Devil's Embrace (34 page)

“It is over,
cara.
Come with me now and say your good-byes.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago. He died peacefully, Cassandra, his last words of you.”

He helped her to rise and to put on her dressing gown. He had expected tears, but her face was closed and set.

He left her alone with Joseph. When she finally emerged from his room, there was no expression at all upon her face.

“You will help me go to Joseph’s funeral, will you not?”

“Yes, Cassandra,” he said, and carried her back to their bedchamber.

Cassie pulled her black velvet cloak more closely about her, but the damp chill still seemed to penetrate to her very bones. She leaned heavily on the earl’s arm, for she felt wretchedly weak. We all look like black crows, she thought, staring about her. Even the priest. Mr. Donnetti and the entire crew of
The Cassandra
stood with heads bowed around Joseph’s new grave. Caesare, present, she suspected, out of respect for his half-brother, for he had scarce known Joseph, shifted his weight first to one leg and then the other, some three feet from her. The earl stood beside her, his eyes straight ahead. Signore Montalto was sniffing with a cold, and looking miserable. There were other men she did not recognize. She listened to the droning words of the priest, but the Latin had no meaning to her. She felt stifled by the black veil over her face, and pulled it back over her bonnet, unaware that in the eyes of the priest, it was an act of disrespect. She had eaten little the past several days, and for a moment, as she gazed at the fresh earth piled atop Joseph’s grave, the earth blurred and seemed to rise toward her. She gulped and took a step back. She felt the earl’s hand upon her arm, and stared stonily ahead of her, wishing the pale-skinned priest would finish with his Latin. She had always thought that priests were ascetic men who had little liking for things of the flesh. Yet this one was fat as a flawn. She shook her head, chiding herself for unkind thoughts. She should be thinking of Joseph, but somehow, she simply could not relate the mound of earth covering the oak casket to the Joseph she had known.

Finally, the priest closed the vellum Bible and intoned a prayer. Cassie kept her eyes closed some moments after he had finished, and when she opened them, the black-garbed men were milling about, their voices soft. She was about
to turn toward the earl, who was speaking quietly to the priest, when suddenly she heard softly spoken words, words that burned into her mind.

“Pazza fragitara nigli inferno.”
“May he rot in hell.”

She looked wildly about her, but she saw only solemn faces, some familiar and some unknown to her. She tugged frantically on the earl’s black sleeve, oblivious of the priest, who was regarding her with profound disapproval.

“He’s here,” she said. “I heard him—he’s here.” Her weakness and shock combined, and she felt the ground unsteady beneath her. For the first time in her life, she fainted.

The earl caught her up in his arms, and called to Mr. Donnetti. “Francesco, quickly.”

“What has happened, my lord?”

Tersely, the earl told him Cassie’s words. “Get your men together. Bring any man who is not known to them to the villa.” But even as he gave the order, he knew it was hopeless. Many mourners had already left the graveyard.

“The shock was too much for her, Antonio?”

The earl looked at Caesare, who was peering with concern into Cassie’s pale face.

“Perhaps. She heard one of the men who abducted her. If you will, Caesare, walk about and see if there is any man that looks suspicious to you. It would give me great pleasure to kill another one of the bastards on the day of Joseph’s funeral.”

Cassie felt a swaying motion beneath her when she awoke, and tried to pull her body upright.

“Hold still,
cara.
” The earl’s strong arms tightened about her. In the next moment, she was feeling inordinately foolish.

“Oh, it is the carriage.”

“Yes. We shall soon be back to the villa.” His soothing tone gave way to an amused one. “I had no idea that you were the kind of woman who succumbs to the vapors.”

“I am hungry, and it is unkind of you to tease me.”

The earl hugged her against his chest, and allowed himself to become serious. “What did the man say precisely, Cassandra?”

She shuddered. “‘May he rot in hell.’ Almost the same words he said that night. I could not tell which of the men it was, and the words were so quietly spoken—with such pleasure.”

“Then it was the fifth man you heard.”

She nodded her head against his shoulder.

“Francesco and his men are scouring the area, Cassandra. I will question whomever they bring to me.”

“I think even if you find him, he is too smart to give himself away.”

“We will see.”

They were silent for some moments. “You know,” she said finally, “I do not think that Joseph would have particularly cared for that priest. He was terribly filled with his own importance, and so fat.”

The earl’s chest shook briefly with laughter.

“Yes,” he said soberly, “you are quite right.”

C
assie peeled an orange and chewed thoughtfully on the succulent fruit. “It is odd, my lord,” she said, “to be eating fresh fruit in autumn.”

“I know,” the earl said with a quick smile. “There are few fresh oranges in England in the fall. My name is Anthony, you know,” he added.

“Yes, I know. It is just that you are more often a lord or lordship to me.”

“Am I so remote then? It is not my intention to be.”

She smiled and shook her head at him. “No, you are not in the least remote.”

Indeed, she thought, in the past three weeks he had been unflaggingly kind and solicitous to her. He still teased her companionably, and berated her if he thought she was over-taxing herself, but he asked nothing of her save her company. He made it easy for her to be content simply to be with him, to allow him to care for her and keep the outside world at bay. He seemed to sense her desire not to confront anything for the present, what had happened to her or the future, but merely to exist and to mend in the comfort he provided for her.

The earl sat back in his chair, chewing on a roasted chestnut, and looked at her. They had spent the afternoon aboard her sailboat, and the trout they had enjoyed for dinner were Cassie’s catch. It had brought a mischievous smile to her lips that he had caught but one small trout, a fish unworthy of the great earl’s dinner, and she had teased him. Although she was still too thin, the outing had added color to her cheeks. And her eyes were sparkling at him more frequently, the haunted look they had worn slowly
fading. Her nightmare had come to her but once in the last week, and although she had trembled violently in his arms, her fear had not held her long in its sway. He watched her savor a final slice of orange and sit back in her chair with a contented sigh.

“If you will wipe your hands, Cassandra,” he said, “I will let you try your skill against mine in another pastime besides fishing.”

She looked up, quirking an arched brow at him. She cleaned the sticky orange from her fingers as she spoke. “Another joust, my lord? Surely you have no desire to be brought low twice in one day.”

“The lady grows cocky. We shall soon see if your luck is still with you.”

“Luck, ha! Come, my lord, what have you in mind?”

He tossed his napkin on the table. “If you would join me upstairs, madam, you shall see.” He helped her rise, careful of her still bruised ribs, and escorted her to their bedchamber.

A small fire he had had prepared burned in the grate, casting wispy shadows on the white stucco walls. The earl helped Cassie into a chair before the fire and handed her a soft wool shawl, already warmed by the flames.

“You make me feel like an old invalid, decrepit and useless.”

“At least you are a warm old invalid,” he said lightly. “Now, Cassandra, close your eyes, and promise me that you’ll not look.”

“I promise,” she said, a sparkle of excitement in her voice.

He placed a long wooden box in her hands. Before she opened her eyes, she ran her fingers lightly over the intricate carving and gently caressed the cool marble inlay. He remembered her suddenly as a child, trembling with excitement as her small fingers tried to rip open a gift he had brought her from Turkey—tiny bronze bells strung together on a gold chain. He had laughingly told her to enjoy her present before demolishing it.

“Oh!”

He grinned at the stunned look on her face.

Cassie closed her fingers about an ivory knight and slowly drew it from its bed of purple velvet. “It is identical,” she breathed. The cool feel of the ivory chess pieces brought a catch to her throat. “It is just like the chess set you gave me for my fourteenth birthday.”

“Yes, the same craftsman made it for you. I wished to see if you ever managed to gain any skill in the game.”

She remembered his long ago having patiently shown her the opening position and the lawful moves of the pieces. “It is most kind of you, my lord,” she said finally.

“Anthony.”

“Yes—Anthony.”

His fingers touched hers for an instant as he took the knight from her and set it upon the chess board. “It has been a long time since I’ve had an opponent worthy of my attention. Let us see if you play chess as well as you catch trout.”

She gave him a slow, wide smile. “Prepare yourself, my lord, to be destroyed.”

She moved her white king’s pawn forward two spaces, and he quickly moved the black pawn to face it. He glanced at her as the game progressed, pleased to see her lips pursed in concentration, and her eyes bright with burgeoning strategies. He was pleasantly surprised at her skill. He toyed briefly with the idea of letting her beat him, and dismissed it. She would guess, and he imagined that such a victory would bring her no pleasure.

“Beware my black bishop, Cassandra.”

She frowned and saw that her queen, if not moved to safety, would be pinned to her king. She quickly interposed her queen’s bishop and sat back with a satisfied smile. “And you, my lord, should beware my rook.”

Several minutes later, the earl’s fingers poised over his queen. He moved her slowly into position and raised his head. “Checkmate, my dear.”

“Drat,” Cassie said, frowning at her defeated king. “I do not suppose I can claim you had the greater luck?”

“You can, but it would only serve to make me feel all the more superior.”

“Wretched man. Very well, I grant you this game.” She
looked at him from beneath her lashes. “I choose to believe that you have bested me only because you have had so many more years of practice.”

“You do not consider it likely that I am simply the more intelligent?”

The gleam of mischief in his dark eyes robbed his words of any insult, and she succumbed to a giggle. “Must you always have the last word, my lord? It is too bad of you.” She drew up, her eyes drawn to his. His gaze was dark with tenderness, and she gulped.

“Another game, my lord?”

He obliged her.

Cassie eyed the swaying palm trees with disgust. “It is autumn,” she muttered darkly. “You are supposed to lose all those ridiculous leaves.”

The earl stood quietly on the balcony of their bedchamber and watched Cassie walking about the gardens. She had returned but minutes before from the Parese vineyards, her interest, he knew, not in the science of the grape, but rather in Liepolo, his master winemaker, and his gaggle of children. Particularly Alvise, a naughty three-year-old, whose pranks brought rosy color to her cheeks and a ready laugh to her lips. He silently blessed Liepolo for being the sire of such a large family.

The earl walked back downstairs to his library. He kicked the dying embers in the fireplace with the toe of his boot and stared thoughtfully at the orange sparks that flew upward into the flu. A month had passed since Cassie’s rape and Joseph’s death. A month, and he was still no closer to finding Andrea and the fourth man. Without them, it was unlikely that he would ever discover who had paid them.

At least Cassandra was physically healthy again. Since he had not approached her sexually, he could only guess that the bruises were gone from her body. He had had to buy her more nightgowns, for she cringed at the thought of his seeing her naked. She had allowed him but once to touch her, some ten day after her rape. Since she adamantly refused to allow Signore Bissone to examine her, it was the earl who had removed her stitches.

The day they were to be married was weeks past, and he had said nothing to her about it. He was content to wait.

He sat at his desk and opened an account ledger. He concentrated for some minutes on the columns of numbers, then flipped the ledger closed with a grunt of disgust at his wayward attention, rose and walked to the gardens. He wanted to be with Cassandra, to see her laugh, perhaps.

The earl raised his body from the copper bathtub and shook himself, somewhat in the manner of a wet mongrel. He wrapped a towel about his waist and strolled into the bedchamber, only to draw up short at the sound of Rosina gasping at him. Rosina stood behind Cassie with a brush in her hand, her face a vivid shade of red. Cassie sat comfortably in front of her dressing table, consuming an orange. “You may go to bed now, Rosina,” Cassie said in an amused voice.

When he heard the bedchamber door close upon the maid, he walked forward to stand behind Cassie. She was covered in a thick blue velvet dressing gown. Beneath it, he knew, was a nightgown. “You know,
cara,
I have been thinking.”

“It is a marvelous process, my lord, and I am most pleased that you have finally been granted the privilege.”

He grinned, wrapped a thick tress of hair about his fingers, and pulled. She yelped and turned on him. “If you cannot use your wits, my lord, may I suggest—” She stopped in mid-sentence. The earl looked at her quizzically and saw that she was staring at him pointedly in the mirror. His knot was working itself loose and the towel had pulled open.

“You were speaking about wits, my lady?”

Cassie lowered her eyes, aware of a surge of feeling that left her cheeks a rosy red. She wasn’t certain whether or not she wanted to ignore his nakedness. “You were saying, my lord, that you had been thinking,” she said finally, trying to disregard him as he eased his body into an immodest pose into a leather chair near her.