His eyes swept over her wet clothes, the breeches that clung tightly to her thighs and hips. He could make out her nipples pressing against the thin white shirt. Although her hair hung in tangled wet masses about her pale face, it seemed to make her all the more alluring. He felt a shaft of fear.
“Listen to me, cara, we haven’t much time. Wrap yourself from throat to toe in a cloak. You will sit very quietly, your eyes down. You will keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?”
She nodded mutely, though she did not understand.
“Quickly, Scargill, cover her. Cassandra, we are not in England. Trust me in this.” He felt the pain drawing at his senses, and drew a deep, steadying breath.
“Do as his lordship has told you, madonna.”
Cassie pulled the satin cloak he offered her about her and sat down.
Her eyes flew from Scargill’s set face at the sound of heavy boots overhead. They drew nearer, sounding in her ears like the staccato beat of marching men.
A deep booming voice came through the open doorway, and a man entered whom Cassie would never forget. For an instant, her eyes locked to his, eyes so dazzling blue and piercing that they seemed hardly human. He was like a bull, she thought, short, but mammoth in girth. His blond hair was thick and long, bleached with streaks of white. His bare arms were thick with bulging muscle. He wore a loose red leather vest and baggy breeches that were held at his waist by a wide scarlet sash.
She dropped her eyes quickly to the floor.
“Buon Giorno, Antonio! Godo di verderla!” His voice held the swaggering tone of a man who knew himself to be in command.
The earl answered easily, in Italian. “And I am glad to see you, my friend. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Khar El-Din waved a negligent hand, pulled up a chair and straddled it. His fierce eyes slewed in Cassie’s direction and she felt as though he could see through her cloak, even through her wet clothing.
“Surely there need be no special reason, among friends, Antonio. I see that you are not well. You have suffered an accident?”
“I still live, as you see. Scargill, fetch our guest a glass of wine.”
“Ever gracious, Antonio, ever gracious. I see that you have another guest.”
Cassie forced herself to keep her head down, to pretend that she did not understand.
“Not a guest, but my wife. She is English and of course does not comprehend our language.”
Khar El-Din took the proffered glass from Scargill, tipped back his lion’s head, and downed the entire contents. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned hugely. “So my lord earl finally ties himself to one woman. She is lovely, my friend, though she looks quite wet and uncomfortable. My girls will be bereft at their loss. Zabetta, in particular, will miss her English stallion.”
“I trust you will convey my regrets.”
“Trust me to console them, Antonio, though it will take me many nights. But my friend, you really do not look at all well. My men told me the strangest story, so bizarre that I must needs see for myself. A young girl diving most proficiently from your yacht to be followed by you, Antonio, your chest stained bright with your own blood. How, my friend, can I avoid drawing the most distasteful of conclusions? The mighty earl felled by a mere girl. Assist me to understand, my friend, why a wife would shoot her husband and dive into the sea to escape him.” He paused a moment, his eyes again upon Cassie. “If you had but left her in the sea, I would have been most delighted to save her and teach her the error of her ways.”
Cassie thought that the pirate must hear the furious pounding of her heart. What a fool she had been. There would have been no escape for her. The earl had saved her, not she the earl.
“Your generosity, as always, my friend, moves me greatly. But a wife must always be her husband’s responsibility. Surely you have enough wives to occupy your attention without concerning yourself with my stupid affairs.”
“Ah, Antonio, you have the smooth tongue of the diplomat. You say everything so fluently, yet there is no meaning to be drawn. Could it be that you do not please your English wife in the marriage bed? I have heard it said that your English ladies are as cold as the northern winters. You carry the blood of your Ligurian ancestors, passionate blood, demanding blood. Can it be that you have terrified your lady wife with that huge shaft of yours?”
“I cannot believe that my prowess in the marriage bed can be of such interest to you, my friend, you who nightly may choose from so many beautiful women.”
Khar El-Din threw back his head, his mane of thick hair swirling down his back, and laughed deeply. He pointed a gnarled finger at the earl and wagged it. “I grow old and exhausted in their service. Yet, Antonio, I have not in my fifty years been shot by one of them. Let me inquire of your lady wife why she holds you in such dislike.”
Cassie felt his pale blue eyes resting intently upon her, and kept her head down. She was startled into looking up into his leathered face when he said in slow, precise English, “Give me your attention, girl. Your husband is a gentleman and thus skirts my every question. You had the courage to shoot him, and I must ask myself why. If it is your wish to leave him, my pretty one, you have but to tell me. I will willingly help you. You really do not have to render your lord husband dead, you know.”
Cassie licked her dry lips. She did not look at the earl, for she knew that he could not help her. She was aware that in her fear she was rocking slightly back and forth in her chair. An idea came to her. She said in a vague, soft voice, “My husband but tries to protect me, sir.”
Khar El-Din leaned toward her, his eyes glittering. “ Protect you, my beautiful child?”
“Not from you, sir, but from myself.”
Her voice held a peculiar singsong quality that made the pirate start.