Devil's Embrace (20 page)

“You have her eyes,” Cassie said, wondering at the curtness in his voice.

“I trust that the eyes are the only trait I inherited from her.”

She cocked her head at him questioningly.

He shrugged and said only, “She was far from a loving woman. She did not care much for my father, or for me, his son. She wasted no time remarrying after his death. Indeed, she had not the taste to last out her widow’s year. Her son, my half-brother, will doubtless come to visit us soon. He is a likable enough fellow, charming and gallant with the ladies, and with an incurable penchant for extravagant finery.”

Cassie started, for he had not told her of a half-brother.

Before she could ask him more about this hitherto unknown relation, he said, “Come, let us go upstairs, and I will show you our room.”

She flinched at this reminder of their intimacy. She walked stiffly beside him up the wide staircase, while he told her the classical themes of the colorful frescoes upon the white stucco walls and pointed out more Parese ancestors, who were displayed in what seemed an endless procession from the earliest century. The brightly polished oak
stairs made not a sound as they ascended. She smiled, remembering the groaning of the stairs at Hemphill Hall when the slightest weight was on them.

The earl turned at the top of the stairs and addressed Scargill, who stood in quiet conversation with Marrina and Paolo in the entrance hall. “Bring up the luggage when it arrives, Scargill.”

“Aye, my lord.” Scargill nodded and turned again to the woman. Cassie heard a sudden sharp tone in his voice but could not make out his words.

The earl chuckled. “If I am not mistaken, Scargill is likely upbraiding Marrina for her overt disapproval of you. No doubt he is telling her that you are to be treated as a valued guest in the villa and not as a mistress brought here for my dissolute pleasures.” He patted her stiff shoulder. “I daresay,
cara,
if you consented to wed me, she would unbend toward you immediately.”

“I don’t want her to unbend.” Cassie turned away from the carved oak railing to walk quickly down an imposing corridor. There was carpeting under her feet now, of thick, dark blue wool, touched as if with an artist’s brush with small circles of white.

They passed many closed doors, bedchambers undoubtedly, and Cassie would have preferred any one of them to sharing a room with the earl. He paused before a wide double door, turned the ivory knobs, and said grandly, “Our bedchamber,
cara,
and my favorite room in the villa.”

She stepped past him into an awesomely large room, more nearly the size of a ballroom than a bedchamber. The white stucco walls were only rarely broken by portraits, giving the room an even greater feeling of airiness and space. Gold brocade curtains lined the opposite wall. At either end of the room were white marble fireplaces, adorned with swags of fruit and winged cherubs. The oak floor was strewn with several brightly woven carpets, each individual in color and design. There was an open arch at the southern end of the room, and as she neared it, she realized the room was even larger than she imagined and in the shape of an L.

She turned to the earl, who stood watching her intently.

“It is impressive, my lord,” she allowed. She looked a question toward the heavy brocade curtains.

“Now you will see why this is my favorite of all the villa’s chambers.”

She watched silently as he walked to the end of the curtains and tugged on a velvet cord. The gold brocade material slowly opened upon floor-to-ceiling windows that extended the length of the room. She stared out to a terraced garden filled with exotic flowers, thick ivy, and many kinds of trees. To the north, beyond the highest terrace, were rolling green hills that rose to meet the sky. She tightly clamped her tongue over an exclamation of delight and walked through the arched portal. Genoa spread out before her to the south, its distance only adding to its startling grandeur. The Mediterranean glistened in the afternoon sun, and she could see the tall masts of ships bobbing up and down in the harbor.

The earl suddenly turned a latch on a window and it became a door that led to a long, narrow balcony. Its white stone railing was covered with a profusion of flower boxes that made the air redolent with their scent. There were pink and white carnations, dazzling white camellias, jasmine, and even orange and oleander trees standing upright in pots at either end of the balcony. She leaned over the railing to look down into the terraced gardens and saw white marble statues of men and women in classical poses surrounded by bowers of orange and myrtle blossoms. She heard the cool, tinkling sound of water and saw on a lower terrace a graceful fountain, shaped like a huge cup, covered with ivy. A statue of a small boy, a water jug over his shoulder, stood upon it, pouring a steady stream of water into the fountain.

Cassie drew a deep breath. “It is lovely. Indeed, I have never seen so beautiful a scene in my life. It all seems to fit together perfectly.”

“Yes,” he agreed, leaning his elbows on an open stretch of railing next to her. “If it were not for the more restrained customs that prevail here, I would never miss England.” At her questioning look, he continued, “The
Genoese are a very thrifty people. Indeed, many of the gowns I bought for you would be seen as ostentatious here. If you see me dressed frequently in somber black, it is because I wish my Genoese brothers and colleagues to see me as one of them and not some foreign nobleman.” He paused a moment and shook his head ruefully. “There is one item that the Genoese do not consider extravagant, and that is the wig.”

“But you never wear a wig,” she said, smiling up at him despite herself.

“True, and I never shall. But the Genoese as a rule adore them—and the most outlandish concoctions. At the beginning of this century the Doge even passed a law against them, but you’ll notice there is a wig on every head in all the portraits from that period. I believe the law is still entered in the books, but it is not heeded any more now than it was then. You will discover that there are more wig makers in Genoa than there are cafes.”

“My father always wore one,” Cassie said. “White with little sausage rolls over his ears.”

“Yes, I remember,” he said with a smile. He turned and Cassie followed him back into the bedchamber. “There are dressing rooms through that door.” Even as he pointed toward the far end of the bedchamber, he was aware that Cassie was not looking at the dressing room door but at his giant bed, which was set upon a dais, its four thick posts carved with fat, naked cherubs.

He grinned. “It is rather impressive, is it not? My father was quite fond of it. When one becomes used to that expanse of bed, the one aboard
The Cassandra
seems like a niggardly bunk.”

Indeed, Cassie thought, five people could stretch out, side by side, and not be overly crowded. She raised strained eyes to his face. “Surely there are many bedchambers in the villa, my lord. I would prefer to have my own room, if you please.”

“No,” he said easily, still smiling, but with finality. “Did I not make it clear to you that we would live as man and wife?”

“But your servants, visitors . . .” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

“Perhaps their disapproval will speed your change from
La Signorina
to
La Signora
and
La Contessa.
”

“Never.”

Scargill came in then, valises and portmanteaux under his arms. He was breathing heavily from exertion, and Cassie turned on the earl. “Where are your other servants, O most noble lord? Must poor Scargill do everything?”

“Paolo is seeing to the return of the barouche, I doubt not. As I told you,
cara,
the Genoese nobility are a thrifty lot. Paolo and Marrina see to the house and stables. Scargill looks after me, and I will have Marrina bring in one of her many female relations to be your maid. The gardens, though, require more attention than we mere mortals. You will meet Sordello’s father, Marco, and his three minions in due time.”

“It’s fagged ye look, my lord,” Scargill said, his eyes narrowed on the earl’s face. “Ye need rest if yer shoulder is to heal quickly.”

The earl could not disagree. His shoulder pained him. He turned to Cassie, whose attention was again upon the massive bed.

“Would you care to rest with me, Cassandra, before dinner? The bed would certainly accommodate any distance you wish to keep from me.”

“Perhaps the madonna would like to see the rest of the villa, my lord.” He added severely, “As to yer dinner, I’ll instruct Marrina to serve both of ye here. The last thing ye need, my lord, is to force yer poor shoulder into evening raiment. Madonna, take yerself to the balcony and I’ll assist his lordship into his dressing gown.”

As the earl hesitated, Cassie said, “He is quite right, my lord. Someone of your age must needs avail himself of more sleep as the years pass.”

The earl threw back his head and gave a loud laugh. “You can see, Scargill, you were right, she cannot match wits with me. Now,
cara,
do as Scargill has instructed, unless, that is, you wish to see me naked.”

“I would prefer to see the gardens,” she said finally, and at the earl’s nod, she left the bedchamber.

Cassie found another glass door at the back of the villa and walked into the garden. She breathed a sigh of relief, for she had not seen Marrina and her narrowed sloe eyes. She wandered aimlessly through the lush gardens, stopping to sniff at a particularly lovely flower or touch the velvety petals. She came upon Marco, a slight man of medium stature, so tanned by the sun that he looked almost like a Moor. He was, he informed her in his low musical Italian, his lordship’s head gardener. She remembered that Marco was the boy Sordello’s father. He gave her a disinterested salute with a trowel and proceeded by and large to ignore her. She stood for a moment, frowning after him. But she decided that such treatment suited her mood, for she wished to be alone. She found that she repeatedly drew up with a start at the realization that she was in Italy, firmly installed in the earl’s villa. She kept asking herself what she was going to do, but sensible answers eluded her. Each time she swore that she would not remain here, she felt a niggling sense of uncertainty. Even though she ranted at herself for her lack of determination, she could not dismiss the confusion that pervaded her thoughts. She shook her head, trying to clear the image of him from her mind. But she could not. She felt the earl’s powerful body against hers, felt his mouth caressing her, and knew that she could not deny the passion he brought to her.

When the evening air became too chilly, she wandered back into the villa, only to be informed by Scargill that the earl was busy with business matters and would join her after dinner. She ate alone in the bedchamber, a meal of flaky fish broiled to perfection and topped with a thick wine sauce, and toyed with a single glass of wine until, finally, the earl entered. He looked tired and she felt a stab of guilt, thinking that his shoulder pained him.

“Forgive me,
cara,
for leaving you our first evening.”

He sat down at the small table and poured himself a glass of wine. “You enjoyed your afternoon?”

“I met Marco, your head gardener. He does not seem to talk much.”

He grinned, but she saw it was with an effort. “You should not have conducted business when you are not yet well.” The grin deepened at her sharp tone.

“I shall take your advice on the morrow, my dear.” He rose and stretched. “Lord, I think I could sleep the clock around.”

Cassie felt sleepy herself, but did not admit to it. She excused herself and walked quickly toward the dressing room to undress.

“Do not forget the rules,
cara,
” he called after her.

She bit her lip and left him for a sufficient period of time, she hoped, to ensure that he would be asleep when she returned.

Only a single candle burned, low in its silver holder, when she quietly walked back into the bedchamber, clutching her dressing gown closely about her chemise. The earl lay on his back in the mammoth bed, the covers pulled but to his waist, his eyes closed.

“Don’t force me to take off your dressing gown, Cassandra,” he said softly. She jumped, nearly knocking the candle to the floor.

“You are a beast,” she said, and reluctantly slipped out of her dressing gown.

“And the chemise.”

She looked at him closely and saw that he was looking at her through his dark lashes.

“It is cold.”

“Then come here and I will warm you.”

“I would rather freeze to death.” She snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. With angry, silent movements, she slipped the lace straps from her shoulders and let the chemise fall to the floor.

She heard him sigh, a mocking sigh, she thought, as she crept between the covers on the far side of the bed.

“Tomorrow, perhaps, you will wish me to reacquaint myself with that very provocative birthmark on your left thigh. Good night,
cara,
and sleep well. I am always here, you know, if you become cold during the night.”

She locked her thighs together, pressing the tiny pink birthmark firmly between them, and drew into a small ball, her back to him.

The downstairs clock chimed one short stroke before Cassie, still uncomfortably cold, fell finally into a light, restless sleep.

T
he earl stretched, carefully flexed his shoulder, and grimaced. He cursed softly and gingerly shifted his left arm into its sling.

“Ye’ll need more time, my lord, perhaps another week, afore ye’ve got yer full strength back.”

“I believe your telling me that, Scargill, was quite unnecessary.”

Scargill chuckled, shaking his head in a bemused fashion as he gathered up his master’s discarded dressing gown.

“May I ask the reason for your display of humor?” the earl asked as he sat down to have his boots pulled on. It wasn’t the pain that galled him, but rather being so damned helpless. It did not sit well with him to have Scargill help him bathe, all the while clucking and scolding him not to get the bandages wet, as if he were some errant schoolboy.