Devil's Embrace (6 page)

She took in his thick black hair and deeply tanned face and gasped in astonishment.

“Lord Clare! Oh, thank God it is you. I thought it was a pirate and that I was to be taken, or killed.” She ceased her babble of words when Anthony Welles only gazed at her, unspeaking.

Cassie drew a shaking breath and lowered her wooden paddle. “You frightened me, my lord,” she said more calmly. “I do not think I like your joke; you could easily have rammed my boat. Pray tell me, why have you done this?”

“My purpose was not to ram your boat, Cassandra, only to capture it,” he said in his low, clipped voice. “You gave me quite a chase until you backwinded your sail.”

Her fingers tightened about the wooden paddle. “What are you saying, my lord? You wished to capture my boat?”

“I commend your bravado, Cassandra. However, I must ask you to drop that deadly paddle and accompany me aboard your namesake.”

“Lord Clare, what is the meaning of this? I asked you just why the devil you have secured my boat. I demand that you answer me.” She took an angry step toward him.

“Come, Cassandra, enough of this foolishness. The time
grows short. You will come to understand everything, in time.” He stretched out his hand toward her. “Drop the paddle and come here.”

“You can go to the devil, my lord.” She took a wobbly step backward and lost her footing. Her attention wavered from him as she struggled to regain her balance, and a strong hand clasped her arm and jerked her forward. She tried to raise her paddle to strike him, but he twisted it easily from her grasp and pulled her against him.

“Damn you, let me go. My brother will hear about this, my lord. As will Edward.”

Even as she yelled at him, her arms were pinioned to her sides as he lifted her easily and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“Don’t fight me, Cassandra,” he said, and stepped from her boat to the ladder.

Cassie felt a numbing sense of disbelief sweep over her. She had known Anthony Welles for most of her life, as a gentleman, a sophisticated yet kind man. She realized through a haze of fear that he was really someone different, a man she did not know or understand.

She wailed aloud, reared up from his shoulder, and twisted about, smashing her fist against his cheek.

The quickness of her assault took him off his guard and he nearly lost his grip on the ladder. Cassie heard shouts from the sailors above and struggled against him, until she looked down and saw that if he lost his hold, they would be plunged into her boat, not into the water.

She went limp on his shoulder.

“Death is never preferable, is it, Cassandra?”

She gritted her teeth and said nothing.

He stepped over the side, onto the quarterdeck, gently eased her off his shoulder, and set her on her feet. She ran until she felt a palm flattened against the small of her back.

“Leave her be, Scargill, she is not a fool.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Cassie whirled about. “You are Lord Clare’s valet. I recognize you. Will you not tell me the meaning of this?”

She heard the earl say crisply, from behind her, “All in good time, Cassandra. First I must see to your boat.”

She turned slowly. “What do you mean?”

“You will soon understand,” he said, striding toward her. Cassie forced herself not to move, and thrust her chin upward, unwilling to let him see how frightened she was.

He reached out and lifted off her wide-brimmed straw hat. She watched as it floated in the stiff breeze to the polished wooden deck.

“You will have no further need of your hat. I have never really liked them, you know. Your face should be tanned golden by the sun.” She blinked, and before she could respond, he turned abruptly away from her.

“Dilson, is the bow firmly secured?”

“Aye, captain.”

Scargill stepped from her side to stand beside the earl. Cassie gripped the bronze railing and watched as her small sailboat lurched clumsily through the waves, drawn forward by the yacht.

“Harden up a little, Angelo,” she heard him order the helmsman. “No nearer, the rocks are treacherous. Keep her so.” She saw him turn and nod to the sailor, Dilson, and the little man climbed like an agile monkey over the side and down the ladder to her boat. He drew a sword and with several powerful strokes hacked through the wooden mast. It teetered an instant and fell, shrouded in its white sail, into the water.

“No!” She rushed forward, without thought, to climb over the side of the yacht.

She felt a strong hand on her arm and turned in her fury to strike him. He efficiently clasped both her wrists in one large hand.

“I am truly sorry, Cassandra. I know that you love your sailboat, but it must be done.”

He shaded his eyes with his free hand, took in their distance from the clumps of outjutting rocks near shore, and commanded suddenly, “Cut her loose, Dilson.”

Dilson’s sword sliced through the looped rope about the bow. In an instant, he scrambled back to the ladder and pushed off the sailboat with his booted foot.

“Please do not,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. “The tide will smash her against the rocks.”

“Yes, I know, but you will not witness it.” He turned to the helmsman. “Lay the course, Angelo. Come, Cassandra.”

C
assie walked beside him down the deck to the companionway, vaguely mindful of low-pitched sailors’ voices blending with the sounds of flapping sails overhead. He drew her to a halt below deck in front of a closed door.

“After you, Cassandra,” he said as he opened the door, and stood back for her to enter.

Cassie stepped into a shadowy cabin, aware of the tangy scent of lemon polish and sandalwood. She dully noted the rich mahogany paneling and the elegant furnishings. It was a cabin fit for a captain and an earl. She whipped about at the sound of a key turning in the lock.

He turned to face her, a broad-shouldered man, who now seemed a dangerous stranger to her. His eyes appeared black in the soft afternoon light of the cabin, darker than she remembered, almost as black as his arched brows and his thick hair.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” he asked.

She stared at him, and shook her head out of habit.

“Forgive my lapse of memory. You do not care for tea, do you? Most un-English of you, Cassandra.”

She watched warily as he crossed the cabin, his steps noiseless on the deep pile of the blue carpet, and eased himself onto a high-backed leather chair, one of four that stood about an elegant circular table.

“Will you not sit down?”

Cassie forced her feet forward to stand behind one of the chairs, and clutched at its carved back.

“How stupid of me to have forgotten,” she said finally, forcing her voice into momentary calm. “I saw your yacht once, long ago, at Clacton.”

“Perhaps you did, but then her name was not
The Cassandra.
She is lovely, is she not? Even Farmer George wanted to purchase her, but of course, I refused.”

She waved away his words. “If you would not mind, I should like to know the meaning of your senseless behavior.”

“My behavior is never senseless, Cassandra. In this particular instance, perhaps, I was forced to employ some rather rough and ready methods to secure your presence.”

“Damn you, my lord, tell me the meaning of this.” She drew a deep breath and swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “You are an English peer, my lord, an earl. I did not believe that gentlemen of your rank and wealth indulged in white slavery. Are there other young English ladies aboard your yacht?”

Anthony Welles blinked at her, then threw back his head and laughed aloud, his white teeth contrasting with his tanned face. “White slavery. Good God, Cassandra, what an imagination you have. A slaver in the English Channel.”

“In that case, my lord, there is much that requires my attention at Hemphill Hall, for I am to be married tomorrow, as you know since you are an invited guest. You will please set me ashore at once.”

The humor fell from his face, and he sat forward in his chair. His rugged features softened as his eyes rested intently upon her face. “You are not going back to Hemphill Hall, Cassandra.”

“I do not understand you,” she said slowly. “I have been told that your wealth is great, thus I cannot credit that you wish to hold me for ransom. I ask you again, my lord, what is your purpose?”

“My purpose, Cassandra, is to make you my wife.”

She jerked back at his softly spoken words and stared at him in shock. “I do not believe you, my lord. And I find your jest repellent. Set me ashore, I demand it.”

He was silent for what seemed an eternity to Cassie, and she rushed on in furious speech. “My family will miss me. They will mount a search when I do not return and—” Her words died in her throat, and she felt herself go white.

“And, Cassandra,” he finished for her, “they will find
your boat smashed upon the rocks. You know yourself that the tides in this area are vicious, unpredictable.”

“They will believe me drowned, dead.” She raised wide, uncomprehending eyes to his face. “But this makes no sense. Why are you doing this to me? I have always believed you to be my friend, that you liked me.”

“Indeed, I am your friend, only now I will be much more to you.”

Cassie stared into his face, a face that many ladies she knew admired, one that over the past few years even she had come to think harshly beautiful. Now, in his black knee boots and billowing white shirt, his black hair unpowdered and blown into disarray by the sea wind, he looked the swarthy pirate, not the English earl.

She said, still trying to cling to her image of him, “You seem different, changed. I have always thought of you as an indulgent uncle . . .”

He winced, but remained silent.

“A gentleman, a powerful lord, whose esteem gave me confidence. You were someone who never cared if I did something stupid or didn’t behave like a simpering girl. You treated Eliott as a brother after my father’s death, teaching him his responsibilities as baron, helping him. By God, he was even touting your praises at our ball last week.”

“And I am fond of your brother. Though he will never have your strength of character, he is nonetheless an amiable boy. You will see him again.”

She shook her head at him in disbelief, unable to grasp the enormity of his words. She said in a shaking voice, “Damn you, this is ludicrous, my lord. You cannot do this. I am to be married tomorrow.”

“I suppose that my thirty-four years do seem ancient to one of eighteen. As for Edward Lyndhurst,” he continued with calm detachment, “you were never meant to belong to him. Your turbulent girl’s infatuation for him would not have lasted, you know. Although you have known him all your life, he is cut from a very different cloth than are you.”

“You do not know what you are talking about, my lord. I have loved Edward all my life, and nothing you can do or say will change that.”

“I daresay that I shall say and do many things, Cassandra, that will help you to change.” He shook his head in mock reproof. “It came as quite a surprise to me that a well-bred English girl would correspond surreptitiously with a soldier. It was stupid of me, I suppose, to believe Lyndhurst out of your heart and mind when he left three years ago.”

“He has never been out of either, my lord,” she said coldly. “I would like to know how the devil you found out about our letters.”

He waved an indifferent, dismissing hand. “It’s not particularly important. Suffice it to say that his abrupt return and your immediate announcement to wed with him forced a dramatic shift in my plans.”

“What do you mean—your plans?”

“Simply that I fully intended to court you during your Season in London in proper style and wed you at Hanover Square, with all the pomp due to the Countess and Earl of Clare.”

She regarded him with cold contempt. “You lied to yourself, my lord, for never would I have wed you, nor will I. How very convenient for you that I came out in my boat today. Have you been skulking about long?”

“For the past two weeks, if you would know the truth. I did not expect Lyndhurst to have such control over your actions. Did he plan to burn your sailboat, Cassandra?”

“He will come to understand, I know it.” She saw that he was regarding her with disbelief. “Damn you, it’s none of your affair in any case.”

“I have told you, my dear, that you are now completely my affair. I beg you not to forget that.”

“When I look at the coward who speaks, of course I shall. And what would you have done, sir, had I not come sailing today?”

“Ah, a question that I posed to myself several times. You would have come to my yacht dressed in your nightgown,
Cassandra. Certainly a more harrowing solution and one that would have left untidy questions. I thank you for being so obliging.”

She slowly shook her head back and forth, and rising panic filled her voice. “You cannot do this. Please, you must let me go home.”

“You home is with me now, Cassandra. I have watched you grow into a lovely young woman, watched you let your skirts down and cease scraping your knees. I have much time and energy invested in you, my lady, and since your seventeenth birthday, I have been determined to marry you. Though I regret that you will feel grief for your lost viscount, I know that it will pass. Hearts do not break, you know, they merely bruise for a while.”

She turned on him viciously. “I find you repellent, my lord, and quite mad. If you believe that I shall ever change my mind or forget Edward Lyndhurst, you are a fool. As to marrying you, I shall see you in hell first.”

She dashed to the cabin door and twisted frantically at the knob. She raised her fists and pounded at the door, blind to anything save her escape from him. She dug her nails relentlessly into the small space where the door met its frame, and tore them on the wooden splinters. A defeated sob ripped from her throat, and she sank slowly to her knees, her cheek pressed against the door.

Anthony Welles rose quietly from his chair and walked to her crumpled figure. He frowned at the sight of her torn fingernails, several of them ripped so deeply that they bled. He dropped to one knee beside her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.