Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“At least you are a warm old invalid,” he said lightly. “Now, Cassandra, close your eyes, and promise me that you’ll not look.”

“I promise,” she said, a sparkle of excitement in her voice.

He placed a long wooden box in her hands. Before she opened her eyes, she ran her fingers lightly over the intricate carving and gently caressed the cool marble inlay. He remembered her suddenly as a child, trembling with excitement as her small fingers tried to rip open a gift he had brought her from Turkey—tiny bronze bells strung together on a gold chain. He had laughingly told her to enjoy her present before demolishing it.

“Oh!”

He grinned at the stunned look on her face.

Cassie closed her fingers about an ivory knight and slowly drew it from its bed of purple velvet. “It is identical,” she breathed. The cool feel of the ivory chess pieces brought a catch to her throat. “It is just like the chess set you gave me for my fourteenth birthday.”

“Yes, the same craftsman made it for you. I wished to see if you ever managed to gain any skill in the game.”

She remembered his long ago having patiently shown her the opening position and the lawful moves of the pieces. “It is most kind of you, my lord,” she said finally.

“Anthony.”

“Yes—Anthony.”

His fingers touched hers for an instant as he took the knight from her and set it upon the chess board. “It has been a long time since I’ve had an opponent worthy of my attention. Let us see if you play chess as well as you catch trout.”

She gave him a slow, wide smile. “Prepare yourself, my lord, to be destroyed.”

She moved her white king’s pawn forward two spaces, and he quickly moved the black pawn to face it. He glanced at her as the game progressed, pleased to see her lips pursed in concentration, and her eyes bright with burgeoning strategies. He was pleasantly surprised at her skill. He toyed briefly with the idea of letting her beat him, and dismissed it. She would guess, and he imagined that such a victory would bring her no pleasure.

“Beware my black bishop, Cassandra.”

She frowned and saw that her queen, if not moved to safety, would be pinned to her king. She quickly interposed her queen’s bishop and sat back with a satisfied smile. “And you, my lord, should beware my rook.”

Several minutes later, the earl’s fingers poised over his queen. He moved her slowly into position and raised his head. “Checkmate, my dear.”

“Drat,” Cassie said, frowning at her defeated king. “I do not suppose I can claim you had the greater luck?”

“You can, but it would only serve to make me feel all the more superior.”

“Wretched man. Very well, I grant you this game.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “I choose to believe that you have bested me only because you have had so many more years of practice.”

“You do not consider it likely that I am simply the more intelligent?”

The gleam of mischief in his dark eyes robbed his words of any insult, and she succumbed to a giggle. “Must you always have the last word, my lord? It is too bad of you.” She drew up, her eyes drawn to his. His gaze was dark with tenderness, and she gulped.

“Another game, my lord?”

He obliged her.

Cassie eyed the swaying palm trees with disgust. “It is autumn,” she muttered darkly. “You are supposed

to lose all those ridiculous leaves.”

The earl stood quietly on the balcony of their bedchamber and watched Cassie walking about the gardens. She had returned but minutes before from the Parese vineyards, her interest, he knew, not in the science of the grape, but rather in Liepolo, his master winemaker, and his gaggle of children. Particularly Alvise, a naughty three-year-old, whose pranks brought rosy color to her cheeks and a ready laugh to her lips. He silently blessed Liepolo for being the sire of such a large family.

The earl walked back downstairs to his library. He kicked the dying embers in the fireplace with the toe of his boot and stared thoughtfully at the orange sparks that flew upward into the flu. A month had passed since Cassie’s rape and Joseph’s death. A month, and he was still no closer to finding Andrea and the fourth man. Without them, it was unlikely that he would ever discover who had paid them.

At least Cassandra was physically healthy again. Since he had not approached her sexually, he could only guess that the bruises were gone from her body. He had had to buy her more nightgowns, for she cringed at the thought of his seeing her naked. She had allowed him but once to touch her, some ten day after her rape. Since she adamantly refused to allow Signore Bissone to examine her, it was the earl who had removed her stitches.

The day they were to be married was weeks past, and he had said nothing to her about it. He was content to wait.

He sat at his desk and opened an account ledger. He concentrated for some minutes on the columns of numbers, then flipped the ledger closed with a grunt of disgust at his wayward attention, rose and walked to the gardens. He wanted to be with Cassandra, to see her laugh, perhaps.