Cassie walked beside him down the deck to the companionway, vaguely mindful of low-pitched sailors’ voices blending with the sounds of flapping sails overhead. He drew her to a halt below deck in front of a closed door.
“After you, Cassandra,” he said as he opened the door, and stood back for her to enter.
Cassie stepped into a shadowy cabin, aware of the tangy scent of lemon polish and sandalwood. She dully noted the rich mahogany paneling and the elegant furnishings. It was a cabin fit for a captain and an earl. She whipped about at the sound of a key turning in the lock.
He turned to face her, a broad-shouldered man, who now seemed a dangerous stranger to her. His eyes appeared black in the soft afternoon light of the cabin, darker than she remembered, almost as black as his arched brows and his thick hair.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” he asked.
She stared at him, and shook her head out of habit.
“Forgive my lapse of memory. You do not care for tea, do you? Most un-English of you, Cassandra.”
She watched warily as he crossed the cabin, his steps noiseless on the deep pile of the blue carpet, and eased himself onto a high-backed leather chair, one of four that stood about an elegant circular table.
“Will you not sit down?”
Cassie forced her feet forward to stand behind one of the chairs, and clutched at its carved back.
“How stupid of me to have forgotten,” she said finally, forcing her voice into momentary calm. “I saw your yacht once, long ago, at Clacton.”
“Perhaps you did, but then her name was not The Cassandra. She is lovely, is she not? Even Farmer George wanted to purchase her, but of course, I refused.”
She waved away his words. “If you would not mind, I should like to know the meaning of your senseless behavior.”
“My behavior is never senseless, Cassandra. In this particular instance, perhaps, I was forced to employ some rather rough and ready methods to secure your presence.”
“Damn you, my lord, tell me the meaning of this.” She drew a deep breath and swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “You are an English peer, my lord, an earl. I did not believe that gentlemen of your rank and wealth indulged in white slavery. Are there other young English ladies aboard your yacht?”
Anthony Welles blinked at her, then threw back his head and laughed aloud, his white teeth contrasting with his tanned face. “White slavery. Good God, Cassandra, what an imagination you have. A slaver in the English Channel.”
“In that case, my lord, there is much that requires my attention at Hemphill Hall, for I am to be married tomorrow, as you know since you are an invited guest. You will please set me ashore at once.”
The humor fell from his face, and he sat forward in his chair. His rugged features softened as his eyes rested intently upon her face. “You are not going back to Hemphill Hall, Cassandra.”
“I do not understand you,” she said slowly. “I have been told that your wealth is great, thus I cannot credit that you wish to hold me for ransom. I ask you again, my lord, what is your purpose?”
“My purpose, Cassandra, is to make you my wife.”
She jerked back at his softly spoken words and stared at him in shock. “I do not believe you, my lord. And I find your jest repellent. Set me ashore, I demand it.”
He was silent for what seemed an eternity to Cassie, and she rushed on in furious speech. “My family will miss me. They will mount a search when I do not return and—” Her words died in her throat, and she felt herself go white.
“And, Cassandra,” he finished for her, “they will find your boat smashed upon the rocks. You know yourself that the tides in this area are vicious, unpredictable.”
“They will believe me drowned, dead.” She raised wide, uncomprehending eyes to his face. “But this makes no sense. Why are you doing this to me? I have always believed you to be my friend, that you liked me.”
“Indeed, I am your friend, only now I will be much more to you.”
Cassie stared into his face, a face that many ladies she knew admired, one that over the past few years even she had come to think harshly beautiful. Now, in his black knee boots and billowing white shirt, his black hair unpowdered and blown into disarray by the sea wind, he looked the swarthy pirate, not the English earl.
She said, still trying to cling to her image of him, “You seem different, changed. I have always thought of you as an indulgent uncle . . .”
He winced, but remained silent.
“A gentleman, a powerful lord, whose esteem gave me confidence. You were someone who never cared if I did something stupid or didn’t behave like a simpering girl. You treated Eliott as a brother after my father’s death, teaching him his responsibilities as baron, helping him. By God, he was even touting your praises at our ball last week.”
“And I am fond of your brother. Though he will never have your strength of character, he is nonetheless an amiable boy. You will see him again.”
She shook her head at him in disbelief, unable to grasp the enormity of his words. She said in a shaking voice, “Damn you, this is ludicrous, my lord. You cannot do this. I am to be married tomorrow.”
“I suppose that my thirty-four years do seem ancient to one of eighteen. As for Edward Lyndhurst,” he continued with calm detachment, “you were never meant to belong to him. Your turbulent girl’s infatuation for him would not have lasted, you know. Although you have known him all your life, he is cut from a very different cloth than are you.”
“You do not know what you are talking about, my lord. I have loved Edward all my life, and nothing you can do or say will change that.”
“I daresay that I shall say and do many things, Cassandra, that will help you to change.” He shook his head in mock reproof. “It came as quite a surprise to me that a well-bred English girl would correspond surreptitiously with a soldier. It was stupid of me, I suppose, to believe Lyndhurst out of your heart and mind when he left three years ago.”
“He has never been out of either, my lord,” she said coldly. “I would like to know how the devil you found out about our letters.”
He waved an indifferent, dismissing hand. “It’s not particularly important. Suffice it to say that his abrupt return and your immediate announcement to wed with him forced a dramatic shift in my plans.”
“What do you mean—your plans?”
“Simply that I fully intended to court you during your Season in London in proper style and wed you at Hanover Square, with all the pomp due to the Countess and Earl of Clare.”
She regarded him with cold contempt. “You lied to yourself, my lord, for never would I have wed you, nor will I. How very convenient for you that I came out in my boat today. Have you been skulking about long?”
“For the past two weeks, if you would know the truth. I did not expect Lyndhurst to have such control over your actions. Did he plan to burn your sailboat, Cassandra?”
“He will come to understand, I know it.” She saw that he was regarding her with disbelief. “Damn you, it’s none of your affair in any case.”
“I have told you, my dear, that you are now completely my affair. I beg you not to forget that.”
“When I look at the coward who speaks, of course I shall. And what would you have done, sir, had I not come sailing today?”
“Ah, a question that I posed to myself several times. You would have come to my yacht dressed in your nightgown, Cassandra. Certainly a more harrowing solution and one that would have left untidy questions. I thank you for being so obliging.”
She slowly shook her head back and forth, and rising panic filled her voice. “You cannot do this. Please, you must let me go home.”
“You home is with me now, Cassandra. I have watched you grow into a lovely young woman, watched you let your skirts down and cease scraping your knees. I have much time and energy invested in you, my lady, and since your seventeenth birthday, I have been determined to marry you. Though I regret that you will feel grief for your lost viscount, I know that it will pass. Hearts do not break, you know, they merely bruise for a while.”
She turned on him viciously. “I find you repellent, my lord, and quite mad. If you believe that I shall ever change my mind or forget Edward Lyndhurst, you are a fool. As to marrying you, I shall see you in hell first.”
She dashed to the cabin door and twisted frantically at the knob. She raised her fists and pounded at the door, blind to anything save her escape from him. She dug her nails relentlessly into the small space where the door met its frame, and tore them on the wooden splinters. A defeated sob ripped from her throat, and she sank slowly to her knees, her cheek pressed against the door.
Anthony Welles rose quietly from his chair and walked to her crumpled figure. He frowned at the sight of her torn fingernails, several of them ripped so deeply that they bled. He dropped to one knee beside her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“Come, Cassandra, you have hurt yourself.” As he slipped his arm about her waist to pull her upright, she twisted about, and with a cry of rage, smashed her fists against his chest. She caught him off balance and he toppled backward, pulling her with him. He grabbed her wildly flailing arms, rolled her over on her back, and pinned her hands above her head. He saw the blind fury in her eyes and slammed his leg down over hers to stop her from kicking him. She lay panting beneath him, her chest and belly moving in deep gulping breaths.
She grew suddenly still. “Let me go,” she said in a voice of deadly calm.
He stared down at her pale, set face. “You were the attacker, Cassandra,” he said finally. “I will release you if you promise to keep your knee away from my manhood.”
Slowly, she nodded.
“Will you also promise to let me take care of your hands? You have torn your fingers quite badly.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and said, “I promise.”
The earl released her and helped her to her feet. “Come and sit down.”
She stared at streaks of her blood on his white shirt and became aware of throbbing pain in her fingers. She sat down on the chair he held for her and splayed her fingers on the table top.
She lowered her head and did not look up even as she felt him lifting her fingers, one by one, sponging off the blood with warm water.
“Don’t move, Cassandra. I must fetch some bandages, several fingers must be bound.”
She kept her head bowed as he wrapped slender strips of white linen about her fingers.
He looked up from his task when she said in a low, tightly controlled voice, “The first time I remember seeing you was when I was a small child. You were very kind to me I recall, even brought me a pastry from a fair stall in Colchester.”
“I remember.”
“But then you left and it was some years before I saw you again. Miss Petersham said you were a great nobleman both in England and in Italy and that you did not spend all your time in England. I also remember now that I had nearly forgotten you when you suddenly returned when I was fourteen. You gave me an ivory chess set for my birthday. I asked Miss Petersham if you had a daughter of my age and whether that was why you were so attentive to me.”
The earl gently cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. “You are the image of your mother and it was her face that was in my mind until yours replaced it.”
“My mother?” she asked, knitting her brows.
“Yes. You see, I loved Constance, even though I was hardly more than a boy at the time, but unfortunately she had already wed your father. That she was my senior by six or so years was unimportant to me. The last time I saw her, her belly was stretched full with child—with you.”
“Then you should hate me, for I killed her.”
“Perhaps I did, for a time, just as I hated your father for planting his seed in her womb. I left England and did not return for some five years. When I came back, I met you, her daughter, and you were the image of her. You were such a lively child, full of wonder, your eyes bright with intelligence. It was in my mind to take an interest in Constance’s daughter, to watch her grow up, to be a part of her life in some way. When I saw you at fourteen, it was only Constance’s face that I beheld, not her character or personality. I was drawn to you as a young girl, Cassandra, and when you turned seventeen, I realized that I wanted you, loved you for yourself.”
“You lie to yourself, my lord. It is my mother you love.”
“You are quite wrong,” he said.
“You do not really know me. You cannot love someone you do not know.”
“But I know you quite well, Cassandra, believe me.”
In her bewilderment, she tried to close her hands, and winced from the pain in her fingers. She felt his long fingers close about her wrists, and she knew it was to keep her from hurting herself. The small token of his caring made her sick with despair.
She raised bleak eyes to his face. “How can you want someone who does not love you?”
“There are few things in life that are unchangeable.”
She reared back. “Damn you, I don’t want your glib words, my lord. I shall never change.”
“You are but eighteen years old, Cassandra,” he said gently, and abruptly released her wrists. He sat back in his chair and regarded her silently. She saw tenderness in his dark eyes, and drew back instinctively. She hated herself, but could not prevent her pleading words. “Please, just take me home. I swear I shall tell no one about what you did. Just take me home, I beg you.”
He said with cold finality, “No. And never again abase yourself, Cassandra, it ill befits your character.”
“How dare you speak so arrogantly about my character? You can have no real notion whatsoever about me. If I choose to plead or abase myself, even to a knave like you, it is because it is in my character to do so.”
Her torrent of words, spoken with such perverse defiance, made him smile. “I suppose that next you will tell me that a woman’s tears come easily to you, that a woman’s guile are also part of your character.”
“Go to the devil.”
“Ah, the lady finally speaks words I understand. I wager that other young ladies of your age would have demonstrated sufficient sensibility by this time to have swooned at least twice. I thank God for your character, Cassandra, for fainting ladies are a damned nuisance.”
She turned stiffly away from him and felt cold despair once again pervade her mind like a familiar cloak. She could feel the swiftness of the yacht and knew that each minute took her farther away from her home and from Edward.
“Where is your yacht bound?” she asked, not looking at him. Perhaps he would dock somewhere in England and she could escape him.
He extinguished the small glimmer of hope with one word. “Italy. Genoa, to be exact. We have a long voyage ahead of us. You know, of course, that my father was an English peer, the third Earl of Clare. My mother was Italian. Over the past years I have spent roughly equal periods of time in both countries. Now, my mother’s homeland will be mine—ours.”
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 change 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.
“Stay away from me.”
But he climbed swiftly over to her and dragged her back toward him. He straddled her, holding one arm down beneath him while he grabbed her wrist and swiftly knotted a handkerchief about it. He jerked her arm up and secured the other end to a wooden lattice in the headboard. She heaved wildly beneath him, but if he felt pain from her legs striking his back, he gave no notice. He pulled her other arm above her head and secured it. She felt the silk tighten about her wrists as she struggled to free herself. He moved off her and she lay panting, staring up at him, her eyes dark with fear.
She tried to stop the deep upward and downward heaving of her breasts as his hands moved over them, unbuttoning her bodice. He appeared unhurried in his undressing of her.
“You have set me a problem,” he remarked. “How am I to get that dress off you with your wrists secured?”
“Go to the devil.”
“I must sacrifice your gown, I fear,” he continued, as if she had not spoken. He unfastened the small buttons at her wrists, and in a powerful motion, ripped the sleeves up to her shoulders and jerked open the fine stitching about her throat. His hands were curiously gentle as he pulled her free of her bodice. He untied the ribbons of her chemise and eased her out of the material, leaving her naked to the waist.
He gave a sharp intake of breath and gazed down at her. “I had imagined that you would be all pink and white, Cassandra. You are quite exquisite.”
“I cannot be so different from your women in Italy, my lord.”
“But you are, my love, quite different,” he said. She felt his hands move lightly over her. She swallowed an impotent cry and concentrated on her hatred of him. She lay rigid even as his mouth closed over her and she felt his tongue.
“Stop it,” she yelled, arching and twisting her back to escape him.
The earl circled her waist with his hands to hold her still and let his mouth rove over her breasts, loving the feel of her. He felt her shudder, not with desire, but with fear, and for an instant, he hesitated. He had envisioned many times possessing her body, bringing her to a woman’s pleasure, and felt a shaft of anger at Edward Lyndhurst for being the first to awaken her. He thought about the viscount’s child lying small in her womb and cursed himself for not having taken her a year ago, when she was seventeen. He raised his head from her breasts and saw her eyes were tightly closed, her lips drawn in a thin line.
He drew a resolute breath and quickly removed the remainder of her clothes. When she was naked, he rose slowly and stared down at her. She lay motionless, her face turned away, her thighs locked together. His eyes followed the curved, soft lines of her, from her slender waist to her flat white belly. His gaze lingered upon the curling blond triangle of hair that covered her, and he was startled at the delicate yet provocative sensuousness of her. He felt a surge of lust for her, and pictured her long legs wrapped about him, drawing him deep inside her. He wanted to part her, caress her, taste her. He was hard, straining against his breeches, and with a low moan, he shucked off the rest of his clothes.
Cassie heard his boots fall to the floor, and, despite herself, turned her face on the pillow toward him. He stood before her, indifferent in his nakedness. Her eyes fell inevitably to the mass of black hair at his groin, and she gasped aloud at the sight of him.
She struggled at the bonds about her wrists and jerked her hips away from him.
“I won’t hurt you, Cassandra, you know that.” He sat down beside her and stroked her belly, caressing her, until he was touching her. She tried vainly to jerk away from him, her legs flailing wildly, but he held her down with his body. He eased his fingers between her thighs and stroked her gently.
“You are beautiful.” She felt his fingertips stroking her thighs, probing at her, and she felt a shuddering sensation that made her draw in her breath.
“Please stop,” she said breathlessly, pressing her thighs together, away from his fingers.
“No, my love. Relax, give in to me, Cassandra.” He pulled her thighs apart and held her open to him with his body. He lowered his head and she felt his mouth touch her. She frantically tried to jerk away.
“No. Damn you, no.”
Reluctantly, he released her. He straddled her quickly and lifted her hips up on a pillow. She felt his fingers part her and arched upward to see him guiding himself into her.
Her cries died in her throat when he suddenly went rigid over her, straining against her. Her eyes flew open and she saw him staring at her in bemused surprise.
“You little liar,” he said softly, incredulously. “By God, you missed your calling, Cassandra. It’s an actress you should have been. So you are pregnant, my love? Quite an accomplishment I should say, given that your maidenhead is very much intact. No wonder your shock at seeing a naked man.” He pulled away from her and rose.
“What are you going to do?”
“What I would have done had I known you were a virgin.”
She drew her legs together and pulled impotently at the handkerchiefs. When she felt his weight upon the bed, she looked to see him holding a small jar in his hand.
“What is that?” she said, lifting her head from the pillow to see him better.
He did not answer her, but wedged his hand between her thighs, forcing them apart. Cassie felt his finger ease inside her, and her muscles tightened at the feel of something cool and soothing inside her.
The earl saw her eyes, wide and pleading, upon his face, and though he wanted to reassure her, he knew that anything he said would only prolong her fear.
Cassie felt herself stretch to hold him when he entered her, but she felt no pain. She felt him pushing against her maidenhead, and she stiffened.
“Cassandra,” he said, his voice bringing her eyes to his face, “I must hurt you, but just for a moment.”
She cried out once at a sharp pain, and felt him move deep within her. She felt a numbing shock that brought hopeless tears to her eyes. His large hands were clasping her hips, drawing her upward to meet him. She heard him moan above her, curiously tense, and felt his seed deep inside her.
She heard herself sobbing aloud, and tears streaked down her cheeks, their salty heat upon her lips.
Cassie felt a warm wet cloth touching her face, soothing away her tears, and slowly opened her eyes. She felt defiled, awash with helpless anger at her weakness, at her womanness.
“I hate you,” she whispered to the dark face above her.
“Yes, I know,” he said gently. “I am sorry that I had to hurt you, Cassandra.” He paused a moment and pulled damp tendrils of hair away from her eyes. “If you would know the truth, I wanted only to get the damned business over with. Next time, I promise you that there will be no pain, indeed, I want to give you pleasure, for that is the object of lovemaking, you know.”
The thought that he would force her again made her hollow with despair. She felt the cloth moving over her thighs, pressing lightly against her. She drew her stiff legs slowly together.
He continued calmly, as if in polite conversation in a drawing room. “In Genoa, and indeed in many parts of Italy, it is a tradition among the peasants for the bridegroom to hang the bedsheet out the window after the wedding night. There must be spots of blood on the sheet, you see, so that all will know that his wife came to him as a virgin.”
She said, her voice trembling with fury, “So you will fly the damned sheet from the mast?”
He looked up and smiled, delighted at her spirit. “I just might,” he said coolly, “if for no other reason than to celebrate your remarkable lie.”
She felt his fingers brush over her belly. “You will be a bit sore, but it will pass quickly.”
“So that is how you dismiss brutal rape, my lord. Your victim will only be a bit sore—nothing of any importance.”
“Not my victim, Cassandra, my wife.”
“You may take your insane notion and go to hell.”
“Then you will meet the devil with me. Now, if you promise not to lash out at me—physically, that is—I’ll release your wrists.”
She felt beyond caring, though she was aware of a growing numbness in her hands. She turned her face away from him.
She felt him unfasten the silk knots and bring her arms down to her sides.
Anthony frowned at the welts about her wrists as he gently rubbed feeling into them again.
“Do you feel better now?”
“I would feel better if I could stick a knife between your ribs.”
“Ah, yes, much better, I see. Poor Eliott has never been a match for your acerbic tongue. And if he marries Miss Eliza Pennworthy, I fear that his God-given wit will rust with disuse within a year. As for what Edward Lyndhurst would say about your spirit, I daresay it would not be loving.”
She did not answer him, and he continued lightly, “Nor do I believe that you would have managed to subvert your opinions and ideas for very long with Edward Lyndhurst. He has very set notions about the wifely behavior of English ladies, you know.”
Cassie felt a raw surge of grief. “Edward must believe me dead by now.”
“Probably not yet. I’ll wager that he will scour the coast for you for some days to come before he finally accepts the fact.”
“You must listen to me,” Cassie said, easing herself up on her elbows. “Now that you have used me, will you not cease this cruel charade and take me home? Since I am no longer a virgin, there can be no sport left for you.” She was aware that his eyes wavered from her face, and she grasped the corner of a sheet and pulled it over her.
“My lady shows such modesty.” He grinned as he rose. “I am naked too, and yours for the asking.”
“Answer me.” she yelled at him.
“If you speak nonsense, you leave me nothing to say,” he said easily. He stretched, and Cassie’s eyes dropped to the thick bush of black hair at his groin. His man’s sex lay flaccid and soft.
“I cannot be erect for you all of the time, my lady. Even your faithful servant must rest upon occasion.”
She felt tears sting her eyes, and gulped down a sob, turning away from him. She felt his hand touch her loosened braids.
“You must brush out your hair, else it will be a mess on the morrow.” She made no move and he sighed. “Very well, then I shall do it for you. Will you hold still, or must I tie you up again?”
She turned back to him wearily. “Give me the bloody brush.”
Though her arms ached, she ruthlessly jerked the brush through the masses of hair, smoothing down the deep ripples from the braids with her fingers.
“Your hair, like the rest of you, is exquisite.”
She stared stonily ahead of her.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn and look toward the clock atop the ornate oak desk. “It is time to sleep, Cassandra. It has indeed been a long, quite fatiguing day.”
“Where will you sleep?”
His dark eyes twinkled. “Wrapped around your lovely body, of course.”
“I wish a nightgown.”
“I am sorry, my lady, but a nightgown is the only item of apparel that you will not find in your wardrobe.”
“I never sleep without a nightgown.”
“Then it is time to break such prudish habits.”
She choked down an angry curse and gave in to her exhaustion. The earl moved about the cabin and extinguished the lamps. He again stretched his muscles in the darkness and allowed his nerves their first respite in two months. With a smile of contentment, he climbed into bed beside her.
He lay on his back, his arms above his head, listening to her angry breathing. “Come here, Cassandra,” he said finally, bringing his arms down. “I will not take you again, I promise.” He could picture her drawn into a small ball, pressed against the starboard wall. “If you do not do as I bid you, I shall go back on my promise.”
She cursed and moved reluctantly against him.
He gathered her stiff body in his arms and pulled her tightly against his chest. “Good night, love,” he whispered, and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
He felt her lashes brushing against his flesh, as she lay wide-eyed in the darkness. He sought for words to comfort her, but as he was her nemesis, he could think of nothing that would not upset her more.
He thought about the vagaries of fate that had led him to commit what he himself considered an outrageous act, an act that would keep him from English shores for many years to come, and for an unwonted moment, he felt doubt in himself that he would eventually succeed.
He felt the wet of her tears touch his shoulder and brought his hand up to brush them away. She tried to pull away from him, but he held her tight. “Go to sleep, Cassandra. All will be well, you will see.”
“Damn you to hell, you bastard. If I were a man, I would stick a sword through your gullet.”
“If you were a man, I would be cast in the role of pederast, a thought I find truly appalling. You will have countless hours to upbraid me. I suggest that you sleep now. Your wits will be all the sharper in the morning.”
Countless hours—his words rang like a death knell in her mind. Damn you to hell, she swore silently, pulling herself from despair. I will escape you.