“You have been reading the entire evening, and have managed to get only to the third page. Really, cara, with your obvious intelligence, I would expect a more believable lie than that.”
She closed the volume with a snap. “Very well, my lord, you will have the wood without a coat of paint. I have no wish to be ravished by you tonight. I will sleep here, on the settee.”
“Ravished? Good God, my girl, you know there has been no question of ravishment since our second night together. Indeed, I have sometimes felt that I am the one succumbing to you. Perhaps you fear that I will not wed you now that I have repeatedly plucked the fruit from the tree, so to speak?”
“You officious bore. I tell you again that I will never wed you. If you have a shred of honor, you will leave me be.”
“I am sorry, Cassandra, but I do not believe honor has anything to do with our pleasure. Come, my love, I would like to hear your cries of passion again tonight.”
Furious color stained her cheeks, and she blurted out, “It’s you who make me like that. I do not want to be abandoned, indeed, I never wish you to touch me again. Leave me now, I order you.”
“That is a lovely gown,” he said. “If you fight me, it will become shredded. You are a passionate, exciting woman, Cassandra, and I have yet to discover the depths of your feeling. No more nonsense. I want you in my bed and in my arms.”
She squirmed from the settee and scrambled to stand behind it. The earl cocked an inquiring eyebrow, then shrugged. He turned and began to remove his clothing. He heard
a relieved sigh, and said over his shoulder, “ Although it was I who set the rules, you will abide by them. We will live as man and wife, and that, my love, means the intimacy of the marriage bed. Now, take off that gown.”
“No.”
Behind the furious defiance of that short word, his ears detected a pathetic plea, and he turned to face her, now dressed only in his breeches. He gentled his voice. “Why, Cassandra?”
Her fingers fretted mercilessly at the pleats in her skirt. “Please,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
He strode to her and clasped her shoulders in his large hands. She stood rigid, even as his fingers caressed the slender column of her neck. He slowly traced the softness of her cheeks, and the firm line of her jaw.
“Why, my love? You know you will want me, you know that you forget your viscount in my arms. Let us not wrangle.”
She raised her wide eyes slowly to his face, and he saw no fear in them.
He leaned down and closed his mouth over hers. She tried to pull free of him, but he held her fast, winding his fingers in the thick masses of hair that lay unbound down her back. She cried out softly, but not with desire.
He released her mouth, and she pleaded softly, “Please, you must not, I cannot—”
“What do you mean you cannot?” He raised her chin up with his thumbs, so she could not look away from him.
She flushed scarlet and closed her eyes tightly. “Please,” she whispered, “cannot you simply leave well enough alone?”
Sudden understanding dawned upon him and, unwisely, he threw back his head and laughed.
“You beast. You braying ass.”
He grinned down at her. “However could I forget that you must needs be a woman in all ways? I could show you, Cassandra, that your womanliness is but a minor obstacle to lovemaking.” He stopped, for her face was pale with embarrassment.
“Perhaps some day soon,” he said, and walked away from her.
He retrieved a full-cut white nightgown from the bottom drawer of the dresser and silently handed it to her. “You need not say it. I do think of everything. Never would I wish to wound your maiden’s sensibilities. You may wear this garment a given number of nights each month.”
He patted her cheek, dowsed the lamps, and climbed out of his breeches. As he climbed into bed, he heard her breathe a sigh of relief. Some minutes later, she slipped into bed beside him, and as was his habit, he pulled her into his arms and gently stroked her hair.
Chapter 10
“The stop knot is too loose, madonna,” Angelo said in his soft Italian. He dropped to one knee and with light, sure tugs, adjusted the tension. He grinned as he handed it back to Cassie, shaking his dark head. “A lady as a sailor, I never would have believed the day. You’ll do, madonna, you’ll do.”
“Grazie, Angelo.” She flushed slightly at his rare words of praise.
He nodded and turned away from her at the shouted command of Mr. Donnetti. In the next moment, he was agilely climbing the rigging of the mainmast.
Cassie watched his graceful ascent. Squawking seabirds soared in wide circles above, hoping, she supposed, for some stale crusts of bread. She rose slowly and dusted her knees, an unnecessary gesture, since the deck always sparkled from the continual efforts of the Genoese sailors. She gazed to port. In the hazy afternoon sun, she could barely make out the coastline of Spain, some twenty miles distant.