Devil's Embrace

by Catherine Coulter

  She said nothing for a long moment. “I find it odd that the earl, a most fastidious gentleman as you well know, would install this slut at the villa. Does he wish to mock Genoese society?”

  “As I told you, Giovanna, I found her behavior unusual. She did not treat the earl with the deference one would expect from a mistress, dependent upon her protector for the clothes on her back. Indeed, she sometimes reverted to English, and her voice was sharp. A slut? I think not. No, she appears to be an English lady of high birth.”

  “But she is naught but his mistress. No lady of high birth as you describe her would leave her country only to be a nobleman’s whore. What you say makes no sense, Caesare.”

  “I suppose you must be correct, but—”

  She whirled about to face him, her raven hair swirling over her shoulders. “But what?”

  Caesare shook his head, perplexed lines pulling down the corners of his mouth.

  “Perhaps her display of ill-humor was prompted by a simple disagreement. Perhaps she was punishing the earl in front of you, his brother, because he had refused her jewels or gowns or marriage.” She paused a moment, her thoughts weaving toward a conclusion that pleased her. “The earl would not long suffer such tantrums. He is proud, quite autocratic, and not used to having his word gainsaid, particularly by a woman. If this English girl is too stupid to realize that, and does not mind her tongue, then the earl will—nay must—soon grow tired of her. Then, all will be as it was.”

  Caesare merely nodded, his dark eyes straying down Giovanna’s body. “Enough of the earl,” he said thickly, and reached for her.

  Cassie walked quickly around the east side of the villa from under the thick shade of magnolia and acacia trees toward the large iron gates of the entranceway. The young boy, Sordello, who usually attended the entrance to the Villa Parese, had but moments before been in the gardens in conversation with his father, Marco. Although she did not expect simply to walk away from the villa and from the earl, she wanted to test the bounds of her confinement, to discover if she was being watched and by whom. Her sandals were soundless in the grass alongside the narrow graveled drive, and her senses revealed nothing to her but the disconcerting sweet fragrance of the blooming roses.

  She quickened her pace when she sighted the gates, and turned her head briefly to look back at the villa. There was still no sign of pursuit. Perhaps, she thought sourly, the earl in his sublime arrogance no longer concerned himself that she would try to escape him. He had not an hour before closeted himself in his library, leaving her to herself.

  Her hand closed about the iron latch and she gave it a mighty tug. For a moment, the gate hinges only groaned. She pulled again and her heart beat faster as the gate inched open. Why had she not had the sense to take money and pack a small bandbox? She looked up and down the dry rutted road, parched and dusted by the relentless sun. She was on the point of slipping through the gate when she heard a familiar voice behind her. She froze in her tracks and whipped about, the look on her face ludicrous in its dismay.

  “You should have told me, Cassandra, that you wished to explore.”

  “Oh, hellfire. I had thought you well occupied, my lord, in the library.”

  He walked toward her, a self-assured smile on his lips. She swallowed a curse, turned, and slithered through the opening in the gate.

  Even as her sandals whipped up the dust about her skirts, his hand closed over her arm.

  “Really, Cassandra, those shoes are hardly suitable for a stroll down the road. Come along to the villa with me, I have a surprise for you.”

  “It is simply a matter of time, my lord,” she said in a low voice. “And you are a fool if you believe otherwise.”

  The earl smiled down at her flushed face, and his hand moved down her arm until his fingers laced themselves through hers. “I am many things, cara, but I do not think that ‘fool’ numbers among them.”

  She fell into stiff step beside him. “Since you are a merchant, my lord,” she sneered with a fine display of the English aristocrat’s scorn of trade, “and must attend to your shopkeeping, I will have many opportunities to escape you. That is, unless you intend to keep me locked up.”

  Her words appeared to have no effect on him, indeed, she wished she could see his face, rather than his profile, for she suspected there was a twinkle in his eyes. She found it galling that he did not even have the grace to respond to her insults.

  “Since I lock you in my arms each night, Cassandra, it would appear that my problem is what to do with you during the day. Thus, my dear, the surprise I promised you. I beg you not to be overbearing and rude to him, for poor Joseph really has no choice in the matter. He is fond of you, you know, and I am certain that you would not wish to make him feel uncomfortable.”

  “Joseph.” She remained silent for several moments, but when he gazed down at her, his expression serene, she could not help herself. “He is to be my keeper. My guard.”

  She fell silent again, contemplating the blackness of his character.

  “No insults, cara? I would that you hurl all your venom at me and save only your winsome charm for Joseph. Yes, he will be responsible for you and your safety when I am not available to be.”

  A gentle breeze whipped a strand of golden hair across her cheek, and without thought, the earl raised his hand to smooth it away. She frowned at him and walked quickly toward the villa.

  The Corsican stood in the entrance hall where the earl had so abruptly left him, his woolen cap in his hands. He looked, Cassie thought, strangely out of place with a marble floor beneath his feet.

  “It is good to see you again, Joseph,” she said in her starchily accented Italian, which brought a smile to the earl’s face. “I fear though that you will be bored, since, I presume,” she directed this to the earl, “when you are not my companion, you will have little else to do.”

  The earl interposed smoothly, “If Joseph yearns to return to the sea, my love, we will simply have a changing of the guard, so to speak.”

  “Madonna, it is my pleasure to be with you again,” Joseph said finally, his voice uncertain.

  Cassie smiled at him despite herself. It would be churlish of her to treat him badly, since he was here at the earl’s order. “I hope your stay will be pleasant,” she said at last.

  “Excellent,” the earl said, rubbing his hands together. “Your first outing with Joseph will be to the lake, Cassandra. I trust you will not mind my accompanying you, for I have another surprise for you.”

  Joseph saw the young mistress stiffen and regard the earl warily. She said something, sharply, in English, which he did not understand.

  “Another surprise, my lord? Have you built a wall around the far side of the lake so that I will not swim away?”

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, cara, but I have not had the time to construct so formidable a structure. Are you ready, my dear?”

  Cassie’s curiosity got the better of her, and she nodded through her frown.

  The Parese lake, a narrow, serpentine body of water, lay nestled in a small valley between the rolling hills, surrounded by long-branched trees whose thick leaves cast oddly shaped shadows over its calm blue surface. Cassie had visited the small lake but once and had foregone the pleasure of wading into its inviting water, for the earl had been with her. When they broke through the thick line of trees that bordered its perimeter, Cassie had an almost overpowering urge to strip off her clothes, now sticking uncomfortably to her back from the bright afternoon sun, and swim in its cool depths.

  As if he guessed her thoughts, the earl smiled. “Not now, Cassandra. Just think of how embarrassed Joseph would be to see you as naked as a sea nymph.”

  She made no reply, for moored to the end of a narrow dock was a sloop, its graceful lines and rigging so like her sailboat in England that she stood, open-mouthed, staring at it in dumb surprise. Painted on its stern in small black letters was the name Fearless.

  “Joseph brought her from the harbor this morning.
”

  “Si, madonna,” Joseph continued, waving proudly toward the small vessel, “the men have worked day and night to complete her for you.”

  His voice contained a hopeful question, and Cassie, reeling in surprise, turned to Joseph, not the earl, and gasped, “Oh, Joseph, she is beautiful. You have worked wonders. How very kind of you.”

  Cassie picked up her skirts and sped down the dock to her new sloop.

  Joseph called after her in an embarrassed voice, “No, madonna, ’twas not I. The captain drew her plans, I but supervised the building.”

  “It matters not, Joseph,” the earl said quietly, taking pleasure at the joy in her eyes. The two men stood watching her as she explored every inch of the sailboat, from the curved hull to the thick wooden mast.

  “She will breathe life into it,” Joseph said.

  “Yes,” the earl said with a thoughtful smile. “And it is also likely that I will have to restock the lake every year. She loves to fish, you know.”

  Joseph was silent a moment, his eyes still on Cassie. “Have you met other English ladies like the madonna?”

  “No, my friend, I have not.”

  Joseph chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. He had known the answer to his question before the earl had replied. He studied his master’s profile, remembering how he and the other men had believed that he had gone mad, kidnapping a young girl off the coast of mighty England and forcibly bringing her to Genoa. As a Barbary pirate, he had seen women captured on raids and ravished until their captors’ appetites were sated, and it had not surprised him, for as a young man, his sexual lust had equaled his blood lust. But that the captain, an English nobleman despite his Ligurian blood, would capture his own wife made him shake his grizzled head. So young she was, spirited, like an untamed colt. He thought of his own young wife, Maria, dead before her twentieth year at the hands of mountain bandits. He felt no pain now, for too many years had passed. Cassie’s crow of delighted laughter rang in his ears.

  “Watch your footing, Cassandra.” The earl suddenly ran forward.

  Cassie, who had been perched precariously, examining the clew on the canvas sail, straightened suddenly at the sound of his voice and lost her footing. She clutched frantically at empty air and fell backward into the water with a resounding splash.

  The earl was on the point of diving in after her when her head cleared the blue surface and he saw that she was laughing.

  He frowned down at her, hands on his hips.

  “Dammit, woman, you must be more careful. That you could be so graceless leads me to believe that it is a nursemaid you need.”

  The earl did not see the twinkle in her eyes when she asked him in a subdued voice, “Will you not help me, my lord?” She swam close to the dock and held out her hand to him. He closed his fingers about her wrist, unaware that she had positioned her feet against the pilings.

  Little minx, Joseph thought, knowing full well what she intended. He could not prevent his shout of laughter when Cassie’s limp muscles suddenly tensed and she pulled the earl, face forward, into the water.

  Joseph saw a tangle of arms and legs and heard her crow of triumph. When the earl’s dark head rose to the surface, she pressed her hands down on his shoulders, using all her weight, and pushed him under again.

  Cassie was still laughing when the earl grasped her legs and dragged her down. When he finally released her, she broke to the surface, gasping for breath. Her golden hair streamed about her and a slimy water reed hung limply over her forehead.

  “And you accuse me of being clumsy, my lord.”

  He swam to her and pulled the water reed off her face. “No, my girl, I am only guilty of trusting you.” Her eyes were alight with mischief, and he grinned. “Are you ready to return to land?”

  “Ah yes, my lord, now that I have given you your comeuppance.”

  Joseph hauled both of them, dripping wet, onto the dock. Cassie was still smiling as she pulled her thick mantle of wet hair over her shoulder and wrung it out. Joseph eyed her curiously. She certainly did not appear to hold his master in dislike now, indeed, she appeared carefree.

  “Why did you name her Fearless?” Cassie asked as they walked back toward the villa.

  “It seemed appropriate.” He paused a moment and continued lightly, “I have finally done something for you that you approve?”

  “Indeed you have, my lord,” she said, pushing a heavy mass of wet hair from her forehead. “She is beautiful, so sleek.”

  “Would you subscribe, my dear, to the notion that one good turn deserves another?”

  She drew up a moment and gazed up at him warily. “You mean, my lord, if you scratch my back, I’m to scratch yours?”

  “I desire a promise from you, Cassandra.” As her eyes gleamed suspiciously, he added with a smile, “Nothing in any way final, I assure you. Merely a stated agreement from you, of one evening’s duration.”

  She pursed her lips, arguing with herself, and to his relief, she finally nodded.

  “Very well,” she said slowly. “I suppose that I must take your word at some things. What is it you wish me to promise?”

  “I am planning a dinner party this Thursday evening and have invited the cream of Genoese society. Since you are here with me, in Genoa, I ask that you attend the party, meet my friends, and conduct yourself with propriety.”

  She looked up at him, her lips tightened. “So I am to pay the piper for my boat. You have planned this quite nicely, my lord. I hope you do not expect me to thank you for your deviousness.”

  “Surely it is not so much to ask, Cassandra.”

  “You are a villain, my lord.” She hunched her shoulder at him, gathered up her sodden skirt, and walked toward the gardens.

  During the next few days, Joseph wondered if he would spend the remainder of his days guarding his master’s English lady, so sharp was her tongue around the earl. He knew it was only a matter of time before she approached him to help her escape. She did so on a lazy afternoon when they were fishing aboard her sloop in the middle of the lake.

  “The fall months in England are beautiful,” she began, her voice soft with sadness.

  “The fall months are beautiful most everywhere, madonna, save of course in northern Africa.” Joseph maintained a stoic countenance, knowing what was to come.

  “But I am English,” she said, her voice sharp now, “and to me, there is nothing to compare to the crisp, cool air and the changing color of the leaves.” Her hands tightened around her fishing pole, and he sighed.

  She laid a hand on his woolen sleeve. “Joseph, you know that I do not wish to be here, that I am naught but the earl’s prisoner. Will you not help me?” Cassie mistook his brooding silence for uncertainty. “There are ships, English ships, in the harbor. I saw them when we went to the city. I can get money, I know that I can. We could even arrange it so that the earl would believe that I struck you and escaped. You will see, he cannot blame you. Please help me—you must.”

  Joseph raised a gnarled hand to her. “Madonna, why is it that you do not wish to wed the master?” She was not a fool, he knew, and the earl was of noble birth, titled and wealthy. Certainly, all the ladies he had observed appeared to find the earl most desirable, all the ladies save one.

  “I have no wish to see my name inscribed in their precious Golden Book, and certainly not next to his. I will never wed him.”

  “But why, madonna?”

  “Your master, Joseph, kidnapped me the day before I was to be wed. He feigned friendship not only with my brother, but also with my fiancé.”

  So there was another man who held her heart, he thought. Of a certainty there had not been sufficient time for her to forget. “I suppose that many would see the captain’s actions as ruthless. But I think, madonna, that his going to such lengths is proof of his feeling for you.”

  “You will not help me?”

  “No, madonna.”

  Cassie nodded dully, and the subject was closed between them. It came as somethin
g of a shock to her to realize she had come to hold Joseph in great affection. He was unflaggingly patient, and never judged her even when her temper broke its bounds, merely regarding her in gentle silence, his brown eyes clear and untroubled beneath his bushy gray brows. Her temper had flared at him just the day before, because he had not allowed her to visit the harbor. She knew that he had acted on orders from the earl, but she could not contain herself. She wished now that she had not visited the city, though she had enjoyed seeing the shops, watching the flower girls weave bouquets of startling beauty, and drinking a cup of the thick Italian coffee underneath a sidewalk umbrella on the Via Balbi. Joseph had pointed out the Palazzo Reale, a magnificent structure, only one of many handsome palaces that lined the street, and had described its sumptuous rooms, the glowing colors of the tapestries and the pastel delicacy of the frescos.

  There was a sudden tug on her fishing pole, and she turned from him abruptly. “Ah, a nibble,” She hauled in the line. She stole a glance at his profile from the corner of her eye as she thrust the still-wriggling trout into her basket. She had been unfair to him. “Joseph, please forgive me. I have acted like a beast to you.”

  “Only at times,” he said calmly, turning to help her paddle back to shore. “But we will say no more about it, madonna.”

  They worked the sail for some minutes in silence. Cassie said finally, “I know, Joseph, that you are Corsican. The earl has told me of the strife between Corsica and Genoa until the Genoese ceded your island to the French. How is it that you consort with an enemy of your people?”

  His leathery features took on a thoughtful expression.

  “My loyalty is to his lordship, madonna, not to the wretched Genoese merchants who have tried for years to break the pride of my people.”