“The 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.”
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.
Cassie stirred. Before she could plant her mind firmly in reality, she moaned dully from the effect of the laudanum. She opened her eyes and saw the earl gazing intently at her.
“What day is it?” she asked, and saw him blink.
“You have been sleeping for but an hour.”
“How odd,” she mumbled, and tried to raise herself on her elbows. She realized that she was naked and let herself fall again.
“There is no sign of the Spanish frigate?”
“No.”
“Will my back be scarred?”
He grinned at her belated display of vanity. “I do not believe so. You will be sore for several days.”
“You will not tell the men, will you, my lord?”
“I do not think that will be necessary,” he said. Actually, he imagined that he would have a mutiny on his hands if his men were to discover what he had done.
He started forward in his chair at a tear that fell from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
“Cassandra,” he said, uncertain.
She raised her hand and dashed it away. “I am sorry,” she choked out. “The laudanum is making me a fool. I cannot seem to help it. I wish you would but leave.”
“No. I will not leave.”
She flinched at the anger she saw in his eyes. “Do not be angry. I am sorry to shame you.”
He scraped back his chair and rose abruptly. He guessed that she felt pain but was too proud to admit to it. “Be quiet. It is not a question of shaming me. Do not move, I will get you more laudanum.”
With shaking hands, he poured a few more drops into a large goblet of wine. It was much more than she needed, but he needed it to relieve his guilt as much as her discomfort.
He thrust the glass to her lips. “Here.”
It took her some minutes to down the entire contents, and a trickle of wine fell down her chin. He wiped it away with his fingertip.
He realized that her wits were indeed addled when she clumsily pushed herself onto her side, facing him, heedless of her bare breasts. Her eyelids appeared heavy, her cheeks flushed.
“It is dreadfully uncomfortable to lie on one’s stomach,” she mumbled.
“I daresay that you are right.”
“I feel rather strange, as if I were floating outside of myself. And my words don’t seem to speak themselves easily.”
The earl sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It is because you are drunk, Cassandra,” he said.
“I have never been drunk before, you know,” she said aloud, trying to focus her eyes upon his face. “Nor,” she added thoughtfully, “have I ever been beaten before.”
“I did not want to thrash you, but you gave me no choice.”
Her hazy thoughts wove themselves together as his gently spoken words penetrated her mind. “No, there was no choice. You did what was just.” She sighed and whispered, her words so slurred that he could barely make them out, “But there have been other things you have done to me, things you have made me feel that I did not wish. There was choice there, I think.”
Before he could decide how to respond to her, she said, “Your laudanum and French burgundy have worked. I do not hurt now.”
“I’m glad.”
She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the pillow.
He leaned forward and smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead. Her breathing was even. She slept.
He rose and pulled the cover again to her waist, and returned to his chair.