DEVIL’S EMBRACE by Catherine Coulter

He frowned down at his enthusiastic member straining tightly against his cream breeches, then eyed the blunt-edged, thinly cushioned settee in front of him. He supposed it would be his bed until they were married. It would have to be a very private ceremony, since Cassie was already known as his wife. He reviewed the request he would make to the only Anglican parson he knew, and shook his head. The florid-faced Mr. Danvers would never keep a still tongue in his mouth.

Fury, pure and undiluted, took control of him at the thought of the Earl of Clare, dampening his passion. “You bloody bastard,” he said aloud. He would have killed the man without a qualm for having ravished any English gentlewoman. But it was Cassie he had forced himself upon, had repeatedly taken against her will during the long months Edward had thought her dead.

Edward rose and slowly removed his coat and boots. He and Cassie had talked throughout the day of everything that did not touch the months they had been apart. He smiled, remembering her unaffected ready laughter. But he realized he still knew very little of what her life had actually been like during the past months. She had spoken not at all of the earl, and Edward, not wishing to cause her pain, had not pressed her.

“Edward.”

He turned at the sound of his softly spoken name. Cassie stood in the open doorway of the bedchamber, dressed in a light muslin wrapper. He caught his breath at the sight of her. She was as exquisitely beautiful as the near-perfect vision of her he had nourished in his mind during the lonely nights of autumn and winter. He restrained his impulse to crush her in his arms.

“You enjoyed your bath, Cass?”

She smiled at the painful calm in his voice. To his discomfiture, his body leaped in response.

“The water is still warm, Edward. Would you like me to scrub your back?”

“Cassie, for God’s sake.”

Under his horrified gaze, she lowered her face and began to sob into her hands.

His stocking feet made no sound on the oak floor. He gently pulled her against him, though her hands still covered her face. “Please don’t cry, my love.” He nuzzled his cheek against her silky hair, savoring its sweet sandalwood scent. He felt her stiff and unyielding against him and set about to soothe her, and himself, with low, soft words of reassurance.

“No one will ever hurt you again, Cass. I swear it to you. You are safe now, and this time I shall protect you.”

Cassie lowered her hands and mutely raised her face. There was no one to protect her from now. You cannot protect me from myself, Edward.

“You even cry beautifully,” he said as he touched a fingertip to her cheek and gently brushed away her tears.

“I am sorry, Edward. It is not my habit to be a weeping woman.” Her hands stole up his arms and her fingers locked about his neck. “Please stay with me tonight.”

He looked down into her clear blue eyes and knew himself to be lost. “If you are certain it is what you want, Cassie.”

It must be what I want.

“Yes.”

“Then we shall be ahead of the parson by a few days.” He scooped her up into his arms and laid her gently in the center of his bed. Cassie sank deep down into the trough she created in the soft featherdown mattress.

She laughed. “Oh dear, I fear that we shall be sleeping like two cards in a deck.”

Edward gave her only a slight answering grin. He was pulling off his clothes with a speed that would have surprised his batman, Grumman.

Cassie watched him. He was of slighter build than the earl, his body wiry and taut from his years of campaigning. She turned her eyes away from his erect organ. Instead of desire, she felt a surge of panic. For an instant, he was a stranger to her, frightening and unknown. She drew a deep steadying breath. Don’t be a fool, Cassie. Your life is as it was supposed to have been. You are with Edward. It is he who will be your husband. She fastened her eyes upon his face and held out her arms to him.

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