“It is simply not fair.” She poured herself another glass of wine, only to see the rich red liquid slosh over the sides as the yacht heeled sharply to port. With a muttered oath, she carefully poured the wine back into the decanter.
The cabin was bathed in eerie gray light, and she lit a lone candle in the brass holder that was firmly fastened atop the earl’s desk. She waited impatiently for the growing spiral of flame to light up the dark corners of the cabin.
She made her way slowly to the bed, careful to step over the fragments of broken glass from her first glass of wine. She considered cleaning it up, but she was afraid she would cut herself on the shards of glass with the yacht heaving as wildly as it was.
Cassie stretched out on the bed, pulling the thick blue velvet spread over her, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep.
She was drowsing lightly, her head lolling on the pillow, when she heard a sound near her bed. She sat up and swung her legs over the side to look about. The cabin was bathed in the soft dim light of the candle she had lit, now nearly gutted. She fastened her eyes on the door and watched as the knob slowly turned. Her body tensed, for the earl would enter without a pause, swinging the door widely open. Perhaps, she thought, shaking her head at herself, it was Scargill with her dinner, moving quietly for fear of disturbing her.
But it was not Scargill.
The door opened only wide enough to allow a slender man to slither through. It was Luigi. He looked at her, and their eyes met for a breathless moment.
Cassie stumbled to her feet and yelled at him, “How dare you come in here! What do you want?” The man frowned, and she switched quickly to Italian. “Che cosa Le abbisogna?”
She looked at him closely. He was not above medium height, his complexion a deep olive, and his eyes opaquely black in the dim light. His sailor’s clothes were sodden, and his long black hair hung in wet strands about his bristled face.
“Che cosa Le abbisogna?” She closed her fisted hand over the front of her dressing gown.
“Ah, signora, do you not know what I want? Do you not recognize me?” His coal-black eyes swept over her body.
“No.” Her mind refused to work. “Get out, or it is more than a flogging you will get.”
He closed the door gently behind him and leaned against it, his thin mouth relaxing into a wide smile. His piercing eyes still stripped her naked. “It is time for retribution, signora. Your esteemed husband, you see, brutally slaughtered two of my comrades, and is out for more blood. Ah, now you know me, do you not?”
Cassie mouthed her words, her voice barely above a whisper. “The fourth man—the last of the bravi. The one whose name we did not know.”
He swept her a contemptuous bow.
She dully recited their names. “Giulio, Giacomo, Andrea—and Luigi.”
He slapped his thigh and laughed, a wet strand of hair swinging across his cheek.
“Such an impression we made upon your great ladyship. So you remembered having men between your legs, signora.” His voice turned from mocking insolence to grim fury. “Sí, two of my friends dead now. Dead because of you and your bastard of a husband.”
The yacht lurched into a deep trough of a wave, and Cassie was thrown backward. She grabbed at the bedpost to keep her balance. She was panting, drawing hoarse breaths. The storm was raging mercilessly overhead. No one would hear her scream. No one would help her.
“There were five of you, not four. But you, I fancy, are too cowardly to reveal his name.” She thought dispassionately that he would kill her now, and yet she was taunting him. She saw that his fingers lay against the silver handle of a stiletto in his belt.
Luigi shrugged elaborately. “I have had many weeks to plan your deaths, signora, yours and your precious husband’s. The storm has served me well. First you, and then that arrogant bastard.”