Commanding Heart

by Madeline Evering

  Catherine colored at the mention of duMont’s name. Knight’s observant eye caught the blush and he supplied the next part of the story himself; “You found a connection to duMont and so you went to his home today to see what he might reveal with a bit of artful persuasion.” Catherine could not meet the captain’s look as she remembered the encounter. “Yes” she said quietly. Captain Knight sighed deeply at her answer. “Miss Gibson,” he said with worry, “You are playing at a very dangerous game. Philippe duMont may seem a foolish dandy but he is not, I assure you. The Admiralty suspects his involvement in a number of serious crimes – including the murder of a British agent.” Catherine paled at his speech. Knight saw how his words had hit home and he continued with quiet firmness; “You must promise me that you will leave this matter alone. You mustn’t have any further involvement with duMont.”

  Catherine stood up, smoothing her gown with shaking hands as the gravity of his words sunk in. She moved a few paces away, composing herself, before she finally turned to face Knight; “I wish I could give you that promise,” Catherine said ruefully, “but I am afraid that my involvement with duMont must continue. We are to marry. My father has offered him my hand as a reward for keeping quiet about the French ship.” Knight’s face darkened and he leapt to his feet, swearing under his breath. He strode several paces away then turned once more, his face wreathed in contempt. “This is unspeakable” he said with anger. “What is Gibson thinking? How can he endanger you so carelessly?” Catherine could say nothing in reply; the truth was that her father was driven by motives unfathomable to a man of honor such as Captain Knight. Pausing at last in his angry march, Captain Knight turned to Catherine, concern and determination reflected in his face: “All will be well, Catherine. I will see to it personally. I will not allow you to be hurt.” The kindness in his tone was almost Catherine’s undoing. A mixture of hope, sorrow, and fear played about her face. She wanted to believe him with all her heart but she knew the situation might be more than even Captain John Knight could overcome. She was her father’s to command as he chose. If he said she must marry, then so it would be. With no other home, no other protector to champion her cause, her fate must follow her father’s wishes. Catherine looked away with pretended calm and said; “You needn’t worry, Captain. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” Knight raised a hand to her chin, tilting her face to his once more. He held her gaze a long moment, stroking the soft line of her jaw with his thumb; “Are you certain?” he asked, his dark eyes speaking directly to her heart. Catherine’s knees buckled weakly and she took a small shaky breath before replying; “No” she said with a bitter laugh, “No, I am not certain at all.”

  At her sorrowful admission, Knight drew Catherine to his chest. He wrapped his arms about her, his hands caressing her with gentle warmth. Catherine did not resist. She leaned against Knight, her head tucked against the fabric of his jacket, reveling in the comforting solidity of his chest. Her secret efforts of the past days, the threat of marriage to duMont that loomed ever closer, and the loneliness she’d felt ever since reaching the island had left her exhausted. She knew it was wrong, chided herself for her weakness, but in the arms of Captain Knight she found a safe shelter from the storm.

  With soothing tenderness, Knight’s hand moved to Catherine’s face, gently tipping her head back to look in her eyes brimmed with sorrow. His look of concern burned through Catherine’s soul. She watched in fascination as slowly, deliberately, his head lowered to hers in a soft, sensuous kiss. Catherine marveled at the touch of his lips softly brushing her own in gentle caress. She felt herself melt against his protecting warmth and slid her hands across his chest, feeling the powerful beat of his heart. The frantic passion that had marked their earlier encounters was gone; in its place was gentleness, a mutual respect and admiration so deep that it was hard to define.

  It felt like coming home.

  After several blissful minutes, Captain Knight pulled his head away at last and tucked Catherine’s head against his chest once more. His arms wrapped round her tightly as they stood clasped together, no sound but the waves and the cry of the gulls to interrupt their strange, silent embrace. With sadness Catherine noted the sun’s rays shining low across the water, bathing the sea in its golden glow as the day drew to a close. The lovely sight was bittersweet for Catherine – for she knew she must make her way home at once. She gently pulled away from Captain Knight, saying softly; “It is getting late. I must return to my father before I am missed.” Catherine turned to leave but Knight stepped forward to stay her progress. “Catherine,” he said, taking possession of her hand once more, “Please, promise me you won’t do anything foolish. Leave the investigation to me – you must make no further enquires that might endanger you.” Catherine nodded her head in agreement; “You have my word, Captain. I leave the investigation in your hands,” she said quietly, as she pulled her hand free from his grasp, “but duMont is another matter. He is to accompany my father and me to a ball at the Governor’s house tomorrow night. I suspect they plan to announce my engagement to duMont.”

  Catherine could not look at Knight as she spoke the words, could not bear to see his contempt – or his pity. This strange interview with Captain Knight had been a revelation. Somehow they had found a balance, sharing with each other as equals, but it was too late – much too late. Catherine steeled her nerves and raised her head once more. Her beautiful blue eyes stared into the dark depths of his own; “Good bye, Captain Knight” she said with finality, then turned away and walked the water’s edge before disappearing up the path to her father’s estate.

  Alone on the shore, Captain Knight stood starring out to sea. His mind was racing at her news; his worst suspicions had been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. He knew he must act, and quickly, on behalf of the Admiralty and England. In truth, however, Knight’s motivations were much more personal, guided by an emotion he would not allow himself name.

  Chapter XX

  The grand ball at the home of the Governor was one of Jamaica’s most eagerly anticipated society events. The celebrations were the most magnificent the island could offer, with no expense spared to delight guests. The grand receiving rooms shone with reflected light from dozens of mirrors and chandeliers, elaborate bouquets of exotic flowers graced every surface, and upon the grand dining tables the polished silver shone in glittering testimony to the Governor’s considerable wealth. It was a scene from a fairy tale where even the servants, who rushed about busily preparing for the arrival of his lordship’s acquaintances, seemed filled with the wonder and magic of the evening’s promise. Excitement danced in the evening air as all was made ready.

  Only short miles away, however, a very different scene played out at the home of William Gibson; here, all was shrouded in uncomfortable silence as Catherine and her father made their separate, joyless preparations for the evening. No one laughed in delight or merry anticipation; all was solemn as a tomb.

  The austere tone had been set earlier in the day with the arrival of duMont’s own man. The unfortunate soul had come at his master’s command to deliver a gift to Catherine. The valet placed the proffered velvet box in Catherine’s hands with all best wishes from his master. He gave a polite bow and turned to depart, but not before noting Catherine’s dismay at the bequest, a stark contrast to her father’s great delight.

  Catherine held the crimson box with trembling hands, the blood singing in her ears so loudly that she did not hear her father’s repeated requests for her to open the gift. She felt the room tilt dangerously as her mind raced with frantic thoughts, a fearful apprehension knotting in the pit of her stomach. William Gibson’s urging for her to open the box grew more heated and finally cut through the fog of Catherine’s disjointed thoughts. Drawing in a deep breath, Catherine grudgingly opened the velvet treasure. Beneath its lid she found an elaborate pendant set with diamonds and sapphires. William Gibson was in raptures but Catherine felt the complete opposite. She said nothing as she reached for the
short message included with the necklace:

  To my dearest Catherine –

  A cherished gift to mark the evening – and my eternal regard.

  - P. duMont

  Catherine could not help the shudder of revulsion that passed through her as she read the offending card. The message and the gift were a complete mockery and Catherine did not feel she could continue this charade any longer. She closed the lid without a word and dismissed duMont’s servant without offering any reply for his master. The sight of his daughter’s lackluster reaction made Gibson seethe with anger. He wagged his finger in Catherine’s face and reprimanded her harshly; “You thoughtless girl! You should be thrilled at such an honor! There can be no other necklace of such beauty and price in the whole of the island. Go upstairs and prepare yourself for the evening. I will have no more of this ridiculous behavior!” he roared angrily, then stormed off to his study to toast his good fortune alone.

  Catherine watched her father go with relief. She ascended the stairs sadly, hoping to find solace in the quiet of her room. It was not to be, however. Wherever she looked, no matter how determinedly she directed her attention elsewhere, her gaze was drawn back to the offending necklace. Like some malevolent thing, it forced its presence on her conscience again and again. Now, several hours later, Catherine sat alone at her dressing table starring blankly at the rich jewels before her. She struggled against them, refusing to concede to their power. She would not put them on until the last possible moment.

  All of Catherine’s other preparations for the ball had been completed much earlier: she was beautifully attired in a silk gown of pure white; on her hands was a pair of elegant gloves that stretched the length of her arm; and her lady’s maid had arranged her golden hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, with a small spray of blush roses twined in the golden tresses. The effect was simple and elegant, accentuating Catherine’s natural beauty, but she took no pleasure in the sight. Everything was marred by the wicked, winking charm that confronted her from the dressing table’s surface, and by ominous thoughts of the man the jewels represented.

  Catherine stared bitterly at the hateful necklace. She longed for relief, for some respite from the enormity that faced her on this evening, but she knew there could be no turning back. Yesterday’s meeting with Captain Knight had made Catherine hopeful. A fitful night’s sleep, however, had slowly eroded her confidence. As the sun burned away the day with determined rays, she had to admit that it was too late, there was nothing that could be done. Catherine must resign herself; Captain Knight was capable of many things, but this situation was too far gone for even he to correct. A final ray of the setting sun crossed the room to wink evilly from the surface of the gem before her. The necklace seemed charmed with the power of speech, and its message was clear; ‘You know it to be true!’

  A deep rush of anger coursed throughout Catherine’s body, bringing her to her feet. In silent fury she swept the wicked pendant from its place on her dressing table, strode across the room and opened her writing desk to stuff the offending necklace deep into a drawer. As she closed the lid once more, a bitter smile came to her lovely face. She might be sold into bondage this night, but she refused to display her chains for all to see.

  Catherine’s moment of self-congratulation was soon interrupted by the sound of a carriage in the drive; she knew without looking that it would be Monsieur duMont. Catherine gathered her reticule and took a final look in the mirror. She gave herself a small smile of encouragement and lifted her head proudly, then left to meet her fate below.

  In the foyer, William Gibson and Philippe duMont stood with casual nonchalance, sharing one of their customary rough laughs. At her appearance on the stairs, however, duMont straightened up and wreathed his face in an ingratiating smile; “Catherine, my dear,” he breathed with false grace, “How charming you…” his voice trailed off suddenly as Catherine came fully into view. The welcoming smile fell from his face, replaced by a look of burning anger: the treasured necklace was nowhere to be seen. Catherine could not help the feeling of delight as she watched his careful façade crack. Philippe duMont’s smooth, imperturbable appearance was replaced by the mean, bitter visage that Catherine had known lurked just below the surface.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Catherine said innocently; “Shall we depart?” At her honeyed words, duMont turned an even angrier shade. Through gritted teeth duMont ground out a reply; “Of course we cannot leave just yet, Miss Gibson. You have not completed your preparations.” William Gibson, who had been watching duMont’s reaction in confusion, finally looked at his daughter and recognized the source of his friend’s anger. “Damn it, Catherine!” he blasted at her with venom, “How could you have forgotten M. duMont’s gift, you thoughtless girl.” This time, Catherine turned her silky charm on her father; “I have not forgotten the trinket, dear Papa” she said with antagonizing sweetness, “I do not choose to wear it this evening.” Catherine felt her knees tremble as she spoke; what she was doing was beyond careless – it was suicide. She looked at the growing rage in her father’s face and knew in an instant that she had gone too far. William Gibson lurched forward and grabbed Catherine’s arm in a punishing grip. Catherine was shocked by the violence of his action, at the sight of the angry spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. A tremor of fear ran through her body but she fought to hold her ground.

  It was to no avail.

  With rough jerking motions, William Gibson dragged his daughter unceremoniously up the stairs and down the hall to her room. Catherine slipped several times, losing her footing, but Gibson did not slow in his ruthless march. He pulled her along in his wake like she was a rag doll. When they reached Catherine’s room he threw her violently inside, and began looking round like a madman. “Where is it, damn you!” he shrieked. “What have you done with the necklace?” Before the terrified Catherine could speak, her father began searching her dressing table, then her nightstand, knocking everything over in his quest for the gem. Finding nothing, he turned at last to Catherine’s writing desk. Catherine stepped forward quickly, her arm outstretched to stay his progress. Gibson sneered knowingly at her response and upended the entire desk in one brutal motion. The elegant piece crashed to the floor, splintering apart with a horrible crash. The contents of the desk spilled forth in a mad tumble; papers, pens, trinkets and ribbon scattering across the floor at her father’s feet. Catherine froze, her breath caught in her throat; there, among the debris, lay her many sketches of Captain John Knight.

  At first, in his fury to find the necklace, Gibson did not register any detail of the sketches. He kicked at the rubble before getting to his knees to search for the pendant, moving the sheets impatiently to discover what lie beneath. As the images accumulated, however, Gibson slowed in his progress, finally recognizing the secret he held in his hand. He gathered the papers, snatching at each with icy fury. Gibson returned to his feet, several sketches of Captain Knight clutched in his hand: “You worthless bitch” Gibson said with wrath, “What is the meaning of this?” he finished hotly, shaking the papers in Catherine’s face. Catherine was terrified but she would not respond to his low behavior. She tilted her chin angrily and refused to answer his accusation.

  Catherine soon regretted her actions. Gibson stepped closer and grabbed her once more; “If you think for one moment that I will allow this… this... insubordination any further, you are more stupid than I believed possible.” He drew Catherine closer, his angry breath fanning her face, and then threw her bodily to the floor. Catherine landed with a crash among the broken desk and its scattered contents. Her arms were already showing bruises from his rough handling and the fall wrenched her ankle quite badly. She looked up at Gibson with a mixture of contempt and shame – he was not her father. No father could treat her as he did now. They were complete strangers and ever would be.

  “Find that goddamn necklace” Gibson said in a voice like cold steel.

  Catherine did not challenge this ruthless man any fur
ther. There was no familial affection in his heart whatsoever, no basic human decency to appeal to for mercy. Catherine had no option. She lifted herself gingerly from the floor and searched the destruction for the necklace she knew was there. In moments, its wicked gleam shone forth at her from deep within the pile of rubble. Catherine lifted the weighty pendant and rose to her feet. With trembling hands she opened its clasp and placed the oppressive chain round her own neck. Without a word, she limped forward from the destruction and grimly followed her father downstairs to rejoin Monsieur duMont.

  Chapter XXI

  Catherine’s ordeal did not lessen as the night progressed. Fervently she hoped the brutal private scenes would abate on reaching the Governor’s ball; a public place and the presence of others must provide temporary shelter from the two men by her side. The reality was quite the opposite. Catherine’s father left for the gaming tables as soon as they arrived, leaving her in the power of Monsieur duMont. He roughly steered the unfortunate young woman inside, making it abundantly clear that she would not escape him this evening. Instead of the solitude and anonymity she hoped to find in the crowded room, Catherine was instead the object of gossip and speculation. Philippe duMont paraded her before all and sundry, wearing her on his arm like an ornament, leaving no one in question about his intentions. Time and again Catherine was presented to acquaintances of her father’s and of duMont’s; time and again she made the same half-hearted replies to their questions; time and again she endured quizzical glances and whispered tittle-tattle as she turned to go. Catherine’s humiliation was complete.