“The Contessa accomplished part of her desire, my friend.”
“She was hot for ye, I’ll grant ye that, my lord. But besides warming yer bed, she has an eye to yer title and fortune. She’ll not prove kind to yer English lass.”
The earl turned slowly and an amused smile lit his dark eyes. “In the unlikely event that Giovanna shows her claws to Cassandra, rest assured that Cassandra will dish her up without any assistance from me. She is like quicksilver, I think, arrogant and proud. She has a core of strength that her mother never possessed. Be kind to her, Scargill, but I caution you to be watchful. She very nearly unmanned me with her knee.”
Scargill guffawed. “She did, did she, my lord. So the wee madonna is not taking well to yer kidnaping her.”
“Not at the moment. You call her madonna now, Scargill?”
“Yer Genoese sailors have called her nothing else, my lord. It’s yer mixed blood, they say, that makes ye one minute the cold imperious lord, and the next, the unpredictable man bent on his own passions. They believe it’s yer Italian blood that makes ye go to such lengths for a woman.”
The earl stood rigidly straight, his features impassive. It was always so when his lordship was angered, Scargill thought, particularly when someone referred to his fiery Italian blood.
“Have I a rebellion brewing with my men?”
“Nay, ye know as well as I do that they’d follow ye to hell, if ye asked it of them.”
“Never would I demand anything so final. See that they get an extra ration of grog, Scargill, but not more, mind you. I will be much occupied this evening and have no wish for The Cassandra to run aground.”
Scargill grunted. “The men will come to accept her, my lord. Even Angelo, as superstitious as any man with a woman aboard, admitted that she had a fine way with her wee boat.”
“That is quite an accolade, coming from my close-mouthed helmsman. Unfortunately, I do not believe that Cassandra would have the slightest inclination at the moment to value such a compliment.”
“Do ye think she’ll agree to wed with ye, my lord?”
“She will wed me,” Anthony said calmly. “Now, my friend, I must use your cabin just this once to bathe and change for dinner. See that Arturo prepares the English fare that I ordered. You will play the English butler this evening.”
“Aye, my lord.” Scargill watched his master walk down the highly polished deck toward the companionway, his step jaunty, and the set of his broad shoulders assured.
It was dark when the earl straightened his black satin waistcoat and unlocked the cabin door. He could make out Cassandra’s figure in the near darkness as he opened the door, seated in the same chair next to the table where he had left her. He frowned, for she had not bothered to light the lamps.
He performed this task, and when the cabin was flooded with light, he turned to face her. She was wearing the same old muslin gown, and tendrils of hair, unbrushed, curled haphazardly about her set face.
“Good evening, Cassandra,” he said, and sat down opposite her.
“I see the pirate clothes himself like a gentleman,” she said, her eyes flitting over him with open contempt.
“And I see that you are still clothed as a peasant girl. You do not find the wardrobe I have provided you to your liking?”
“I will never touch anything that belongs to you, my lord.”
“In that case,” he remarked imperturbably, “you will soon find yourself naked.” He saw her expressive eyes narrow in disbelief, then widen in ill-disguised fear. Obviously, she had not considered that he would make sexual demands of her.
“Our dinner will arrive shortly. Would you care for a glass of wine?”
Cassie nodded dumbly, aware suddenly that her throat was parched from thirst.
He handed her a glass of French Burgundy and watched her clumsily take it between her bandaged fingers. She downed it in one long gulp and fell into a paroxysm of coughing.
“It is heady stuff, Cassandra. You must learn to sip wine, not gulp it down like water.”