Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“I hardly think so, Cassandra.” He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed, I believe it more likely that you will take off those ridiculous breeches and put on one of your gowns. We will have lunch shortly.” He added, “How fortunate that I opened the door so quietly. I had thought you still asleep, you know.”

She stared at the intimate, caressing tone of his voice.

“Damn you, my lord earl. I will no longer be your whore. Now move aside for I am done with you.”

“My whore, cara? You have not sufficient experience to fill that position.”

Her body shook at the amusement in his voice. Slowly, deliberately, she raised the pistol and aimed it at him.

“I have no desire to swim more than a mile, my lord. You will now stand aside or I will shoot you.”

The lazy animal grace left him. She was not fooled by the conversational tone of his voice, for she saw the tensing of his body. “How enterprising you are, Cassandra. But foolish, very foolish. Put the pistol down.”

“Go to the devil, my lord.”

“Put it down, Cassandra.”

He walked toward her, his stride confident, his dark eyes resting intently upon her face.

“Damn you,” she cried, and pulled the trigger.

A deafening roar filled the cabin. A trail of gray smoke billowed from the pistol as it dropped with a sickening thud to the floor. The earl grabbed his shoulder, the impact of the ball hurling him backward.

She rushed past him, through the cabin door and along the companionway. She heard him shout her name, but she did not slow. When she reached the deck, she forced herself to a walk. Sailors were looking about with surprised faces at the sound of the pistol shot. She paused for but a moment at the railing, gauging the distance to shore. The deep blue water was calm, as smooth as the surface of glass. In a fluid movement, Cassie climbed over the railing, stood poised an instant with her arms raised over her head, and kicked off.

“Madonna!”

She heard the shout just as her body knifed through the surface. The impact jarred her, and the shock of the cold water momentarily numbed her senses. Belatedly, she arched her back and fought her way to the surface. She gulped precious air into her lungs and slewed her head about toward the yacht. She heard sailors shouting and saw them lining up along the deck, gesticulating wildly toward her. She looked back toward the beach and felt a lump grow in her throat. It was far distant, more than a mile. She drew a resolute breath, kicked her booted feet and swam with sure, firm strokes away from the yacht.

“Cassandra!”

She turned her head and saw the earl at the railing. The next instant, he stiffened and dove into the water. His head cleared the surface much too close to her.

“Fiends seize you!” she yelled at him, and inadvertently gulped in a mouthful of water. She sputtered and coughed, aware that she was wasting valuable time. She ignored the burning in her constricted throat and stroked with all her strength away from him, toward shore.

A powerful arm closed about her hips, pulling her inexorably back and downward. Water closed over her head, and for an endless moment, she was locked against him in silent combat. She tried to kick free of his hold, but he drew her against his chest and bore her to the surface.

“You are insane, my lord. Let me go.” She struggled wildly against him, striking his chest, kicking her booted feet against his thighs. Suddenly his arms loosened and she wriggled free.

“Cassandra.”

Her name sounded barely above a low whisper and she flipped about to face him. To her horror, she saw that the water between them was red with blood. She gasped aloud. His head disappeared beneath the surface of the calm water. She saw him struggling, his arms thrashing weakly. He did not have the strength to bring his face above water.

She turned frantic eyes to the yacht. She saw Scargill, Mr. Donnetti, and half a dozen other sailors lowering a longboat. They would never reach him in time. He would drown.

“You fool,” she yelled at him. He floated near the surface, face down, in a widening pool of his own blood.

She swam back to him and clutched him under his arms, but she did not have the strength to raise his face above the water. She locked her arm beneath his chin and pulled him back against her chest, forcing his head back and up.

She looked frantically toward the approaching longboat. Her legs felt leaden, but she forced them to keep pumping. She feared she would drown with him if they did not hurry.

“Row harder,” Mr. Donnetti shouted as he flung off his cloak and boots. He was on the point of diving overboard when Scargill stopped him.

“Nay, Francesco, she may lose her hold.” A slight smile broke his grim expression. He could hear Cassie cursing the earl as they approached, berating him in broken sobs for his stupidity, his ridiculous stubbornness.

Mr. Donnetti muttered under his breath, “It makes no sense. She shoots him, then saves his life.”