Stormfire (58 page)

Sean glanced up as she entered the study. In the simple white muslin, she looked particularly feminine in the masculine room with its dark greens and mahoganies. Even the gently curling crop made her seem more fragile. She looked at him with the sleepy gravity of a child, eyes dark blue under their heavy lashes.

He sat back in the chair. "I've given Doctor Flynn permission to examine you. He'll see you in your room at eleven."

The sleepiness disappeared. "It isn't necessary. I haven't been sick since the dinner."

"Flynn thinks it's necessary. He may be right. You look like a hant."

She flushed. "I cannot help that." A trace of the old defiance sparked. "Even
you,
Signor Casanova, might lose a bit of your dash if you were kept in a hole for three months."

"Are you by any chance referring obliquely to my attentions to Lady Duneden?"

"What you do is your own affair," she shot back. "All I ask is to be let alone."

"Ah. Sullen this morning, aren't we? Didn't breakfast suit you either?"

"If you're so intent on shoving your mistress down my throat, why not just tie me to the bed again?"

"I should have thought you'd had a bellyful of rutting of late, but if
not. . ."
He came out of the chair with a swiftness that made her retreat a step. "Yes, madam, you would do well to consider your position before you make snide remarks. Can it be jealousy that whets your tongue?"

Violet fires flared in her eyes. "I don't envy Lady Duneden her place in your bed, if that's what you mean."

"No whore like a reformed whore, eh?" he snarled. "Since you've lost your taste for spreading yourself around, you've decided to hide your bony strumpet's charms in virginal smugness." He caught her chin and dragged it up. "It won't wash, pet. I wouldn't put it past you to invite Rouge to the barn."

She bit his hand like a cornered cat; swearing, he caught her by the hair and twisted until the tears came, but she glared up at him defiantly, refusing to cry out.

"So now the pious act begins to break down, doesn't it, sweet? Underneath, you're still alley cat, pure scheming slut!"

Catherine exploded with all the pent-up pain of the past months. "You
dare
call me slut! When that dyed creature you were pasting yourself against last night is nothing but a celebrated whore?"

He struck her withlall his force, sending her spinning to fall against the desk corner. Catherine clung to the rim, almost fainting with pain that lanced through her side. Dimly, his voice came from behind her. "Don't ever insult Ellen again, you little viper, if you value your wretched existence. You're not fit to clean her
boots . . ."
His voice lowered. "But you will. Put on your riding habit and join us on the terrace after lunch. It's time you learned what a lady is!"

Catherine pushed away from the desk and managed to face him, but was unable to speak.

"By the time Flynn gets to your room, be stripped and ready for that examination. Perhaps you can persuade him to climb on your skinny carcass. Guard!"

Still half-dressed, and pleading the daggerlike pain in her side, Catherine tried to divert the doctor's attention from her stomach; but as he slipped down the straps of the chemise, he noticed her tension. "Catherine, I've seen your body," he reminded her.

"I . . . I'm sorry." Shivering as he lowered the shift to her waist, she quickly caught it and securely tucked it over the telltale rise of her belly. A bruise had formed under the right breast. Carefully, Flynn applied pressure to it and she gasped. "Easy. Just a moment longer." He pressed his hand lightly over her side, his sensitive fingers telling him what he wanted to know. And confirming the pregnancy his practiced eyes had guessed. "You have some cracked ribs: three, I should say." He withdrew a bandage roll from his bag. "Put your hands on your hips." After binding the linen so tightly about her ribs she could hardly breathe, he knotted it and snipped off the excess. "How did this happen?"

"I tripped over a skein of knitting and fell against the bedside table."

"A likely explanation, but then you've not seen your face." He daubed her cut lip and she winced at the sting. "Someone struck you. Sean?"

"We quarreled. I insulted Lady Duneden and he lost his temper."

Flynn sighed. "Will you never learn to play the willow and bend to his storms?"

"I won't grovel." Her jaw set. His face skeptical, Flynn tossed the bandage roll back in his bag and indicated for her to lie down. "Could you defer the examination until this evening?" she said quickly, then added the desperate guile, "I've been ordered downstairs. Sean will be even angrier if I'm late."

He frowned, knowing the reason for her reluctance. "You're simply postponing the inevitable."

"Only by a few hours. I promise not to be difficult." A few hours more to pray Sean's anger would abate.

After Flynn left, she rocked, hugging her swollen belly. What if Sean determined to destroy the child? A blow would be sufficient. Oh, my little one, to come into a world that wants you not. To be taken from my love into the bitter cold.

The new habit had not been included with her prison wardrobe. Dressing in the old one, its dated shabbiness apparent for all its fine cut, took a painful half hour because

of the craeked ribs, and she had to leave the bottom button of the straining jacket undone. Without hat and gloves, she would appear to be a country frump, as no doubt Sean intended.

As Catherine followed the guard downstairs, her resolution faltered. Dizzied by mounting malaise and the pain stabbing her side, she tightly gripped the stair rail when she saw Sean impatiently waiting just inside the front door, his crop tapping his boots with angry flicks. "You're late. My guests are mounted."

"I'm not feeling well . . . certainly not well enough to ride this afternoon. May I return to my room?"

"You may not. You may hold down little else, but you'll digest this dish of crow if it kills you." He changed tack abruptly. "What did Flynn have to say? There was some emergency at the clinic and he lit out like a smoked hornet . . . unless," he added sarcastically, "he was tempted to oblige your invitation?"

"Abuse me if you want; I can hardly stop you, but if you have any decency, spare Doctor Flynn your insinuations."

He snapped the door open. "The sorrel gelding is yours."

Under a gray November sky, the riders idled on their mounts, a perfectly turned-out Lady Duneden gracefully perched on Numidian's glossy back. Acknowledging the greetings of the other riders, Catherine walked to her mount. Sean perfunctorily gave her a foot up to the saddle and she swayed, fighting a wave of dizziness. Not looking at her face, he caught up the reins and thrust them into her hands, then turned to his own horse.

"How delightful that you're able to join us, Miss Flynn," Duneden's warm, melodic voice stroked her. "None of us will ever forget your lovely concert last night. I'd give anything to play so well." When Catherine did not answer, she added, "But I suppose you hear this sort of praise often."

Catherine turned with an effort. "I'm sorry. You must think me rude. You're most kind."

"No, not rude," the redheadsaid thoughtfully. "Are you quite sure you feel like riding today, my dear?"

Sean, giving his cinch a jerk, threw Catherine a warning look. She stared him in the eye, then answered the Irishwoman. "I've been so closely confined of late, my lady, that

a breath of freedom is somewhat overwhelming. I wouldn't miss this ride for the world."

They set out across the lawn at an easy trot. The gelding lacked Numidian's satin gait, but with some effort, Catherine was able to adjust a post to absorb the jar. Luckily, the party was in a lazy mood, content to keep an easy pace. Soon, however, the brisk weather made the horses impatient to be let out. She managed fairly well for a while; then, her legs lacking their former strength, the pace became increasingly difficult. The injured side aching badly, she lagged behind. Lady Ellen dropped back. "Forgive me, Miss Flynn. In my absorption with Mr. Culhane's superb gift, I've neglected everyone." At Catherine's puzzled look, Ellen smiled. "You'd not yet joined us when Sean presented me with this stallion. His name is Numidian. Isn't he wonderful?"

"Yes . . . he's wonderful."

Ellen guided the stallion closer. "My dear, I realize it's none of my affair, but you're deathly pale. May I see you home?"

Catherine was silent for a moment, then answered quietly, "Numidian has found a good mistress. You're very kind, my lady, but I cannot go home. Please don't disturb yourself. I'll rejoin you in a moment."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

Ellen galloped ahead and reined in by Sean. "Darling, I think we should go back. Miss Flynn is ill; I'm sure of it."

"The young lady's no mean actress, Ellen. She's polished her skills on far less trusting people than you."

"But, why?"

"To gain sympathy. She's made a virtual profession of it. She'd gull the devil to get her way."

Ellen frowned. "Are you saying her illness is contrived?"

"Was the Trojan horse full of sweetmeats?"

Duneden quickened her gait to match Sean's. "You seem to know her rather well," she said calmly.

"She lives not two miles away. Why shouldn't I know her?"

Duneden arched a russet brow. "Carnally?"

"I'd sooner lie with a cobra."

"I think you're exaggerating. I offered to take her home, but she refused."

"Why not? She's having a field day. You're clucking over her like a mother hen."

"If you're wrong, she might be injured. She can hardly stay in the saddle,"

Sean snorted. "Our Miss Flynn has led you a dance! The wench rides like a cossack." He wheeled Mephisto away. "Wait here."

Sagging in the saddle, Catherine had dropped far behind, unable to endure a pace faster than a walk. Then, with a prick of fear, she straightened as a tall horseman left the group ahead and pounded across the stubbled field. Cleanly the rider cleared the stone wall where she had relived Elise Enderly's nightmarish death.

Sean's fury rose. The English bitch sat the slab-nosed gelding like the queen of England. Let her stiff-necked pride be crushed; if she thought the misery of the Irish so amusing, let her squirm on the enemy pike as they did. "Well, Miss Snivel," he sneered as he reined in with a clatter of rocks, "you have Ellen believing you're at death's door. God knows you look the part, but if you think I'll let you play your tricks on her, you're grievously in error. Get that nag moving! Do you believe me idiot enough to let you drift blithely off to Donegal Town?"

"I cannot—"

"I don't want to hear it! I'm sick of your whining. Even the sight of you alive sickens me."

She lost her straightness then and seemed to-huddle against the wind. "You want me dead so much?"

His green eyes slanted wickedly. "How could I
not
weary of maintaining your carcass like stinking carrion? For all your rottenness, madam, you once had courage. Now you mewl about everything. You're afraid of your own shadow." He whipped the big stallion around. "Are you coming or do I have to tie you over the nag's back?"