Devil's Embrace (48 page)

“Of course, Edward. His lordship has put me back together again. It is but a scratch. Do not worry yourself over it.”

“Let her suffer a bit, Lyndhurst,” the earl said. “After all her machinations, she deserves to pay the piper. I trust you will join us for a glass of wine.”

“Wine glasses filled with rich bordeaux,” Jenny said. “All’s well that ends well?”

“The taming of the shrew,” the earl said.

“Do make that shrews, my lord,” Edward said, looking at Jenny.

“Let them have their little joke, Jenny. Gentlemen adore so to swagger about, believing themselves lords of all they survey.”

Jenny held back her giggle, aware that Edward was not at his ease, particularly in the earl’s presence. She raised her eyes some moments later to the earl, and said ingenuously, “You have a lovely boat, my lord.”

Cassie nearly choked on her wine, but the earl merely nodded graciously. “I and my boat thank you, ma’am. Perhaps you would like a tour whilst Lyndhurst talks to my patient?”

“Yes, Jenny,” Edward said. “I will meet you shortly, above-deck.”

Jenny walked to the bed and took Cassie’s hand. “All is as you wish it to be, I can see that plainly.”

“I will never wish for anything more. Perhaps I shall see you in England.”

“Oh yes, I am certain of it. Good-bye, Miss Brougham.”

“Good-bye, Miss Lacy.”

The earl offered Jenny his arm and led her from the cabin. Cassie heard her say to the earl, “I do not know much about sailing boats, my lord. Perhaps you will enlighten me.”

Edward gazed down at Cassie, his expression intent. “You are certain that this is what you want, Cass?”

“Oh yes, Edward.” She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “Our lives have been fraught with adventure. Enough I think to make me want to grow old in one place. Or perhaps two places,” she added, smiling to herself.

“Will you return to England, Cass?”

“We have not had time to discuss our plans. Poor Eliott will be in for something of a shock.”

Edward shook his head. “He’ll believe that we’ve all lost our minds.” He paused a moment, and smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Does his lordship know yet of his child?”

“No, and I would ask that you not tell him, Edward. It is up to me, you know.”

“How long have you loved him, Cass?”

“I cannot remember the beginning of it, yet I am quite secure in my feelings for him.”

“Despite all that he did to you?”

“Yes.”

“What you did this morning was outlandish.”

“Perhaps, but I believe that you would have done the same, had you been me. There was everything to lose, you see.”

“I will never understand you, Cass.”

“You will forgive me everything, Edward?”

“There is nothing to forgive you for,” he said quickly. “The earl, though, is another matter.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Good-bye, Cass. Perhaps our children will be playmates some day.”

“And mine will lead yours into wicked adventures.”

He stared at her a moment, bemused. “That,” he said, straightening over her, “remains to be seen.” He looked toward the open cabin door, hearing Jenny’s bright laughter.

“Good-bye, Cass.”

“Until England, Edward.”

C
assie heaved a sigh of contentment, wiped her fingers on her napkin, and sat back in her chair. She quickly leaned forward again when she felt the wooden back press against her shoulder.

“So you like Arturo’s way of preparing oysters?”

“Cleaning my plate from one end to the other should convince him of my approval.”

“They are fresh from the bay. Although Arturo is quite outspoken in his disdain of New York, he does admit that the variety of fish is remarkable.”

Cassie sipped at her wine, suspecting that the earl had laced it with laudanum. She gazed about the cabin, her body lulled by the wine and the gentle rocking of the yacht.

“How odd,” she said aloud, “that one’s perspective can shift so dramatically. This cabin is exquisite. I did not remember it this way.”

“Both the captain and his cabin are pleased at your new perspective, Cassandra. How does your shoulder feel?”

“I fear, my lord, that you must be disappointed. I am strong as a horse, you know, and the wound is trifling. But you must keep your word—you must wait a full two days before you thrash me.”

“If I do not have to treat you as an invalid,
cara,
then I fancy I shall discover equally pleasurable pursuits to fill my time until I can, in good conscience, bare your bottom.”

She felt a quiver of pleasure and a rosy flush rose to her cheeks. She looked down at his strong hands as he deftly peeled an orange.

“I have not had an orange in a long time,” she said.

He handed her a section and sat back in his chair, watching her nibble delicately.

“When do we leave New York?”

He was silent for some moments, gazing at her intently.

“Is there orange juice on my chin?”

“No. You asked me this morning, Cassandra, to take you home. I must ask you if you meant what you said.”

“Given the circumstances, my lord, I can hardly believe you would doubt me.”

Again, he fell silent. Cassie felt suddenly uncertain. “You no longer wish to wed me?”

“I have never before offered you the choice, Cassandra. Now I find that I must. Would you, you adorable girl, you most exquisite creature in all of England—and the colonies—do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Cassie pursed her lips, stifling laughter at his flowery delivery. It was odd, she thought, but she preferred him to be overbearing. He was easier to deal with that way.

She said matter-of-factly, “If you do not wed me, I shall have to gullet you and throw your miserable body in the bay.”

“In that case, to save my wretched hide, I shall fetch a discreet parson on the morrow. Is that soon enough for you?”

“I suppose that it must be,” she said. “But be warned, my lord. I will have you leg-shackled by tomorrow noon, else you will be the worse for it.”

It suddenly occurred to her that all her clothing was still at Edward’s lodgings. “Oh dear,” she wailed, “I have nothing to wear. This dressing gown would hardly be appropriate.”

He rose slowly and walked over to the armoire. He flung open the doors. “I think, my dear, that all you need is right here.”

“I don’t think you ever doubted my answer for an instant.” She made to rise, to go to him, but found to her chagrin that she weaved where she stood.

“Drunk again,” he said, shaking his head. “I believe the best place for you, my love, is in bed.” He yawned
prodigiously. “Do you mind if I join you? It has been a long, quite fatiguing day.”

“But we are not yet married, my lord.”

“True.”

“And my shoulder is paining me terribly.”

“I shall be very careful of it.”

He laughed, a deep, satisfied laugh and scooped her up into his arms. She clung to him when he set her upon the bed.

“Madam, you cannot seduce me unless you allow me to remove these damned clothes.”

She lay back, watching him peel off his clothing. When he stood naked in front of her, she pulled her dressing gown more closely about her and sat up. Words came from her mouth in a torrent. “It is my fault—all of it is my fault. I sold myself, just as would a harlot. I let him take me though I hated it and hated myself. I had nothing to give to him for you had already taken everything—my love, my passion. How can you forgive me? How can you say nothing when you know what I did?”

“Are you now quite through?”

“I am afraid that I have nothing to give you, don’t you understand? I am afraid that I can no longer feel passion after what I did.”

“I have never heard a more comprehensive recital of recriminations. Remind me, when you are an old woman, and I a doddering old man, to provide us both with the amusing tale of Cassandra’s fall from grace. I might even tell our grandchildren if ever your termagant’s tongue pushes me too far.”

“But you must hate me, you must.”

He grabbed her arms and pulled her forward on top of him. “If I yell and rave at you will it make you feel better? Or, perhaps I should beat you senseless. Would that assuage your ridiculous guilt? I do apologize for refusing to wallow with you in this spate of self-hatred. Actually, what you have done required a good deal of courage and determination. And, more importantly, my love, Edward Lyndhurst is no longer in your heart.”

She stared at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. He laughed and gently flicked her chin.

“Now, Cassandra, what is it to be? Lovemaking with your future husband, or sleep?”

“You are strangling me with your nobility.”

“Oh no, I am your devil, do you not remember? I assure you, there is not a noble bone in my body. You have not answered my question,
cara.
” He stroked his hands gently down her back.

“You swear that you are not noble, that you are being honest with me?”

“I swear it.”

“But what if I no longer feel passion?” She felt his fingers stroking her hips.

“Your body does not seem to be aware that you are a passionless woman. And your eyes,
cara,
are becoming vague and smoky. Surely, that is not because of disinterest.”

There was still a faint protest in her mind, but when she opened her mouth, only a breathless sigh emerged.

“Your dressing gown, Cassandra.”

His voice made her urgent, and she tugged frantically at the sash at her waist.

“Hold still, little one.”

The dressing gown parted under his deft fingers, and he slipped her arms gently out of the full sleeves. He pressed her upon her back and lay beside her, his eyes on her body.

“You are too thin,” he said, still not touching her, “save for your breasts.” He leaned over her and kissed her. Her breasts were swollen and tender, but the touch of his mouth made her arch her back upward.

And then he was on top of her, and she felt the familiar hardness of him, the raw masculine strength of him. He crushed her breasts against his chest, and she felt his black hair pressing against her.

She felt a surge of joy as he forced her lips to part. He pushed against her belly, and her hands urgently kneaded his back as she parted her thighs. But he would not allow it.

He brought her to release before he entered her. To his besotted surprise, when he thrust deep inside her, she
quivered anew with passion. She cried out his name, clutching him feverishly to her, and he closed his mouth over hers, willingly losing himself in her.

Belatedly, he was reminded of her shoulder and gently eased himself off her. He smoothed back the tousled hair from her forehead and solemnly kissed her nose.

“If you show any more passion, my love, I will be a dead man.”

She smiled vaguely, replete, and in the next moment, she was fast asleep, her face against his shoulder.

Their wedding was conducted aboard
The Cassandra,
in the captain’s cabin. Mr. Donnetti and Scargill supported the couple under the suspicious eye of a Father Donovan, lamentably Catholic.

After waving Father Donovan off the yacht, his step jaunty from the excellent champagne provided by the Earl of Clare,
The Cassandra,
sails billowing and men swarming nimbly over the rigging, prepared to sail out of the harbor of New York.

“Where are we bound, my lord?” Cassie turned to face her husband, her back against the bronze railing.

Anthony wrapped his fingers about strands of her hair that whipped across her face in the crisp afternoon breeze. For some moments, he simply looked down at her, savoring her closeness, secure in the belief that she had finally accepted him.

“I have been given to understand, wife, that England is lovely in the spring.”

Her eyes glistened with pleasure, for she had expected him to say Genoa. She laughed. “I do hope that we do not beat my letter to England. To be faced with a supposedly dead sister would be no mean shock to Eliott. And of course, there is Becky to be considered.”

The earl dropped his hands to her shoulders. “Becky loves you,
cara,
as would a mother. Surely you can find forgiveness for her, just as you have for me.” He added with masculine arrogance that he knew would gain her attention, “You must admit that everything worked out just as I planned. Becky but followed my instructions.”

“Conceited man,” she said, no heat in her voice. “I suppose since I am so very happy that I can afford to be generous.” She turned abruptly, her eyes alight with her joy, and flung her arms about his shoulders. She hugged him tightly to her. “It is so marvelous to be able to show you how I feel, with no more pretense, no more reservations.”

“And how do you feel, Cassandra?” He held her lightly in his arms, imagining that Scargill and Mr. Donnetti were in all likelihood staring at them, self-satisfied grins on their faces. He wanted her to tell him now that she loved him. She raised her face, her blue eyes shining with mischief.

“I feel, my lord, that if I stand close to you much longer, you will become an embarrassment to your men.”

“And just what, madam, do you propose doing about my masculine predicament?” The humor in his voice matched her own. He had long ago learned the value of patience with her.

“I suppose,” she said, “that I shall simply have to ask you down to my cabin.”

“
Your
cabin?”

“I trust you will be just, my lord. Since you have finally convinced me to wed you, is it not fair that you bestow upon me at least half of your worldly possessions?” She added, her eyes all wicked, “I am sure that my half of the cabin is the part that holds the bed.”

“I shall think about it, madam.” He drew her arm through his. Once below-deck, he said, “If you please me enough, perhaps I shall be generous.”

“Then I shall feign a mighty passion.”

When they were in the cabin, he grinned at her and turned to grate the key in the lock. “No interruptions, madam.”

When he turned back to her, he felt a surge of desire twist in his groin. Cassie was standing in the middle of the cabin, busily stripping off her clothes. He stood watching her, her face slightly flushed, in seeming concentration on the long row of buttons down the front of her gown. He walked to the table and poured two glasses of wine, still
watching her from the corner of his eye. She wriggled out of her gown and, without pausing, pulled the lace straps of her chemise off her shoulders. At last, aware of his eyes upon her, she raised her face and looked at him squarely. The chemise rested only a moment about her hips before it fell softly atop her gown. “I want you now, husband.”