A harsh challenge gleamed from his eyes. "And if I don't?"
Catherine accepted his challenge and used her only weapon, the truth. "I have nothing left to bargain with. Please —"
She paused and then whispered. "Do this for me."
He raised his hand waiting for her to take it.
Lord, how could she love a man who wronged her father? How could her body flare to life by the simple summons of his hand? How could she crave him so unabashedly that nothing mattered at the moment — not even her father.
She felt ashamed, not of her need for him and not of her failure to her father. She felt ashamed that she had failed Lucian himself. She had hoped to heal his heart and soul with her love. A love so strong that no bitterness, hurt, or anger could stand in its way.
Don't give up. Never give up. Her father's voice challenged her.
Catherine shoved his hand aside and threw her arms around his waist, hugging her face to his bare chest, resting her warm cheek near his heart.
Lucian wrapped his arms around her and spoke softly. "I can promise you nothing, angel." And with those words spoken his hands moved along her white dress and slowly dragged it up her trembling flesh until he yanked it completely off her, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
He then stepped back and out of his breeches and once again summoned her to him. "Come to me."
The scent of roses grew heavy around her and heat rushed through her body. She trembled and stepped toward him — collapsing in a dead faint.
Chapter Twenty-three
Catherine woke from her faint in Lucian's bed upstairs. A linen sheet covered her naked body and Lucian sat beside her on the bed, his breeches back on.
He patted her forehead with a cool cloth. "Feeling better?"
She nodded though her stomach felt queasy.
"I didn't mean to upset you, angel."
"It was the heat," she attempted to reassure him.
"Possibly," he said, and returned the cloth to the ceramic bowl on the table beside the bed.
She sighed and moved uncomfortably beneath the covers, her stomach rumbling.
"You aren't feeling well, are you? His voice held concern and sympathy.
"I feel tired and my stomach is upset," she admitted, realizing she wanted nothing more than to slip into a peaceful slumber and forget all her problems and her troublesome stomach. She wanted to get away from the world if only for a couple of hours.
Lucian smoothed the covers over her, and then stood. "Rest, I will send Zeena up with some mint tea to soothe your stomach." He turned to go.
She weakly called out his name. "Lucian."
He returned to her and took her outstretched hand.
She pulled him to her and kissed his cheek softly.
"Rest," he ordered sternly, and hastily left the room.
After seeing that Zeena would look after Catherine, he walked to the beach, stripped off his breeches, and dove into the sea. He swam like a drowning man attempting to save himself.
His hard-muscled arms sliced the water with the strength of a mighty oar and his legs propelled him with the speed of a ship that caught a gusty wind.
He needed this exercise, this draining of his strength, this punishment of his body. With every stroke, with every aching muscle, he thought of Catherine and the pain he had caused her.
She asked only for her father's safety. She asked nothing for herself, instead she gave freely of her love to him. She loved him, Captain Lucifer, without any restrictions. And what did he offer in return?
Lucian dragged himself out of the sea to collapse on the warm sand. He closed his eyes against the glaring sun that beat down on him, and gave freedom to his troubled thoughts.
He offered only anger and bitter resentment to Catherine, and why? Because she was Abelard's stepdaughter.
Santos had been right. He had allowed his hatred for the man to consume his life and in so doing he blinded himself to all things but his revengeful need.
He had been unable to see Catherine's purity, her innocence of heart, her ability to love so unconditionally. He had even failed to note her intelligence and courage when faced with such a monumental task of protecting herself against the infamous Lucifer.
He recalled her strand of pearls, her protection. And how she had released them that evening from her hand, presenting him with the precious gift of her trust and her virginity. And what had he managed to do? Cause her more pain and worry.
Was the revenge he craved that necessary to his future? Or was Catherine his future? Could he forget? Could he allow himself to love her without regret, or would the past always surface to haunt him?
Since his return home with Catherine his nightmares had disappeared. He found himself forgetting this bitterness and looking forward to his days while yearning for the nights. He loved waking up in the morning with Catherine cuddled against him or wrapped around him. He enjoyed their daily swims, their shell-hunting expeditions, their trips to the market square where she easily made friends with the islanders. And where she laughed and excitedly inspected the island jewelry and bright printed material and tried every fruit available.