Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“Yes,” she said slowly, sniffing back the tears, “all must be as it was.” Cassie pull

ed away from him, fighting to get hold of herself. She gave him a tentative, watery smile. “And now, Edward, you must tell me of yourself. I have thought about you much, you know, and what you were doing and feeling.”

His eyes darkened in remembered grief. “I could not stay after I believed you dead. I received a letter from the ministry in London, asking me if I would consider resuming my command. It did not matter to me that I was to join General Howe here in the colonies.” He paused, remembering bloody battles against men ill-trained and poorly armed, but desperate to win. He had been a formidable enemy, for he had not cared whether he was felled by a rebel bullet. His men had followed him without question, not knowing that he gave not a damn for his own life. He was lucky to be alive. But he would not tell Cassie of that, just as he would not tell her about Jennifer Lacy.

“I have received letters from Eliott, not with any regularity, of course, but enough to know he is well.”

“I read in one of Becky Petersham’s letters to the earl that Eliott is planning to marry Eliza Pennworthy.”

Edward smiled faintly. “Eliott has written nothing about that.” He was silent for a moment. Suddenly, anguished memories wrenched words from his lips. “God, Cassie, you cannot imagine what it was like, the days searching for you, the nights, alone, cursing the wretched sea. And there was nothing, simply nothing I could do.” He caught himself, and turned away from her, to stride angrily about the room. “I swear that I will kill him for you, Cass. He does not deserve to live, after all that he has done.”

“It is likely, Edward, that we will never again see the Earl of Clare. If he does, sometime in the future, return to England, you must promise me that you’ll not do anything rash.” She lowered her eyes from his face, unwilling to let him see her despair at the thought that she might never again see the earl. She remembered the Contessa Giusti and her hands curled into fists in her lap.

“I can well take care of myself, Cass,” Edward said. “And you as well, now.”

Edward, her protector, her knight throughout her growing up years. She smiled, reminded of the many little things that bound them together.

“How did you spend your time when you were not getting yourself wounded on this Staten Island?”

He shrugged and she saw a cynical light enter his eyes. “I did naught of anything, really. Insignificant encounters with the rebels. And there were, of course, balls and dinners held by the New York Tories.” He paused a moment, the image of Jenny stark in his mind. He looked away from her. “Time passed, Cass, as it always does.”

Edward’s recital of his long months without her seemed as brief and stark to her as her own recital. She wondered, staring at his straight, lean figure, if he had omitted as much as had she.

Chapter 24

Cassie took a last bite of Mrs. Beatty’s apple pie and sat back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. The landlady had appeared at their door an hour before, napkin-covered dishes weighing down her thin arms. It was thoughtful of her to have guessed that they preferred to be alone in their room their first evening together, and not come downstairs to the inn parlor. Actually, Cassie thought, if Mrs. Beatty had not obligingly brought them their dinner, they likely would have forgotten it.

She gazed at Edward over her coffee cup. He had grown ill at ease during their dinner, and she easily guessed the reason. Night had fallen and they were alone but a few feet away from his darkened bedchamber, as man and wife.

It was fortunate that their lives had been so closely intertwined, for it had allowed them to fall easily into pleasant reminiscing. During the afternoon, they had allowed themselves to blot out the months they had been apart. Edward had reminded her of the time he had knocked down Edmond Danvers for calling Cassie naught but a bothersome little girl who had more tangles in her hair than a sparrow’s nest. Her unrestrained laughter still sounded in her ears. But now it was evening, and they could no longer pretend to be carefree children.

During the last few weeks aboard The York, Cassie had argued with herself for hours at a time about how she would approach this moment with Edward. She knew that consideration for her feelings was as natural to him as was his sense of honor. And given what she had told him about the past months, she did not doubt that he was in a quandary about the prospect of lovemaking with her. It was her belief that he loved her deeply that eased her mind. And because he loved her, she wanted to give him all of her that she could. He was her lifelong friend, the man she was to have married, the man she now would marry. “I should very much like a bath, Edward.”

He blinked at her. “A bath? Certainly, Cass. I shall see to it now.” There was relief in his voice as he rose stiffly from his chair and strode with alacrity toward the door.

He returned some fifteen minutes later, followed by the boy, Will, each of them carrying steaming buckets of hot water.

“There is a hipbath in the bedroom,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

She would have smiled at his obvious discomfiture were she not herself so nervous about their first night together. She rose and trailed after him. The bedchamber was a small, square room, its furnishings, like those in the sitting room, built for utility. She saw Edward looking toward the bed.

She walked to the hipbath. “I would imagine that you are far too large to fit in it, Edward.”

“It is quite adequate,” he said, stiffly. “I will leave you now, Cass. If you have need of anything, please call.”

“Thank you. I shall be fine.”

Edward saw Will out the door and sat himself down in his favorite chair, a high-backed mahogany affair with solid unfinished arms. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Each time he tried to think about what the incredible events of the day meant to him in a controlled, reasoned light, he was stopped by a quickening in his loins. Cassie was in his bedchamber, now likely naked, and in his bathtub.

He frowned down at his enthusiastic member straining tightly against his cream breeches, then eyed the blunt-edged, thinly cushioned settee in front of him. He supposed it would be his bed until they were married. It would have to be a very private ceremony, since Cassie was already known as his wife. He reviewed the request he would make to the only Anglican parson he knew, and shook his head. The florid-faced Mr. Danvers would never keep a still tongue in his mouth.

Fury, pure and undiluted, took control of him at the thought of the Earl of Clare, dampening his passion. “You bloody bastard,” he said aloud. He would have killed the man without a qualm for having ravished any English gentlewoman. But it was Cassie he had forced himself upon, had repeatedly taken against her will during the long months Edward had thought her dead.

Edward rose and slowly removed his coat and boots. He and Cassie had talked throughout the day of everything that did not touch the months they had been apart. He smiled, remembering her unaffected ready laughter. But he realized he still knew very little of what her life had actually been like during the past months. She had spoken not at all of the earl, and Edward, not wishing to cause her pain, had not pressed her.

“Edward.”

He turned at the sound of his softly spoken name. Cassie stood in the open doorway of the bedchamber, dressed in a light muslin wrapper. He caught his breath at the sight of her. She was as exquisitely beautiful as the near-perfect vision of her he had nourished in his mind during the lonely nights of autumn and winter. He restrained his impulse to crush her in his arms.