Devil's Embrace (35 page)

“Well, actually, I have been waiting for you to tell me,
cara,
that fall in Italy is simply not as it is in England. No clouds bloated with rain and no frigid winds.”

She hunched her shoulder at him, resolutely keeping her unruly eyes upon her fingernails. “I am convinced that you have the fires lit only out of English habit.”

“You are probably right,” he said. In truth, he had wanted to ask her if she would enjoy a trip to Paris, perhaps in the spring, but all thought had fled upon her reaction to seeing him naked. He walked quickly to the great bed and climbed in between the covers, for his member was swelled with desire. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her.

He watched her finish brushing her hair, wondering what she was thinking. At last she rose, shrugged off her dressing gown and slipped into bed.

A single candle sent its spiraling flame toward the ceiling, bathing them in a soft glow of light. He gazed at her for many moments before moving toward her. Her eyes were closed and her golden hair spread out upon the pillow, framing her face.

“There is no reason for the nightgown, Cassandra,” he said finally, gently stroking her halo of hair. “I believe we have both grown quite tired of it.”

Cassie opened her eyes slowly and looked up at him, a mute question in her eyes. “I am not certain what you mean, my lord.”

He balanced himself on one elbow and let his fingers lightly trace the contours of her face. “Perhaps we can reach a compromise about your nightgown.”

“Compromise?” She felt the warmth of his breath on her face, and then the light touch of his mouth upon hers, undemanding. His fingers stroked her throat, and then closed over the ribbons on her nightgown. She grasped his fingers, staying his hand.

“Trust me not to hurt you,
cara.
”

She stared up at him, her eyes almost black in the dim-lit room. Slowly, she pulled away her hand from his, and he pulled apart the ribbons.

Cassie sucked in her breath as he gently bared her breasts. She closed her eyes at the shiver of pleasure that
coursed through her when his mouth closed over her. “Your compromise, my lord,” she whispered.

“How can I discuss it with you,
cara,
if you will not look at me?”

Her eyes flew open, wide with confusion, and he drew back his hand from her breast, afraid that he was moving too quickly with her. He forced lightness into his voice, and tweaked the tip of her nose.

“My compromise, dear one, is that we give your nightgown a place of honor at the foot of the bed.”

The thought of being held naked against him after so many weeks was delicious, and she nodded mutely. She wanted him to enfold her with his strength and tenderness, to make her part of him. He laughingly folded her nightgown, and hurled it across the room. She lay naked beside him and felt his hand again caressing her breast. “It has been such a long time,
cara.
”

“I know.”

He grinned, and moved his fingers slowly over her belly. His expressive dark eyes became clouded, and she knew what he must be thinking. Her belly would have been rounded by now, if she had not lost the child. But she was flat, her body empty. She remembered the terrible pain of that night and shuddered involuntarily.

He felt her tremble and stayed his hand. “Are you afraid, Cassandra?”

“A little. When I remember the hurt, I cannot seem to help myself.”

“I know, I feel the same way. Even though it has been many weeks now, that night still comes to me and I am terribly afraid.”

“You, afraid?” She looked at him, surprised. “I have never thought of you being afraid of anything.”

“I would be a fool were I not. Is that what you think of me, madam?”

“Oh no, ’tis just then when I think I know you, you say something that I do not expect.”

He smiled at her and felt the tension pass from her body. He let his fingers lightly caress her belly again, and rained
gentle kisses on her nose, her chin, and her mouth. He pulled her tightly against him, savoring the feel of her.

“I have missed you much,
cara.
”

“And I you, my lord.” She slipped her arms about his back and pressed her cheek into the hollow of his throat. She felt him pressing against her belly and closed her hand around him.

When he could bear her touch no longer, he eased her on her back and grasped her buttocks urgently in his large hands.

The dim candlelight blurred his features, and his heavy, fast breathing sounded in her ears. She stared up at his large body poised over her, and felt his sex pushing against her.

He felt her tense and looked up at her face.

But it was not the earl who looked at her, it was Andrea. She struggled furiously against him, pounding her fists at his face and chest, scarce aware that she was screaming mindlessly. When she was free of his touch, when she felt nothing holding her, she was frenzied with freedom, and hurled herself from the bed.

“Cassandra!”

She drew up, panting at the sound of her name, her body tensed for flight, confused and uncertain. She saw a man coming toward her, but he stopped. Vacantly, she realized that he was holding out his hand to her.

“It is all right,
cara,
” came a quiet, familiar voice. “There is nothing for you to fear.”

“Stay away!”

The earl could feel her terror. “Would you care for a glass of wine, Cassandra?”

Wine? She looked at him wildly, but he turned and walked away from her.

He gazed at her from the corner of his eye as he uncorked the decanter and poured rich burgundy into a glass. She was standing perfectly still where he had left her, her hair streaming over her shoulders, her body outlined against the dark shadows.

He walked over to her, forcing nonchalance into his movements, and held out the glass.

“Your wine, Cassandra.”

“Thank you.”

If he had not been so concerned for her, he would have smiled. Even in her fear, she was every inch the English lady.

She sipped at the wine and silently handed the glass back to him. He took several slow steps, and set it upon a table.

“Are you not cold,
cara?
”

Cassie’s wits had returned to her, and she was appalled at what she had done. She held out her hand, then dropped it back to her side.

“I am so sorry, Anthony. It was just that suddenly you were no longer you. You were—” She choked, unable to say his name.

“Andrea?”

She nodded dumbly.

“It makes no matter,” he said. “Come back to bed, Cassandra.”

He watched her retrieve her nightgown and slip it over her head. Her hands were shaking as they tied the ribbons about her throat.

When they lay in bed, Cassie rigidly on her own side, he said calmly, “You must tell me what this Andrea was like.”

He felt her shudder. “It might help if you could bring yourself to talk about him,
cara.
”

“I cannot.” She closed her eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories. “Please forgive me, Anthony.”

“There is nothing to forgive,
cara.
” He held out his arms to her. He felt her uncertainty, the remnants of her fear. He said easily, hoping to occupy her mind, “I did not tell you, but some weeks ago, I hired what you might call an agent, a man named Daniele Barbaro, to help me find Andrea and the other man. We must catch them to discover the man who hired them. Daniele has now extended his search to Pisa.”

He felt Cassie stiffen against him and wondered if he should not have simply kept his mouth shut. He was taken aback when she said in a flat, emotionless voice, “I would assist you, my lord, to find the other man and Andrea.”

He was silent for some minutes. Her words troubled him,
yet he knew that she was at last willing to face what had happened to her. He said finally, “Yes, you can help us.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

He lay awake staring up into the darkness for some time after he was certain Cassie was asleep.

B
ut Cassie did not accompany the earl when he rode to Genoa to meet with Daniele Barbaro. He left her sniffling with a cold, propped up in bed, a wadded handkerchief in one hand and a book in the other.

“Just do not bring back Signore Bissone,” she called after him, “else I swear I’ll sneeze all over him.”

He met Daniele Barbaro in a small coffee house in the Piazza de Ferrari, a quarter that was a maze of narrow lanes and steps, and tall, crowded houses, whose every window-ledge overflowed with blossoming mimosa flowers and carnations.

“What news, Daniele?” he asked, regarding the younger man’s heavily hooded eyes. As always, he was pleased with Daniele’s appearance. Dressed in sober black, his narrow shoulders slightly hunched, he could easily pass for a Genoese man of business.

“I received word but yesterday from a friend, Ludovico Rialto. He believes that Andrea is playing off his vicious tricks in Corgorno.”

Corgorno was no more than two days’ ride from Genoa. “It would appear that the brute is something of a fool. When you find him, Daniele, send me word. Remember, you are not to kill him. Have you need of more men?”

“No, my lord.”

The earl ordered them wine from a hovering waiter and waited until the man was out of earshot. “Before you take him, remember that he must have the same tattoo as his comrades—a serpent twined about a sword. I have discovered from Teodoro Cozzi, my man of business in Rome, that the tattoo was particular to a group of hired assassins
who were active there some ten years ago. He tells me that he may be able to learn what became of them. If it turns out that the man in Corgorno is not Andrea, it is possible that we will be able to find him through Cozzi’s efforts.”

Daniele stroked his thick mustache, wiping off droplets of wine. “It is something,” he said in his measured way. “I will keep you informed, my lord, in either case.”

The earl had retraced his steps through the maze of narrow streets and was on the point of paying a boy for holding Cicero when a provocative woman’s voice stopped him.

“Antonio, how delightful to see you.”

He turned to see Giovanna, dressed in apricot velvet, gazing up at him, her dark eyes wonderfully wide, her soft lips parted in a beguiling smile. A maid stood near her, her arms weighed down with packages.

“Contessa.” He bowed to her.

She offered him her hand, and he raised it to his lips and lightly kissed her fingers.

Giovanna laughed softly, and with a quick nod of her head, dismissed her maid. “I find myself quite fatigued, Antonio. Would you please escort me home?”

The earl looked after the retreating maid, his mouth tightening. He could hardly leave Giovanna unattended. “Very well,” he said shortly, and proffered his arm.

“Signore Montalto tells me that you come to Genoa often, Antonio.”

“Yes. I trust my business associate is well.”

“He’s an old man. Can an old man ever be well?” She shrugged and smiled up at him. “But what of you, Antonio? It has been months since I’ve seen you.”

“As you’ve already been informed, Giovanna, I am often in Genoa. When I am not, I am at the Villa Parese.”

She would have liked to question him further, but decided to bide her time until they reached her house. She stroked her fingers lightly on his sleeve and walked silently beside him.

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” she asked him the moment they stepped into the entrance hall.

“No, I thank you not, Giovanna.” He bowed to her abruptly, and turned to leave. She stepped in his path,
clutched her arms about him and buried her face against his chest. “
Dio,
I have missed you.”

He clasped her arms and pulled her away from him. “I am certain, contessa,” he said, “that there are many gentlemen vying presently for your considerable favors. But I have told you that I am no longer one of them.”

“You cannot mean it. I know that you want me,” she said, her eyes steady upon his face.

“It is, however, quite true.”

“How dare you?” She was rigid with fury at his curt dismissal.

“You must learn to mind your manners, contessa, as well as your passions. Now, if you will excuse me.” He turned on his heel and strode to the door.

“How can you go back to that little slut? When you take her, Antonio, do you ask her how it was she shared her favors with common
bravi?
”

“Leash your venom, Giovanna, else I might be tempted to forget that I do not strike women.” He heard her panting behind him as he opened the door and let himself out.

“Damn you, my lord earl. You will pay for this.”

The earl raised himself on his elbow and kissed Cassie lightly on her lips. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him, her mind still blurred with sleep.

“Merry Christmas,
cara,
” he said.

She yawned and smiled up at him. “Merry Christmas to you, my lord.” Her eyes darkened for an instant at the thought of Christmas in England, and she turned her head away. She did not wish to discomfit him, not today. She thought of their chess game the night before, and smiled. She had finally achieved a draw and had teased him mercilessly the entire evening.

“Oh dear,” she said suddenly, and threw back the bedcovers. She quickly averted her face, for he was naked.

“Oh dear what?” he asked, rolling onto his back and pillowing his head on his arms.

“I cannot tell you, my lord Anthony. It is Christmas, you know.” There was a distinct twinkle in her eyes as she
whisked herself out of the bedchamber into the dressing room.

The morning passed swiftly. Cassie stood beside the earl as he dispensed gifts of money to his servants and colorfully wrapped packages to their children. After a light lunch, they rode in a closed carriage to Genoa to attend Christmas mass at the Church of the Annunciation in the Piazza della Nunziata. Cassie had never before attended a Catholic mass, and she found herself awed by the rich solemnity of the service. It did not matter that she did not understand the deep chanting voices, intoning Scriptures in Latin. She copied the earl’s movements, kneeling when he did and mouthing the Latin responses he chanted. She thought it odd that everyone was dressed in severe black, particularly on such a joyous day as Christmas. During the priest’s sermon, she gazed about the ancient stone church, lit with hundreds of candles that cast eerie shadows on the life-size statues of saints that lined the walls. She was reminded of an English Christmas service only when she saw the cre`che, the manger surrounded with mounds of hay, with painted statues of Joseph and Mary leaning over the tiny Christ child. She felt as displaced as the figure seemed to her, and felt a wrenching tug of loneliness. I cannot continue in this way, she thought. I am locked away from myself, from what I know and must want. The earl’s hand closed over hers in that instant. When the priest chanted the final prayer, she turned her hand in his and clasped his fingers to her palm.