The earl stretched, carefully flexed his shoulder, and grimaced. He cursed softly and gingerly shifted his left arm into its sling.
“Ye’ll need more time, my lord, perhaps another week, afore ye’ve got yer full strength back.”
“I believe your telling me that, Scargill, was quite unnecessary.”
Scargill chuckled, shaking his head in a bemused fashion as he gathered up his master’s discarded dressing gown.
“May I ask the reason for your display of humor?” the earl asked as he sat down to have his boots pulled on. It wasn’t the pain that galled him, but rather being so damned helpless. It did not sit well with him to have Scargill help him bathe, all the while clucking and scolding him not to get the bandages wet, as if he were some errant schoolboy.
“Aye, ye may, my lord.” He pulled on a gleaming black boot before replying. “I was just thinking that if a man had shot ye, ye’d have likely stuck a knife in his gullet. Lord, what a man will forgive a woman.”
The earl shot him a frown beneath his arched black brows. He could still picture Cassandra’s white, strained face, her shock at what she had done etched in her eyes the instant after she fired the pistol.
“And yet, ye beat her for an offense that harmed ye or anyone else not one whit.”
“Much must be forgiven since she did save me from drowning, my friend. And her quickness of wit with Khar El-Din surely must impress even a literal, dour Scotsman. Remember, Scargill, her only motive for shooting me was to escape. I cannot fault her for trying. Incidentally, she was not out of your sight yesterday afternoon, was she?”
“Nay, not for a moment. She spent most of her time wandering about the gardens or simply sitting staring at those immoral naked statues ye have scattered about. I had the feeling she knew someone was watching her.”
The earl nodded and rose. “Joseph will be coming to the villa the day after tomorrow. Cassandra has a certain fondness for him, I believe. When I am not able to be with her, it will be his task to watch over her. I am fairly certain that she will fling her fury at me when she discovers his purpose, not him.”
“Ye will rest the next couple of days, my lord, will ye not?”
“Yes. If my shipping and banking interests have suffered in my absence the past five months, a few more days will make little difference. I have been thinking also that we should hold a dinner party in, say, a week. I will be able to conduct any pressing business matters with the gentlemen present, and Cassandra can meet the cream of Genoese society.”
“Will the wee lass meet them as a signora or a signorina?”
“I daresay that Cassandra Brougham will remain Cassandra Brougham. I can ensure her obedience in some areas, Scargill, but I cannot put a gag in her mouth.”
“There will be some who will not be pleasant to her, my lord. Ye’ve already seen that prude Marrina’s reaction to her. Rest assured that I told her the truth of the matter, but she did not believe me. I could tell by her unappealing snort of disdain. ’Tis ever the woman that suffers, ye know, regardless of the circumstances. And I ask myself, my lord, why ye want the madonna to mix with Genoese society. Do ye not fear that she’ll denounce ye in front of yer guests?”
The earl gave him an engaging smile. “Do you take me for a fool, Scargill? I have, as a matter of fact, given the matter much thought. I am fairly confident that by the time of the dinner party, she will have no wish to complain to our guests about my fiendish behavior.”
Scargill wanted very much to ask his master the source of his confidence, but he realized that such an inquiry would be impertinent.
“I hope that ye may be right, my lord,” was all that he said.
“Trust me, my friend,” the earl said. “Now, if you will ask Marrina to fetch up breakfast, I will awaken Cassandra.”
The earl walked quietly across the long expanse of his bedchamber and drew up to the side of the bed. Cassandra lay on her side so close to the edge of the bed that he imagined any sudden movement on her part would send her toppling to the floor. Her thick hair fanned about her face on the pillow. She had drawn herself into a tight ball, her knees close to her chest. His expression softened.
He was on the point of waking her when she moaned softly in her sleep and turned on her back, flinging one arm above her head on the pillow. He grinned to himself and gently eased the covers from her shoulders down to her waist. He stared down at her, gazing at the gentle hollows and curves of her body. She was almost too slender, he thought, pulling his eyes away from her breasts, to the outline of her ribs and her waist.
He pulled the covers lower. Her thighs were slightly parted, but he could not see the small spot of pink skin he had teased her about the night before. He lightly laid his flattened hand over the smooth hollow of belly. His hand didn’t span the width of her, a good thing.
She shivered and brought her legs up, momentarily trapping his hand. He slowly moved his hand and pressed his fingers downward to touch her. He heard a soft moan, followed shortly by an outraged gasp.
“How dare you.” She struggled frantically away from his hand, rolling away from him to the center of the bed, and pulling the covers about her.
He grinned engagingly at her and gingerly sat down beside her. “I was just returning your favor, cara. You were enjoying my touch, I believe, before you decided it wasn’t ladylike to do so.”
The final webs of sleep fled Cassie’s mind and she sat up, drawing the covers about her like a shield.
“I was asleep.”
“I know,” he said. “That altogether encouraging moan was woven from an erotic dream, no doubt.”
For a moment, Cassie’s tongue lay leaden in her mouth. He always seemed to be able to twist her words and their intent. “You were looking at me.”
“True, and a most pleasing sight you are, cara. Now, as much as I regret it, our breakfast will be arriving shortly and I fear that Marrina would be shocked to the soles of her rather flat feet were she to see you tousled and quite naked in my bed.” He rose leisurely and fetched her dressing gown.
“Here, Cassandra.” He tossed her the dressing gown, turned, and walked to the other end of the room to sit himself in front of the small table.
And not a moment too soon, he thought, gazing at Cassandra from the corner of his eye as she struggled into the dressing gown.
“Entri!” he called.
Marrina walked slowly into the bedchamber, her arms laden with covered dishes, and her full lips drawn into their now familiar tight scowl. Although Marrina did not wish to, her eyes slewed in the direction of the bed. The young foreign lady—lady, ha!, she thought—did not in Marrina’s eyes appear to be undergoing any cruel treatment from her master. She did look rather flushed, and rightly so, in Marrina’s opinion. Perhaps the girl did have some shame.
“Buon giorno, signore,” she said stiffly, forcing her attention back to her master’s face. “I have brought your breakfast.”
“Mille grazie, Marrina. Ho appetito.”
Il signore said something in English to the girl and she moved reluctantly toward the table. He turned to Marrina.
“Grazie,” he said shortly, and waved his hand in dismissal.
She curtsied stiffly and walked from the bedchamber.
The earl said between mouthfuls of warm toast, “I am at your disposal for the next couple of days, Cassandra. There are many places for you to see and, I trust, enjoy. You can begin to accustom yourself to Italian sights, people, and living before you meet Genoese society.”
Cassie said coldly, still smarting from the earl’s provoking hand and Marrina’s pursed lips, “You mean that after a couple of days I am to be spared your presence, my lord?”
“Oh, never that, cara,” he said cheerfully. “Surely you would not believe me so ungallant. But I will need to spend some time in Genoa, though I do conduct most of my business from here.” He paused a moment, then said meaningfully, “Joseph will be arriving shortly. He will watch over you when I am not here.”
“What you mean to say is that poor Joseph is to be my guard.”
“Perhaps, if you wish to view his presence in that light. I trust you will not try to shoot him.” He softened his tone. “Your life is with me now, Cassandra. I pray that you will soon accustom yourself.”
“I think not,” she replied, quite softly, and rose from the table. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I wish to bathe and dress now.”
“As you will, my love,” he said easily, and moved to pull the bell cord. “I will have Paolo fetch your bath water.”
The day passed pleasantly enough for Cassie, though she did not admit it to the earl. She became acquainted with the palm trees, whose bizarre layered trunks and wide serrated leaves lined the perimeter of the terraced gardens, and the odd gray weathered olive trees that seemed content in the most arid soil and climbed up the steeper slopes of the hills in neat layered rows. All the marble statues had titles, and each a fascinating story. When the earl showed her a colossal statue of Jupiter, framed by a rose-covered marble bower in a lower garden terrace, he said with a grin, “Each time I see old Jupiter, I think about another statue of this esteemed god, built over the tomb of a dog given by Charles V to Andrea Doria, who was, incidentally, one of my illustrious ancestors. The story goes that for his maintenance of the tomb, he received the principality of Melfi. To thank the Emperor, Andrea Doria entertained him and a hundred others to a banquet, where the astonished guests saw three services of silver plates from which they had eaten flung into the harbor after being removed from the table. Andrea Doria, in the true Genoese spirit of thriftiness, achieved this magnificent gesture without being a penny the poorer—he stationed fishermen with nets below the terrace to catch the plates as they fell.”
She laughed heartily and plied him with an endless stream of questions. It struck her forcibly that the earl was an amusing companion, and she frowned at her lapse.
“You are troubled, cara?”
“Must you even read my thoughts?” She sat down on a marble bench that faced another fountain.
“But, dear one, have I not told you that we are to be as one in all things?” As she stared stiffly ahead of her, he added softly, “I do thank you for sitting down. As you have said, my advanced years compel me to rest.”
“Is your shoulder paining you?” she asked, unaware that her eyes narrowed in sudden concern.
“A bit, perhaps, but I shall survive. After luncheon, cara, I will introduce you to a sacred Italian custom.”
“Pray what is that?” she asked warily.
“In English one would call it a nap. Here it is called a siesta. When the sun is at its zenith, Italians retreat indoors, close their shutters, and sleep. It is, of course, a marvelous opportunity for other pursuits as well.”
He closed his hand over hers and caressed her fingers.
“When will you believe that I have no such demands of you, my lord?” She tried to jerk her hand away, but he held it fast.
“I will believe that, cara, when you cease to find pleasure in my arms.” He rose and drew her up with him. “Let us have lunch, little one.”
Perversely, Cassie was a trifle peeved when the earl made no sexual demands on her when they returned to the bedchamber after a light luncheon. Yet she found that she quite enjoyed the siesta. Clothed only in her chemise, the curtains drawn against the hot afternoon sun, she stretched out on the large bed and was soon asleep.
She was awakened by the gentle touch of a hand on her bare arm. An angry rebuke rose to her lips as she opened her eyes. To her surprise, she peered up into the fresh round face of a young girl who was staring curiously down at her.
“Voglia scusarmi, signorina,” the girl said in a soft musical voice.
Cassie shook English words from her mind. “Who are you?” she asked in Italian, struggling up on her elbows.
The girl grinned at the heavily accented Italian. “I am Rosina, signorina, niece to Marrina. I am to be your maid. Il signore asked that I help you to dress. He wishes to see you in the library.”
“Very well,” Cassie said, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Rosina, she saw, was dressed in somber black, her glossy black hair pulled tightly back from her round face in as severe a knot as that worn by her aunt, Marrina. She looked quite young, perhaps sixteen. Cassie became aware that the girl was staring at her. “Well, what is it?” she asked, thinking the girl would be as sour-minded as her aunt.
“It is your hair, signorina. It is like spun gold, and so thick. I have occasionally seen hair of a fair color, but not like yours. I am said to have an ability with hair. If you would allow me, signorina, I would be most honored to dress yours.”
Cassie felt instantly guilty at her rudeness and said in a friendlier voice, “Thank you for your compliment, Rosina. I would be most pleased if you would help me.”
Rosina nodded her head and smiled. Two deep dimples appeared in her plump cheeks. “I will fetch you a gown, signorina.”
Cassie rose and walked to the commode in the dressing room to splash cool water on her face. When she returned to the bedchamber, she stood for a moment watching her new maid. She looked to Cassie to be a gentle creature, her dark brown eyes guileless. Cassie wondered whether she would ever see Rosina’s placid expression replaced by tight-lipped disapproval.
“You are very young, Rosina,” Cassie said as her new maid helped her into a light muslin gown of pale blue.
“Si, signorina,” she answered brightly, motioning Cassie to be seated before her dressing table. “The nuns told my mother that I was too efficient a servant to waste myself getting married just yet.” She shrugged philosophically. “Perhaps when I am seventeen I will want a husband and babies.”
As she brushed and arranged Cassie’s hair, she continued in her soft voice, “It is honored I am, signorina, to be allowed to come to the Villa Parese. Il signore is an honored and much admired nobleman despite the fact that he is—”
A flush rose to Rosina’s plump cheeks.
“Despite the fact that he is half-English,” Cassie finished, smiling.
“Si, signorina, though most do not think of that now. It is only that he has just returned from England that makes one remember.” She paused for a moment, concentrating on the thick plait she was braiding. Cassie, who had little liking for braids, frowned, but held her tongue waiting to see the result. In a very few moments, she stared at herself in the mirror, startled and quite pleased with the style Rosina had created. The maid had fashioned her hair in what Cassie thought of as a Roman style, with a coronet of braids atop her head, and the remainder of her long hair falling from the circle down her back.
“It is lovely, Rosina,” she said, and shook her head to feel the mass of hair swinging free. “I could never achieve such a result.”
Cassie saw a gleam of pleasure light the girl’s dark eyes, and added, “I must thank your aunt for bringing you here.”
Actually, the last person Cassie wanted to see was Rosina’s aunt. But Marrina stood at the bottom of the staircase, her eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, a dust cloth in her hand.
“Che cosa Le abbisogna, signorina?”
Cassie pursed her lips at the rude tone. What did she want, indeed. It was time, she decided, squaring her shoulders, to put this thorny woman in her place. Cassie stopped on the bottom step purposefully, so that she towered over the housekeeper, and said coolly, “I would like you to fetch me a glass of lemonade, Marrina. It is to be cold, mind you, and not too sweet. I shall be in the library with il signore.”
Marrina had very small, crowded front teeth, Cassie observed dispassionately, teeth unsuited for snarling.
“I am really quite thirsty, Marrina. Now, if you please.” She walked around the rigidly silent housekeeper. “Mille grazie.” She drew up after several steps, a bit of devilment burgeoning, and asked in the blandest of voices, “Voglia scusarmi, Marrina, but are you a signora or a signorina?”
“Signora,” Marrina snapped. She turned on her heel and disappeared through a door on the far side of the entrance hall.
Cassie was still smiling at her minor triumph when she reached the great oak doors of the library. She held the griffen-shaped knob and cocked her ears. Either the earl was talking to himself or there was someone with him. She stood quietly for a few more moments before chiding herself not to be a timorous fool. Whoever was with the earl could not be more disapproving than Marrina.
She opened the doors.
She had had only a cursory glimpse of the library that morning, for she had been anxious to continue exploring the gardens. She had initially disliked the dark-paneled room. Its heavy leather chairs and prepossessing mahogany desk were too stark and masculine for her taste.
The earl stood against the desk, dressed as he had been earlier in black breeches, loose white shirt, and black boots, his right hand cupped beneath his slinged elbow. He looked up, a welcoming smile softening his features. Cassie looked upon a young gentleman who was lounging negligently against the mantlepiece of a black and white marble fireplace, his hands plunged into his waistcoat pockets. His black hair was powdered, and tied at the back of his neck with a dark blue velvet ribbon. He was slight of build, but finely proportioned, not much taller than was she. His black brows were arched above his olive complexion, flaring upward toward his temples, and his dark eyes seemed somehow familiar to Cassie. He looked every inch an elegant Italian gentleman. He parted his full lips slowly and smiled at her, bending slightly in a bow of recognition at the waist. He was also very graceful, she thought to herself, smiling back at him.
“Cassandra, my dear,” the earl said to her. “I have a surprise for you. This is my half-brother, Caesare Bellini.”
He moved forward to stand at the earl’s side, and she recognized him as the earl’s half-brother. He had the same high cheekbones and the same straight Roman nose. She saw that the young man’s dark eyes were twinkling attractively and at the same time taking in every aspect of her appearance. He said slowly, as if fearing that she would not understand him, “I am honored, signorina. The Villa Parese has never housed such beauty.”
Housed, she thought. He makes it sound as if I were a horse or a painting. Still, she nodded her head and made him a slight curtsy.
“I only discovered recently that the earl was blessed with any relatives, signore.”
“You must ask him if he believes me a blessing, signorina. My brother tells me that you are English.”
She wondered silently what else the earl had told his half-brother. “Si, signore, I am English.” She shot the earl a challenging look. “Although I find your country very interesting, I must confess that I miss my homeland immensely.” She would have said more, but Marrina entered, a silver tray in her hands. Without even looking at Cassie, she walked to the earl.
“The signorina’s lemonade, il signore.”
So you have engaged my housekeeper in battle, have you, cara, he thought. “Most kind of you, Marrina. You may set the tray on the table. La signorina is most fond of lemonade.”
The housekeeper curtsied deeply and walked stiffly from the room, her lips so pursed that she looked as if she had been sucking a lemon.
After Marrina left the library, the earl said lightly to Caesare, “As you see, brother, Marrina has not yet taken to the idea that she now has a mistress to obey.”
“That is not exactly true, signore,” Cassie said sweetly. “If it were the contessa and not the mistress, I am certain that she would be all compliance.”
“You have but to name the day, cara,” the earl said, his dark eyes gleaming.
Cassie opened her mouth, then closed it. She saw that the earl’s half-brother was eyeing the two of them with considerable confusion.
She turned away and sat down in a deeply stuffed leather chair. She ignored her lemonade. “The earl has told me very little of you, signore.”
Caesare spread his hands before him. “It would obviously not be to his advantage to tell you all about me, signorina. He is such an ungainly giant and even wears a sling on his arm. So graceless, it seems, that he returns from England a battered man.”
Cassie’s smile at his gay banter disappeared. “It was not he who was graceless, signore.”
The earl gave a little chuckle. “Let us just say that I was careless, Caesare.”
“It appears that I have hit upon a mystery,” Caesare said gaily, looking from Cassie’s flushed face to the earl’s grinning one. As if he sensed further inquiry would add to Cassie’s discomfiture, he adroitly changed the topic. “Genoa has been bereft without your dashing presence, Antonio, but your business concerns, as usual, continue to prosper. You’ll not believe it, but old Montalto has been in hot pursuit of the charming Giovanna.”
The earl appeared only mildly interested, but Cassie found that she was all attention awaiting his response.
“I fear Giovanna would topple poor Montalto into an early grave.” He grinned ruefully and shook his head. “For a man so astute in worldly matters, it is a surprise that he would succumb to the charms of a woman half his age.”
“Caesare, will you share a glass of wine with us? We can toast Montalto’s success with the fair Giovanna.”
Cassie experienced a twinge of disappointment when Caesare, regretfully, took his leave.
He gallantly raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her palm. “You must insist that Antonio invite me more often to the Villa Parese, signorina.”
“You know that you are always welcome, fop,” the earl said, and gave his brother a light buffet on his immaculate shoulder.
Caesare shot him a mischievous smile. “But Antonio, with but your company to sustain me in the past, I really had no enduring interest. All is different now.”
“I will look forward to seeing you again soon, signore,” Cassie said, and meant it.
“May we always be in such agreement, signorina.” He proffered his half-brother a mock bow and gave Cassie a droll smile when Marrina came into the library to see him out.
In the evening, as the earl and Cassie ate their dinner in a small protected veranda that overlooked the gardens, she lowered her fork to her plate and said in a silky voice, “I find myself wondering, my lord, what your very kind half-brother would do if I told him of your infamy. Surely he would not approve your ruthlessness.”
The earl cocked a sleek black brow and sipped his wine before replying, “Actually, cara, I was pleased that you held your tongue. If you had not, I fear you would have been much mortified. Although Caesare much enjoys playing the gallant to a beautiful woman, his loyalty to me cannot be questioned.”
Cassie looked away, angered by his amused drawl. “So you told him nothing.”
The earl sat back in his chair and crossed his long legs. “I told him that you were English and my honored guest.”
“Honored guest. You know very well that he now believes me your mistress.”
“Doubtless you are right, Cassandra, but let us not argue about it. If you have wish to throw yourself at my poor half-brother and beg for his protection—” He shrugged eloquently. “He will likely admire my audaciousness.”
Her shoulders slumped forward. His dark eyes softened upon her face, and he gentled his voice. “I told you, did I not, that Caesare is my only living relation? It is from our mother, and her dowry to my father, that I inherited the Villa Parese.”
Cassie looked up. “Parese—that was her family name?”
“Yes. It is a very old, revered family in Genoese history, dating back many hundreds of years to Andrea Doria, when Genoa still ruled the seas.”
“Andrea Doria—he is the one who tossed away all the silver plates.” The earl paused a moment, his long fingers deftly peeling the skin off an orange.
He gave her an engaging smile. “Yes, he is the one. He was a brilliant man, an admiral, who saved Genoa early in the sixteenth century, primarily from the French, but of course there were others, like the Spanish and the Milanese. It was he who gave Genoa an oligarchic constitution and reestablished peace on the Riviera.”
The earl leaned forward and handed Cassie a succulent orange slice. “It tastes quite sweet. I hope you will like it.” His long fingers lightly touched the palm of her hand.
He watched her nibble at the orange slice between her even white teeth and smile as a drop of juice trickled down her chin. He sat back in his chair and continued, his tone somewhat pensive. “Unfortunately, since Andrea Doria, Genoa has been sadly bereft of heroes. But we survive, as Europe’s bankers, primarily. And that, Cassandra, is what occupies my time when I am not being a nobleman of leisure, or traveling.”
She looked up, startled. “You—a banker? An English earl is not involved in trade,” she said succinctly.
“It is only the Genoese half that is so involved.” He uncrossed his long legs and stretched them out in front of him. Her eyes were drawn momentarily to his thighs, encased in the black tightly knit breeches. “It is a long tradition,” he said, handing her another orange section. “Back in the early fifteenth century, during one of the darker moments in Genoa’s history, a group of local merchants pooled their talents and their resources and created the Banco di San Giorgio. Over the years, these men from Genoa’s patrician families perfected the art of credit. If Philip II of Spain needed money for foreign conquest, it was to the bankers of Genoa that he applied. But, of course, things change. Genoa cannot protect herself from foreign intervention. In our century, we have known cruel conquest by the French, and the Austrians in league with the Spanish. Only eight years ago we had to sell that accursed island of Corsica to France.” He leaned forward and gently wiped Cassie’s mouth and chin with a white napkin. “It is sticky, but I hope you liked it.”
“I very much liked it, my lord. It tasted very sweet.” His gentleness confused her, and she did not draw away from his lightly caressing fingers.
“Enough of Italian history, cara.” He tossed down the napkin and gently wrapped his fingers around a thick tress of hair on her shoulder. “I do not think I told you how much I admire your new style. It is very elegant.”
“I wish you would stop being so nice,” she said and pulled away from his hand. His lips were slightly parted, revealing his strong white teeth.
He grinned at her, a boyish grin so engaging that she smiled in response.
“But, cara, it comes quite naturally to me. I am really not such a bad sort of fellow, you know, if you will give me a chance. And it is my wish always to please you.”
His eyes fell to the white expanse of bosom that swelled above her pale yellow silk bodice. She laced her fingers over her breasts, aware of a delicious tingling sensation spreading through her body.
She pushed back her chair and rose abruptly. “I am cold, my lord.”
“I trust, my love, that I have a pleasurable remedy.” He rose leisurely and walked to her. She licked her lower lip, but did not try to move away from him. For several moments, he did not attempt to touch her, but merely stood before her. When he finally reached out his hand to her, Cassie stepped into the circle of his arm and arched her back against his chest. She raised her face to his, mutely. He teased her mouth with his tongue, until with a deep sigh, she parted her lips and let his tongue mingle with hers. He felt the deep heaving of her breasts against his chest and tightened his arm about her back to press her closer.
“I cannot carry you, cara,” he whispered, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath. She thought crazily that he tasted of sweet oranges.
“I know,” she sighed softly, nuzzling her cheek against his chin.
He kissed the tip of her nose, and the base of her white throat. She parted her lips and moaned softly as he took her mouth.
“Will you make love with me, Cassandra?”
“Yes.” The ache in her body was almost painful.
There were no more words between them. He smiled when Cassie, once in their bedchamber, walked hurriedly into the dressing room to undress. He did not tease her for her show of modesty.
Once he was naked, his clothing tossed in a pile upon the floor, the earl lit a single candle and climbed into bed. He had not long to wait. Cassie walked from the dressing room clothed only in a gossamer chemise, her hair brushed loose down her back.
He smiled at her, pulled back the covers, and lightly patted the space beside him. “That is a lovely chemise, Cassandra, but I would much prefer seeing it next to my clothes—on the floor.”
She hesitated for a long moment before slipping the straps from her shoulders. She looked faintly flushed. “I really should not want—”
“Want what, my love?”
She shook her head uncertainly, slithered out of the chemise, and slipped into bed. She curled on her side, away from him.
He lay quietly, listening a moment to her breathing. “Cara, what should you not want?” He extended his arm until his hand touched her smooth flesh. He lightly stroked her spine, his fingers resting a moment at the small of her back, and splayed them outward over her hips. Slowly, under the exquisite teasing of his fingers, he felt her relax her muscles.
“I should not want you so very much,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She rolled across to him and pressed her shaking body against his side. She clasped her hands about his face and captured his mouth. He was undone at her innocent passion. He moaned into her open mouth and felt her tongue touch his.
He slipped his left arm out of the sling, grasped her hips, and lifted her on top of him. Her eyes were on his face, wide and dazed.
“Help me come into you, cara.” He lifted her slightly and felt her small hand close around him.
He groaned as he felt himself engulfed in the warmth of her body. He pulled her upright so that she straddled him and thrust deep into her.
Cassie splayed her hands on his belly, tangling her fingers in his thick black hair. She felt the surging power of him as he moved against her.
Suddenly, he groaned, deep in his throat, and his fingers dug into her sides. It was as if her own rising passion was held abruptly suspended. She felt him shudder beneath her and her eyes flew to his face. For an instant, she did not understand. She held herself stiff, uncertain, as if suddenly apart from him. His body tensed, and the hard muscles of his belly rippled under her fingers.
“Anthony,” she whispered, her voice a confused question.
His response was a jagged moan, and he suddenly exploded deep within her.
The earl slowly opened his eyes at the touch of Cassie’s hand over his chest.
“What are you doing, cara?”
Startled, she pulled back her hand. “I was but feeling your heart. The pounding is lessening.”
“I hope so, else I should be in a sorry state.” He blinked his eyes, taking in the thick golden hair that fell lazily over her shoulders, and onto her breasts. He raised his hand and stroked her. She quivered at his touch, her pupils nearly black in the soft candlelight.
“My poor love,” he said softly, and lifted her off him onto her back.
“I don’t understand,” she began.
He knew that she needed only release, and when his mouth closed over her, she gasped in delight. Just as she had listened to his moans of pleasure, he reveled in the soft, breathless cries that came from her mouth. He felt her slender body stiffen and writhe in her climax. She clutched his head between her hands, and pressed her hips convulsively against his mouth.
“Please, Anthony,” she moaned, “come inside me now.”
He grinned ruefully, kissed her quivering flesh once more lightly, and drew himself up to lie beside her on his side.
“My heart is still beating woefully fast. Will you not—” Her voice broke off as he kissed her parted lips.
“I am sorry, my love, but for the moment at least, I fear I cannot oblige you. You see, that is why a gentleman must give his lady her pleasure first.”
“You mean that you should not have left me?”
“No, most assuredly I should not have.” He stroked her breast with gentle tenderness. “You gave me great pleasure, Cassandra. No woman has ever before—” He stopped abruptly, for a tiny pucker had appeared between her brows.
She said, her tone strangely unreadable, “You mean that you have, that is to say, there have been many other ladies?”
He stretched onto his back and pulled her languid body against his side. Her directness and candor amused him. Surely, even in her innocence, she must realize that he had not spent his adult years as a celibate. He grinned at her, pushing back a cloud of hair from her face. “It is not at all important,” he said, and surprisingly, she sighed and nestled her cheek against his shoulder.
He felt her fingers lightly stroke his chest and down his belly. Her lips touched his shoulder and her tongue gently caressed his skin. He felt himself respond to her, delighted that she wanted him and was not embarrassed to show him.
“You are an enchantress, Cassandra,” he said. He entered her slowly, easily, for she was moist and ready for him. He pressed his hand against her hips, pushing himself more deeply into her. He watched her eyes slowly grow dark and smoky, and controlled himself, until finally she moaned into his mouth and pounded his back with her fists.
They lay quietly together, so close that each could feel the other’s heartbeat. He gently kissed her closed eyelids.
“I love you, cara,” he said softly, “and I want you and need you. I know that it is difficult for you to trust me and give yourself over to me. Believe me, I did not want to hurt you, but I could not let you wed another man. I had to take you away, give you the chance to come to care for me as I do you. I would that you cease thinking of me as a cruel, ruthless villain. I want your happiness, cara, and I want you to be my wife, my partner, my lover.”
His gentle words, spoken without arrogance or demanding, touched her deeply. She sensed for the first time his vulnerability. For a brief instant, she wanted to respond to him. She struggled to understand herself. Was her passion so powerful a force that she was willing to forgive him all that he had done to her? Slowly, regretfully, she shook her head against his cheek.
“If you truly want my happiness, my lord, then you must grant me a very simple request.”
His dark eyes narrowed on her face, but his voice remained soft. “Yes, my love?”
“Allow me to write to Eliott and to Becky.”
“And to Edward Lyndhurst?”
She felt his pain through the sudden harshness in his voice.
“Yes.”
“The answer is no, Cassandra.”
She pulled away from him. “I do not understand. Why, my lord? Are you afraid that Edward will come here and take me away from you?”
“I must admit that it would be awkward for him to arrive unannounced in Genoa,” he said calmly, his voice now devoid of gentleness.
“At least let me tell them that I am alive. If you insist upon it, my whereabouts will remain unknown.”
He sighed deeply. “The answer is still no. You will write your letter only after you are safely wedded to me and are the Countess of Clare. I will not have Edward Lyndhurst searching Europe for his lost love when she will never be his. It would be needlessly cruel.”
“Cruel? You think it less cruel that he believes me dead?”
“Yes, for he must forget you. When he finally hears that you have wed me, the result will be the same. You will no longer be a part of his life.”
Cassie sat up, pulling the covers over her breasts. “How can you profess caring for me when you will allow me no freedom? If you want me to be happy, then give me choices. Let me go. I cannot and I will not surrender to you.” She shook her fist at him. “You think it your God-given right to possess me, to add me to your worldly possessions as you would a house or a carriage! I will tell you, my lord, I belong to myself and never, do you hear, never will I let myself become a chattel.”
“I said nothing of chattel, Cassandra,” the earl said, growing anger breaking the calm impassiveness of his voice.
“Then let me go. To the world, I am naught but your current mistress, worthy only to be slighted. Your precious half-brother doubtless believes me the loosest of women, a harlot, a slut. Perhaps Italian ladies cower at your masculine arrogance and are seduced when you coat your words with honey. But I am not.”
“You are tangling yourself in an argument that makes no sense. I do not want to own you. I want to cherish you, to love you.”
“Ha.”
“You are being unreasonable, Cassandra.”
She sucked in her breath, so furious that she wanted to strike him. But she held in her anger and said in a cold, taunting voice, “You have told me, my lord, that I do not have a harlot’s instincts. Therefore I must assume that your only claim to me is your talent in the bedroom. If I have wish to please myself with your body, I shall so inform you.”
“Ah,” he said, his voice so smooth that she was momentarily taken off her guard, “I believe that I shall have to write a letter to Edward Lyndhurst, congratulating him on his good fortune. To have leg-shackled himself to a shrew like you would likely have sent him back into the army, that is if you would have allowed him the breeches to wear to make good his escape.”
“You are despicable.”
He said quite calmly, knowing that he once again held the reins of command, “I am many things, cara. It is only you who must needs focus on my more undistinguished traits of character.”
“I order you to cease calling me cara.”
“Order away, little witch. Your conversation is very wearying, Cassandra.”
He turned on his back away from her, snuffed out the candle, and pulled the covers to his chest. He fell asleep thinking that it would simply have to be his lot, for the time being at least, to enjoy the rose by night and the thorns by day.