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Cassie said sharply, “Is it your wish to go to the gallows with your master? That is where brigands and pirates end
their days.”
Scargill turned to face the flushed girl. “If it is God’s will, lassie, then so be it.”
She rose unsteadily to her feet and shouted at him, “I will see that it is God’s will. How can you obey a man who ruthlessly kidnaps a woman from her family and those she loves? He is a devil, without heart or honor.”
Scargill shook his head slowly, his hazel eyes softening. “Ye’re wrong, lassie,” he said gently.
Cassie drew a shattered breath, and without thought to consequences, took two quick steps forward and hurled the remaining wine in the earl’s face.
“Oh, my God,” Scargill whispered behind her.
Anthony Welles silently drew a white lawn handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped the wine from his face.
Scargill could not help but admire her, for although her face was perfectly white, her chin was thrust forward and her shoulders were squared.
The earl lowered the handkerchief and said quietly, “You may leave now. Cassandra and I wish to dine.”
“Aye, my lord,” Scargill said slowly, his eyes searching his master’s face.
The earl shut and locked the cabin door after his valet and walked to the filled basin atop the commode to dash water over his face and neck. He toweled himself dry and said calmly, “Sit down, Cassandra. Arturo went to great pains to prepare an English meal to your liking.”
Cassie looked at him uncertainly, for after her unthinking act, she had expected him to retaliate. She sat down at the table, unwilling for the moment at least to provoke him further.
She soon found that she was as hungry as she had been thirsty, for she had not eaten since breakfast.
He watched her wolf down a rare slice of roast beef, and a goodly portion of the boiled potatoes and parsley. Her hunger eased, she slowed and sat back in her chair.
“I am delighted that you approve of at least one thing I’ve done for you.”
She looked at him and he saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her newly filled wine glass.
“Do not do what you are thinking, Cassandra,” he said. “I allowed you one childish act, but no more.”
She gritted her teeth and raised the glass, but her hand shook.
“If you do what you are thinking, rest assured that I shall reciprocate.” He saw the unspoken question in her eyes. “If you hurl the wine at me, I shall throw you over my knee, bare your bottom, and thrash you.”
“You would not.”
“Try me, Cassandra.”
She slowly lowered the glass to the table and let her fingers fall away from it.
“Now, my dear, would you care to try some of my Italian coffee?”
“I am not your dear.”
“Coffee?”
She nodded, hopeful that the coffee would counteract the dizzying effects of the wine.
She walked to the settee and sat down, silently sipping the thick black liquid. When Scargill returned to clear the table, she saw the earl speak quietly to him, but she could not make out his words.
When they were once again alone, she stared at the huge dark man and felt a knife of fear twist in her stomach. “I want more coffee.”
The earl hesitated but an instant, then poured her half a cup.
