Devil's Embrace

by Catherine Coulter

  “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 w
ant 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.

  Chapter 14

  Il Conte Caesare Bellini stood at a marbled white fireplace, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pale yellow waistcoat, his expression questioning.

  “My servant told me you wished to see me, Giovanna. I am delighted, for I believed you otherwise engaged this afternoon.”

  La Contessa Giovanna Giusti smiled slightly, revealing small white teeth, and waved her slender hand impatiently.

  “You know, my dearest Caesare, that I would much rather be with you than that doddering old man, Montalto. He told me in that self-important way of his that the Earl of Clare has returned and he must needs attend him at the villa.”

  She strolled gracefully to him and laid a shapely white hand on his sleeve. “Would you care for a glass of wine, Caesare?”

  “If I cannot have your lips, Giovanna,” he said. She gave a tinkling laugh and wrapped her arms about his neck.

  “You, caro, can have whatever you wish.” She nuzzled his neck, and lifted her mouth to his. He drew her quickly into his arms and possessed her soft lips until she pushed him away, gasping for breath.

  She waved an admonishing finger at him. “You have been without me for but a day, Caesare, and already you behave like a man long marooned on an island.” She paused a moment and gazed up at him through thick black lashes. “The servants are to be gone all afternoon. Only I am left, a poor, lonely widow.”

  Caesare felt her small hand lightly touch his swollen member, and shuddered. He looked at her slightly parted lips, and imagined them caressing his body. It surprised him that after nearly five months as his lover, she still held such fascination for him.

  “It would be my pleasure to serve a lonely widow,” he said as his fingers closed over the clasps on the back of her blue velvet gown.

  Once in Giovanna’s bedchamber, he found himself staring at her as she gracefully removed her clothing. He wondered, a slight frown puckering his forehead, if his half-brother had been as dazzled by Giovanna’s white body, if he had also delighted in the touch of her mouth and hands upon him.

  He lay on his back, naked, on her smallish bed, watching her brush out her thick raven hair.

  “So Montalto told you that the earl had returned.”

  She turned her face away. After a moment, she said lightly, “Yes. It would seem, too, that your esteemed half-brother did not return from England alone.”

  Caesare propped himself on his elbows. He wished he could see her face. “I had hoped, Giovanna, that you would not care if my brother returned to Genoa with an entire harem.”

  Giovanna lowered her hairbrush and turned slowly to face him, a beguiling, teasing expression on her face. “Of course I do not care, caro. I merely find it amusing that his lordship must go to such lengths to find himself a woman. It is a woman that he has brought back with him?”

  “Your sources of information are, as usual, quite accurate. She is just only a woman, though.” At Giovanna’s raised eyebrows, he added, “She is hardly more than a girl, eighteen years old at most.”

  “You have met her then.” Her voice was light with indifference, but her brown eyes were watchful.

  “Yes.” He shook his head. Cassandra had not acted like any man’s mistress that he had ever before met, and his brother had never before brought one of his women to his precious villa. “I found her odd,” he said finally.

  “In what way?” she asked softly, sitting on the bed beside him.

  Caesare shrugged his shoulders and reached for her. “I do not wish to talk anymore.”

  His climax came quickly, explosively. He looked at her through glazed eyes, watching her gracefully wipe her mouth.

  Giovanna offered him wine, quickly drinking her own to remove the taste of him.

  Caesare laughed softly. “You know, I told my brother about Montalto pursuing you. God, you would topple the old man into his grave were you to give him such pleasure.”
>
  “And what was the earl’s reaction to that news?” Her voice was light and unconcerned.

  Caesare shrugged negligently. “It is hard to know. I remember that he grinned.”

  Giovanna restrained her impatience. “You agree with me, do you not, Caesare, that the earl should not discover that we are lovers? I am certain that his fierce pride would drive him to withhold even more of your birthright from you.”

  Caesare stiffened. “My brilliant half-brother must soon learn that I can be trusted with his precious business dealings.”

  For the moment, she sought to soothe him. “Of a certainty he will. You are young yet, only twenty-five.” Young for a man, she thought, grimacing, but not for a woman. “And what of this English girl? How did the earl treat her?”

  “I found her behavior curious, if you would know the truth. She is beautiful, if one happens to admire the pink-and-white English fairness.”

  “Pink and white tells me precisely nothing, Caesare.”

  Piqued at her insistence, he stripped Cassandra naked in his mind. “She is taller than most Italian ladies and slender as a reed, except, of course, in those places where it is to a woman’s advantage not to be. Her eyes are dark blue, the color of the Mediterranean after a storm. And her hair, ah—like spun gold, Giovanna, thick and long; hair that entices a man to bury his face in its softness.” He paused a moment and studied Giovanna’s perfect oval face, pale now in the dim afternoon light of the salon. “You will of course meet her. My brother mentioned a dinner party. Undoubtedly you will be invited.”