“The devil you will.” He grabbed her arms and wheeled her about to face him. “You will go below-deck to the cabin and stay there.”
“No,” she shouted back at him. “I want to stay with you.”
He released her abruptly and strode to the wheel. She frowned at his back, wondering what he was saying to Mr. Donnetti. A white tear of lightning rent the sky and she jumped, then smiled. She would not be treated like some simpering little miss and locked away, unable to share the thrill of the storm.
She felt oddly deflated when he returned to her, a wide smile on his face. “Come with me, love.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “To get my breeches?”
“If you like.”
“Very well,” she said finally, “but do let’s hurry. The sky is nearly dark. The storm will break within the hour.”
She raced ahead of him, pulling her skirt above her ankles. When she reached the cabin she walked swiftly to the armoire and jerked it open. “Where are they? Did you bring them or must you fetch another pair for me?”
He stood with his back against the closed cabin door. “There are no breeches.”
“Then you will fetch a pair for me.”
“No, cara. You will stay right here until the storm has blown itself out.”
“You tricked me!”
“Yes, that is true, but you gave me no choice. You will stay in the cabin and there’s an end to it.”
“I told you, my lord,” she said, holding her temper, “that I will do precisely what I like. I will not allow you to treat me like a child.”
“Then, madam, you will stop acting like one.” The yacht suddenly lurched to starboard, and Cassie grabbed the edge of the dresser to keep her balance. He was at her side in an instant, steadying her. “And what if you were on deck and that happened? I will not allow you to take such risks.”
The yacht lurched heavily again. He clutched his hands tightly about her arms. “I have not the luxury of time to argue with you, Cassandra. You will obey me in this, else I’ll tie you down. Dammit, think about my child.”
Furious words died in her throat. The babe. In her excitement, she had forgotten its existence in her womb. Her shoulders hunched forward. “Very well,” she said, not looking up at him.
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
His fingers lightly caressed her cheek. “There will be another storm.” He released her and strode to the door.
“You will be careful?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “I know that you do not consider me as good a sailor as yourself, but I shall contrive, rest assured.”
Cassie stared at the closed door for a minute, then let out a sigh of resignation. He would have to be in the right. She hugged her arms about her thickening stomach and walked to the table.
“Since there will be no dinner tonight,” she said to herself, “I might as well enjoy the wine.” She poured a glass, gulped half of it down, and choked on a hiccup. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered to the floor, splashing red wine down the front of her gown.
“Clumsy oaf.” She continued her bickering with herself as she tugged impatiently at the buttons on her gown. By the time she was wrapped in her dressing gown, the storm was upon them.
She could feel the billowing, angry waves slapping against the yacht, hear them flooding over the deck over the sound of the lashing rain. She made her way to the square stern windows, clutching at the back of a chair at the edge of the earl’s mahogany desk to steady herself. She could see nothing through the thick gray veil of rain. She shivered and drew her dressing gown more closely. Distantly, over the tumult, she could hear men shouting, their voices muted by the raging wind.
“If it were not for you, my small babe,” she said softly, patting her belly, “I would be in the midst of it, feeling the rain slap my face, leaning against the howling wind.”
She pictured the earl battling at the helm to hold the yacht steady, his black hair plastered against his forehead, and she ticked off the orders he would be giving in her mind.