Jane Feather: The Accidental Bride

Strickland looked over at the tavern in question, then cast a sidelong glance at Phoebe, who stood stiff and silent under Cato’s hand. “Reckon I’ll find him, then. I daresay it’s safe to show my face about town now. Unless there are more bands of mischief makers after my blood.” He gave an easy chuckle as if the idea were absurd, and loped off to the Seagull.

“I wish to go to the cabin,” Phoebe said, trying once more to move away from Cato’s restraining hand.

“That is precisely where we’re going,” Cato responded imperturbably. “We have a great deal to discuss, you and I.” His hand slid to her arm and he urged her forward onto the White Lady .

“I wish to go to the cabin alone,” Phoebe protested. “I don’t feel very well.”

“That’s perhaps not surprising after such an adventure,” he returned with a calm nod and without releasing his hold. “Let us see what we can do to improve matters.”

It seemed she had no choice. He was going to accompany her whether she wished it or not.

“Just who does that vile jerkin belong to?” he asked when they had reached the privacy of the cabin. He closed the door and stood against it, his hands resting on his hips, an unmistakable glimmer of amusement in his eye.

“The cabin boy,” Phoebe said, shrugging out of the garment with a jerky movement. She was beginning to feel angry now. His mockery was the last straw, and she welcomed this clean emotion spurting through the mire of her wretched confusion. “I gave him a sovereign, but now I’ve lost his cap, so I’ll have to pay him more for it.”

“You enlisted the help of this cabin boy to get off the ship?”

Phoebe glared at him. “He helped me to get on it at Harwich.”

Cato whistled softly. “I never did ask how you managed that. How stupidly remiss of me. If I’d known, I daresay I could have prevented this morning’s little escapade. What inducements did you use to persuade this hapless boy?”

“Guineas,” Phoebe snapped. “Four of them in all.”

Cato was astounded. “Where in hell did you get such a sum, Phoebe?”

She turned her back to him as she unbuttoned his shirt. “The pawnbroker in Witney.”

There was silence. Then Cato said in conversational tones, “Forgive me, but I thought I had forbidden you to visit the pawnbroker again. Alas, my imperfect memory.”

Phoebe closed her lips firmly and cast aside his shirt. She reached for her own, which still lay across the stool.

“Of course,” Cato continued in the same affable tone, “that was in the days when I was still laboring under the delusion that I had some husbandly authority over your actions. I can’t imagine how I could have been so foolishly mistaken.”

Anger took hold, burning away the last wretched vestige of self-pity. Phoebe turned on him, holding the shirt in her hands, her eyes blazing in her now pale face.

“Must you mock me as well? What difference does it make to you what I do so long as I keep out of your way?” she cried bitterly. “I know full well how I stand with you, my lord.”

Cato was taken aback. The amusement died out of his eyes. “What are you talking about, Phoebe?” His voice was suddenly very quiet.

“You needn’t worry,” she said in the same low bitter tone. “I’ll not step between you and your work again. I know my place, sir. It’s taken me a long time, I admit, but I’m obviously rather slow-witted. It took a hammer to knock it into my thick skull, but believe me, I have finally taken the point.”

She raised a hand as if to ward him off as she fumbled with the sleeves of her shirt, which somehow seemed to have turned themselves inside out.

Cato twisted the garment from her grasp and threw it onto the bunk. He took her by the shoulders, his fingers sliding beneath the thin straps of her chemise to close warmly on the bare skin beneath.

“I’m not certain what you’re talking about, Phoebe, but I think you had better make it crystal clear to me without delay.”

Tears of anger, disappointment, the deepest hurt stood out in the speedwell blue eyes as she met his gaze. “Isn’t it obvious?” she demanded, her voice thick but steady. “I know I’ve never been more than a convenience to you… or rather, most of the time an inconvenience ,” she added caustically.

“I tried to show you that I could be more to you than that, that I was worthy of your confidence, that I could take part in your work, in everything that concerns you, but you won’t see it, you won’t listen… you just won’t open your mind!”

She dashed a hand across her eyes, but the flood of angry words continued. “And now I really know what I’m worth! Nothing ! Isn’t that so?”

“Hey… hey!” Cato shook her in an attempt to stop the raging, tear-drenched tirade. “What in hell’s teeth are you talking about, woman! I realize you’ve had a nasty experience, but you can’t hold me responsible for that! You’ve made it clear countless times that you’ll plow your own furrow, Phoebe, and the consequences of your own decisions are yours to bear.”

“Yes,” Phoebe said, her voice now dull. “That’s true. But I didn’t think I meant so little to you that you’d… you’d…” Her voice faltered. Somehow she couldn’t say it.

“That I would what?” Cato inquired in a tone suddenly as soft as silk.

“That you would have abandoned me,” Phoebe said. “If I hadn’t saved myself, you would have left me to Brian’s knife.”

Cato stared, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You think I would have done what ?”

Phoebe tried to shrug out of his hold. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I should have known. You’ve always made it clear that your duty comes first. I got in the way. Of course you couldn’t sacrifice your mission because of my stupid mistake.”

Slowly Cato began to understand what she was talking about. But it was incomprehensible. Impossible that she should imagine him capable of such a barbarity. “Let me understand this. Because I really want to be sure I have this right.”

His fingers curled into her shoulders with bruising pressure. “You’re accusing me of being ready to leave you to Brian? Is that really what you’re saying, Phoebe?”

Phoebe felt the bright glaze of her righteous conviction dim somewhat. “But you did,” she said. “You told him you didn’t care about me. You turned away. I don’t know how you could do that, but you did.”

“Dear God! How could you even imagine such a thing? What the devil have I ever done that you would believe such a thing of me?” Cato demanded.

“You said it.”

“And what happened when I said it?” he inquired, a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth.

There was something dangerous about that muscle. Phoebe thought back, looking for the right answer. She could still feel the knife at her throat. She could still see Cato’s eyes, so black, so blank, looking straight through her. She made no reply, but her hand went unconsciously to her throat.

“Brian was thrown off balance by the unexpected.” Cato answered his own question. “If you hadn’t been quick enough to take advantage of his momentary surprise, I would have done so myself.”

Had she been mistaken? Had she in the rush of hurt and uncertainty drawn the wrong conclusion?

“Come!” he commanded, clicking finger and thumb imperatively. Phoebe could see in the hard set of his mouth, the dark blaze in his eyes how he struggled to contain his own anger. “You owe me an explanation for such an accusation. And I would hear it now .”

Why had he suddenly managed to put her in the wrong ? It was so unfair. All the months of frustrated hopes came rushing to the fore, and she faced him now with a wild outpouring of her deepest emotion, the truth tumbling from her lips in a passionate cascade.