Devil's Embrace (16 page)

“Come, Cassandra. Don’t make me carry you.”

She thrust her chin up defiantly, but fell into stiff step beside him.

Her step lagged at the cabin door, but he shoved her inside, and ground the key in the lock. His fingers closed over the silver buckle on his belt.

“I will not submit to this beating, my lord. You will have to tie me down.”

He stared at her. “By God, you witless little fool. You honestly believe that I—”

He got no further, for at that instant a heavy book struck his shoulder.

“Witless, am I, my lord?” she yelled at him. “You will see that I am not helpless.” She grasped two more weighty books from the library shelves and flung them at him with all her strength. He raised his arm and knocked them aside.

He strode toward her and Cassie, with a sob of anger,
abandoned the books, clutched the huge ivory candle holder from atop his desk, and flung it at him. He ducked it, vaguely wondering as he heard one of his prized possessions crash heavily to the floor if the ivory had cracked.

He reached her behind the large mahogany desk and she lashed out at him. Her fist connected with his belly.

“That is quite enough, Cassandra,” he said, and pinned her arms to her sides. She tried to kick at him, but he pulled her so tightly against his body that she could not move.

Her heart beat wildly and her breasts heaved against his chest. She had believed—still believed—that he was going to beat her.

“Cassandra, look at me.”

He shook her slightly. Reluctantly, she raised her head. Her face was drained of color, yet there was defiant anger in her eyes.

“Why would you think that I would beat you?”

Although his tone was gentle, Cassie felt her stomach churn, for she knew she was impotent against him, impotent in all things.

“You are cruel.”

“Like Barbarossa?”

His expression was impassive and she felt uncertainty about herself, and about him. “Why do you mock me?”

“I do not mock you,
cara,
nor was it ever my intention to beat you.”

“Don’t lie to me. You were furious at me and you were taking off your belt.”

“Yes, I was angry at your vicious tongue. But understand me, Cassandra, I would never thrash you because you behave like a stupid child or a raging termagant. As to my belt, it must be removed if I am to strip off my clothes. It is my body you need,
cara,
not a beating.”

“No.” She twisted frantically against him to break his hold. She felt the hardness of him against her belly and color surged to her cheeks.

“You are worse than Barbarossa.”

He merely smiled at her and leaned against the desk. He spread his thighs and pulled her between them. He held
her hands behind her with one hand, and let the other move casually over her hips.

“Why hold yourself so rigid, my love?” he whispered, his warm breath against her temple. “Think about how you will feel very soon now. We have been apart for much too long a time.” His fingers continued their gentle probing, and she felt his hard member through her gown and petticoats, throbbing and hungry for her.

His voice, deep and sensual, sounded again in her ear. “Think about my mouth moving over you. You are so pink and soft,
cara.
You taste so sweet.”

Cassie reared her head back. “Damn you, I will not let you seduce me with words. I will not listen to you.”

She felt his mouth close over her, and the now familiar gentle probing of his tongue against her lips. His fingers caressed the back of her neck, then moved slowly to the bodice of her gown. She felt him pulling away the velvet ribbon that bound her hair. He released her mouth, and his lips trailed over her throat, and up to nibble at her ear. She felt a sudden bolt of heat burn through her. She was scarce aware that he no longer held her hands behind her, that her arms of their own volition tugged at his shoulders to bring him closer to her.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, “don’t make me feel like this.” But even as she spoke, she pressed against him, consumed by her own desire.

As his fingers parted the buttons of her gown and drew open the ribbons of her chemise, he murmured, “I want to touch you, be close to you, be drawn deep inside of you.”

His mouth closed over her breast, and she arched her back against him. He weaved his passion about her patiently, tauntingly, until at last she cried out brokenly, her voice slurred with desire, “Please, I cannot bear it . . .”

“Do you want me, Cassandra? Do you want me inside you?”

Her eyes took on a vague, smoky sheen as his fingers glided lightly over her breasts.

“Do you, Cassandra?”

“Yes.”

The small word seemed wrenched from her. He let his
mouth close once again over hers. He felt her hands fumble with the buckle of his infamous belt and was delighted that for the first time she was showing initiative. But she could not free the silver hook and with a moan of frustration, she pounded her fists against his chest.

“Savor your passion, my love,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Let it build inside you until you feel you will die if you do not find release.”

As he spoke, his hands, with the smooth skill of long practice, pulled her free of her gown and petticoats. She wanted to help him, to tear off the offending garments, but he would not allow it. Soon, her undergarments and silk stockings bunched softly about her ankles.

He let his fingers slowly trail over her belly until they touched her. Her eyes widened upon his face in mute surprise as his fingers caressed her. He smiled.

“Do you know how soft you are,
cara?
” His lips touched her cheek, the tip of her nose, her chin.

She felt his finger gently ease inside her and she gasped aloud, clutching her hands about his neck to support herself. He felt her tense.

“Not yet, my love.”

He took her hand and led her to the bed. He slipped out of his clothing as smoothly as he had removed hers.

She drank in his body without fear or embarrassment, her fingers clenching at the sight of his muscled chest and his taut belly. Her eyes fell to his sex and she felt a warm, insistent heat between her thighs that made her legs go slack.

“You are so different from me, so exquisite,” she whispered, scarcely aware that she spoke her thoughts aloud.

He laughed, a rich sound from deep in his throat. “All of me or just part of me,
cara?
”

“All of you.”

“Ah, we make progress.” He sat down beside her and laid one large hand lightly on her thigh. If only, he thought, gazing at her soft, parted lips, he could make her tell him that she loved him. But it was too soon, much too soon, and he knew that it was the passion he awakened in her that drugged her mind. She turned suddenly toward him,
pressed her breasts against his chest, and tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders. He moved his hand slowly from her thigh, and stroked her belly.

He felt his control near to breaking. He eased her down upon her back and gently parted her thighs.

“Remember I told you how you tasted, Cassandra?” He pressed his mouth over her belly and she felt him nuzzling at her, until his lips closed over her.

She whimpered softly, and arched her back, raising her hips to let his mouth burn into the depths of her. He felt her body shudder, quicken, and rose to enter her. Her thighs closed about his sides and her hips lurched upward, drawing him deeper within her. He felt her hands pressing against his back, and he knew that he was lost. He drove into her, and she cried out. As she stiffened in her climax, he let himself go.

He sprawled on top of her, his head beside hers on the pillow. He knew that he must be crushing her, but when he made to move, her hands tightened about his back. A deep ripple of pleasure shot through him, and he smiled, contented. He remembered her still tender back and turned onto his side, drawing her close in the circle of his arms. Her breasts stilled their rapid heaving, and he felt her go slack. Within minutes, she slept.

Cassie shivered and reached out her arms to draw his warm body to her. Her hands closed about a soft featherdown pillow and she opened her eyes. She drew herself upright and gazed about the cabin. He was gone. She looked at the clock atop his desk and started in surprise. She had slept only briefly, for it was but a few minutes after eleven o’clock.

She pushed her hair back from her forehead and swung her legs over the side of the bed. For a long moment, she simply stared down at her body, unable to weave her thoughts together.

She looked at the rumpled bed and saw herself writhing beneath him, her hips surging upward, her hands urgently kneading the hard muscles of his back. The memory sent a sudden tingling down her back. She pictured herself as
he must have seen her. Her virulent anger had turned quickly to passion. She had become a quivering woman begging for his man’s body. How very pleased he must have been to see her fall asleep like a sated young animal, replete with the pleasure he had given her.

Cassie rose shakily and rushed to the commode. She scrubbed herself viciously until she felt raw. She dropped the damp cloth and shook herself. “Oh, God,” she whispered into the stillness of the cabin, “what is happening to me?”

Unbidden, the memory of the afternoon she had been with Edward in the cave, but two days before their wedding, rose in her mind to taunt her. Had it not been for Becky’s interference, Edward would have taken her virginity. She had felt passion then, to be sure innocent, tentative desire, but nonetheless it had been she who had encouraged him.

She sobbed aloud and buried her face in her hands. Could any man touch her and set her body on fire? Was she a willing, loose little slut who would part her thighs at a man’s touch, at a man’s mouth closing over hers?

She gazed listlessly toward the port windows and a word formed on her lips.

“Gibraltar.” An English military outpost. There were Englishmen there who would help her, soldiers who could send a message to Eliott and to Edward.

Cassie sped to the portholes and pressed her cheek to the glass. The huge rock was now well behind the yacht, but she could make out a sandy expanse of beach. She moved swiftly, and within minutes, she was dressed in the breeches and white shirt the earl had allowed her to wear during the storm in the Channel. She pulled on her boots, jerked her hair back from her face and knotted a ribbon about it.

She rushed to the earl’s desk and pulled open one drawer after another. Papers, charts, ledgers; there appeared to be everything but the money she needed. She jerked at the bottom drawer and found to her surprise that it was locked.

She grabbed a hairpin from atop the dresser and thrust it into the small lock. She muttered a frustrated oath, for
she could feel the yacht moving swiftly eastward, before the lock sprang loose and the drawer slid open. Her fingers curled about a leather pouch; she pulled it open and saw to her delight that it was filled with
louis d’or.
She quickly fastened the pouch to her waist. She was on the point of rising when she saw an elegant English dueling pistol, half covered with a velvet cloth. Uncertainly, she touched its shining silver handle and drew it out. Her jaw tightened. If someone tried to stop her, she would use it.

Cassie was not much familiar with guns, but from the little she knew, she could tell that it was primed. She laid it on top of the desk and shoved the desk drawers back into place.

She felt a light draft touch her face and looked up to see the earl standing in the open doorway, the remnants of the smile on his face turning into a cold question.

“Just what the devil are you doing?”

Cassie straightened to face him, her fingers curling about the pistol. She said curtly, “I am leaving, my lord.”

“I hardly think so, Cassandra.” He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed, I believe it more likely that you will take off those ridiculous breeches and put on one of your gowns. We will have lunch shortly.” He added, “How fortunate that I opened the door so quietly. I had thought you still asleep, you know.”

She stared at the intimate, caressing tone of his voice.

“Damn you, my lord earl. I will no longer be your whore. Now move aside for I am done with you.”

“My whore,
cara?
You have not sufficient experience to fill that position.”

Her body shook at the amusement in his voice. Slowly, deliberately, she raised the pistol and aimed it at him.

“I have no desire to swim more than a mile, my lord. You will now stand aside or I will shoot you.”

The lazy animal grace left him. She was not fooled by the conversational tone of his voice, for she saw the tensing of his body. “How enterprising you are, Cassandra. But foolish, very foolish. Put the pistol down.”

“Go to the devil, my lord.”

“Put it down, Cassandra.”

He walked toward her, his stride confident, his dark eyes resting intently upon her face.

“Damn you,” she cried, and pulled the trigger.

A deafening roar filled the cabin. A trail of gray smoke billowed from the pistol as it dropped with a sickening thud to the floor. The earl grabbed his shoulder, the impact of the ball hurling him backward.

She rushed past him, through the cabin door and along the companionway. She heard him shout her name, but she did not slow. When she reached the deck, she forced herself to a walk. Sailors were looking about with surprised faces at the sound of the pistol shot. She paused for but a moment at the railing, gauging the distance to shore. The deep blue water was calm, as smooth as the surface of glass. In a fluid movement, Cassie climbed over the railing, stood poised an instant with her arms raised over her head, and kicked off.

“Madonna!”

She heard the shout just as her body knifed through the surface. The impact jarred her, and the shock of the cold water momentarily numbed her senses. Belatedly, she arched her back and fought her way to the surface. She gulped precious air into her lungs and slewed her head about toward the yacht. She heard sailors shouting and saw them lining up along the deck, gesticulating wildly toward her. She looked back toward the beach and felt a lump grow in her throat. It was far distant, more than a mile. She drew a resolute breath, kicked her booted feet and swam with sure, firm strokes away from the yacht.