Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

He gave her a bow, and left the cabin.

Cassie’s shoulders sagged within minutes of his leaving. The lamb stew did not settle well in her stomach and she stared resentfully around the cabin, knowing her nausea would only increase if she remained confined. She walked to the window and pressed her cheek against the glass, trying to ease her discomfort by watching the tossing sea outside. Her disgruntled stomach slowly righted itself, and she resumed her ferocious pacing. She considered how she could escape him, but nothing occurred to her that was in any way reasonable, and she turned her thoughts to other things, out of frustration. She thought about the earl and wondered if he were not very likely mad to have done what he did. She did not care about him or his motives, only that he had turned her life into a shambles. He had had the effrontery to tell her that he loved her, that he wished to wed her, and had then proceeded to force her. Although he had not overly hurt her, she felt humiliated that a man could do such a thing to her. She remembered him holding her down, caressing her body and thrusting himself into her. Her nausea returned, and she walked with slumped shoulders back to the window. This cannot be happening to me, she thought. Although she did not wish to, she thought of Edward and of their wedding. In her mind’s eye, she lovingly fingered the fine Brussels lace that layered the bodice of her wedding gown. She pictured his face, his brown eyes heavy with desire for her, and wondered what her wedding night would have been like with him. His eyes were not filled with desire now; they would be dimmed with grief. A lone tear squeezed from the corner of her eye, and, angrily, she dashed it away. She raised her fisted hand toward the quarterdeck.

“Damn you to hell!”

She drew up in her tracks, and turned a confused face toward the cabin door. Was that a chuckle she heard?

The door swung open, and she saw the earl’s laughing face. “My poor Cassandra, just tell me which of my belongings has so angered you and I shall stick my sword through it.”

“Then you may stick it through your black heart.”

He grinned at her and tossed her a bundle of clothing. “Here, my love, change into these and you can come up on deck with me. The breeches are a donation from the smallest of my men.”

She wanted to yell at him to take the clothes and himself to perdition, but she realized that she had to get out of this wretched cabin and settle her stomach. She thought of the salt spray on her face and the feel of the wind against her, and nodded. She bent down, picked up the breeches and the shirt, and held them against her chest.

“You will find boots in the armoire. I will come back for you in five minutes.”

When the earl returned, Cassie was seated on the settee tugging on her boots.

“May I assist you, Cassandra?”

She ignored him. When she rose, the soft leather riding boots hugging her calves, she saw that his eyes were sweeping over her.

“You cannot be so unfamiliar with men’s breeches,” she said, and walked toward the door, holding herself stiffly so that her hips would not sway.

“It is good of you to remind me,” he said.

Bundled in a large canvas cape, a woolen cap pulled over her head, Cassie walked onto the deck. The earl held her arm tightly, as if he thought her a child who would hurt herself if not kept on a short leash. She ignored him and raised her face to the spattering rain, closing her eyes for a moment as she drew a deep breath of fresh salt air.

She had hoped to make out land, but the yacht was shrouded by low billowing dark clouds that stretched impenetrably as far as she could see. The sails were tightly furled against the ripping cross-winds, and the huge masts, like winter-stripped trees, reached starkly upward. The Union Jack still fluttered at the jackstaff, and she wondered idly why the earl had not secured it. The yacht suddenly slammed at an odd angle through a deep trough of a wave, and she was thrown against the earl. He gripped her arm more tightly, and smiled.

“An awesome and beautiful sight, is it not? I have always fancied the notion of men daring to combat the power of the sea, with naught but their will and the strength of their arms. We have again won, for the winds have slackened. Perhaps we shall even see a glimmer of sunlight before nightfall.”

Cassie was not heeding him; her attention was upon the canvas-cloaked sailors, crouching forward into the force of the wind as they worked the rigging.

“We are sailing too high in the wind,” she said, steadying herself on the rigging.

The earl gazed down at her a moment, an arrested expression in his eyes. “I do believe you are right.”

There seemed to be pride as well as amusement in his voice, and Cassie looked away, wondering why she had even said anything.

“Would you care to take the helm, Cassandra?” he asked as they gained the quarterdeck.

“I?” She brushed the rain from her face and looked at him.

“Certainly.” He continued casually. “If you do not mind though, I do not think it wise to let my men know. They would be aghast if they found out an eighteen-year-old girl was holding their lives in her hands. Come, we shall relieve Angelo.”

He clasped her hand firmly in his and guided her carefully over the slippery deck down into the cockpit. He tapped the small, black-cloaked sailor on the shoulder and ordered him in flawless Italian to take himself below-deck. She saw Angelo’s dark gimlet eyes dart over her as he released the helm to the earl. With a salute to his sodden woolen cap, he turned and walked jauntily away on the lurching deck, as surefooted as if it were a drawing room floor.

“Come here, Cassandra.”

The earl pulled her in front of him before the wide, spike-handled wheel and raised his arms in a circle about her, his billowing cloak hiding her from view.

“The helm is yours.”

She wanted to yell at him that she wanted nothing to do with either him or his miserable yacht, but the temptation to take the helm of such a magnificent vessel kept her quiet. Without looking at him again, she grasped the smooth wooden spikes of the wheel and felt the strength of the sea. She felt a surge of sheer joy sweep through her at the challenge she was facing. A towering wave slammed against the bow, and the yacht yawed, jerking the wheel to starboard. She felt sharp pain in her arms as she tried to pull the massive wheel back to port.

The earl knew he had placed her in unfair disadvantage, but fought the impulse to help her. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and felt her muscles tighten as she struggl