Devil's Embrace (11 page)

“Your bath awaits. Because I am a gentleman, I shall let you go first. There is lavender-scented soap for your hair, your favorite.”

It did not occur to her to question his knowledge of her soap, for she was frantically searching for a screen to keep her hidden from his view. Always, at home, Dolly had placed a screen in front of her tub.

“Come, Cassandra, before the water cools. Since I am to follow you, I have no wish for a cold bath.” He saw her strained embarrassment at the thought of stripping naked in front of him and cursed the violent storm that had taken him from her side early in the morning. She had had a day to steel herself against him.

“I would like a screen.”

“There is none,” he said crisply. “I shall keep my back to you.” At least for the moment, Cassandra, he amended silently to himself.

Cassie walked slowly to the tub and unwound the towel from her head. She made no move to pull off her dressing gown until he turned away and poured himself a glass of wine.

The earl heard the gentle splash of water and turned to see her, chin high in the water, her wet hair fanning about her like a golden cloud.

He downed the remainder of his wine, stretched loudly,
and stripped off his own damp clothing. She lowered her head as he strode, naked, to the armoire, and shrugged into his own black velvet dressing gown. The wine relaxed him, and he eased into the large leather chair at his desk. It had been a damnably long and fatiguing day, a wasted day. He watched her from beneath closed lids as she clumsily tried to lather her hair. It was likely, he thought, a smile upon his lips, that this was one task she rarely performed by herself. Likely too that her arms ached from her exertion at the helm. Perhaps tonight, he thought, he could make her respond to him. He felt his loins tighten, picturing her naked in his arms. He rose and walked to her.

“Since I have deprived you of your maid, the least I can do is offer my services.” He picked up a hank of wet hair.

She jerked away and winced, for he did not release her hair. She felt her body tense with fear. “Can you not even keep a simple promise, my lord? You did say you would keep your back turned.”

“For God’s sake, Cassandra, I merely wish to help you. You need not fear me, you know. I assure you that when I wish to make love with you, you will know it.”

“I do not wish your help and I am not afraid of you.”

He grinned down at her. “Such a liar you are, my dear. What a mane of hair—you’ve more than my stallion, Cicero.”

“I don’t give a damn about your wretched horse.”

“I don’t propose to argue with you further. Hush, and accept my help.”

She ground her teeth and bowed her head. As he vigorously lathered her hair, she dropped her hands and furtively covered her breasts.

“Would you like me to scrub the rest of you?”

“No. And you may remove yourself, my lord, so I can rinse my hair.”

He returned to his chair, sat down, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to be lulled by the gentle rocking of the yacht. When he opened them, she was sitting on the edge of the bed in her dressing gown, toweling her hair. He rose and stretched.

“Prudish modesty really doesn’t become you,
Cassandra,” he said as he stripped off the dressing gown. He was amused when her eyes, despite herself, fell to his belly, and he felt himself respond to her gaze.

“There is nothing like a hot bath or a lady’s eyes to revive one,” he said as he eased himself into the tub.

Cassie did her best to ignore him, but his booming baritone voice soon filled the cabin. He sang a lusty sea chanty, and she felt her cheeks flush red at the vivid image of the serving maid lifting her skirt for the amorous captain.

“I would that you be quiet.”

He laughed and stepped from the tub, huge and dark and dripping wet. “Would you care to hand me a towel?”

“Fetch it yourself, my lord.”

“Would you care for some more wine, Cassandra?”

Her hair swirled softly against her cheek as she shook her head.

“Shall I peel an orange for you?”

“No, I am quite full, my lord.”

“Excellent. I am delighted that my chef has again pleased you.” He paused a moment, and added softly, “And now it is time for me to show you that I, too, can please you.”

“You will not, you must not.” She pressed herself flat against her chair.

“Ah, yes, my love,” he said, and rose to pull at the bell cord.

Her weariness fled, and she slipped nimbly out of her chair. Instead of fear, she felt numb with anger.

“Damn you, you cannot be such a villain.”

There came a knock on the cabin door, and Scargill entered.

“All was as you wished it, my lord?” he asked carefully. He was acutely aware of the shrinking girl cowering in the corner and did his best to ignore her.

“Most admirable, given the storm and its constraints in the galley. You are much in need of your rest, Scargill. Remove the dishes and take yourself to bed.”

“Aye, my lord. Is there aught else that you wish?” A foolish question, he thought, as he followed his master’s eyes toward Cassandra. She looked like a skittish filly,
ready to bolt if but given the chance. He prayed that his lordship knew well what he was doing. He filled his arms with the heavy pewter dishes and bowed himself out of the cabin, straining under their weight.

The earl leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingertips thoughtfully together. “At least you are not wearing that damnable gown.”

“You will not touch me, my lord.”

“I fear you are growing repetitious, Cassandra, in your conversation. How else will you learn a woman’s pleasure if I do not touch you?”

“I will never feel anything but hatred for you, I swear it. Damn you, take me home.”

He waved away her words and rose.

“No.” She thrust her hands in front of her, but he pulled her to him, crushing her arms to her sides. She jerked her head away from him, but his mouth found hers, the heat of his breath upon her as he forced her lips to part. She struggled as she felt his hand upon her buttocks, his fingers caressing and exploring her through the velvet.

“No!” she yelled again as his mouth left hers. But his mouth was on her throat, his tongue tracing over her wildly beating pulse.

Even as she twisted against his arm, she felt his fingers pulling free the sash from her waist and easing her out of the dressing gown. She was oddly aware of the soft brief touch of velvet at her ankles. She shuddered at the cold air upon her back, and the fierce heat of him against her. She had scarce time to draw her breath before he had shrugged off his own dressing gown. To her horror, he lifted her off her feet and pressed her belly against him.

“No. You will not rape me again.” Her final words were muted as he closed his mouth again over hers. She felt his tongue probing her mouth and the incredible power of his surging body, searing her, engulfing her in his passion. Her mind froze and her body went slack against him. An intense shudder coursed through her belly. She whimpered softly, aghast at herself.

“I don’t believe that I will, Cassandra,” he said. He looked into her eyes, glazed with confusion and with
burgeoning passion. He wanted her to moan her desire into his mouth, to welcome him into her body.

“Please do not,” she whispered, but he paid no heed and carried her to the bed. She felt the smooth, cool cover beneath her back, and his hard body against her as he pressed himself down upon her. She felt the hair on his chest against her breasts, and his swelled sex, frightening and urgent, between her thighs. She thought wildly of Edward, of his love for her, of his passion, and an anguished moan broke from her mouth. Whether it was from the pain of her loss or from the scalding sensation building within her, she did not know. She realized dimly what was happening to her and she fought with all her will to deny herself and him.

His mouth caressed her breast, and she felt both her body and her will to resist him begin to slip away from her. She cursed herself, willing herself to fight him, but her hands lay limply above her head, clasped lightly in his.

He reared back and her body cried out at the loss of his touch. She drew a ragged breath, and curled her hands, now free, into fists to strike him. She felt his tongue caressing her breasts and then her belly.

“No,” she said, forcing her body to tense. But his mouth closed over her, and she knew that she could not bear it if he were to stop. She felt her body opening to him, felt her hips moving upward against his mouth. Her hands closed over his shoulders, kneading the taut muscles, pressing at him to bring him closer to her.

Suddenly, with a force that left her gasping, a shock of burning pleasure exploded within her. His mouth left her, but the burning need remained, and she was trapped within herself, within her own passion. She moaned aloud, not really understanding, a helpless cry of frustration.

When he drove into her, her body surged to meet him. She felt his belly against her, felt him driving into the depths of her. Her hands moved down his back, urging him, drawing him closer. She was aware of his ragged breathing above her cries. A jagged moan broke from her throat and she cried breathlessly, “Please, oh please.” Her hips thrust
up against him and her legs, without instruction, wrapped themselves about his sides.

Suddenly, her legs stiffened as incredible spasms of pleasure crashed through her, holding her a willing prisoner for an endless moment. She cried aloud, unable to help herself. She felt his hot breath against her cheek, and then his mouth closed over hers and a tremendous shudder passed the length of him. He moaned his release into her mouth.

Cassie lay quietly beneath him, thinking nothing, wanting nothing. She was breathing heavily, between parted lips, and felt her heart finally slow its furious pounding.

“I don’t want to crush you, Cassandra,” the earl said, and slid his arms beneath her back. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, and clasped her tightly against him. He gently stroked her tumbled hair as she lay slack, soothing her, comforting her. He lightly kissed her temple and stroked her. He drew a deep, relieved breath, a slight smile touching his lips. She was capable of passion that rivaled his own. He wanted to tell her that she had brought him to consummate pleasure. He held his tongue, unwilling to risk her struggling away from him. The smile on his lips became rueful. She would likely yell at him like a fish-monger’s wife on the morrow; her intense pride would force her to. She would see passion at his hands as submission to him. He did not mind that, for now; he was confident now that he would make her forget her viscount. His fingers curled around her buttocks, lightly caressing, and he heard her sob softly, deep in her throat. He drew back so that he could see her face.

Tears were welling in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “I have betrayed him. God, I have betrayed him.”

He drew her closer and stroked his cheek against hers, wiping away her tears.

“No, Cassandra,” he said, his mouth next to hers, “it is not for you to cry. You have betrayed no one. You must believe that.”

She drew another sob and he kissed her ear, her smooth cheek, and gently nudged back her head until his mouth found hers. He tasted the salt of her tears upon her lips.
To his delight, she made no move to pull away from him. Though she kept her lips tightly locked, he felt her quicken. He grew hard again and he felt himself filling her once more. His fingers moved over her, lightly teasing, and her soft belly trembled against him. He pressed his mouth more firmly against hers.

“Please, no,” Cassie whispered, only to feel his tongue smooth over her mouth. He was moving slowly, deep within her, his hand cupping her hips to press her against him. She drew a deep breath, and slowly, inevitably, she let herself move against his thrusts.

He withdrew from her and his fingers caressed her. She thrust her hips toward him and pounded at his chest until she felt him enter her again.

The earl clasped her to him and rolled over onto his back, bringing her with him.

“I would look at you, Cassandra.” He smiled at the dazed bewilderment on her face.

She tried to pull away from him, but he encircled her waist with his hands and drew her upright. She felt him deep inside her and quivered, not looking at him.

His hands moved from her waist, upward, to cup her breasts.

She moaned softly and spread her hands on his chest to support herself.

The earl went slowly with her. He lifted her, kneading her as he moved her over him and pressed his fingers against her belly, splaying them downward to caress her. She writhed at his touch, and her thighs tightened about his sides. She arched her back to draw him deeper. The intensity of her response broke his control.

Engulfed in her own desire, Cassie felt his shuddering climax deep within her, and gave herself to him and to her pleasure.

She had not the strength to support herself, and fell, her hair cascading over his face and shoulders, her cheek against the hollow in his throat. Gently, he straightened her legs and felt the length of her soft body against him.

“I love you, Cassandra.”

His words floated vaguely through her mind, but they did not touch her. She fell into an exhausted sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the yacht and enveloped by his warm, hard body.

C
assie awoke feeling cramped and hot. There was something tickling her lips. She opened her eyes and tensed. She was locked tightly in the earl’s arms, her cheek against his shoulder. She drew back her head, scarcely able to weave her thoughts together.
I have given myself to this man.
She gave a shake of her head, recalling the intense, rampant sensations that had driven all thought from her mind, remembering vividly moaning her lust to him, holding him against her as if she would have dissolved into jagged pieces if he had released her. She was a woman now. But she had given herself to a ruthless man she did not love, the man who had abducted her. She wanted to scream her fury at herself and her hatred of him for making her respond to him. How could she have felt what she did but one night after he raped her? Her unspoken reply made her shrink within herself.
But I am a lady, an English lady.
No, she was not a lady, she was a slut, with no more moral fiber than the cheapest harlot, and she had betrayed Edward. She remembered her words, wrenched from her last evening. He had been gentle and comforting, had spoken words to her that had stilled her guilt.
I let him seduce me again and I did not want it to stop.