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Countless hours—his words rang like a death knell in her mind. Damn you to hell, she swore silently, pulling herself from despair. I will escape you.
Chapter 8
For an instant, Cassie was at home at Hemphill Hall, in her sunlit bedchamber, waiting to hear Dolly Mintlow’s shuffling steps at her door with her morning cup of chocolate.
Her bed seemed to lurch wildly, and she awoke with a start.
She grabbed at the lattice headboard as the yacht gave a loud creak and heeled sharply to port. She sat up and gazed dumbly about the cabin, eerily gray in the dull morning light cast through the square bow windows. Heavy rain battered the yacht, and thunder sounded like muted gun-shots overhead. Would be that it were, she thought, her throat constricting. She prayed that the earl and his precious yacht would be plummeted by the storm to the bottom of the Channel. At least her nightmare would be over and she would truly be an eternity away from Edward and her family. The yacht creaked and floundered, but the wild lurching lessened, and it held, she imagined, to its course.
“Thank God for the storm,” she whispered. It was in all likelihood the only reason he was not with her. At the thought of the earl returning, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stared down at herself. She was quite naked. She rose slowly, aware of a dull twinge of tenderness between her thighs. She drew a deep breath to steady herself and made her way carefully to the commode. She poured water from the fat-bellied pitcher into the basin and began methodically to bathe herself. This was to have been my wedding day, she thought blankly, oblivious to the water sloshing over the sides of the basin onto the carpeted floor. She splashed water over her face furiously, for she felt tears welling in her eyes.
She cursed at the sight of her tattered gown tossed in a heap where the earl had left it the night before. As she had no intention of facing him naked, she opened the oak armoire and eyed the row of brightly colored gowns. She thought belatedly of undergarments and jerked open the drawers of the dresser. She ground her teeth at his thoroughness, and quickly shrugged on a set of exquisite lace and silk underclothes. She selected the least colorful gown, a soft dove-gray muslin, but discovered that its neckline wasn’t as high as she’d hoped. The gown fit her perfectly, just as did the undergarments. She pulled an ivory-handled brush through her tangled hair, tied it at the nape of her neck with a black ribbon, and smoothed the muslin skirt.
Once fully clothed, she felt more confident. She walked to the closed cabin door and gingerly turned the knob. It was locked, of course. Her anger rose with her confidence, and she found herself fairly daring him to enter.
She paced in impotent frustration, her steps growing more certain as she discovered the rhythm of the yacht. Her stomach growled for her breakfast, and she cursed him. Was he trying to starve her into submission?
The wild pitching of the yacht became gradually more predictable, and the pounding rain, too, slowly lightened. She turned at the sound of footsteps
outside the cabin door and squared her shoulders.
A key grated in the lock and the door swung open. The earl strode in, filling the doorway. He was like a vital, threatening force, and she drew back from him. She saw a black canvas cape, glistening with drops of rain, lying in the companionway outside the door before he shoved it closed.
“Good morning, Cassandra,” he said, his voice obnoxiously cheerful, as he wiped his full-sleeved shirt over his wet brow. “Or rather I should say good afternoon.”
She gazed at him, not speaking.
“The gown becomes you,” he continued easily, his gaze sweeping over her stiff figure. “I trust everything else that I purchased for you fits as well.”
She thought of the silk underclothes that caressed her and took a step backward, her hand moving unconsciously to cover the expanse of her white bosom.
The earl, seemingly blind to her discomfort, walked to the table, poured himself a glass of water, and tossed it down. “Scargill will be here momentarily with our lunch. Forgive him for not bringing you breakfast, but he has been mightily occupied. Channel storms can be dangerous, you know, else I would have never left the warmth of our bed.” He pictured her as she looked in sleep, her face peaceful and her golden hair fanned over her shoulders and breasts. When he had reluctantly eased away from her early in the morning, she had sighed softly and curled into a small ball, her sleep unbroken.
“My lady is remarkably silent today,” he remarked casually, as he sank down into a chair. “No venomous words? I shall begin to believe you afraid of me, Cassandra, if you continue to cower so in the corner.”
She said, “I was hungry, my lord, but enduring your presence has made me quite lose my appetite.”
“I do hope you regain it for I should not like your splendid charms to waste away.”
There was a light knock on the cabin door, and at the earl’s command, Scargill entered, his arms laden with covered plates.
The valet glanced furtively at Cassie as he moved silently about the table, setting the places. Although she tried valiantly to ignore him, she felt her cheeks grow red. She wanted to dash to the mirror above the dresser to see if she somehow looked different, if her expression, her eyes perhaps, betrayed her lost innocence. She became aware that the earl was speaking to her and raised her eyes warily to his face.
“The idea was mine,” he was saying modestly. “There may be a veritable tempest above deck, but your plate will remain just where you place it.”
She looked blankly at the heavy pewter dishes.
“Loadstones,” Scargill said, lifting a dish for her inspection. “Ye see these strips here? Ye set the dish along this line and it will take a man’s heavy hand to pry it up. If ye will be seated, madonna, I’ve a tasty lamb stew for yer lunch.”
The talk of loadstones flitted from her mind, for the smell of the lamb stew made her mouth water. She did as she was bid, wondering while she sat down at the table why he had called her “madonna.” She ate her fill, all the while keeping her eyes upon her plate.
The earl regarded her from time to time, but remained silent, guessing that any attempt at conversation from him would make her forget her hunger. He regretted the storm that had kept him away from her throughout the morning. He knew she was in turmoil and he wanted to be with her, if only to give her the chance to lash out at him. He cursed the fickleness of the weather.
At the close of the silent meal, the earl tossed his napkin on the table and rose. “I am sorry to leave you again so soon, my dear, but Mr. Donnetti is laid up with influenza and Angelo is uncomfortable at the helm in such weather. My strong hand is much needed, elsewhere.”
Cassie thoughtfully sipped her wine. “I will pray that you fall overboard, my lord, though I doubt that even the fishes would be interested in your carcass.”
“Excellent. And I had feared your wits had grown dull in my absence.”
