, Blake turned and disappeared, leaving a shaken Catherine Ramsey standing in the darkness alone. A slow smile curved her lips, and disappointment was quickly replaced with satisfaction, for Blake obviously believed what she said. Why else would he be so upset? Catherine knew she could not battle a ghost, but she had succeeded in tainting her cherished memory. She patted her hair into place and smoothed her velvet gown before returning to the gaiety inside, her laughter drifting on the breeze.

When she disappeared into the crowd, Ryon and David stepped from the shadows, shock and disbelief registered on their faces. By accident they witnessed the whole scene between Blake and Catherine. Neither moved, still unable to understand why Blake believed Lady Ramsey.

Finally, David gathered his wits and turned to Ryon. “Blake believed her lies? Surely, he does not.”

A sad sigh escaped Ryon and he shook his head. “You saw the look on his face, David. I am afraid he did, and poor Katrina cannot defend herself.”

They both knew what Blake had been through. Perhaps in his grief stricken mind it was easier to think Catherine’s lies were true — less painful to hate Katrina than to cope with loving her and living without her. Shaking their heads in dismay, they walked around the gardens, unable to face the party and all its revelers.

T
HE SHIP SLIPPED FROM
the harbor, her sails filled with the early-morning breeze as she skidded gracefully across the glittering blue-green water. The sun inched its way above the horizon to spray its golden rays on the earth below. Blake turned away from the light in annoyance, his hand shielding his sensitive, bloodshot eyes. A moan escaped him at the severe pounding in his head; his mouth felt dry and cottony. Slowly, his mind cleared, bringing with it remembrance of events of the night before.

Catherine’s words had been like a sharp knife plunged directly into his heart. His grief and sorrow devoured her words as truth, allowing no room for reason or trust to enter. Unable to control his fury Blake left the party and ended up on board one of his ships, a bottle of brandy close at hand as he slipped back to his old way of losing himself in drink. He wasn’t certain where he was going, but it truly didn’t matter. Nothing did.