Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“You are making sport of me, my lord. This is a very serious matter.”

“Indeed you are quite right, Cassandra. If my calculations are correct, our babe will be born in mid-October, and I will have a fat wife after the Season and during the autumn round of visits that many of my friends make to Clare Castle.” He drew a resigned breath. “I suppose I shall simply have to invite Eliott, and the wife he will doubtless have by that time, since you will be far too bulky to travel to Hemphill Hall.”

“I had planned to return to England, you know—alone.”

“Then I must be grateful for the speed of my yacht. Another two months searching you out would have rendered me more a black-souled fiend than I was in New York.”

“No more secrets.” She heaved a contented breath and snuggled against his side. She sprawled a thigh over his belly and relaxed her arm over his chest. “No,” he said. “No more, ever.”

Chapter 30

The full-bellied sails slapped loudly against the rigging when the wind suddenly shifted.

“Ease off, madonna.”

Cassie nodded and pulled the heavy wheel toward starboard, a surge of joy sweeping through her as the yacht yawed in response.

“Our daughter will love the sea,” she said, licking the salt spray from her lips.

“Or your son.”

She looked over her shoulder to see a rare smile upon Mr. Donnetti’s lean, weathered face.

“All of them, sons and daughters,” she said firmly, her eyes on the endless horizon. “What will you do when we reach England?”

“The Cassandra never molders at her moorings. During the summer months, we will sail to the West Indies, then return to Genoa until the spring. The captain is much more the Genoese man of business and banker than your English aristocrat. When he is in England, he hires couriers whose only task is to carry his instructions to Genoa, Paris, and Amsterdam to his trade and banking houses. He is a man of considerable vision and energy.”

Cassie blinked at such a long speech from the normally laconic Mr. Donnetti and wondered if he was worried that the earl’s wife would try to discourage such unaristocratic behavior. She gazed up at his stolid countenance and said softly, “I am young, Mr. Donnetti, but not a fool.” At least not usually, she amended to herself. “I learned something of his lordship’s business dealings in Genoa. I hope that I may prove not altogether worthless to his lordship.” She said no more, knowing that Mr. Donnetti was no doubt appalled at the idea of a woman dabbling in men’s affairs.

She glanced port and saw the man, Luigi, looping a rope. “His back has healed?”

“Aye, but he’s as surly as ever. Good riddance to that one, once we reach England.”

Cassie was to think of his words a day later when she left the cabin to join the earl on the quarterdeck. Luigi seemed to appear out of the shadows, his dark eyes fastened on her.

“Sí?” she said, reverting easily to Italian.

He merely gazed at her insolently, and said nothing.

“What do you want? Che cosa Le abbisogna?”

There were suddenly footsteps, and he said only, “Voglia scusarmi, signora,” and disappeared down the companionway.

“What is it, madonna?”

“I am glad that you came, Scargill. That man, Luigi, he makes me uncomfortable.”

“That lout was down here?”

“Yes. Doubtless he was lost.”

Scargill snorted. “The captain will hear about this.”

Cassie was feeling particularly foolish and laid her hand on his sleeve. “Please do not trouble his lordship with such nonsense. He simply took me by surprise, that is all.” As Scargill still appeared uncertain, she turned the topic to Scotland, knowing that he would be spending some months with relatives near Glasgow once they were settled at Clare Castle.

“Aye, ’tis near Loch Lomond my brother lives. A lovely area, lass, wild and steeped in lore.” His brogue deepened as he grew more expansive. “Ye’d love the land, lass, save that now poverty makes bellies growl, and wrings hope from the heart. I’ll not be heartily welcomed, ye know, since my loyalties are to a Sassenach—an Englishman—lass. I tell them of his Ligurian blood. It makes him more acceptable.”

“Damnation. But one week from England and the sea must vent her spleen.”