Devil's Embrace (50 page)

“I had planned to return to England, you know—alone.”

“Then I must be grateful for the speed of my yacht. Another two months searching you out would have rendered me more a black-souled fiend than I was in New York.”

“No more secrets.” She heaved a contented breath and snuggled against his side. She sprawled a thigh over his belly and relaxed her arm over his chest. “No,” he said. “No more, ever.”

T
he full-bellied sails slapped loudly against the rigging when the wind suddenly shifted.

“Ease off, madonna.”

Cassie nodded and pulled the heavy wheel toward starboard, a surge of joy sweeping through her as the yacht yawed in response.

“Our daughter will love the sea,” she said, licking the salt spray from her lips.

“Or your son.”

She looked over her shoulder to see a rare smile upon Mr. Donnetti’s lean, weathered face.

“All of them, sons and daughters,” she said firmly, her eyes on the endless horizon. “What will you do when we reach England?”

“
The Cassandra
never molders at her moorings. During the summer months, we will sail to the West Indies, then return to Genoa until the spring. The captain is much more the Genoese man of business and banker than your English aristocrat. When he is in England, he hires couriers whose only task is to carry his instructions to Genoa, Paris, and Amsterdam to his trade and banking houses. He is a man of considerable vision and energy.”

Cassie blinked at such a long speech from the normally laconic Mr. Donnetti and wondered if he was worried that the earl’s wife would try to discourage such unaristocratic behavior. She gazed up at his stolid countenance and said softly, “I am young, Mr. Donnetti, but not a fool.” At least not usually, she amended to herself. “I learned something of his lordship’s business dealings in Genoa. I hope that I may prove not altogether worthless to his lordship.” She
said no more, knowing that Mr. Donnetti was no doubt appalled at the idea of a woman dabbling in men’s affairs.

She glanced port and saw the man, Luigi, looping a rope. “His back has healed?”

“Aye, but he’s as surly as ever. Good riddance to that one, once we reach England.”

Cassie was to think of his words a day later when she left the cabin to join the earl on the quarterdeck. Luigi seemed to appear out of the shadows, his dark eyes fastened on her.

“Sí?”
she said, reverting easily to Italian.

He merely gazed at her insolently, and said nothing.

“What do you want?
Che cosa Le abbisogna?
”

There were suddenly footsteps, and he said only,
“Voglia scusarmi, signora,”
and disappeared down the companionway.

“What is it, madonna?”

“I am glad that you came, Scargill. That man, Luigi, he makes me uncomfortable.”

“That lout was down here?”

“Yes. Doubtless he was lost.”

Scargill snorted. “The captain will hear about this.”

Cassie was feeling particularly foolish and laid her hand on his sleeve. “Please do not trouble his lordship with such nonsense. He simply took me by surprise, that is all.” As Scargill still appeared uncertain, she turned the topic to Scotland, knowing that he would be spending some months with relatives near Glasgow once they were settled at Clare Castle.

“Aye, ’tis near Loch Lomond my brother lives. A lovely area, lass, wild and steeped in lore.” His brogue deepened as he grew more expansive. “Ye’d love the land, lass, save that now poverty makes bellies growl, and wrings hope from the heart. I’ll not be heartily welcomed, ye know, since my loyalties are to a Sassenach—an Englishman—lass. I tell them of his Ligurian blood. It makes him more acceptable.”

“Damnation. But one week from England and the sea must vent her spleen.”

Cassie looked at the bloated black clouds gathering to the east and shivered. “Have we until evening, my lord?”

“Perhaps, with any luck. It will not be pleasant, Cassandra. Another storm in the Atlantic is a mischief I would just as soon do without.”

But as the wind grew stronger, whipping tendrils of hair across her face, Cassie felt excitement bubble within her. She shouted over the wind and the flapping sails. “I will don my breeches and hold the helm steady with you.”

“The devil you will.” He grabbed her arms and wheeled her about to face him. “You will go below-deck to the cabin and stay there.”

“No,” she shouted back at him. “I want to stay with you.”

He released her abruptly and strode to the wheel. She frowned at his back, wondering what he was saying to Mr. Donnetti. A white tear of lightning rent the sky and she jumped, then smiled. She would not be treated like some simpering little miss and locked away, unable to share the thrill of the storm.

She felt oddly deflated when he returned to her, a wide smile on his face. “Come with me, love.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “To get my breeches?”

“If you like.”

“Very well,” she said finally, “but do let’s hurry. The sky is nearly dark. The storm will break within the hour.”

She raced ahead of him, pulling her skirt above her ankles. When she reached the cabin she walked swiftly to the armoire and jerked it open. “Where are they? Did you bring them or must you fetch another pair for me?”

He stood with his back against the closed cabin door. “There are no breeches.”

“Then you will fetch a pair for me.”

“No,
cara.
You will stay right here until the storm has blown itself out.”

“You tricked me!”

“Yes, that is true, but you gave me no choice. You will stay in the cabin and there’s an end to it.”

“I told you, my lord,” she said, holding her temper, “that
I will do precisely what I like. I will not allow you to treat me like a child.”

“Then, madam, you will stop acting like one.” The yacht suddenly lurched to starboard, and Cassie grabbed the edge of the dresser to keep her balance. He was at her side in an instant, steadying her. “And what if you were on deck and that happened? I will not allow you to take such risks.”

The yacht lurched heavily again. He clutched his hands tightly about her arms. “I have not the luxury of time to argue with you, Cassandra. You will obey me in this, else I’ll tie you down. Dammit, think about my child.”

Furious words died in her throat. The babe. In her excitement, she had forgotten its existence in her womb. Her shoulders hunched forward. “Very well,” she said, not looking up at him.

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

His fingers lightly caressed her cheek. “There will be another storm.” He released her and strode to the door.

“You will be careful?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “I know that you do not consider me as good a sailor as yourself, but I shall contrive, rest assured.”

Cassie stared at the closed door for a minute, then let out a sigh of resignation. He would have to be in the right. She hugged her arms about her thickening stomach and walked to the table.

“Since there will be no dinner tonight,” she said to herself, “I might as well enjoy the wine.” She poured a glass, gulped half of it down, and choked on a hiccup. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered to the floor, splashing red wine down the front of her gown.

“Clumsy oaf.” She continued her bickering with herself as she tugged impatiently at the buttons on her gown. By the time she was wrapped in her dressing gown, the storm was upon them.

She could feel the billowing, angry waves slapping against the yacht, hear them flooding over the deck over the sound of the lashing rain. She made her way to the square stern windows, clutching at the back of a chair at the edge of
the earl’s mahogany desk to steady herself. She could see nothing through the thick gray veil of rain. She shivered and drew her dressing gown more closely. Distantly, over the tumult, she could hear men shouting, their voices muted by the raging wind.

“If it were not for you, my small babe,” she said softly, patting her belly, “I would be in the midst of it, feeling the rain slap my face, leaning against the howling wind.”

She pictured the earl battling at the helm to hold the yacht steady, his black hair plastered against his forehead, and she ticked off the orders he would be giving in her mind.

“It is simply not fair.” She poured herself another glass of wine, only to see the rich red liquid slosh over the sides as the yacht heeled sharply to port. With a muttered oath, she carefully poured the wine back into the decanter.

The cabin was bathed in eerie gray light, and she lit a lone candle in the brass holder that was firmly fastened atop the earl’s desk. She waited impatiently for the growing spiral of flame to light up the dark corners of the cabin.

She made her way slowly to the bed, careful to step over the fragments of broken glass from her first glass of wine. She considered cleaning it up, but she was afraid she would cut herself on the shards of glass with the yacht heaving as wildly as it was.

Cassie stretched out on the bed, pulling the thick blue velvet spread over her, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep.

She was drowsing lightly, her head lolling on the pillow, when she heard a sound near her bed. She sat up and swung her legs over the side to look about. The cabin was bathed in the soft dim light of the candle she had lit, now nearly gutted. She fastened her eyes on the door and watched as the knob slowly turned. Her body tensed, for the earl would enter without a pause, swinging the door widely open. Perhaps, she thought, shaking her head at herself, it was Scargill with her dinner, moving quietly for fear of disturbing her.

But it was not Scargill.

The door opened only wide enough to allow a slender man to slither through. It was Luigi. He looked at her, and their eyes met for a breathless moment.

Cassie stumbled to her feet and yelled at him, “How dare you come in here! What do you want?” The man frowned, and she switched quickly to Italian.
“Che cosa Le abbisogna?”

She looked at him closely. He was not above medium height, his complexion a deep olive, and his eyes opaquely black in the dim light. His sailor’s clothes were sodden, and his long black hair hung in wet strands about his bristled face.

“Che cosa Le abbisogna?”
She closed her fisted hand over the front of her dressing gown.

“Ah,
signora,
do you not know what I want? Do you not recognize me?” His coal-black eyes swept over her body.

“No.” Her mind refused to work. “Get out, or it is more than a flogging you will get.”

He closed the door gently behind him and leaned against it, his thin mouth relaxing into a wide smile. His piercing eyes still stripped her naked. “It is time for retribution,
signora.
Your esteemed husband, you see, brutally slaughtered two of my comrades, and is out for more blood. Ah, now you know me, do you not?”

Cassie mouthed her words, her voice barely above a whisper. “The fourth man—the last of the
bravi.
The one whose name we did not know.”

He swept her a contemptuous bow.

She dully recited their names. “Giulio, Giacomo, Andrea—and Luigi.”

He slapped his thigh and laughed, a wet strand of hair swinging across his cheek.

“Such an impression we made upon your great ladyship. So you remembered having men between your legs,
signora.
” His voice turned from mocking insolence to grim fury. “
Sí,
two of my friends dead now. Dead because of you and your bastard of a husband.”

The yacht lurched into a deep trough of a wave, and Cassie was thrown backward. She grabbed at the bedpost to keep her balance. She was panting, drawing hoarse
breaths. The storm was raging mercilessly overhead. No one would hear her scream. No one would help her.

“There were five of you, not four. But you, I fancy, are too cowardly to reveal his name.” She thought dispassionately that he would kill her now, and yet she was taunting him. She saw that his fingers lay against the silver handle of a stiletto in his belt.

Luigi shrugged elaborately. “I have had many weeks to plan your deaths,
signora,
yours and your precious husband’s. The storm has served me well. First you, and then that arrogant bastard.”

“If you will kill me, then why not tell me the name of the man who hired you?” How calm she sounded, as if she was asking for a morning cup of coffee. But her mind was racing, sharpened by a knife of fear that lay cold and hard against her heart.

“You, my fine English lady, do not know what it means to be a
bravi.
Not even in death will you know who has paid to send your soul to the devil.”

“But why, Luigi? Why am I to be killed?”

“It is none of your affair,
signora.
Enough talk.” His voice was calm again, almost detached.

“Then you really do not know, do you, Luigi? Your employer did not see fit to tell you—a miserable peasant, a paid murdering animal.”

He growled, deep in his throat, and Cassie drew back from him, pressing her side against the bedpost.

“Damn you, you bitch! Shut up! My comrades said nothing—nothing, do you hear? They protected me and him. I shan’t complain, for he will make me rich, while you and your husband,
signora,
float in the sea until the fish tear the flesh from your bones.”

Luigi straightened from his slouched position against the cabin door. His black eyes swept again over her. “I will not enjoy sticking my stiletto between your ribs, for you are but a woman. It is the blood from your husband’s throat that will make this miserable voyage worth my while.”

Anthony. He would be easy prey, all his attention fastened on the storm, on
The Cassandra.
He would not even know why he would die. A great fury welled up inside her,
and she was not aware for a moment that he was walking slowly toward her, his eyes dark with lust.

“I really did not enjoy your body that first time, my lady. Andrea had spoiled you. There was so much blood, so much sticky seed smeared on your thighs. But it will be different now. You will know a man before you die.”