Devil's Embrace

by Catherine Coulter

  Mr. Donnetti smiled down at her in what looked to be an assessing way, but it was merely the habitual set of his mouth, and the measured droop of his eyelids.

  “The captain is settling a minor dispute.”

  “What dispute? He told me nothing of it. What has happened, Mr. Donnetti?”

  “Nothing to cause any particular concern, madonna.” His voice was almost indifferent. These were halcyon days for his master and mistress, and he wished now that he had kept his mouth shut.

  But Cassie was not to be put off. “I repeat, Mr. Donnetti, what is the dispute?”

  He shrugged and hunched more closely over the giant wheel. “One of the men, madonna, a new man, in fact, hired on just before we left Genoa. Capable enough, I suppose, and until last night, quiet to the point of being surly toward the other men. Unfortunately, he got his hands on a bottle of gin. Turned nasty he did and drew a knife on Arturo of all people. Claimed Arturo was feeding the crew swill fit only for pigs.” Mr. Donnetti shrugged again, philosophically. “I disarmed him, of course, but the captain had to be told.”

  “What is the captain doing?”

  “Twelve lashes. I’d throw the swine overboard myself.”

  Cassie turned inadvertently toward the mainmast.

  “Below-deck, madonna,” Francesco said, following her eyes. “The captain would not want you to witness the flogging.”

  She gulped, remembering the sting of the earl’s belt upon her own back.

  “What is the man’s name, Mr. Donnetti?”

  “Luigi. I would not have hired him on save for the fact that the fellow came highly recommended from another trading captain. He does his work well enough, I suppose, and leaves the other men be, as a rule.”

  When Cassie asked the earl about the incident at luncheon, he, like Mr. Donnetti, merely shrugged. “It was all quite unnecessary. The fellow should not drink spirits. He will recover soon enough, I would imagine.”

  “You flogged him yourself?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head, swirling his wine thoughtfully about in its glass. “Odd fellow. Whimpered like a coward but refused to take off his shirt. Left him with a bloody rag on his back.”

  “However did Luigi get the drink?”

  “From Arturo, if you will believe that. The fellow was mucking about in the galley and discovered Arturo’s stash.”

  Cassie grinned. “I wonder now if Arturo put some of that vile stuff in my Yorkshire pudding.”

  “If it would make you eat more, I shouldn’t dislike it.” His eyes traveled assessingly from her face to her breasts, thrust upward over the lace of her bodice. “Perhaps you are adding some pounds, my love.”

  Cassie lowered her eyes to her glass of wine. It was true that her gowns had grown a trifle snug.

  The earl tossed down the remainder of his wine and pushed back his chair. He sat back, and made himself at ease, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching his long legs with negligent grace. “It occurs to me, cara, that I did not keep my promise.”

  “Promise, my lord?” She raised her eyes and saw a wide mocking grin on his face.

  “I will examine your shoulder most thoroughly, though, before I proceed.”

  “I shall toss my wine in your smug face if you do not cease speaking nonsense.” She raised her glass, as if readying to hurl it.

  “Like that first night, Cassandra?” he asked, his voice thick with memory.

  “Aye,” she said slowly, recalling now, vividly, the furious, terrified girl who had naught but foolish bravado.

  “I prefer to remember our second night together.”

  “I am certain you would, my lord. Will you now tell me how your precious Contessa Giusti—and she doubtless needed little encouragement—reveled in your marvelous masculine talents?”

  “I do not think you would enjoy the telling.”

  He walked to where she sat, and with a firm, careful motion, pulled down the gown from her shoulder and gently lifted the small bandage covering it. The wound was healing nicely. “Do you have any pain?”

  “No, as you said, it was but a scratch.”

  He let his hand travel slowly to her breasts. “Then it is time you paid the piper, madam. My promise. Do you not remember?”

  She did remember and her eyes widened. “You would not, would you?”

  She saw the caressing laughter in his dark eyes, and smiled impishly. “If ruthlessness is a part of your character, my lord, I suppose it would be unfair of me to break your spirit completely.”

  Because she wanted to, he let her undress him. By the time he was naked, Cassie was red in the face from exertion. Because she was still on her knees in front of him, her inquisitive eyes had not far to travel to take in all of his body, and her face remained flushed for a different reason. “If I could look like you, my lord, I daresay I would not mind at all being a man.”

  He passed a caressing finger over her cheek. “I thank the lord that he saw fit to leave you just as you are.”

  “You are tempting, my lord.”

  He suddenly pulled her to her feet. “Now off with those damned clothes, cara. I’ll not be driven to distraction, only to have to call a halt to bring you to your natural state.”

  After he stripped her, he lifted her into his arms and carried her swiftly to the bed.

  Before she knew what he was about, he sat down and flipped her face down over his thighs. He pressed his hand against the small of her back when she tried to rear up.

  “I am a man of my word, cara,” he said.

  “I do not want you to beat me, I want you to make love to me.”

  Her voice was a wail of protest, and he chuckled. She ceased her struggles when his palm stroked over her buttocks. When he turned her over to kiss her, she whispered, “I think love and lust go together quite nicely.” And when at last they lay replete, she said, “I thought perhaps that you were asleep.”

  “In the middle of the afternoon? I beg you, madam, to grant me some stamina.”

  He slipped away from her and she drew herself up on her side. “There is something I would tell you.”

  He quirked a black brow, and raised his hand to smooth her hair from her face.

  “I would never have married Edward, regardless.”

  “I know,” he said only. He sat up and pressed her upon her back, propping his head on his hand.

  “You do not understand.” Somehow she could not make her eyes meet his. His fingers gently cupped her breast, his eyes still thoughtful upon her face.

  He was not making it easy for her, she thought. The words still seemed stuck at odd angles in her throat. She heard a soft whimper, and realized with a confounded start that it had come from her own mouth.

  His fingers stopped their light caressing.

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered, her voice liquid with tears.

  “I cannot imagine why.”

  “I am being a fool.”

  He merely smiled, and kissed her lightly, and waited.

  “Oh damn you. I am pregnant.”

  He remained silent. His hand moved from her breast to her belly, and remained there.

  “I know, Cassandra.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at him, utterly undone. “I do not understand. How—?”

  “When I brought you here, after the duel, you became ill from the wine I gave you.”

  “But everyone is occasionally ill.”

  He looked faintly amused. “Yes, that is true. But you forget that I know your body very well. Your breasts, cara. Your pregnancy has made them swelled, heavy.”

  She felt very much the fool. “Then why, my lord, did you not say something?”

  “Because, my little simpleton, it was for you to tell me. Now that you know babes do not come from cabbage patches, I thought it only fitting that you be the bearer of the news this time.”

  She gazed up at him in silence, and when she finally spoke, her voice was uncertain. “And did you not doubt me? Believe me conniving, disho
nest? Believe that I wanted to return to you only because of the child?”

  “Only until last night.”

  “And why last night? It makes no sense. Last night was no different from any of our preceding nights together.”

  He looked taken aback. “I do believe you are right. Last night was no different. Perhaps,” he continued, his hand caressing her belly, “it was not last night, but the night before.”

  “You are making sport of me, my lord. This is a very serious matter.”

  “Indeed you are quite right, Cassandra. If my calculations are correct, our babe will be born in mid-October, and I will have a fat wife after the Season and during the autumn round of visits that many of my friends make to Clare Castle.” He drew a resigned breath. “I suppose I shall simply have to invite Eliott, and the wife he will doubtless have by that time, since you will be far too bulky to travel to Hemphill Hall.”

  “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.”

  Chapter 30

  The 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.