Devil's Embrace (21 page)

“Aye, ye may, my lord.” He pulled on a gleaming black boot before replying. “I was just thinking that if a man had shot ye, ye’d have likely stuck a knife in his gullet. Lord, what a man will forgive a woman.”

The earl shot him a frown beneath his arched black brows. He could still picture Cassandra’s white, strained face, her shock at what she had done etched in her eyes the instant after she fired the pistol.

“And yet, ye beat her for an offense that harmed ye or anyone else not one whit.”

“Much must be forgiven since she did save me from drowning, my friend. And her quickness of wit with Khar El-Din surely must impress even a literal, dour Scotsman. Remember, Scargill, her only motive for shooting me was
to escape. I cannot fault her for trying. Incidentally, she was not out of your sight yesterday afternoon, was she?”

“Nay, not for a moment. She spent most of her time wandering about the gardens or simply sitting staring at those immoral naked statues ye have scattered about. I had the feeling she knew someone was watching her.”

The earl nodded and rose. “Joseph will be coming to the villa the day after tomorrow. Cassandra has a certain fondness for him, I believe. When I am not able to be with her, it will be his task to watch over her. I am fairly certain that she will fling her fury at me when she discovers his purpose, not him.”

“Ye will rest the next couple of days, my lord, will ye not?”

“Yes. If my shipping and banking interests have suffered in my absence the past five months, a few more days will make little difference. I have been thinking also that we should hold a dinner party in, say, a week. I will be able to conduct any pressing business matters with the gentlemen present, and Cassandra can meet the cream of Genoese society.”

“Will the wee lass meet them as a
signora
or a
signorina?
”

“I daresay that Cassandra Brougham will remain Cassandra Brougham. I can ensure her obedience in some areas, Scargill, but I cannot put a gag in her mouth.”

“There will be some who will not be pleasant to her, my lord. Ye’ve already seen that prude Marrina’s reaction to her. Rest assured that I told her the truth of the matter, but she did not believe me. I could tell by her unappealing snort of disdain. ’Tis ever the woman that suffers, ye know, regardless of the circumstances. And I ask myself, my lord, why ye want the madonna to mix with Genoese society. Do ye not fear that she’ll denounce ye in front of yer guests?”

The earl gave him an engaging smile. “Do you take me for a fool, Scargill? I have, as a matter of fact, given the matter much thought. I am fairly confident that by the time of the dinner party, she will have no wish to complain to our guests about my fiendish behavior.”

Scargill wanted very much to ask his master the source
of his confidence, but he realized that such an inquiry would be impertinent.

“I hope that ye may be right, my lord,” was all that he said.

“Trust me, my friend,” the earl said. “Now, if you will ask Marrina to fetch up breakfast, I will awaken Cassandra.”

The earl walked quietly across the long expanse of his bedchamber and drew up to the side of the bed. Cassandra lay on her side so close to the edge of the bed that he imagined any sudden movement on her part would send her toppling to the floor. Her thick hair fanned about her face on the pillow. She had drawn herself into a tight ball, her knees close to her chest. His expression softened.

He was on the point of waking her when she moaned softly in her sleep and turned on her back, flinging one arm above her head on the pillow. He grinned to himself and gently eased the covers from her shoulders down to her waist. He stared down at her, gazing at the gentle hollows and curves of her body. She was almost too slender, he thought, pulling his eyes away from her breasts, to the outline of her ribs and her waist.

He pulled the covers lower. Her thighs were slightly parted, but he could not see the small spot of pink skin he had teased her about the night before. He lightly laid his flattened hand over the smooth hollow of belly. His hand didn’t span the width of her, a good thing.

She shivered and brought her legs up, momentarily trapping his hand. He slowly moved his hand and pressed his fingers downward to touch her. He heard a soft moan, followed shortly by an outraged gasp.

“How dare you.” She struggled frantically away from his hand, rolling away from him to the center of the bed, and pulling the covers about her.

He grinned engagingly at her and gingerly sat down beside her. “I was just returning your favor,
cara.
You were enjoying my touch, I believe, before you decided it wasn’t ladylike to do so.”

The final webs of sleep fled Cassie’s mind and she sat up, drawing the covers about her like a shield.

“I was asleep.”

“I know,” he said. “That altogether encouraging moan was woven from an erotic dream, no doubt.”

For a moment, Cassie’s tongue lay leaden in her mouth. He always seemed to be able to twist her words and their intent. “You were looking at me.”

“True, and a most pleasing sight you are,
cara.
Now, as much as I regret it, our breakfast will be arriving shortly and I fear that Marrina would be shocked to the soles of her rather flat feet were she to see you tousled and quite naked in my bed.” He rose leisurely and fetched her dressing gown.

“Here, Cassandra.” He tossed her the dressing gown, turned, and walked to the other end of the room to sit himself in front of the small table.

And not a moment too soon, he thought, gazing at Cassandra from the corner of his eye as she struggled into the dressing gown.

“
Entri!
” he called.

Marrina walked slowly into the bedchamber, her arms laden with covered dishes, and her full lips drawn into their now familiar tight scowl. Although Marrina did not wish to, her eyes slewed in the direction of the bed. The young foreign lady—lady, ha!, she thought—did not in Marrina’s eyes appear to be undergoing any cruel treatment from her master. She did look rather flushed, and rightly so, in Marrina’s opinion. Perhaps the girl did have some shame.

“
Buon giorno, signore,
” she said stiffly, forcing her attention back to her master’s face. “I have brought your breakfast.”

“
Mille grazie,
Marrina.
Ho appetito.
”

Il signore
said something in English to the girl and she moved reluctantly toward the table. He turned to Marrina.

“
Grazie,
” he said shortly, and waved his hand in dismissal.

She curtsied stiffly and walked from the bedchamber.

The earl said between mouthfuls of warm toast, “I am at your disposal for the next couple of days, Cassandra.
There are many places for you to see and, I trust, enjoy. You can begin to accustom yourself to Italian sights, people, and living before you meet Genoese society.”

Cassie said coldly, still smarting from the earl’s provoking hand and Marrina’s pursed lips, “You mean that after a couple of days I am to be spared your presence, my lord?”

“Oh, never that,
cara,
” he said cheerfully. “Surely you would not believe me so ungallant. But I will need to spend some time in Genoa, though I do conduct most of my business from here.” He paused a moment, then said meaningfully, “Joseph will be arriving shortly. He will watch over you when I am not here.”

“What you mean to say is that poor Joseph is to be my guard.”

“Perhaps, if you wish to view his presence in that light. I trust you will not try to shoot him.” He softened his tone. “Your life is with me now, Cassandra. I pray that you will soon accustom yourself.”

“I think not,” she replied, quite softly, and rose from the table. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I wish to bathe and dress now.”

“As you will, my love,” he said easily, and moved to pull the bell cord. “I will have Paolo fetch your bath water.”

The day passed pleasantly enough for Cassie, though she did not admit it to the earl. She became acquainted with the palm trees, whose bizarre layered trunks and wide serrated leaves lined the perimeter of the terraced gardens, and the odd gray weathered olive trees that seemed content in the most arid soil and climbed up the steeper slopes of the hills in neat layered rows. All the marble statues had titles, and each a fascinating story. When the earl showed her a colossal statue of Jupiter, framed by a rose-covered marble bower in a lower garden terrace, he said with a grin, “Each time I see old Jupiter, I think about another statue of this esteemed god, built over the tomb of a dog given by Charles V to Andrea Doria, who was, incidentally, one of my illustrious ancestors. The story goes that for his maintenance of the tomb, he received the principality of
Melfi. To thank the Emperor, Andrea Doria entertained him and a hundred others to a banquet, where the astonished guests saw three services of silver plates from which they had eaten flung into the harbor after being removed from the table. Andrea Doria, in the true Genoese spirit of thriftiness, achieved this magnificent gesture without being a penny the poorer—he stationed fishermen with nets below the terrace to catch the plates as they fell.”

She laughed heartily and plied him with an endless stream of questions. It struck her forcibly that the earl was an amusing companion, and she frowned at her lapse.

“You are troubled,
cara?
”

“Must you even read my thoughts?” She sat down on a marble bench that faced another fountain.

“But, dear one, have I not told you that we are to be as one in all things?” As she stared stiffly ahead of her, he added softly, “I do thank you for sitting down. As you have said, my advanced years compel me to rest.”

“Is your shoulder paining you?” she asked, unaware that her eyes narrowed in sudden concern.

“A bit, perhaps, but I shall survive. After luncheon,
cara,
I will introduce you to a sacred Italian custom.”

“Pray what is that?” she asked warily.

“In English one would call it a nap. Here it is called a
siesta.
When the sun is at its zenith, Italians retreat indoors, close their shutters, and sleep. It is, of course, a marvelous opportunity for other pursuits as well.”

He closed his hand over hers and caressed her fingers.

“When will you believe that I have no such demands of you, my lord?” She tried to jerk her hand away, but he held it fast.

“I will believe that,
cara,
when you cease to find pleasure in my arms.” He rose and drew her up with him. “Let us have lunch, little one.”

Perversely, Cassie was a trifle peeved when the earl made no sexual demands on her when they returned to the bedchamber after a light luncheon. Yet she found that she quite enjoyed the
siesta.
Clothed only in her chemise, the curtains drawn against the hot afternoon sun, she stretched out on the large bed and was soon asleep.

She was awakened by the gentle touch of a hand on her bare arm. An angry rebuke rose to her lips as she opened her eyes. To her surprise, she peered up into the fresh round face of a young girl who was staring curiously down at her.

“
Voglia scusarmi, signorina,
” the girl said in a soft musical voice.

Cassie shook English words from her mind. “Who are you?” she asked in Italian, struggling up on her elbows.

The girl grinned at the heavily accented Italian. “I am Rosina,
signorina,
niece to Marrina. I am to be your maid.
Il signore
asked that I help you to dress. He wishes to see you in the library.”

“Very well,” Cassie said, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Rosina, she saw, was dressed in somber black, her glossy black hair pulled tightly back from her round face in as severe a knot as that worn by her aunt, Marrina. She looked quite young, perhaps sixteen. Cassie became aware that the girl was staring at her. “Well, what is it?” she asked, thinking the girl would be as sour-minded as her aunt.

“It is your hair,
signorina.
It is like spun gold, and so thick. I have occasionally seen hair of a fair color, but not like yours. I am said to have an ability with hair. If you would allow me,
signorina,
I would be most honored to dress yours.”

Cassie felt instantly guilty at her rudeness and said in a friendlier voice, “Thank you for your compliment, Rosina. I would be most pleased if you would help me.”

Rosina nodded her head and smiled. Two deep dimples appeared in her plump cheeks. “I will fetch you a gown,
signorina.
”

Cassie rose and walked to the commode in the dressing room to splash cool water on her face. When she returned to the bedchamber, she stood for a moment watching her new maid. She looked to Cassie to be a gentle creature, her dark brown eyes guileless. Cassie wondered whether she would ever see Rosina’s placid expression replaced by tight-lipped disapproval.

“You are very young, Rosina,” Cassie said as her new maid helped her into a light muslin gown of pale blue.

“
Si, signorina,
” she answered brightly, motioning Cassie to be seated before her dressing table. “The nuns told my mother that I was too efficient a servant to waste myself getting married just yet.” She shrugged philosophically. “Perhaps when I am seventeen I will want a husband and babies.”

As she brushed and arranged Cassie’s hair, she continued in her soft voice, “It is honored I am,
signorina,
to be allowed to come to the Villa Parese.
Il signore
is an honored and much admired nobleman despite the fact that he is—”

A flush rose to Rosina’s plump cheeks.

“Despite the fact that he is half-English,” Cassie finished, smiling.

“
Si, signorina,
though most do not think of that now. It is only that he has just returned from England that makes one remember.” She paused for a moment, concentrating on the thick plait she was braiding. Cassie, who had little liking for braids, frowned, but held her tongue waiting to see the result. In a very few moments, she stared at herself in the mirror, startled and quite pleased with the style Rosina had created. The maid had fashioned her hair in what Cassie thought of as a Roman style, with a coronet of braids atop her head, and the remainder of her long hair falling from the circle down her back.