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He pulled the covers lower. Her thighs were slightly parted, but he could not see the small spot of pink skin he had teased her about the night before. He lightly laid his flattened hand over the smooth hollow of belly. His hand didn’t span the width of her, a good thing.
r /> She shivered and brought her legs up, momentarily trapping his hand. He slowly moved his hand and pressed his fingers downward to touch her. He heard a soft moan, followed shortly by an outraged gasp.
“How dare you.” She struggled frantically away from his hand, rolling away from him to the center of the bed, and pulling the covers about her.
He grinned engagingly at her and gingerly sat down beside her. “I was just returning your favor, cara. You were enjoying my touch, I believe, before you decided it wasn’t ladylike to do so.”
The final webs of sleep fled Cassie’s mind and she sat up, drawing the covers about her like a shield.
“I was asleep.”
“I know,” he said. “That altogether encouraging moan was woven from an erotic dream, no doubt.”
For a moment, Cassie’s tongue lay leaden in her mouth. He always seemed to be able to twist her words and their intent. “You were looking at me.”
“True, and a most pleasing sight you are, cara. Now, as much as I regret it, our breakfast will be arriving shortly and I fear that Marrina would be shocked to the soles of her rather flat feet were she to see you tousled and quite naked in my bed.” He rose leisurely and fetched her dressing gown.
“Here, Cassandra.” He tossed her the dressing gown, turned, and walked to the other end of the room to sit himself in front of the small table.
And not a moment too soon, he thought, gazing at Cassandra from the corner of his eye as she struggled into the dressing gown.
“Entri!” he called.
Marrina walked slowly into the bedchamber, her arms laden with covered dishes, and her full lips drawn into their now familiar tight scowl. Although Marrina did not wish to, her eyes slewed in the direction of the bed. The young foreign lady—lady, ha!, she thought—did not in Marrina’s eyes appear to be undergoing any cruel treatment from her master. She did look rather flushed, and rightly so, in Marrina’s opinion. Perhaps the girl did have some shame.
“Buon giorno, signore,” she said stiffly, forcing her attention back to her master’s face. “I have brought your breakfast.”
“Mille grazie, Marrina. Ho appetito.”
Il signore said something in English to the girl and she moved reluctantly toward the table. He turned to Marrina.
“Grazie,” he said shortly, and waved his hand in dismissal.
She curtsied stiffly and walked from the bedchamber.
The earl said between mouthfuls of warm toast, “I am at your disposal for the next couple of days, Cassandra. There are many places for you to see and, I trust, enjoy. You can begin to accustom yourself to Italian sights, people, and living before you meet Genoese society.”
Cassie said coldly, still smarting from the earl’s provoking hand and Marrina’s pursed lips, “You mean that after a couple of days I am to be spared your presence, my lord?”
“Oh, never that, cara,” he said cheerfully. “Surely you would not believe me so ungallant. But I will need to spend some time in Genoa, though I do conduct most of my business from here.” He paused a moment, then said meaningfully, “Joseph will be arriving shortly. He will watch over you when I am not here.”
“What you mean to say is that poor Joseph is to be my guard.”
“Perhaps, if you wish to view his presence in that light. I trust you will not try to shoot him.” He softened his tone. “Your life is with me now, Cassandra. I pray that you will soon accustom yourself.”
“I think not,” she replied, quite softly, and rose from the table. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I wish to bathe and dress now.”
“As you will, my love,” he said easily, and moved to pull the bell cord. “I will have Paolo fetch your bath water.”
The day passed pleasantly enough for Cassie, though she did not admit it to the earl. She became acquainted with the palm trees, whose bizarre layered trunks and wide serrated leaves lined the perimeter of the terraced gardens, and the odd gray weathered olive trees that seemed content in the most arid soil and climbed up the steeper slopes of the hills in neat layered rows. All the marble statues had titles, and each a fascinating story. When the earl showed her a colossal statue of Jupiter, framed by a rose-covered marble bower in a lower garden terrace, he said with a grin, “Each time I see old Jupiter, I think about another statue of this esteemed god, built over the tomb of a dog given by Charles V to Andrea Doria, who was, incidentally, one of my illustrious ancestors. The story goes that for his maintenance of the tomb, he received the principality of Melfi. To thank the Emperor, Andrea Doria entertained him and a hundred others to a banquet, where the astonished guests saw three services of silver plates from which they had eaten flung into the harbor after being removed from the table. Andrea Doria, in the true Genoese spirit of thriftiness, achieved this magnificent gesture without being a penny the poorer—he stationed fishermen with nets below the terrace to catch the plates as they fell.”
She laughed heartily and plied him with an endless stream of questions. It struck her forcibly that the earl was an amusing companion, and she frowned at her lapse.
“You are troubled, cara?”
“Must you even read my thoughts?” She sat down on a marble bench that faced another fountain.
“But, dear one, have I not told you that we are to be as one in all things?” As she stared stiffly ahead of her, he added softly, “I do thank you for sitting down. As you have said, my advanced years compel me to rest.”
