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As he spoke, his hands, with the smooth skill of long practice, pulled her free of her gown and petticoats. She wanted to help him, to tear off the offending garments, but he would not allow it. Soon, her undergarments and silk stockings bunched softly about her ankles.
He let his fingers slowly trail over her belly until they touched her. Her eyes widened upon his face in mute surprise as his fingers caressed her. He smiled.
“Do you know how soft you are, cara?” His lips touched her cheek, the tip of her nose, her chin.
She felt his finger gently ease inside her and she gasped aloud, clutching her hands about his neck to support herself. He felt her tense.
“Not yet, my love.”
He took her hand and led her to the bed. He slipped out of his clothing as smoothly as he had removed hers.
She drank in his body without fear or embarrassment, her fingers clenching at the sight of his muscled chest and his taut belly. Her eyes fell to his sex and she felt a warm, insistent heat between her thighs that made her legs go slack.
“You are so different from me, so exquisite,” she whispered, scarcely aware that she spoke her thoughts aloud.
He laughed, a rich sound from deep in his throat. “All of me or just part of me, cara?”
“All of you.”
“Ah, we make progress.” He sat down beside her and laid one large hand lightly on her thigh. If only, he thought, gazing at her soft, parted lips, he could make her tell him that she loved him. But it was too soon, much too soon, and he knew that it was the passion he awakened in her that drugged her mind. She turned suddenly toward him, pressed her breasts against his chest, and tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders. He moved his hand slowly from her thigh, and stroked her belly.
He felt his control near to breaking. He eased her down upon her back and gently parted her thighs.
“Remember I told you how you tasted, Cassandra?” He pressed his mouth over her belly and she felt him nuzzling at her, until his lips closed over her.
She whimpered softly, and arched her back, raising her hips to let his mouth burn into the depths of her. He felt her body shudder, quicken, and rose to enter her. Her thighs closed about his sides and her hips lurched upward, drawing him deeper within her. He felt her hands pressing against his back, and he knew that he was lost. He drove into her, and she cried out. As she stiffened in her climax, he let himself go.
He sprawled on top of her, his head beside hers on the pillow. He knew that he must be crushing her, but when he made to move, her hands tightened about his back. A deep ripple of pleasure shot through him, and he smiled, contented. He remembered her still tender back and turned onto his side, drawing her close in the circle of his arms. Her breasts stilled their rapid heaving, and he felt her go slack. Within minutes, she slept.
Cassie shivered and reached out her arms to draw his warm body to her. Her hands closed about a soft featherdown pillow and she opened her eyes. She drew herself upright and gazed about the cabin. He was gone. She looked at the clock atop his desk and started in surprise. She had slept only briefly, for it was but a few minutes after eleven o’clock.
She pushed her hair back from her forehead and swung her legs over the side of the bed. For a long moment, she simply stared down at her body, unable to weave her thoughts together.
She looked at the rumpled bed and saw herself writhing beneath him, her hips surging upward, her hands urgently kneading the hard muscles of his back. The memory sent a sudden tingling down her back. She pictured herself as he must have seen her. Her virulent anger had turned quickly to passion. She had become a quivering woman begging for his man’s body. How very pleased he must have been to see her fall asleep like a sated young animal, replete with the pleasure he had given her.
Cassie rose shakily and rushed to the commode. She scrubbed herself viciously until she felt raw. She dropped the damp cloth and shook herself. “Oh, God,” she whispered into the stillness of the cabin, “what is happening to me?”
Unbidden, the memory of the afternoon she had been with Edward in the cave, but two days before their wedding, rose in her mind to taunt her. Had it not been for Becky’s interference, Edward would have taken her virginity. She had felt passion then, to be sure innocent, tentative desire, but nonetheless it had been she who had encouraged him.
She sobbed aloud and buried her face in her hands. Could any man touch her and set her body on fire? Was she a willing, loose little slut who would part her thighs at a man’s touch, at a man’s mouth closing over hers?
She gazed listlessly toward the port windows and a word formed on her lips.
“Gibraltar.” An English military outpost. There were Englishmen there who would help her, soldiers who could send a message to Eliott and to Edward.
Cassie sped to the portholes and pressed her cheek to the glass. The huge rock was now well behind the yacht, but she could make out a sandy expanse of beach. She moved swiftly, and within minutes, she was dressed in the breeches and white shirt the earl had allowed her to wear during the storm in the Channel. She pulled on her boots, jerked her hair back from her face and knotted a ribbon about it.
She rushed to the earl’s desk and pulled open one drawer after another. Papers, charts, ledgers; there appeared to be everything but the money she needed. She jerked at the bottom drawer and found to her surprise that it was locked.
She grabbed a hairpin from atop the dresser and thrust it into the small lock. She muttered a frustrated oath, for she could feel the yacht moving swiftly eastward, before the lock sprang loose and the drawer slid open. Her fingers curled about a leather pouch; she pulled it open and saw to her delight that it was filled with louis d’or. She quickly fastened the pouch to her waist. She was on the point of rising when she saw an elegant English dueling pistol, half covered with a velvet cloth. Uncertainly, she touched its shining silver handle and drew it out. Her jaw tightened. If someone tried to stop her, she would use it.
Cassie was not much familiar with guns, but from the little she knew, she could tell that it was primed. She laid it on top of the desk and shoved the desk drawers back into place.
She felt a light draft touch her face and looked up to see the earl standing in the open doorway, the remnants of the smile on his face turning into a cold question.
“Just what the devil are you doing?”
Cassie straightened to face him, her fingers curling about the pistol. She said curtly, “I am leaving, my lord.”
