Devil's Embrace (13 page)

“That is a lovely gown,” he said. “If you fight me, it will become shredded. You are a passionate, exciting woman, Cassandra, and I have yet to discover the depths of your feeling. No more nonsense. I want you in my bed and in my arms.”

She squirmed from the settee and scrambled to stand behind it. The earl cocked an inquiring eyebrow, then shrugged. He turned and began to remove his clothing. He heard a relieved sigh, and said over his shoulder, “ Although it was I who set the rules, you will abide by them. We will live as man and wife, and that, my love, means the intimacy of the marriage bed. Now, take off that gown.”

“No.”

Behind the furious defiance of that short word, his ears detected a pathetic plea, and he turned to face her, now dressed only in his breeches. He gentled his voice. “Why, Cassandra?”

Her fingers fretted mercilessly at the pleats in her skirt. “Please,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

He strode to her and clasped her shoulders in his large hands. She stood rigid, even as his fingers caressed the slender column of her neck. He slowly traced the softness of her cheeks, and the firm line of her jaw.

“Why, my love? You know you will want me, you know that you forget your viscount in my arms. Let us not wrangle.”

She raised her wide eyes slowly to his face, and he saw no fear in them.

He leaned down and closed his mouth over hers. She tried to pull free of him, but he held her fast, winding his fingers in the thick masses of hair that lay unbound down her back. She cried out softly, but not with desire.

He released her mouth, and she pleaded softly, “Please, you must not, I cannot—”

“What do you mean you cannot?” He raised her chin up with his thumbs, so she could not look away from him.

She flushed scarlet and closed her eyes tightly. “Please,”
she whispered, “cannot you simply leave well enough alone?”

Sudden understanding dawned upon him and, unwisely, he threw back his head and laughed.

“You beast. You braying ass.”

He grinned down at her. “However could I forget that you must needs be a woman in all ways? I could show you, Cassandra, that your womanliness is but a minor obstacle to lovemaking.” He stopped, for her face was pale with embarrassment.

“Perhaps some day soon,” he said, and walked away from her.

He retrieved a full-cut white nightgown from the bottom drawer of the dresser and silently handed it to her. “You need not say it. I do think of everything. Never would I wish to wound your maiden’s sensibilities. You may wear this garment a given number of nights each month.”

He patted her cheek, dowsed the lamps, and climbed out of his breeches. As he climbed into bed, he heard her breathe a sigh of relief. Some minutes later, she slipped into bed beside him, and as was his habit, he pulled her into his arms and gently stroked her hair.

“T
he stop knot is too loose, madonna,” Angelo said in his soft Italian. He dropped to one knee and with light, sure tugs, adjusted the tension. He grinned as he handed it back to Cassie, shaking his dark head. “A lady as a sailor, I never would have believed the day. You’ll do, madonna, you’ll do.”

“
Grazie,
Angelo.” She flushed slightly at his rare words of praise.

He nodded and turned away from her at the shouted command of Mr. Donnetti. In the next moment, he was agilely climbing the rigging of the mainmast.

Cassie watched his graceful ascent. Squawking seabirds soared in wide circles above, hoping, she supposed, for some stale crusts of bread. She rose slowly and dusted her knees, an unnecessary gesture, since the deck always sparkled from the continual efforts of the Genoese sailors. She gazed to port. In the hazy afternoon sun, she could barely make out the coastline of Spain, some twenty miles distant.

“Ye can’t see much from here.”

She turned to Scargill, who was shading his eyes with his hands, looking toward land.

“Ye’ll turn dark as a blackamoor, if ye don’t have a care.” He indulgently eyed the light sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She raised her golden-tanned face toward the sun, disregarding him. “We will put into port, Scargill?”

“Nay, madonna, it’s hardly likely.”

At the tightening of her lips, he added lightly, “If ye know yer politics, ye’ll realize that the Spanish are no friends to the English.”

“His lordship does not have a Spanish flag?”

Scargill shook his head at her ill-disguised sarcasm.

She doubted that the earl would put into port in any case, unless, of course, she thought bitterly, he were to lock her in the cabin for the duration. At least this wasn’t the case as long as they were at sea. The earl had given her free run of the yacht, though he forbade her the wearing of breeches. “I think it would be unwise,” he had said one evening, grinning at her crookedly, “to tempt my men more than they already are. The sight of you in breeches would doubtless encourage them to mutiny.”

She looked midway up the mainmast at Angelo’s perched figure and sighed enviously. Her skirts billowed in the sea breeze, and she slapped them down, her illhumor mounting.

As though he had read her thoughts, Scargill said gently, “Ye know that his lordship is in the right, madonna. To see such a figure as yers climbing the rigging would surely cause the men to forget their duties. Ye wouldn’t wish to be the cause of a man having the skin flailed off his back. It would be the lightest punishment his lordship would mete out, ye know.”

“I daresay that such a display of viciousness would well fit his character.”

Cassie bit her lip as the earl’s voice boomed out behind her. “Perhaps, Cassandra, but then I have never informed you what your punishment for such disobedience would be.”

She whirled about. “Is it also your habit to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, my lord?”

“There’s no need to get yerself all a-twitter, madonna,” Scargill said easily, raising a placating hand. “Ye know his lordship is the captain and thus must keep himself apprised of all that goes on.”

“And just what would my punishment be, my lord?” Cassie demanded coldly, ignoring Scargill.

“What do you think would be just?”

“I would say, my lord, that the punishment I have received already at your hands is sufficient for anyone’s lifetime.”

The earl waved Scargill away, a signal that the valet obeyed with alacrity. He took a step nearer to Cassie, and she held her ground, her expression forbidding. His voice dropped to a caressing murmur. “It is no way my fault, Cassandra, that you have felt punished for our four days of abstinence.”

“How dare you?” Angry and embarrassed color mounted her cheeks.

“How dare I what? Remind you that you are a woman and not a sailor to be climbing over the rigging dressed in breeches?” As the gleam of fury did not abate, he added placidly, “If we have another storm, I will approve the breeches for its duration.”

“How very kind you are.”

“Remind me to hide your dinner knife,
cara,
since you are in such a foul temper.” She turned away from him, and he stood quietly for several moments watching her walk quickly to the forecastle deck where several of his men were working.

“’Twould appear to me that ye make little headway, my lord,” Scargill said pensively, walking into the earl’s view. Out of habit, he smoothed down the coarse lock of red hair that fell over his forehead.

“It has been but two weeks,” the earl said coolly, shifting his gaze toward the distant Spanish coastline. “If I do not despair of the outcome, why should you?”

Emboldened by the earl’s direct question, Scargill said quickly, “Ye have the habit of twitting the girl mercilessly, my lord, and though the madonna is sharper in her wits than most ladies I’ve known, she has no chance with ye, what with ye being so much older and experienced. Hardly loverlike ye be, my lord.”

The earl laughed. “The madonna, as you and the men persist in calling her, despite her tender years, is quite able to cross swords with me. Verbally that is. And as to my not being loverlike, I doubt that you or anyone else is qualified to judge. Now, if you have done with dissecting my character, I suggest you speak with Arturo. I require a special dinner this evening for my lady, something very English
for her waning appetite. It will be in the nature of a celebration. You might even call it a monthly celebration.” Grinning to himself, he turned away, his destination the helm and Mr. Donnetti.

As he strode along the highly polished deck, his eyes strayed toward Cassandra, who was sitting cross-legged, her skirts modestly tucked over her ankles, listening with avid attention to undoubtedly outrageous tales spun by Joseph, a rotund little Corsican once in the employ of the Barbary pirates. Hie men had taken to her, no doubt about that. A lady to her fingertips who did not lord it over any of them, and a lady whose sailing skills bettered those of many a man. When it became common knowledge that she spoke Italian, he had noticed with a rueful smile that the habitual foul language his men used all but disappeared.

The earl paused a moment and gazed up at the wind-bloated sails, estimating their speed. Since the storm in the Channel, the weather had turned glorious and warm. Though it was the end of June, the Atlantic was not famed for such a continued spate of good weather. If it held, they would reach Genoa a good week beforetimes.

Cassandra was standing now, and the wind flattened her skirt, outlining her hips and thighs. It was just as well that the weather was so mild, he thought, for she held all his attention. He felt a growing ache in his loins and turned away. Tonight he would possess her body, just as she would possess his. He did not believe that she would fight him, for he had unleashed the woman in her, and their four nights of abstinence had likely made her physical need as great as his. He suspected that she desired him, despite her monthly cycle, but he had not pushed her. He wanted her to accept him as her companion as well as her lover. They had passed hours on deck in the evenings, gazing at the brilliant constellations, and he had spoken softly of the past that he had known with her.

“Captain.”

The earl wiped the placid smile from his mouth and brought his attention to his first mate. “Yes, Mr. Donnetti?”

“There is a ship closing off port. She’s likely Spanish.”

He handed the earl a spyglass.

“It’s a Spanish frigate, two gun decks. Keep us windward, Mr. Donnetti. The Spanish captain is a fool if he thinks to engage us.”

“Aye, captain. The frigate is riding low in the water, heavily loaded, and cannot elevate her guns.”

The earl lowered the spyglass. “Command the men to battle stations. If the Spanish captain is unwise enough to engage us, we will fire broadside as a lasting lesson and outrun her. Needless to say, our cargo is far too precious to risk full battle.”

Cassie raised her head, startled at the sound of a beating drum.

“Beat to quarters!”

“Get below-deck to the captain’s cabin, madonna,” Joseph said sharply, and wheeled away from her, toward the gun deck.

“What is happening, Joseph?” she cried over the beating drum.

She whipped about at the sound of the earl’s voice. “It’s a Spanish frigate, Cassandra, and as yet, we do not know her intentions. Do as Joseph said and go to the cabin.” She hesitated, and he roared at her, “Now! I will come to you when there is no more danger.”

“But I would like to see—”

The earl grabbed her shoulders in an iron grip. “Dammit, do as I tell you. I do not want to have to worry about your safety when the ship must be my first concern.”

“You needn’t shout at me.”

“Then obey me. That is an order.” He pushed her away and strode toward the quarterdeck without a backward glance.

Cassie felt a surge of excitement, and her step lagged as she neared the companionway. Crisp orders boomed about her and purposeful sailors ran past her, oblivious of her presence. A Spanish frigate. She had never seen such a ship. Stealthily she made her way to the mainmast and crossed quickly, crouched over, to the railing. She saw the three-masted vessel bearing toward them, its hull massive
even in the distance. She heard the earl’s booming voice and felt the deck beneath her shift slightly as the port guns were hauled into the gunports, and the sailors shifted their iron mouths toward the approaching frigate. She felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. She guessed that the frigate was now only a mile distant.

“Damn,” the earl cursed under his breath. “It appears that the fools want to test our strength. Order the first ranging shot, Mr. Donnetti. Perhaps that will be enough for them.”

Cassie was thrown back on her heels as the four guns, in unison, belched forth their iron balls. She saw great explosions of white smoke, then veils of spewing water. In an instant, it cleared, and to her disappointment, the frigate emerged unscathed. She watched, her heart pounding in her chest, as it veered off.

Mr. Donnetti chuckled. “Cowards, the whole mess of them. One round from our guns and they scurry away, like rabbits.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” the earl said softly. “My guess is that they are bound for bigger game and do not wish to risk any damage. Full into the wind, Mr. Donnetti, I have no desire to tempt fate if the Spanish captain happens to change his mind.”

“Aye, captain,” Mr. Donnetti said. The earl remained on deck until the frigate became but a distant white speck. Satisfied that there would be no more danger from that quarter, he made his way quickly toward the cabin. His eyes caught a flash of blue muslin at the base of the mainmast. He whirled about to see Cassandra gesticulating with great excitement to Joseph.

His stomach knotted in sudden fear for her, and then in anger. She had disobeyed him. If the frigate had engaged them, she could have been hurt, even killed.

“Cassandra.”

She continued speaking to Joseph some moments more before turning reluctantly to face him.

“Come here.”

Joseph’s head jerked up at the deadly tone in the
captain’s voice, and he whispered urgently to Cassie, “Go quickly, madonna.”