Devil's Embrace (14 page)

Because she had never seen the earl in a rage, Cassie shrugged her shoulders indifferently and took her time reaching him.

“What a paltry encounter, my lord,” she said, clearly disappointed. “At least I have seen a Spanish frigate. Are they always so cowardly?”

The earl grabbed her arm, and, without a word, dragged her along the deck, down the companionway, and pushed her inside the cabin, slamming the door closed.

Cassie rubbed her arm when he released her and frowned at him. “You needn’t be such a ruffian, my lord. Is it that you too are disappointed that there was no battle?”

“You disobeyed me, madam.”

She blinked at the cold fury in his voice. “I believe, my lord,” she said steadily, “that you are making a fuss out of nothing. There was no danger.”

The earl held himself stiffly, his arms rigid at his sides. Her ridicule of the situation made him all the angrier.

“I will say it again, madam. You disobeyed me. You will now tell me why.”

She stood her ground and raised her chin. “I did not think your order reasonable, my lord. The frigate was a good mile distant from us when we fired. Given that she was heavily loaded and thus unable to elevate her guns easily, we would have been able to outrange her, handily, even if she had chosen to engage us. The yacht is much faster and if there had been the need, we could have outrun her.”

He was taken aback. “Just how the devil do you know that?” She had analyzed the situation with impeccable accuracy, and it did nothing to improve his temper.

“I do not know why men persist in believing that women are stupid, useless creatures who have nothing in their heads but spun cotton. You know that I have sailed all my life. Do you believe me so buffleheaded as to be ignorant of the subject?”

“Very well, Cassandra, I commend your education. But
the fact remains, madam, that you did not do as I bid you. Given all your experience and reading, you must know that without obedience and strict discipline, a captain cannot effectively command. Just what do you think would have happened if all of my men had decided to do whatever pleased them, rather than obey my orders? That, Cassandra, is insubordination, and subject to exacting punishment.”

Her forehead knitted into a thoughtful frown, and her eyes wavered from his set face. She drew a deep breath. “Though I am not one of your crew, what you have said is just. A captain’s orders cannot be ignored. I will submit to whatever punishment you deem fitting for what I have done.”

“The punishment, madam, is at the very least a flogging that would take the flesh off a man’s back.”

She paled visibly.

He pressed his point, wanting to assure himself that she would never again do something so foolish and dangerous. “If a man were not to obey my order in the face of impending battle, I would seriously consider hanging.”

There was silence between them for some moments. Finally, she said, “I think it would be wasteful of you to hang me.”

A slight smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, and he sternly repressed it. “I doubt not that you are right. I have never cared for wasteful hangings. The offense, however, remains the same.”

The earl found that his anger was rapidly dissipating. He had made his point well, and she had clearly accepted his reasoning. He thought to remove her obvious fear when she squared her shoulders and said in a calm voice, “I would ask only that you not demean me by flogging me in front of the men. Nor do you have to tie me up, for I will submit to your flogging.”

He stared at her, at a loss. Although he greatly admired her courage, he wanted to enfold her in his arms and reassure her, to see the fear disappear from her eyes. But she would see that as an insult to her courage, condescension
to her as naught but a weak woman. He would well imagine that she would be enraged, and justifiably so, for everything that he had said to her would have a hollow ring. He was struggling to find an answer to this ridiculous situation when she asked in the same calm voice, “What kind of whip will you use, my lord?” She added, poised still, “Do I take it from your silence that I must be flogged in front of the men? And tied to the mast?”

“No,” he said finally, “I shall not beat you in front of my men, nor will I tie you down.”

“Thank you,” she said, her mouth now quite dry with fear. She closed her eyes a moment, praying that she would neither cry out nor faint. It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize to him, to beg him not to whip her, but she could not bring herself to do it.

“Will you do it now, my lord?”

“No, I think not,” he said. “I will leave you, Cassandra, to think about what you have done. It will be settled when I return.” Since he had no idea of what the devil he should do, he knew he had to have some time alone, to try and untangle this mess. He gazed a moment longer at her pale, set face, and left the cabin.

He paced the deck, deaf to the shouts of taunting laughter from his men as they waved toward the now-distant Spanish frigate.

“Ye do not seem justly pleased, my lord,” Scargill said, as he walked into his master’s preoccupied line of vision. “The men performed well, as if they had all been trained in the English navy.”

The earl breathed deeply and turned rueful eyes to his valet. “It’s not that, to be sure, Scargill. I have got myself in a rare mess and am wondering how the devil to get out of it.”

“Ye speak in riddles, my lord.”

The earl drew a deep breath and ran his fingers through his rumpled hair. “Cassandra disobeyed me, Scargill, and I was a forceful fool.” As Scargill still gazed at him, at sea, he told him briefly what had passed between them. “She is at this moment,” he concluded, “waiting for me to return
to flog her. Her only request is that I not flog her in front of the men.”

Scargill sucked in an appalled breath. “Jesus Christ,” he said succinctly.

The earl slammed a fist against his open palm. “Hellfire and damnation, this entire situation is ridiculous. And you, Scargill, you have done naught but add needless expletives.”

“I beg yer pardon, my lord, but it was a reference to the Almighty above, though I have gained no assistance from its use.” He suddenly flung back his head. “I will take her place, my lord. Ye will have her watch and the lesson will never be forgotten.”

“She called me a braying ass not long ago. Now I must bequeath that charming title to you. Under no circumstances would I do anything so reprehensible.”

“Ye abducted a lady, my lord, and against her will.”

“If you do not keep your tongue between your teeth, I shall have you flogged for insolence. If you have not the wit to see that the circumstances are utterly disparate, I wash my hands of you.”

“Methinks it is the fiery Ligurian gentleman speaking and not the English lord.”

The earl shot him a look so filled with frustrated anger that Scargill quickly mumbled an apology and fell silent.

The earl said finally, a black brow arched, “If you, Scargill, had disobeyed a direct order, even if it imperiled only yourself and not the yacht, you may rest assured that I would have had you flogged without hesitation.”

“Aye, my lord, but I am a man.”

“Ah.”

“What will ye do?”

“Go to the devil,” he said, and turned away.

Cassie heard the sound of his boots outside the cabin door, and quickly squared her shoulders. She pinched color into her cheeks and rose to stand by the table, one hand laid carefully on a chair arm to support her trembling legs.

He filled the cabin with his presence, as he always did, and her hand tightened about the chair. He looked like a
pirate, she thought, with his black tousled hair above his thick-arched black brows, and his full-sleeved white shirt, open at the neck and topped with a loose black vest.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his thumbs hooked in the wide leather belt around his waist. His expression was unreadable, but to her eyes, his mouth was set in a pitiless line.

“Is it to be now, my lord?”

The calmness of her voice was belied by the flash of fear in her eyes.

He said slowly, still hopeful of inspiration, “I am not certain if a flogging is what is most needful. Perhaps a flogging, like a hanging, would be wasteful.”

Her fear made her blind. “Wasteful. It is your needless cruelty that is wasteful. Damn you, why must you torture me? Do it and be done.”

He realized that there was no hope for it. Hellfire, he muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Very well.”

His voice sounded remote, and it required all her courage not to back away as he slowly unfastened the wide belt from about his waist. He dropped his hands and walked quickly to the dresser. From the bottom drawer, he drew out a soft, narrow leather belt.

“Strip to the waist, Cassandra.”

His jaw tightened as he watched her trembling fingers prod at the tiny buttons on her bodice. She was as white as her chemise when she slowly slipped the lace straps from her shoulders and let the soft satin slip to her waist. Absurdly, she covered her breasts with her hands.

“Pin up your hair, it is covering your back.”

As she jabbed pins haphazardly into the masses of hair, she remembered, foolishly, their verbal battle earlier in the day about what her punishment would be if she wore breeches without his permission. It had been so ridiculous; they had done naught but spar with words. She tried to think objectively about pain, but she could recall nothing but the broken arm she had sustained at ten years old after being thrown from her mare. She must have felt pain, she thought, but there was nothing real for her to grasp. She remembered the possets forced down her throat by Becky
Petersham, and the cast that made her skin itch, but no pain. She drew a deep, resolute breath and turned to face the earl, her hands still covering her breasts. She blanched at the sight of the belt, its buckle and clasp wrapped tightly about his hand.

“You may support yourself against the bookshelf.”

She walked numbly to the inset mahogany bookshelves that lined the cabin wall beside his desk, her eyes resting foolishly for an instant on the novel she had been reading. She stretched her arms above her head and firmly clasped her fingers about the edge of a shelf. She rested her forehead against the edge of a lower shelf and clenched her teeth tightly together. Help me not to make a fool of myself, she pleaded, more to herself than to any deity. She tensed her muscles and waited. She knew he was standing behind her, his hand in all likelihood poised in midair, ready to lash the belt across her back.

You are a fool, my girl,
she said to herself, her muscles straining in taut fear. You fight him with all your strength, yet the result is unbelievable pleasure. Yet now you stand of your own free will for him to flog you.

The earl lifted the belt only to lower it again. He looked at her slender white back. An errant strand of golden hair had escaped its pin and fell in a long lazy curl down to her waist. His fingers lifted the hair from her back. She quivered. His hand shook and again, he lowered the belt.

“Damn you,” she said suddenly, her voice shrill in her fear. “Are you so cruel that you delight in making me wait, knowing what must come?”

The earl raised the belt and brought it down as lightly as he dared across her shoulders.

She tensed and tightened her fingers more tightly about the shelf edge, more from surprise than from pain. But when the belt slammed against her back again, she felt a tingling of pain that made her start.

Six lashes, the earl counted, knowing that he could give her no less. He rigidly controlled the strength of his arm, but still, it was not enough.

Cassie’s eyes burned as the pain increased, but she made no sound. Her fingers dug into the shelf as she swore over
and over that she would not disgrace herself and collapse. Suddenly, the burning pain ceased. She held herself rigid for several moments, waiting. She turned slowly and felt a raw throbbing as the shelf touched her back. She gazed up, unseeing, into his pale face.

“Is it over?”

“Yes.”

“I am so glad. I feared that I would make a fool of myself.”

She blinked her eyes upon his face and said, her voice breathless and high, “May I lie down now?”

“Yes. Let me help you.”

He clasped his hands beneath her hips and raised her, careful not to touch her back. He laid her on her stomach, and she felt the softness of the cover beneath her breasts.

The earl stared down at her quiet figure. How many times he had read guilt and hatred in her eyes before he had brought her to pleasure. Yet now, he had inflicted pain and she had willingly accepted it. There had been no hatred in her fine eyes, only her fierce pride.

He shook his head and made haste to mix some laudanum with wine.

“I never faint, you know,” she said as he handed her a filled glass.

“No, I wouldn’t imagine that you would. It is wise that you lie still, Cassandra. This will make you feel better.”

“What is it?” she asked after she had downed the wine.

“Laudanum and French burgundy. In a few minutes you will feel drowsy.”

He fetched a soothing cream to rub into her back, but did not touch her until her head lolled on the pillow and her breathing evened into sleep. Six welts stood out against her white skin, red and ugly, but none so deep as to cause him worry. He gently rubbed in the ointment.

He eased her out of her clothes and pulled a cover to her waist, then drew up a chair beside her. He found himself studying her closely. Her beauty was startling, but he knew that his feeling for her was drawn strong by her own strength of character, and he reveled in the knowledge that
he possessed her. Had she ranted at him, or even resorted to tears to save herself from punishment, he would not have loved her less. Perhaps, he thought ruefully, if she had guessed that her fierce sense of honor would result in his wanting her all the more, she would have behaved differently. But she would not know, for the time being; he would not tell her.

He had caused her many kinds of pain, he knew, and his jaw tightened in stubborn resolve. Someday, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, she would smile at him with love. Dammit, it would be so, he would make it be so.