Devil's Embrace

by Catherine Coulter

  “I have no wish to hurt you, cara.”

  “You do not hurt me. I will tell you if it is otherwise.”

  “By your leave then, my lady.”

  When he was again deep within her, he watched her face carefully. While her eyes darkened in pain, he felt her thighs tensing in pleasure.

  “I love you, Cassandra,” he said. Her eyes widened, and he thought that her lips moved, but he could not be certain. In the next instant, she was writhing beneath him, pulling them both to release.

  The earl lay on his back, Cassie tightly locked against him, her body relaxed, her breathing already deepening into sleep. He found himself grinning ruefully into the darkness. Making love to her appeared to be more effective than a dose of laudanum, for always, she curled up against him, languid and trusting, and almost instantly fell comfortably asleep.

  Chapter 16

  Cassie pulled her cloak more closely about her shoulders as she strolled through the gardens. She breathed in the cool, clean air, hoping to calm her stomach, upset from breakfast. She stopped by one of the circular marble fountains and ran her fingers through the rippling cold water. When the water calmed, she saw not only her reflection but also the earl’s.

  “Would you like to catch some trout for our dinner?”

  The thought of fish turned her stomach. “No, I think not, my lord.”

  As he gazed at her overlong, she said quickly, “If you would know the truth, I think I am becoming ill, perhaps the influenza. It must be the change in the weather.”

  “No, cara, I do not believe that the weather has anything to do with how you are feeling.”

  “Then perhaps,” she said sharply, “it has to do with being forced to spend too much time in your company.”

  “Now that, my dear, is a distinct possibility.” His dark eyes gleamed. She cocked her head at him, warily.

  “I do not feel like arguing with you this morning, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me—”

  “What an admission, cara. I begin to think you quite unwell indeed if you do not wish to fight with me.”

  “I would that you cease being a bore, my lord, and leave me in peace.” She turned on her heel and would have left him, but his hand closed about her arm. She thought for once that if he wanted to make love to her, she would not be tempted. She felt too miserable.

  “How long has it been since you have worn a nightgown, Cassandra?”

  “A nightgown?” She was bewildered by the odd question and the gentle tone of his voice.

  “A nightgown,” he said again.

  She shrugged. “Whatever does my wearing a nightgown have to do with anything?”

  “My dear Cassandra, must you always forget that you are a woman?”

  Suddenly, she felt herself go pale. She had not worn her nightgown for at least six weeks, since they had been aboard the yacht.

  “That’s right,” he said, his eyes glistening with pleasure. “You are not the victim of an illness, Cassandra. Do you not realize what it means that you have not worn your nightgown since we have arrived in Genoa?”

  Her mouth went suddenly dry and she shook her head wildly back and forth. “No,” she said, “it cannot be true. No.” But deep inside her, she knew it was.

  “You carry my child, cara, our child.”

  She stared at him dumbly, so overcome that she could find no words. She was to have borne Edward’s children, in England, not the earl’s. She was to have been his wife. She heard herself say quite calmly, “You have known long that I am pregnant?”

  “For a little more than a week.”

  “And why did you not tell me?”

  “I had hoped you would discover it for yourself and tell me.”

  “You have planned this to happen, haven’t you?”

  “I have not the power of nature, Cassandra. Of course I could not plan such a thing.”

  “Bastard.” She turned blindly and stumbled down the path away from him.

  Her foot caught on a knobby growth at the base of a tree trunk, and she went sprawling to her knees. Nauseating bile rose in her throat. She felt the earl’s hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly, his fingers pulling her hair from her face. Her body heaved in dry convulsions, leaving her so weak that she did not struggle when the earl lifted her into his arms. He set her down by the fountain.

  “Wash out your mouth, Cassandra, it will make you feel better.”

  Numbly, she did as she was told. But no sooner had she spit out the water than the wretched nausea returned. She moaned and wrapped her arms about her stomach.

  “I think you need some time in bed, little one, and perhaps a touch of brandy to calm you. In a few weeks’ time, you will feel much better.”

  “You seem to be quite the expert, my lord.”

  “I am,” he said calmly, and once again lifted her into his arms.

  “What do you mean?” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

  “I have not been protected from either birth or death, Cassandra. I delivered the babe of a serving maid when I was but twenty years of age.”

  “Was it yours, my lord, or aren’t you certain?”

  He grinned at her, refusing to be drawn.

  When he had laid her gently upon their bed, he pulled a light cover over her and straightened. “Lie still, my lady. I will fetch you some medicinal brandy.”

  She watched wordlessly as he strode from the bedchamber. Even if she had not felt so wretched, she would have been silent, for her thoughts were in jagged confusion. Her hand moved tentatively to her belly, and she moved her fingers over its flat surface. It seemed incredible to her that a child could actually be lying snug within her womb, and that she could have been unaware of its existence. Her becoming pregnant had been what he had hoped for all along, she thought, and her own unbridled passion had most assuredly assisted him toward his goal. Unwanted tears welled up and streaked silently down her cheeks. How very pleased he must be, and so puffed up in his male accomplishment. She cursed him, and railed at fate, until she lurched to her feet to dash to the basin in the dressing room.

  The earl found her leaning limply over the basin, her face pale and wan. “Come, sweetheart, let me help you.”

  “I think, my lord,” she managed to say, “that you have helped me quite enough. If only I were a man, I would surely make you pay for this.”

  She seemed to realize the incongruity of her words, for she held her tongue even though she saw dancing laughter in his eyes.

  “I know,” he said only, and helped her back into bed.

  He had put several drops of laudanum in the brandy, and within minutes her head lolled on the pillow. He quietly pulled a chair up beside the bed and eased his large frame into it. His long fingers formed a steeple and he tapped them thoughtfully together, his eyes resting intently on her face.

  He smiled slightly, remembering her hurling the charge at him that he had planned her pregnancy. He supposed that if it were indeed possible to plan such an event, he might have given it some consideration. With such a change coming in her body and in her life, he was hopeful that after she had finished ranting at him, she would come to realize that she did wish to be with him.

  There was a distinct gleam of pride in his eyes, and if Cassie had been awake, she would doubtless have yelled at him. He sat back in his chair and allowed himself a grin.

  Some time later, he rose from his chair, lightly stroked his fingers over her face, and left the bedchamber.

  He met Scargill downstairs in the entranceway, and proceeded with a wide grin on his face to tell him the news.

  “So, ye’ve won, my lord,” the Scotsman said slowly, pulling on the shock of red hair that fell over his forehead.

  “Don’t, I pray, accuse me of having planned it.”

  “I’ll wager that is what the madonna thinks—wee innocent that she is. She has just told you, my lord?”

  “Nay, old man, it was I who informed her of the happy event. She is, at present, asleep, for she bec
ame ill.”

  “Ah.”

  “Ah, what?”

  “That starchy bitch, Marrina, was filling my ears with yer immoral behavior. She was yelping about that ye were carrying the madonna up to yer bedchamber, in the middle of the morning, mind ye, for more debauchery.”

  The earl frowned. “I had thought, my friend, that you had managed to put a muzzle on that woman. If she does not mend her manners after Cassandra and I are wed, I shall have her bound and gagged and taken to a convent.”

  Scargill shrugged philosophically. “At least ye have naught to concern yerself about with the girl, Rosina, or, for that matter, the rest of the servants. It’s fond of her they are.”

  “Now, Scargill, I’m off to tell Joseph. It’s to be hoped that he can curb some of her more devil-may-care activities.” He said over his shoulder as he strode down the staircase, “If she lashes out at you when you see her, consider yourself warned.”

  “My congratulations, my lord,” Joseph said when the earl had tracked him down in the stable. But there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. He laid down the haying fork and turned to stroke the earl’s stallion, Cicero. “I suppose you’ll not be needing me anymore.”

  “On the contrary. She’ll certainly need you more than my horse does. I trust you, you know, to keep her in line and prevent her from from doing anything foolish.”

  Joseph nodded, his calm gray eyes clear again. Suddenly, he laughed and shook his head. “Do you know, she told me that you had recounted the story of my near-disastrous end with Khar El-Din. She called me a fool, but assured me that she was pleased that I had remained a man. She was certain that I would not have been happy as a eunuch.”

  “I hope you do not mind, Joseph. As I recall, I really had no choice in the matter other than to tell her. She can be quite insistent, you know.”

  “And she took no offense at the part you played, my lord?” He whistled, clearly amazed that the earl had told her.

  “You may be sure that she did, much to my delight. She will be a fiercely loyal wife. If ever in the future I am tempted to stray, I would fear as grave a punishment as Khar El-Din planned for you.”

  During the next several days, the earl left Cassie to herself, sensing that she needed to be alone. She was often silent, her brows drawn together in thought. He was able, at least, to plan her meals carefully, and she was ill only once.

  One evening after they had finished their dinner, a silent meal in which Cassie had spent most of her time pushing her food back and forth on her plate, she suddenly laid down her fork and raised her eyes to his face.

  “You have eaten practically nothing,” he said, frowning at her near-full plate.

  She waved away his words. “I would speak with you, my lord.”

  She pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders, and he saw her fingers nervously twisting around the stem of her wine glass.

  “What is it you have to say to me, cara?”

  “I am pregnant.”

  She sounded very positive and he allowed himself a slight grin. “Indeed, I believe that you are right.”

  “I have given it much thought and have decided that I can no longer return to England, or to Edward, in my current condition.”

  He drew a sharp breath, aware that his heart was racing, and waited.

  “I suppose that you could not have really planned for me to become pregnant. However, the result is the same. I cannot allow my child to be born a bastard.”

  He nodded, and waited for her to continue.

  His dark eyes widened in amazement when she said in a calm voice, “I have observed, my lord, that you have been avoiding me, both during the day and at night. Is it that you now find me distasteful?”

  “Distasteful? Good lord, woman, I have merely done what I thought you wanted of me—left you time to yourself to sort through your feelings. Now, cara, I will show you how distasteful I find you.”

  He rose from his chair, scooped her into his arms, turning a deaf ear to her protests, and carried her upstairs.

  “Tell me, my love,” he whispered, as they made love, “do I seem like a man who holds you in distaste?”

  He allowed himself to move deep within her, and she moaned softly, her golden hair swirling about her face.

  “Do I?”

  “No.”

  He was moving with her, his hard body covering her, consuming her in its heat, and she clutched him to her, burying her face against his shoulder. For the endless moments her body exploded into climax, she felt bound to him, possessed by him, body and soul. When her body calmed, her mind reeled from that incredible feeling, and she burst into frightened sobs.

  The earl, who was blissfully recovering from his own pleasure, gazed down at her, astonished. She was clinging to him like a limpet, and he could feel the wet of her tears against his chest.

  “Good God, woman, whatever is the meaning of this?”

  “I hate you,” she sobbed, but her hands tightened about his back.

  “Ah, a natural enough feeling, I suppose.” He became concerned that his weight was too great for her and rolled over on his side, bringing her with him. He imagined that her pregnancy was making her unpredictable and allowed himself to tease her. “At least you haven’t taken your pleasure with me and rolled over to sleep and to snore.”

  He felt her breasts move against his chest as she reared up to frown at him. “How dare you, you wretched man? I don’t snore.”

  “No, of course you do not.” He stroked her tousled hair back from her flushed face.

  He said, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  For a fleeting moment, he saw naked pain in her eyes and wished that Edward Lyndhurst had never been born.

  But he was only partially correct. Edward had been but a vague, shadowy thought. Her pain was born of her fear, fear of herself and fear of a future that she could not as yet fathom. She lowered her eyes from his face and whispered, “Yes, if it is what you want.”

  “It is what I have always wanted,” he said firmly, and lightly kissed the tip of her nose. He eased her down against his side. “Sleep now, my love, and don’t be concerned that you will keep me awake with your snoring. It is soft and ladylike.”

  Chapter 17

  La Contessa Giovanna Giusti was in a rage. She hurled a priceless, exquisitely designed Ming vase, a prized possession of her late husband’s, against the mantlepiece and watched it shatter into myriad broken slivers.

  “Don’t just stand there, you fool,” she screamed at a cowering servant, “clean up the pieces!”

  She found the violent act calmed her enough to prepare to meet Caesare.

  She lay beneath him that afternoon, grimacing at her body’s discomfort. He had taken her violently, with no thought to her pleasure. A smile curved her lips upward. She had heard it rumored that Caesare was not always the polished and gallant gentleman, that he had forced more than one woman. She gently eased herself away from him.

  “My dearest Caesare,” she said gently, “you have sorely used me. Have I said or done anything to make you angry?”

  “Damn him,” Caesare said in a low voice. He seemed to recall himself and turned slowly to face Giovanna. “Forgive me,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

  “You have heard the news, I see,” she said, her voice soft, commiserating.

  “Yes,” he said, not questioning how she knew of Cassandra’s pregnancy. “The earl joyfully informed me last evening at dinner. Later, he told me of the need for haste.” He paused a moment and pulled himself up on his elbows. “Damn, the English wench has done me in. I will become as nothing to his great lordship, now that this girl holds all his attention, not even his heir.”

  Giovanna’s mind raced ahead. “Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully, “the wench can be bought off.”

  “You talk like a fool, Giovanna. Do you forget how very wealthy my half-brother is? Buy her off with what?”

  Giovanna lowered her head. “I am sorry, Caesare
. It is just that I so dislike seeing you upset by all of this. Surely you always knew that the earl would wed and sire legitimate children—sons to carry on his name and title.”

  “I am still his heir now, Giovanna.”

  “Not for many more months, it would seem.”

  He wanted to hit her, until reason asserted itself, and he shrugged. “There is nothing to be done.”

  God, but he was weak, Giovanna thought. “Dear Caesare,” she began, “I have no desire to see you cheated out of your birthright by some silly foreign slut. It is not right that the Parese lands and wealth pass to her English children. It is my feeling, despite the impression the earl is giving everyone, that the English girl has tricked him into marriage. She wants his wealth for herself and her children. I think, Caesare, that she is a scheming little bitch, intent on destroying all ties you now hold with the earl.”

  Caesare said slowly, “It is odd that he said nothing to me before he returned to England about bringing this girl back with him.”

  “That is because he did not know of her existence before he left. Do you not see, Caesare, she has tricked him. She knew she could not convince him to wed her unless she became pregnant with his child.” She spread her hands in front of her. “I wonder if indeed the earl is the father of her child.”

  “My half-brother is not a fool.”

  “Mayhap not in this instance, but surely he has not treated you as he ought. That old fool, Montalto, still shares his confidence, while you—” She shrugged her white shoulders.

  “Whilst I what?”

  “I do not mean to imply that the earl does not hold you in affection. But has he ever allowed you to direct his business dealings?”

  “You know very well that he has not. He treats me like naught but an amusing, useless fribble.”

  “If he were alone again, I cannot but feel that you, his half-brother, would gain in stature and trust in his eyes.”

  Caesare rolled away from her and rose to look down at her. “What is it you are saying, Giovanna?”

  “I am saying, my love, that you must not be cheated out of what is rightfully yours.”