Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“Now, Edward, don’t get on your high-ropes. Old Howe himself said you weren’t to be told.” He added in a pensive tone, “I hope this doesn’t mean I won’t be seeing much of you anymore, old man.”

“Of course you will.” A faint smile turned up the corners of Edward’s mouth. “Well, perhaps not in the next few days.”

“Aye, that’s as it should be. Perhaps I will let the captain find me a wife on his next voyage. I’d say that he did a superb job for you.” He gazed at Cassie with undisguised approval. What a lovely girl she was, her ample woman’s charms ill-disguised by the light yellow muslin gown. And that glorious hair. It had amazed him to learn that Edward had been married, but then, Edward wasn’t much of a lover of society. Perhaps believing such a woman to be dead was reason enough for his aloofness. He wondered if Edward’s beautiful viscountess would change her husband’s hermetic habits.

Edward, who knew Major Andre’s thinking well

, since he usually spoke his assessments of women aloud, pulled Cassie gently to him. “I am certain you have much to do, John.”

“Yes, I believe that I do.” Major Andre turned to Cassie. “Welcome to New York, my lady. I do not believe that society will allow Edward to keep you to himself. Adieu, Edward, for a couple of days!” Major Andre gave Edward a jaunty salute and turned away.

“My portmanteau, Edward.”

He looked at her blankly.

“It contains all that I own and I cannot leave it.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, and picked it up.

Cassie shaded her eyes with her hand when they emerged into the bright sunlight. “How very changeable the weather is here, Edward.”

“Is it not in Genoa?”

She stared up at him, an unpleasant knot growing in her throat.

“Captain Crowley said he had brought you from Genoa,” he said gently. He touched his fingertips to her cheek. “I do not wish to cause you discomfort, Cass. We can talk when we reach my lodgings.”

She nodded, without speaking.

He pulled up suddenly and frowned. “I have only my mare, Delila. If you are tired, Cass, you may ride.”

“No, Edward, I am not the least tired. Are your lodgings far from here?”

“Not very far. I live in an inn, The King George, on William Street. ’Tis not more than half a mile.”

She watched him silently as he fastened her portmanteau to his mare’s saddle. He led them onto Broadway, which seemed to her to be teeming with scarlet-coated soldiers, many of them fully equipped with gear and weapons. And ladies. So many ladies, most of them elegantly dressed. Yet they seemed overly open with the soldiers.

“For the most part they are prostitutes, Cassie,” Edward said, reading her thoughts. “Where there are soldiers and sailors, there are always women gladly willing to part them from their guineas.” Edward paused a moment, running his hand along his jaw. It was ridiculous to chatter like this. She has returned from the dead to me and here I am prosing about prostitutes and soldiers.

“Cass.”

He spoke her name so softly that she was uncertain whether she had imagined it. She turned and looked up at him.

“I cannot believe that you are here.” He suddenly dropped Delila’s reins. He gave a shout of joy, closed his hands about her waist and lifted her high off the ground.

As Edward set her back down upon her feet, the feel of his mouth against hers was still vivid in her mind, and her color was high. She tried to relieve her embarrassment and her uncertainty with inconsequential chatter. Edward smiled down at her, his once painful memories of her rapid-fire way of asking questions, of saying whatever popped into her mind, becoming again, quite naturally, amused tolerance.

He answered her questions in a normal tone of voice, as if they had never been apart. “They are Scots, to the man, of the 42nd Highlanders. They are known as the Black Watch and mightily feared by the rebels.”

Cassie stared at their checkered bonnets and their bare, knobby knees. “This is very exciting, Edward. I have never before actually seen their battle dress.”

“That group to the right are Hessian grenadiers. You can always recognize them by their blue coats and the high brass-fronted caps. It is said that their mustaches are as black as they are because they use the same colored wax paste as on their boots. Like the 42nd Highlanders, they are effective, disciplined fighters, but they are barbarians.”

“Barbarians, Edward?”

“Yes. The stories of their atrocities, recent in fact, from New Jersey, make my blood curdle. Unfortunately, even here in New York, they are many times like unleashed dogs. One of the bastards even tried to force himself on Jen—” He immediately broke off, cursing himself for his loose tongue.

Cassie quirked an eyebrow at him. “Jen, Edward? Who is she?”