Devil's Embrace
Page 16
“I don’t want her to unbend.” Cassie turned away from the carved oak railing to walk quickly down an imposing corridor. There was carpeting under her feet now, of thick, dark blue wool, touched as if with an artist’s brush with small circles of white.
They passed many closed doors, bedchambers undoubtedly, and Cassie would have preferred any one of them to sharing a room with the earl. He paused before a wide double door, turned the ivory knobs, and said grandly, “Our bedchamber, cara, and my favorite room in the villa.”
She stepped past him into an awesomely large room, more nearly the size of a ballroom than a bedchamber. The white stucco walls were only rarely broken by portraits, giving the room an even greater feeling of airiness and space. Gold brocade curtains lined the opposite wall. At either end of the room were white marble fireplaces, adorned with swags of fruit and winged cherubs. The oak floor was strewn with several brightly woven carpets, each individual in color and design. There was an open arch at the southern end of the room, and as she neared it, she realized the room was even larger than she imagined and in the shape of an L.
She turned to the earl, who stood watching her intently.
“It is impressive, my lord,” she allowed. She looked a question toward the heavy brocade curtains.
“Now you will see why this is my favorite of all the villa’s chambers.”
She watched silently as he walked to the end of the curtains and tugged on a velvet cord. The gold brocade material slowly opened upon floor-to-ceiling windows that extended the length of the room. She stared out to a terraced garden filled with exotic flowers, thick ivy, and many kinds of trees. To the north, beyond the highest terrace, were rolling green hills that rose to meet the sky. She tightly clamped her tongue over an exclamation of delight and walked through the arched portal. Genoa spread out before her to the south, its distance only adding to its startling grandeur. The Mediterranean glistened in the afternoon sun, and she could see the tall masts of ships bobbing up and down in the harbor.
The earl suddenly turned a latch on a window and it became a door that led to a long, narrow balcony. Its white stone railing was covered with a profusion of flower boxes that made the air redolent with their scent. There were pink and white carnations, dazzling white camellias, jasmine, and even orange and oleander trees standing upright in pots at either end of the balcony. She leaned over the railing to look down into the terraced gardens and saw white marble statues of men and women in classical poses surrounded by bowers of orange and myrtle blossoms. She heard the cool, tinkling sound of water and saw on a lower terrace a graceful fountain, shaped like a huge cup, covered with ivy. A statue of a small boy, a water jug over his shoulder, stood upon it, pouring a steady stream of water into the fountain.
Cassie drew a deep breath. “It is lovely. Indeed, I have never seen so beautiful a scene in my life. It all seems to fit together perfectly.”
“Yes,” he agreed, leaning his elbows on an open stretch of railing next to her. “If it were not for the more restrained customs that prevail here, I would never miss England.” At her questioning look, he continued, “The Genoese are a very thrifty people. Indeed, many of the gowns I bought for you would be seen as ostentatious here. If you see me dressed frequently in somber black, it is because I wish my Genoese brothers and colleagues to see me as one of them and not some foreign nobleman.” He paused a moment and shook his head ruefully. “There is one item that the Genoese do not consider extravagant, and that is the wig.”
“But you never wear a wig,” she said, smiling up at him despite herself.
“True, and I never shall. But the Genoese as a rule adore them—and the most outlandish concoctions. At the beginning of this century the Doge even passed a law against them, but you’ll notice there is a wig on every head in all the portraits from that period. I believe the law is still entered in the books, but it is not heeded any more now than it was then. You will discover that there are more wig makers in Genoa than there are cafes.”
“My father always wore one,” Cassie said. “White with little sausage rolls over his ears.”
“Yes, I remember,” he said with a smile. He turned and Cassie followed him back into the bedchamber. “There are dressing rooms through that door.” Even as he pointed toward the far end of the bedchamber, he was aware that Cassie was not looking at the dressing room door but at his giant bed, which was set upon a dais, its four thick posts carved with fat, naked cherubs.
He grinned. “It is rather impressive, is it not? My father was quite fond of it. When one becomes used to that expanse of bed, the one aboard The Cassandra seems like a niggardly bunk.”
Indeed, Cassie thought, five people could stretch out, side by side, and not be overly crowded. She raised strained eyes to his face. “Surely there are many bedchambers in the villa, my lord. I would prefer to have my own room, if you please.”
“No,” he said easily, still smiling, but with finality. “Did I not make it clear to you that we would live as man and wife?”
“But your servants, visitors . . .” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.
“Perhaps their disapproval will speed your change from La Signorina to La Signora and La Contessa.”
“Never.”
Scargill came in then, valises and portmanteaux under his arms. He was breathing heavily from exertion, and Cassie turned on the earl. “Where are your other servants, O most noble lord? Must poor Scargill do everything?”
“Paolo is seeing to the return of the barouche, I doubt not. As I told you, cara, the Genoese nobility are a thrifty lot. Paolo and Marrina see to the house and stables. Scargill looks after me, and I will have Marrina bring in one of her many female relations to be your maid. The gardens, though, require more attention than we mere mortals. You will meet Sordello’s father, Marco, and his three minions in due time.”
“It’s fagged ye look, my lord,” Scargill said, his eyes narrowed on the earl’s face. “Ye need rest if yer shoulder is to heal quickly.”
The earl could not disagree. His shoulder pained him. He turned to Cassie, whose attention was again upon the massive bed.
“Would you care to rest with me, Cassandra, before dinner? The bed would certainly accommodate any distance you wish to keep from me.”
“Perhaps the madonna would like to see the rest of the villa, my lord.” He added severely, “As to yer dinner, I’ll instruct Marrina to serve both of ye here. The last thing ye need, my lord, is to force yer poor shoulder into evening raiment. Madonna, take yerself to the balcony and I’ll assist his lordship into his dressing gown.”
As the earl hesitated, Cassie said, “He is quite right, my lord. Someone of your age must needs avail himself of more sleep as the years pass.”
The earl threw back his head and gave a loud laugh. “You can see, Scargill, you were right, she cannot match wits with me. Now, cara, do as Scargill has instructed, unless, that is, you wish to see me naked.”
“I would prefer to see the gardens,” she said finally, and at the earl’s nod, she left the bedchamber.
Cassie found another glass door at the back of the villa and walked into the garden. She breathed a sigh of relief, for she had not seen Marrina and her narrowed sloe eyes. She wandered aimlessly through the lush gardens, stopping to sniff at a particularly lovely flower or touch the velvety petals. She came upon Marco, a slight man of medium stature, so tanned by the sun that he looked almost like a Moor. He was, he informed her in his low musical Italian, his lordship’s head gardener. She remembered that Marco was the boy Sordello’s father. He gave her a disinterested salute with a trowel and proceeded by and large to ignore her. She stood for a moment, frowning after him. But she decided that such treatment suited her mood, for she wished to be alone. She found that she repeatedly drew up with a start at the realization that she was in Italy, firmly installed in the earl’s villa. She kept asking herself what she was going to do, but sensible answers eluded her. Each time she swore that she would not remain her
e, she felt a niggling sense of uncertainty. Even though she ranted at herself for her lack of determination, she could not dismiss the confusion that pervaded her thoughts. She shook her head, trying to clear the image of him from her mind. But she could not. She felt the earl’s powerful body against hers, felt his mouth caressing her, and knew that she could not deny the passion he brought to her.
When the evening air became too chilly, she wandered back into the villa, only to be informed by Scargill that the earl was busy with business matters and would join her after dinner. She ate alone in the bedchamber, a meal of flaky fish broiled to perfection and topped with a thick wine sauce, and toyed with a single glass of wine until, finally, the earl entered. He looked tired and she felt a stab of guilt, thinking that his shoulder pained him.
“Forgive me, cara, for leaving you our first evening.”
He sat down at the small table and poured himself a glass of wine. “You enjoyed your afternoon?”
“I met Marco, your head gardener. He does not seem to talk much.”
He grinned, but she saw it was with an effort. “You should not have conducted business when you are not yet well.” The grin deepened at her sharp tone.
“I shall take your advice on the morrow, my dear.” He rose and stretched. “Lord, I think I could sleep the clock around.”
Cassie felt sleepy herself, but did not admit to it. She excused herself and walked quickly toward the dressing room to undress.
“Do not forget the rules, cara,” he called after her.
She bit her lip and left him for a sufficient period of time, she hoped, to ensure that he would be asleep when she returned.
Only a single candle burned, low in its silver holder, when she quietly walked back into the bedchamber, clutching her dressing gown closely about her chemise. The earl lay on his back in the mammoth bed, the covers pulled but to his waist, his eyes closed.
“Don’t force me to take off your dressing gown, Cassandra,” he said softly. She jumped, nearly knocking the candle to the floor.
“You are a beast,” she said, and reluctantly slipped out of her dressing gown.
“And the chemise.”
She looked at him closely and saw that he was looking at her through his dark lashes.
“It is cold.”
“Then come here and I will warm you.”
“I would rather freeze to death.” She snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. With angry, silent movements, she slipped the lace straps from her shoulders and let the chemise fall to the floor.
She heard him sigh, a mocking sigh, she thought, as she crept between the covers on the far side of the bed.
“Tomorrow, perhaps, you will wish me to reacquaint myself with that very provocative birthmark on your left thigh. Good night, cara, and sleep well. I am always here, you know, if you become cold during the night.”
She locked her thighs together, pressing the tiny pink birthmark firmly between them, and drew into a small ball, her back to him.
The downstairs clock chimed one short stroke before Cassie, still uncomfortably cold, fell finally into a light, restless sleep.
Chapter 13
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.
“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.