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“Shall I peel an orange for you?”
“No, I am quite full, my lord.”
“Excellent. I am delighted that my chef has again pleased you.” He paused a moment, and added softly, “And now it is time for me to show you that I, too, can please you.”
“You will not, you must not.” She pressed herself flat against her chair.
“Ah, yes, my love,” he said, and rose to pull at the bell cord.
Her weariness fled, and she slipped nimbly out of her chair. Instead of fear, she felt numb with anger.
“Damn you, you cannot be such a villain.”
There came a knock on the cabin door, and Scargill entered.
“All was as you wished it, my lord?” he asked carefully. He was acutely aware of the shrinking girl cowering in the corner and did his best to ignore her.
“Most admirable, given the storm and its constraints in the galley. You are much in need of your rest, Scargill. Remove the dishes and take yourself to bed.”
“Aye, my lord. Is there aught else that you wish?” A foolish question, he thought, as he followed his master’s eyes toward Cassandra. She looked like a skittish filly, ready to bolt if but given the chance. He prayed that his lordship knew well what he was doing. He filled his arms with the heavy pewter dishes and bowed himself out of the cabin, straining under their weight.
The earl leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingertips thoughtfully together. “At least you are not wearing that damnable gown.”
“You will not touch me, my lord.”
“I fear you are growing repetitious, Cassandra, in your conversation. How else will you learn a woman’s pleasure if I do not touch you?”
“I will never feel anything but hatred for you, I swear it. Damn you, take me home.”
He waved away her words and rose.
“No.” She thrust her hands in front of her, but he pulled her to him, crushing her arms to her sides. She jerked her head away from him, but his mouth found hers, the heat of his breath upon her as he forced her lips to part. She struggled as she felt his hand upon her buttocks, his fingers caressing and exploring her through the velvet.
“No!” she yelled again as his mouth left hers. But his mouth was on her throat, his tongue tracing over her wildly beating pulse.
Even as she twisted against his arm, she felt his fingers pulling free the sash from her waist and easing her out of the dressing gown. She was oddly aware of the soft brief touch of velvet at her ankles. She shuddered at the cold air upon her back, and the fierce heat of him against her. She had scarce time to draw her breath before he had shrugged off his own dressing gown. To her horror, he lifted her off her feet and pressed her belly against him.
“No. You will not rape me again.” Her final words were muted as he closed his mouth again over hers. She felt his tongue probing her mouth and the incredible power of his surging body, searing her, engulfing her in his passion. Her mind froze and her body went slack against him. An intense shudder coursed through her belly. She whimpered softly, aghast at herself.
“I don’t believe that I will, Cassandra,” he said. He looked into her eyes, glazed with confusion and with burgeoning passion. He wanted her to moan her desire into his mouth, to welcome him into her body.
“Please do not,” she whispered, but he paid no heed and carried her to the bed. She felt the smooth, cool cover beneath her back, and his hard body against her as he pressed himself down upon her. She felt the hair on his chest against her breasts, and his swelled sex, frightening and urgent, between her thighs. She thought wildly of Edward, of his love for her, of his passion, and an anguished moan broke from her mouth. Whether it was from the pain of her loss or from the scalding sensation building within her, she did not know. She realized dimly what was happening to her and she fought with all her will to deny herself and him.
His mouth caressed her breast, and she felt both her body and her will to resist him begin to slip away from her. She cursed herself, willing herself to fight him, but her hands lay limply above her head, clasped lightly in his.
He reared back and her body cried out at the loss of his touch. She drew a ragged breath, and curled her hands, now free, into fists to strike him. She felt his tongue caressing her breasts and then her belly.
“No,” she said, forcing her body to tense. But his mouth closed over her, and she knew that she could not bear it if he were to stop. She felt her body opening to him, felt her hips moving upward against his mouth. Her hands closed over his shoulders, kneading the taut muscles, pressing at him to bring him closer to her.
Suddenly, with a force that left her gasping, a shock of burning pleasure exploded within her. His mouth left her, but the burning need remained, and she was trapped within herself, within her own passion. She moaned aloud, not really understanding, a helpless cry of frustration.
When he drove into her, her body surged to meet him. She felt his belly against her, felt him driving into the depths of her. Her hands moved down his back, urging him, drawing him closer. She was aware of his ragged breathing above her cries. A jagged moan broke from her throat and she cried breathlessly, “Please, oh please.” Her hips thrust up against him and her legs, without instruction, wrapped themselves about his sides.
Suddenly, her legs stiffened as incredible spasms of pleasure crashed through her, holding her a willing prisoner for an endless moment. She cried aloud, unable to help herself. She felt his hot breath against her cheek, and then his mouth closed over hers and a tremendous shudder passed the length of him. He moaned his release into her mouth.
Cassie lay quietly beneath him, thinking nothing, wanting nothing. She was breathing heavily, between parted lips, and felt her heart finally slow its furious pounding.
“I don’t want to crush you, Cassandra,” the earl said, and slid his arms beneath her back. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, and clasped her tightly against him. He gently stroked her tumbled hair as she lay slack, soothing her, comforting her. He lightly kissed her temple and stroked her. He drew a deep, relieved breath, a slight smile touching his lips. She was capable of passion that rivaled his own. He wanted to tell her that she had brought him to consummate pleasure. He held his tongue, unwilling to risk her struggling away from him. The smile on his lips became rueful. She would likely yell at him like a fish-monger’s wife on the morrow; her intense pride would force her to. She would see passion at his hands as submission to him. He did not mind that, for now; he was confident now that he would make her forget her viscount. His fingers curled around her buttocks, lightly caressing, and he heard her sob softly, deep in her throat. He drew back so that he could see her face.
