“You, afraid?” She looked at him, surprised. “I have never thought of you being afraid of anything.”
“I would be a fool were I not. Is that what you think of me, madam?”
“Oh no, ’tis just then when I think I know you, you say something that I do not expect.”
He smiled at her and felt the tension pass from her body. He let his fingers lightly caress her belly again, and rained gentle kisses on her nose, her chin, and her mouth. He pulled her tightly against him, savoring the feel of her.
“I have missed you much, cara.”
“And I you, my lord.” She slipped her arms about his back and pressed her cheek into the hollow of his throat. She felt him pressing against her belly and closed her hand around him.
When he could bear her touch no longer, he eased her on her back and grasped her buttocks urgently in his large hands.
The dim candlelight blurred his features, and his heavy, fast breathing sounded in her ears. She stared up at his large body poised over her, and felt his sex pushing against her.
He felt her tense and looked up at her face.
But it was not the earl who looked at her, it was Andrea. She struggled furiously against him, pounding her fists at his face and chest, scarce aware that she was screaming mindlessly. When she was free of his touch, when she felt nothing holding her, she was frenzied with freedom, and hurled herself from the bed.
“Cassandra!”
She drew up, panting at the sound of her name, her body tensed for flight, confused and uncertain. She saw a man coming toward her, but he stopped. Vacantly, she realized that he was holding out his hand to her.
“It is all right, cara,” came a quiet, familiar voice. “There is nothing for you to fear.”
“Stay away!”
The earl could feel her terror. “Would you care for a glass of wine, Cassandra?”
Wine? She looked at him wildly, but he turned and walked away from her.
He gazed at her from the corner of his eye as he uncorked the decanter and poured rich burgundy into a glass. She was standing perfectly still where he had left her, her hair streaming over her shoulders, her body outlined against the dark shadows.
He walked over to her, forcing nonchalance into his movements, and held out the glass.
“Your wine, Cassandra.”
“Thank you.”
If he had not been so concerned for her, he would have smiled. Even in her fear, she was every inch the English lady.
She sipped at the wine and silently handed the glass back to him. He took several slow steps, and set it upon a table.
“Are you not cold, cara?”
Cassie’s wits had returned to her, and she was appalled at what she had done. She held out her hand, then dropped it back to her side.
“I am so sorry, Anthony. It was just that suddenly you were no longer you. You were—” She choked, unable to say his name.
“Andrea?”
She nodded dumbly.
“It makes no matter,” he said. “Come back to bed, Cassandra.”
He watched her retrieve her nightgown and slip it over her head. Her hands were shaking as they tied the ribbons about her throat.
When they lay in bed, Cassie rigidly on her own side, he said calmly, “You must tell me what this Andrea was like.”
He felt her shudder. “It might help if you could bring yourself to talk about him, cara.”
“I cannot.” She closed her eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories. “Please forgive me, Anthony.”
“There is nothing to forgive, cara.” He held out his arms to her. He felt her uncertainty, the remnants of her fear. He said easily, hoping to occupy her mind, “I did not tell you, but some weeks ago, I hired what you might call an agent, a man named Daniele Barbaro, to help me find Andrea and the other man. We must catch them to discover the man who hired them. Daniele has now extended his search to Pisa.”
He felt Cassie stiffen against him and wondered if he should not have simply kept his mouth shut. He was taken aback when she said in a flat, emotionless voice, “I would assist you, my lord, to find the other man and Andrea.”