Devil's Embrace

by Catherine Coulter

  Cassie had wondered why she had been taught Italian, not French, like the other young ladies of her acquaintance. It was not possible, she thought with mounting confusion, that he could know that. She said, “The Union Jack is flying at the jackstaff.”

  “Of course. The Cassandra has flown England’s colors for the past six months and she will continue to do so until we are in French waters.”

  “What do you do then, my lord earl, strut like a Frenchman and become the Comte de Clare? Have you a French flag to cloak your cowardice?”

  “Such a masquerade might prove amusing, but not at all necessary. The Genoese are the bankers of the French. Even the bucolic Louis has the good sense to protect the funnel to his royal coffers.”

  “And if the French attack by error?”

  As if he read her thoughts, he said, “Believe me, Cassandra, to be taken by French privateers or the French navy would not result in your return to England. In any case, it will not happen. Did you not notice the gun mounts? They are not toys, I assure you.”

  Cassie slumped forward in her chair, her thoughts upon Edward and Eliott and the grief they would feel when they found her wrecked sailboat. Even at this moment, Eliott was probably growing concerned that she had not returned. “You are an evil, ruthless man, my lord,” she said, her voice as dead as her heart.

  “Perhaps. Ruthless, at least, for I would have gone to any lengths to secure you as my wife.” He saw the glazed look in her eyes, and said no more. He glanced at the clock atop his desk and rose.

  “It grows late, Cassandra. I must go on deck for a while to see to our course. If you wish to bathe, you will find fresh water on the commode. Gowns, underthings, stockings, hairbrushes are in the dresser and armoire. We will dine when I return.”

  Cassie merely stared at him, mute. Vaguely, as if from a great distance, she heard a key turn in the lock.

  “The wee lass, she is all right?”

  “She will be,” the earl said as he released the helm to Angelo and turned to Scargill, a plucky, straight-spoken Scotsman, his valet for some ten years.

  “It was like ye killed a part of her when ye sent her boat toward the rocks.”

  “Yes, but she shall have another, once we are home again.”

  Anthony Welles gazed starboard for a long moment over the choppy water, toward the English shoreline. “She is very young, Scargill.”

  Scargill’s coarse red hair flapped up and down on his forehead in the sea wind, and out of habit, he raised his forefinger to smooth it down. He studied his master’s strong, proud profile, outlined in the orange glow of the setting sun, and shook his head. “It’s a ruthless thing ye’ve done, my lord.”

  “Precisely Cassandra’s words, Scargill, but there is little point in repining now. She is mine, and that is the end to the matter.”

  “As I’ve told ye afore, my lord, I’ve never known a man to raise his own wife. I thought ye’d forgotten her when that spitfire, Giovanna, got her hooks into ye.”

  “The Contessa accomplished part of her desire, my friend.”

  “She was hot for ye, I’ll grant ye that, my lord. But besides warming yer bed, she has an eye to yer title and fortune. She’ll not prove kind to yer English lass.”

  The earl turned slowly and an amused smile lit his dark eyes. “In the unlikely event that Giovanna shows her claws to Cassandra, rest assured that Cassandra will dish her up without any assistance from me. She is like quicksilver, I think, arrogant and proud. She has a core of strength that her mother never possessed. Be kind to her, Scargill, but I caution you to be watchful. She very nearly unmanned me with her knee.”

  Scargill guffawed. “She did, did she, my lord. So the wee madonna is not taking well to yer kidnaping her.”

  “Not at the moment. You call her madonna now, Scargill?”

  “Yer Genoese sailors have called her nothing else, my lord. It’s yer mixed blood, they say, that makes ye one minute the cold imperious lord, and the next, the unpredictable man bent on his own passions. They believe it’s yer Italian blood that makes ye go to such lengths for a woman.”

  The earl stood rigidly straight, his features impassive. It was always so when his lordship was angered, Scargill thought, particularly when someone referred to his fiery Italian blood.

  “Have I a rebellion brewing with my men?”

  “Nay, ye know as well as I do that they’d follow ye to hell, if ye asked it of them.”

  “Never would I demand anything so final. See that they get an extra ration of grog, Scargill, but not more, mind you. I will be much occupied this evening and have no wish for The Cassandra to run aground.”

  Scargill grunted. “The men will come to accept her, my lord. Even Angelo, as superstitious as any man with a woman aboard, admitted that she had a fine way with her wee boat.”

  “That is quite an accolade, coming from my close-mouthed helmsman. Unfortunately, I do not believe that Cassandra would have the slightest inclination at the moment to value such a compliment.”

  “Do ye think she’ll agree to wed with ye, my lord?”

  “She will wed me,” Anthony said calmly. “Now, my friend, I must use your cabin just this once to bathe and change for dinner. See that Arturo prepares the English fare that I ordered. You will play the English butler this evening.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Scargill watched his master walk down the highly polished deck toward the companionway, his step jaunty, and the set of his broad shoulders assured.

  It was dark when the earl straightened his black satin waistcoat and unlocked the cabin door. He could make out Cassandra’s figure in the near darkness as he opened the door, seated in the same chair next to the table where he had left her. He frowned, for she had not bothered to light the lamps.

  He performed this task, and when the cabin was flooded with light, he turned to face her. She was wearing the same old muslin gown, and tendrils of hair, unbrushed, curled haphazardly about her set face.

  “Good evening, Cassandra,” he said, and sat down opposite her.

  “I see the pirate clothes himself like a gentleman,” she said, her eyes flitting over him with open contempt.

  “And I see that you are still clothed as a peasant girl. You do not find the wardrobe I have provided you to your liking?”

  “I will never touch anything that belongs to you, my lord.”

  “In that case,” he remarked imperturbably, “you will soon find yourself naked.” He saw her expressive eyes narrow in disbelief, then widen in ill-disguised fear. Obviously, she had not considered that he would make sexual demands of her.

  “Our dinner will arrive shortly. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

  Cassie nodded dumbly, aware suddenly that her throat was parched from thirst.

  He handed her a glass of French Burgundy and watched her clumsily take it between her bandaged fingers. She downed it in one long gulp and fell into a paroxysm of coughing.

  “It is heady stuff, Cassandra. You must learn to sip wine, not gulp it down like water.”

  She frowned at him from watery eyes and thwacked the delicate glass on the table.

  “Would you care for some more?”

  He saw her hesitate perceptibly and guessed that she feared that he would make her drunk. He liberally watered down another glass and placed it in front of her.

  There came a knock on the cabin door. “Ah, our dinner has arrived. Enter.”

  Scargill appeared in the doorway, dressed in an English butler’s formal attire, his arms laden with covered silver trays. The earl bit back a bark of laughter at the look of pained resignation on his face.

  Cassie moved away from the table and sat upon a blue velvet settee. She watched the earl silently as he lifted each cover and sniffed at the dishes. “You may tell Arturo that he has performed wonders,” he said to Scargill, who was looking with worried eyes at Cassie.

  Cassie said sharply, “Is it your wish to go to the gallows with your master? That is where brigands and pirates end
their days.”

  Scargill turned to face the flushed girl. “If it is God’s will, lassie, then so be it.”

  She rose unsteadily to her feet and shouted at him, “I will see that it is God’s will. How can you obey a man who ruthlessly kidnaps a woman from her family and those she loves? He is a devil, without heart or honor.”

  Scargill shook his head slowly, his hazel eyes softening. “Ye’re wrong, lassie,” he said gently.

  Cassie drew a shattered breath, and without thought to consequences, took two quick steps forward and hurled the remaining wine in the earl’s face.

  “Oh, my God,” Scargill whispered behind her.

  Anthony Welles silently drew a white lawn handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped the wine from his face.

  Scargill could not help but admire her, for although her face was perfectly white, her chin was thrust forward and her shoulders were squared.

  The earl lowered the handkerchief and said quietly, “You may leave now. Cassandra and I wish to dine.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Scargill said slowly, his eyes searching his master’s face.

  The earl shut and locked the cabin door after his valet and walked to the filled basin atop the commode to dash water over his face and neck. He toweled himself dry and said calmly, “Sit down, Cassandra. Arturo went to great pains to prepare an English meal to your liking.”

  Cassie looked at him uncertainly, for after her unthinking act, she had expected him to retaliate. She sat down at the table, unwilling for the moment at least to provoke him further.

  She soon found that she was as hungry as she had been thirsty, for she had not eaten since breakfast.

  He watched her wolf down a rare slice of roast beef, and a goodly portion of the boiled potatoes and parsley. Her hunger eased, she slowed and sat back in her chair.

  “I am delighted that you approve of at least one thing I’ve done for you.”

  She looked at him and he saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her newly filled wine glass.

  “Do not do what you are thinking, Cassandra,” he said. “I allowed you one childish act, but no more.”

  She gritted her teeth and raised the glass, but her hand shook.

  “If you do what you are thinking, rest assured that I shall reciprocate.” He saw the unspoken question in her eyes. “If you hurl the wine at me, I shall throw you over my knee, bare your bottom, and thrash you.”

  “You would not.”

  “Try me, Cassandra.”

  She slowly lowered the glass to the table and let her fingers fall away from it.

  “Now, my dear, would you care to try some of my Italian coffee?”

  “I am not your dear.”

  “Coffee?”

  She nodded, hopeful that the coffee would counteract the dizzying effects of the wine.

  She walked to the settee and sat down, silently sipping the thick black liquid. When Scargill returned to clear the table, she saw the earl speak quietly to him, but she could not make out his words.

  When they were once again alone, she stared at the huge dark man and felt a knife of fear twist in her stomach. “I want more coffee.”

  The earl hesitated but an instant, then poured her half a cup.

  To Cassie’s consummate embarrassment, she discovered that all the wine and coffee she had consumed had created a distressing problem. She shifted uncomfortably on the settee for some moments, and finally she said, “I have to—that is, I must— please leave me alone.”

  The earl cocked his head to one side, then grinned. He rose and walked to the door. “The chamber pot is by the bed. You have five minutes, Cassandra, no more.”

  After seeing to her most immediate need, Cassie looked frantically at the clock and saw that she had only two minutes before he would return. Though she knew she would not be able to keep him away from her, she pulled the heavy settee over and braced it against the locked door. She grew red in the face trying to push the table before she saw that it was fastened securely to the floor. She gave a cry of frustration and dashed to the far corner of the cabin when she heard the key turn in the lock.

  She heard a low, deep chuckle and saw the settee move easily aside as he pushed open the door. The smile was still wide on his face when he came through the door.

  “It appears that I gave you too much time. Perhaps next time I will not leave you.” His tone turned suddenly serious. “Come here, Cassandra, I would speak to you.”

  She shook her head, fear clogging her throat.

  “If you do not do as I tell you,” he continued patiently, “I shall simply carry you over here and sit you down.”

  Her feet dragged forward, but she refused to sit in the chair, and stood facing him from across the small expanse of table.

  He straddled a chair and regarded her in silence. He saw the stark fear on her face and regretted what he had to do. Better to get it over with quickly, he thought. He cleared his throat and said levelly, “As I said this afternoon, Cassandra, I intend that you become my wife.”

  “And I think you dim-witted, my lord, for I told you this afternoon that your intention is mad. I would sooner wed the devil himself.”

  “And to assist you to accept me more quickly as your husband, we will begin tonight in married intimacy.”

  “No, damn you, no.”

  “Yes, we shall.”

  “I will not let you. Damn you, you will not touch me.”

  “Cassandra, heed me. To allow you to continue in your virgin state would be the height of foolishness, for it would encourage you to nourish unfounded hopes and keep you all the longer away from me.”

  “I am not a virgin,” she said baldly. She saw the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes, and hurried on. “Not only am I not a virgin, my lord earl, I am also pregnant. Nearly two months pregnant, my lord, with Edward Lyndhurst’s child. You waited too long to kidnap me, for I carry proof of my love for Edward.”

  “That is not possible,” Anthony said slowly, his eyes flitting to her waist.

  “Do not lie to yourself, my lord. Of a certainty it’s possible.” Her voice rose. “Let me tell you of it, my lord. Shortly after Edward’s return, he saw me swimming. It’s a lonely isolated stretch of beach, far away even from your prying eyes. As I was very nearly naked, he could not help himself. I much enjoyed the touch of his hands, the feel of his body against mine.” She saw that she had shaken him. “I am damaged goods, my lord, not the virgin wife you thought to have. You have another man’s woman and another man’s child on your hands.”

  She gazed steadily at his face and crossed her arms over her belly.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was curiously flat. “I am sorry, Cassandra, for now it will take you longer to forget your viscount. I shall not harm your child. Indeed, I shall raise it as my own.”

  She jerked back, unable to believe his words. “You cannot mean it. Have you not understood me? I have freely given my body to another man. Damn you, you cannot still want me.”

  He slowly unstraddled the chair and rose. “Come, my love, I will help you to undress.”

  He stretched his hand to her.

  “No,” she yelled and backed away from him. “You will not do this to me, do you hear?”

  “Since you are not a virgin, Cassandra, and know a man’s body well, you must also know that I will not hurt you. You will learn my touch and the feel of my body against yours.” As he spoke, he moved slowly around the table. She saw the purpose in his eyes and ran to the corner of the cabin, her shoulders pressing against the windows astern. He loomed huge and dark, towering over her. She struggled wildly when he clasped her shoulders, trying to twist free of him. She jerked up her knee, but it connected with his thigh. He pinioned her arms easily against her sides and lifted her to his shoulder, one hand cupping her hips and the other holding her legs tightly against his chest.

  He dropped her onto the bed and sat down beside her, holding her hands above her head. “Don’t fight me, Cassandra, it will ch
ange naught.” His mouth closed over hers.

  “No,” she yelled, and twisted her face away from him. She arched her back and brought up her legs to kick at his back.

  In a swift movement, he uncoiled his body and lay beside her, throwing his leg over hers to hold her still. He felt the giving softness of her, and instinctively moved atop her, and pressed himself against her.

  He saw that her eyes were filled with fear and forced himself for the moment to calm his desire. He gently stroked the firm line of her jaw, the whiteness of her throat, his touch light and undemanding.

  “Do not do this to me,” she whispered.

  “I must, Cassandra.”

  She felt his hand upon her breast, and his touch, hated and alien, unleashed her fear. She writhed and twisted until one of her hands slipped loose from his grasp, and she raked her bandaged fingernails down his face.

  He rolled suddenly off her and rose to stand beside the bed. She watched him in frozen silence as he shrugged off his waistcoat and his white shirt, baring his chest. He was not lean and slender like Edward. His chest was covered with black curling hair. Her eyes fell to his muscled flat belly above the line of his breeches, and in a spasm of terror, she tried to fling herself past him. He picked her up easily with one arm and tossed her lightly back onto the bed.

  “Cassandra, listen to me,” he said sharply. “If I must rape you, then so be it, but I will not allow you to fight me like some wild thing. You will only hurt yourself, and I do not wish it. Either you accept me, or I shall tie you down.”

  “I will never stop fighting you. Never, do you hear me?”

  “Very well,” he said flatly, and strode away from the bed, out of her view.

  She scurried to the far side of the bed and came up on her knees, her back flattened against the rich mahogany paneling and crossed her shaking arms over her body.

  He appeared suddenly, two silk handkerchiefs in his hand. She shrank back.