Devil's Embrace

by Catherine Coulter

  “How long have you loved him, Cass?”

  “I cannot remember the beginning of it, yet I am quite secure in my feelings for him.”

  “Despite all that he did to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What you did this morning was outlandish.”

  “Perhaps, but I believe that you would have done the same, had you been me. There was everything to lose, you see.”

  “I will never understand you, Cass.”

  “You will forgive me everything, Edward?”

  “There is nothing to forgive you for,” he said quickly. “The earl, though, is another matter.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Good-bye, Cass. Perhaps our children will be playmates some day.”

  “And mine will lead yours into wicked adventures.”

  He stared at her a moment, bemused. “That,” he said, straightening over her, “remains to be seen.” He looked toward the open cabin door, hearing Jenny’s bright laughter.

  “Good-bye, Cass.”

  “Until England, Edward.”

  Chapter 28

  Cassie heaved a sigh of contentment, wiped her fingers on her napkin, and sat back in her chair. She quickly leaned forward again when she felt the wooden back press against her shoulder.

  “So you like Arturo’s way of preparing oysters?”

  “Cleaning my plate from one end to the other should convince him of my approval.”

  “They are fresh from the bay. Although Arturo is quite outspoken in his disdain of New York, he does admit that the variety of fish is remarkable.”

  Cassie sipped at her wine, suspecting that the earl had laced it with laudanum. She gazed about the cabin, her body lulled by the wine and the gentle rocking of the yacht.

  “How odd,” she said aloud, “that one’s perspective can shift so dramatically. This cabin is exquisite. I did not remember it this way.”

  “Both the captain and his cabin are pleased at your new perspective, Cassandra. How does your shoulder feel?”

  “I fear, my lord, that you must be disappointed. I am strong as a horse, you know, and the wound is trifling. But you must keep your word—you must wait a full two days before you thrash me.”

  “If I do not have to treat you as an invalid, cara, then I fancy I shall discover equally pleasurable pursuits to fill my time until I can, in good conscience, bare your bottom.”

  She felt a quiver of pleasure and a rosy flush rose to her cheeks. She looked down at his strong hands as he deftly peeled an orange.

  “I have not had an orange in a long time,” she said.

  He handed her a section and sat back in his chair, watching her nibble delicately.

  “When do we leave New York?”

  He was silent for some moments, gazing at her intently.

  “Is there orange juice on my chin?”

  “No. You asked me this morning, Cassandra, to take you home. I must ask you if you meant what you said.”

  “Given the circumstances, my lord, I can hardly believe you would doubt me.”

  Again, he fell silent. Cassie felt suddenly uncertain. “You no longer wish to wed me?”

  “I have never before offered you the choice, Cassandra. Now I find that I must. Would you, you adorable girl, you most exquisite creature in all of England—and the colonies—do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  Cassie pursed her lips, stifling laughter at his flowery delivery. It was odd, she thought, but she preferred him to be overbearing. He was easier to deal with that way.

  She said matter-of-factly, “If you do not wed me, I shall have to gullet you and throw your miserable body in the bay.”

  “In that case, to save my wretched hide, I shall fetch a discreet parson on the morrow. Is that soon enough for you?”

  “I suppose that it must be,” she said. “But be warned, my lord. I will have you leg-shackled by tomorrow noon, else you will be the worse for it.”

  It suddenly occurred to her that all her clothing was still at Edward’s lodgings. “Oh dear,” she wailed, “I have nothing to wear. This dressing gown would hardly be appropriate.”

  He rose slowly and walked over to the armoire. He flung open the doors. “I think, my dear, that all you need is right here.”

  “I don’t think you ever doubted my answer for an instant.” She made to rise, to go to him, but found to her chagrin that she weaved where she stood.

  “Drunk again,” he said, shaking his head. “I believe the best place for you, my love, is in bed.” He yawned prodigiously. “Do you mind if I join you? It has been a long, quite fatiguing day.”

  “But we are not yet married, my lord.”

  “True.”

  “And my shoulder is paining me terribly.”

  “I shall be very careful of it.”

  He laughed, a deep, satisfied laugh and scooped her up into his arms. She clung to him when he set her upon the bed.

  “Madam, you cannot seduce me unless you allow me to remove these damned clothes.”

  She lay back, watching him peel off his clothing. When he stood naked in front of her, she pulled her dressing gown more closely about her and sat up. Words came from her mouth in a torrent. “It is my fault—all of it is my fault. I sold myself, just as would a harlot. I let him take me though I hated it and hated myself. I had nothing to give to him for you had already taken everything—my love, my passion. How can you forgive me? How can you say nothing when you know what I did?”

  “Are you now quite through?”

  “I am afraid that I have nothing to give you, don’t you understand? I am afraid that I can no longer feel passion after what I did.”

  “I have never heard a more comprehensive recital of recriminations. Remind me, when you are an old woman, and I a doddering old man, to provide us both with the amusing tale of Cassandra’s fall from grace. I might even tell our grandchildren if ever your termagant’s tongue pushes me too far.”

  “But you must hate me, you must.”

  He grabbed her arms and pulled her forward on top of him. “If I yell and rave at you will it make you feel better? Or, perhaps I should beat you senseless. Would that assuage your ridiculous guilt? I do apologize for refusing to wallow with you in this spate of self-hatred. Actually, what you have done required a good deal of courage and determination. And, more importantly, my love, Edward Lyndhurst is no longer in your heart.”

  She stared at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. He laughed and gently flicked her chin.

  “Now, Cassandra, what is it to be? Lovemaking with your future husband, or sleep?”

  “You are strangling me with your nobility.”

  “Oh no, I am your devil, do you not remember? I assure you, there is not a noble bone in my body. You have not answered my question, cara.” He stroked his hands gently down her back.

  “You swear that you are not noble, that you are being honest with me?”

  “I swear it.”

  “But what if I no longer feel passion?” She felt his fingers stroking her hips.

  “Your body does not seem to be aware that you are a passionless woman. And your eyes, cara, are becoming vague and smoky. Surely, that is not because of disinterest.”

  There was still a faint protest in her mind, but when she opened her mouth, only a breathless sigh emerged.

  “Your dressing gown, Cassandra.”

  His voice made her urgent, and she tugged frantically at the sash at her waist.

  “Hold still, little one.”

  The dressing gown parted under his deft fingers, and he slipped her arms gently out of the full sleeves. He pressed her upon her back and lay beside her, his eyes on her body.

  “You are too thin,” he said, still not touching her, “save for your breasts.” He leaned over her and kissed her. Her breasts were swollen and tender, but the touch of his mouth made her arch her back upward.

  And then he was on top of her, and she felt the familiar hardness of him, the raw masculine strength of him. He crushed h
er breasts against his chest, and she felt his black hair pressing against her.

  She felt a surge of joy as he forced her lips to part. He pushed against her belly, and her hands urgently kneaded his back as she parted her thighs. But he would not allow it.

  He brought her to release before he entered her. To his besotted surprise, when he thrust deep inside her, she quivered anew with passion. She cried out his name, clutching him feverishly to her, and he closed his mouth over hers, willingly losing himself in her.

  Belatedly, he was reminded of her shoulder and gently eased himself off her. He smoothed back the tousled hair from her forehead and solemnly kissed her nose.

  “If you show any more passion, my love, I will be a dead man.”

  She smiled vaguely, replete, and in the next moment, she was fast asleep, her face against his shoulder.

  Their wedding was conducted aboard The Cassandra, in the captain’s cabin. Mr. Donnetti and Scargill supported the couple under the suspicious eye of a Father Donovan, lamentably Catholic.

  After waving Father Donovan off the yacht, his step jaunty from the excellent champagne provided by the Earl of Clare, The Cassandra, sails billowing and men swarming nimbly over the rigging, prepared to sail out of the harbor of New York.

  “Where are we bound, my lord?” Cassie turned to face her husband, her back against the bronze railing.

  Anthony wrapped his fingers about strands of her hair that whipped across her face in the crisp afternoon breeze. For some moments, he simply looked down at her, savoring her closeness, secure in the belief that she had finally accepted him.

  “I have been given to understand, wife, that England is lovely in the spring.”

  Her eyes glistened with pleasure, for she had expected him to say Genoa. She laughed. “I do hope that we do not beat my letter to England. To be faced with a supposedly dead sister would be no mean shock to Eliott. And of course, there is Becky to be considered.”

  The earl dropped his hands to her shoulders. “Becky loves you, cara, as would a mother. Surely you can find forgiveness for her, just as you have for me.” He added with masculine arrogance that he knew would gain her attention, “You must admit that everything worked out just as I planned. Becky but followed my instructions.”

  “Conceited man,” she said, no heat in her voice. “I suppose since I am so very happy that I can afford to be generous.” She turned abruptly, her eyes alight with her joy, and flung her arms about his shoulders. She hugged him tightly to her. “It is so marvelous to be able to show you how I feel, with no more pretense, no more reservations.”

  “And how do you feel, Cassandra?” He held her lightly in his arms, imagining that Scargill and Mr. Donnetti were in all likelihood staring at them, self-satisfied grins on their faces. He wanted her to tell him now that she loved him. She raised her face, her blue eyes shining with mischief.

  “I feel, my lord, that if I stand close to you much longer, you will become an embarrassment to your men.”

  “And just what, madam, do you propose doing about my masculine predicament?” The humor in his voice matched her own. He had long ago learned the value of patience with her.

  “I suppose,” she said, “that I shall simply have to ask you down to my cabin.”

  “Your cabin?”

  “I trust you will be just, my lord. Since you have finally convinced me to wed you, is it not fair that you bestow upon me at least half of your worldly possessions?” She added, her eyes all wicked, “I am sure that my half of the cabin is the part that holds the bed.”

  “I shall think about it, madam.” He drew her arm through his. Once below-deck, he said, “If you please me enough, perhaps I shall be generous.”

  “Then I shall feign a mighty passion.”

  When they were in the cabin, he grinned at her and turned to grate the key in the lock. “No interruptions, madam.”

  When he turned back to her, he felt a surge of desire twist in his groin. Cassie was standing in the middle of the cabin, busily stripping off her clothes. He stood watching her, her face slightly flushed, in seeming concentration on the long row of buttons down the front of her gown. He walked to the table and poured two glasses of wine, still watching her from the corner of his eye. She wriggled out of her gown and, without pausing, pulled the lace straps of her chemise off her shoulders. At last, aware of his eyes upon her, she raised her face and looked at him squarely. The chemise rested only a moment about her hips before it fell softly atop her gown. “I want you now, husband.”

  He grinned at her and set down the wine glasses. “Could it be, my love, that we are here for more than to solve my own predicament?”

  “Yes, if you would know the truth.”

  His eyes danced. “May I always have a ready remedy, my lady.”

  “And I for you, my lord.”

  When the earl was naked, he grasped her hand, and they eased each other onto the bed. They caressed each other leisurely, each savoring the other’s touch, the feel of each other’s flesh. Cassie wanted desperately to give, give in the same measure as he had given to her. She wriggled out of his arms to run her lips over his chest and downward over the taut muscles of his belly. She laid her face against his thigh and lightly touched him, caressing his swelled member, and breathed in the male scent of him.

  He sensed the freedom she felt, freedom to show him her love as he had always shown her. He felt stretched like a bowstring, his sex aching to be taken into her mouth. He lightly stroked her hair. And waited. He felt her pressing her breasts against him, and the pulsing of her heartbeat.

  When her lips softly touched him, and finally covered him, he thought his body would betray him. He tried to pull away from her, but she would not release him. She thought she would die of pleasure when he moaned.

  When he could bear it no more, he cupped her face in his hands, and pulled her toward him. She gazed up at him, her eyes asking him what he wished.

  He groaned and pulled her astride him. And then he was driving inside her, his hands caressing her until she was beyond herself, lost in the sensation of him. She felt him exploding within her as he groaned into her mouth. She wanted that moment to be timeless.

  “I love you,” she said, stroking the black hair from his forehead.

  “And I you,” he said. He thought about his long voyage, halfway across the bloody world to find her, the long empty nights on the endless ocean, with nothing but his rage and his nagging fear. “I alternately beat you, ravished you, and pleaded with you. Then I would imagine you dead and that angered me even more, for you would have escaped my wrath and all the venom I was storing up.”

  She was silent for some moments, until her mind gave meaning to what he had said. “At least you did not hate yourself. You see, I could not imagine that you would come after me. I thought I had lost you.”

  His arms tightened almost painfully about her. “Do you know that I planned our meeting at Kennedy House, that I had even rehearsed my speeches to you, for I believed that I had lost you, that you had willingly wed Edward Lyndhurst.”

  She nuzzled her chin into the hollow of his throat. She thought of the small babe in her womb, but she would not tell him tonight. This was their wedding night, a night for them alone. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would tell him. She raised her face, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “And do you know what I felt when I first saw you?”

  “The devil had come to claim you again.”

  “Nay, nothing so dramatic. If you would know the truth, I thought you dazzling, devastatingly handsome. But your anger made you unfamiliar, somehow alien to me. I think I would have gladly accepted oblivion at that moment.”

  “Your pride is as great as mine, cara, and you gave me measure for measure.” He grinned at her suddenly, and his hands loosed from about her back and dropped downward to her hips. “You have complained not one whit about your shoulder. Perhaps you should have your promised thrashing today.”

  “The pain is great, my lord, it is simply that
I am a stoic. You promised me two days. I shall hold you to it.”

  He eyed her silently for a moment, and grinned. “I do not believe it.”

  “Believe what, my lord?”

  “That you are still awake, my love. Have I given you so little pleasure that our lovemaking no longer serves as a sleeping drought?”

  “I would never be so inconsiderate to my husband,” she said, “only to my lover.”

  Chapter 29

  She talked with boundless energy, of everything. There were no more private, secret places in her mind from which she kept him. Except for the child.

  Her only bout of morning sickness happened when she was alone. She was creeping quietly along the companionway after washing out the basin herself when Scargill appeared.

  He looked at her pale face, and the basin, and shook his head. “Ye must tell him, lass.”

  He held out his hand, and she silently handed him the basin.

  “Ye’re being foolish, ye know, ’twould give him great joy.”

  She sighed. “I know. At least I think I do. You and Joseph, both of you always knew what was in my mind.” She felt her mouth tremble; she gulped and straightened her shoulders. She still felt weak from being ill, and it was making her behave foolishly.

  “I can’t imagine, lassie, how ye could ever believe otherwise. Joseph would have told ye the same thing. Go lie down now until ye recover yer energy. Ye’ve so much. The men would likely blame the captain if they saw ye so woebegone and limp.

  “His lordship will be here at any moment, lass. He is never long apart from ye.” He nodded encouragement and left her, carrying the basin under his arm.

  Cassie waited for the earl, watching the white-topped waves and the sails billowed by the stiff March breeze. She tired of waiting for him, and shaded her eyes against the bright morning sun, making her way nimbly toward Mr. Donnetti, who hovered as always like a lean hungry hawk over the wheel.

  “Where is his lordship, Mr. Donnetti?”

  Her tone was diffident, for she did not know Francesco as well as Scargill.