DEVIL’S EMBRACE by Catherine Coulter

She was ravenously hungry, but she bided her time, for she did not wish to disturb the earl’s sleep. She bathed, dressed, and brushed out her tangled hair, pulling it back from her face with a velvet ribbon. She was on the point of going to fetch her breakfast when Scargill quietly opened the door and peered warily into the cabin.

He said nothing, merely looked at her with worried eyes.

“I am quite all right, Scargill,” she said, “and so, I fancy, is his lordship.” She turned at the absence of any sound from the bed and saw him stretching gracefully, the covers barely covering his belly.

“Ye’re ready for your lunch, I trust,” Scargill said cheerfully.

“Lunch?”

“Aye, madonna. Ye slept the clock around. And ye, my lord, ye’ll join yer brave wife?”

“That I will,” the earl said. He bounded out of bed and stretched prodigiously.

“And how is my brave wife?” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled his chin against the top of her head.

Scargill was clucking good-naturedly behind him, the earl’s dressing gown already in his hands.

As Cassie ate, trying not to wolf down her food, she was aware of the earl’s eyes upon her, narrowed in concern.

“For heaven’s sake, my lord,” she said, “I have no intention of collapsing into hysterics.”

His answering smile did not reach his dark eyes. “You were quite right, you know, cara, he was the fourth man. The serpent wrapped about the sword—it was on his left arm.” The earl shook his head and softly cursed. “If only I had had his shirt stripped off before I flogged him. We would have known then, and none of this would have happened. Can you talk about it, Cassandra? Tell me what happened?”

How strange, she thought, she could think about the previous night quite calmly. She faltered only when she told him of the stiletto, clutched in her fisted hands. She shuddered, memory vivid.

“Remind me, cara,” he said at last, “never to get into a violent argument with you.”

A cleansing smile lighted her face. “You have nothing to fear, my lord, for you, I am persuaded, hold me and all my abilities in healthy respect.” She paused a moment, frowning. “I goaded him, you know, taunted him, trying to make him tell me who had paid him to kill us. But he would tell me nothing. Not even a clue, my lord, save it was a man. He said the man would make him rich.”

The earl stroked his unshaven jaw. “The mystery remains, then. I did not tell you, Cassandra, but before I left Genoa, I arranged to pay a sizable reward for the name and removal of Luigi’s employer. That is one reason I decided we should go to England. I wanted you in no danger until I discovered him. It never occurred to me that we would carry one of the assassins with us.”

“Do you think we shall ever know?”

“Given the number of enthusiastic villains who will try to fatten their purses, I am willing to wager that we shall.”

Cassie took one of his large hands into hers. “At least we are safe now, my lord.”

“Sometimes, my love, I am doubtful that I deserve you.” At the gleam in her eyes, he added in a lazy drawl, “But then I think of you floundering and utterly impotent at arranging your own affairs and my heart is warmed.”

She laughed, deep and warm, and he held her against his heart.

Epilogue

The earl smoothed a single curl of Cassie’s hair back from her forehead. Looking at her in sleep, it was impossible to tell that she had just given birth. But their child, a beautiful boy, lay curled peacefully in a small cradle next to Becky Petersham’s bed.

Exhaustion beckoned him to bed, but he was too elated to give in to sleep just yet. He touched his lips to her cheek and strode soundlessly across the thick carpet to the narrow curtained windows. He eased back the heavy burgundy velvet curtains and peered out at the south lawn and the home wood beyond. A half moon muted the vivid October colors of the trees, their leaves heavy with dampness after a brief rainstorm. He dropped the curtain, wondering idly if Dr. Milpas, a man of excellent repute with a string of successful births to his name, was at last resting in comfort after an afternoon spent sitting in sodden clothes in a mud-filled ditch, cursing his broken leg.

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