He ripped the light cover off her. “Now, push down! All your strength, Cassandra, else I shall beat you. Again!”
He splayed his hands over her swollen belly and pressed down.
She screamed, a high wailing cry that rent the silence of the bedchamber.
“The babe is coming!” Scargill shouted.
The earl’s hands gently closed about the small infant’s head, covered with a mass of curling black hair. “Again, Cassandra. Push!”
He caught his son with a shout of triumph, and laughed aloud when the small mouth opened on a fierce angry wail.
The earl walked over to the black-mouthed fireplace. He kicked the red embers with the toe of his boot and watched the scarlet flames dance upward. He smiled again at the indignant look on his small son’s puckered face. The tension was beginning to pass from his body. He breathed deeply and let himself relax, admitting fatigue into his mind.
He stretched and bent down to retrieve his waistcoat, tossed heedlessly onto the carpet. He felt the small square of paper folded in the pocket, and slowly drew it out.
There must be a beginning and an ending to everything, he thought, and unfolded the sheet. The letter was dated in late August and written in flowing script, undoubtedly by a learned servant.
It should not surprise you, Antonio, that it is I who am to part you from your English guineas. It required only my word to the proper people that I wished to have the brave Andrea at my side. The stupid lout scarce tried my ingenuity, my friend, either before or after he had the pleasure of meeting me. Indeed, he was on his knees begging me for his miserable life, a little joke that my men enjoyed. He has taken his rest in hell.
As to his employer, Antonio, he tried very hard to convince me it was your half-brother, Bellini. A pity that greed should break the bonds of blood. I have always been a simple man, my friend, and your instructions were clear. It was quite a shock to Signore Bellini and his charming contessa to be trussed up like chickens and brought to my palace of delights. He died well, if it is any consolation. As for the contessa, I find her a savory morsel, though she offers me little sport. My fair Zabetta wishes you luck with your mad countess.
Addio, my lord earl,
Khar El-Din
The earl read the letter once again, and looked over at Cassie. He wadded the paper slowly into a tight ball and tossed it atop the glowing embers. He watched as the smoke engulfed it and it burst into brief orange flame, then collapsed onto itself as blackened ashes.
He turned at a soft sigh that came from the bed, and quickly strode over and sat beside Cassie. He smiled into her unclouded blue eyes and traced his finger down the straight line of her nose.
“I had thought, love, that you would sleep until the new year.”
“Our son, my lord, he is perfect?”
“Since, at the moment, he strongly resembles his father, I daresay he is as close to perfection as possible.”
Her answering smile was weak. “I feel so very empty.”
He saw her hand slowly move under the covers and lightly touch her flat belly.
“I trust so unless you plan to give our son a twin brother or sister.”
“Thank you, Anthony.”
He cocked a black eyebrow at her. “You, my lady, did all the work. I merely yelled at you a couple of times.”
“I remember another man’s voice. That wretched doctor was not here, was he?”
“Nay, it was Scargill. That wretched doctor suffered a broken leg from a carriage accident.”
She looked quite pleased.
“I’ll think you a witch, Cassandra, if you don’t wipe that self-satisfied look from your face.”
She drew a deep breath and he saw that she was remaining awake with difficulty.
“I used to think you the devil himself, my lord. If I am a witch, then we are well suited, I think.”