He is a pirate, she thought, their leader. She grabbed the long wooden paddle and held her weapon tightly against her.
Her boat heeled as he stepped into the cockpit, and he closed his hand about the mast for support.
She took in his thick black hair and deeply tanned face and gasped in astonishment.
“Lord Clare! Oh, thank God it is you. I thought it was a pirate and that I was to be taken, or killed.” She ceased her babble of words when Anthony Welles only gazed at her, unspeaking.
Cassie drew a shaking breath and lowered her wooden paddle. “You frightened me, my lord,” she said more calmly. “I do not think I like your joke; you could easily have rammed my boat. Pray tell me, why have you done this?”
“My purpose was not to ram your boat, Cassandra, only to capture it,” he said in his low, clipped voice. “You gave me quite a chase until you backwinded your sail.”
Her fingers tightened about the wooden paddle. “What are you saying, my lord? You wished to capture my boat?”
“I commend your bravado, Cassandra. However, I must ask you to drop that deadly paddle and accompany me aboard your namesake.”
“Lord Clare, what is the meaning of this? I asked you just why the devil you have secured my boat. I demand that you answer me.” She took an angry step toward him.
“Come, Cassandra, enough of this foolishness. The time grows short. You will come to understand everything, in time.” He stretched out his hand toward her. “Drop the paddle and come here.”
“You can go to the devil, my lord.” She took a wobbly step backward and lost her footing. Her attention wavered from him as she struggled to regain her balance, and a strong hand clasped her arm and jerked her forward. She tried to raise her paddle to strike him, but he twisted it easily from her grasp and pulled her against him.
“Damn you, let me go. My brother will hear about this, my lord. As will Edward.”
Even as she yelled at him, her arms were pinioned to her sides as he lifted her easily and hoisted her over his shoulder.
“Don’t fight me, Cassandra,” he said, and stepped from her boat to the ladder.
Cassie felt a numbing sense of disbelief sweep over her. She had known Anthony Welles for most of her life, as a gentleman, a sophisticated yet kind man. She realized through a haze of fear that he was really someone different, a man she did not know or understand.
She wailed aloud, reared up from his shoulder, and twisted about, smashing her fist against his cheek.
The quickness of her assault took him off his guard and he nearly lost his grip on the ladder. Cassie heard shouts from the sailors above and struggled against him, until she looked down and saw that if he lost his hold, they would be plunged into her boat, not into the water.
She went limp on his shoulder.
“Death is never preferable, is it, Cassandra?”
She gritted her teeth and said nothing.
He stepped over the side, onto the quarterdeck, gently eased her off his shoulder, and set her on her feet. She ran until she felt a palm flattened against the small of her back.
“Leave her be, Scargill, she is not a fool.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Cassie whirled about. “You are Lord Clare’s valet. I recognize you. Will you not tell me the meaning of this?”
She heard the earl say crisply, from behind her, “All in good time, Cassandra. First I must see to your boat.”
She turned slowly. “What do you mean?”
“You will soon understand,” he said, striding toward her. Cassie forced herself not to move, and thrust her chin upward, unwilling to let him see how frightened she was.
He reached out and lifted off her wide-brimmed straw hat. She watched as it floated in the stiff breeze to the polished wooden deck.
“You will have no further need of your hat. I have never really liked them, you know. Your face should be tanned golden by the sun.” She blinked, and before she could respond, he turned abruptly away from her.