He slowly unstraddled the chair and rose. “Come, my love, I will help you to undress.”
He stretched his hand to her.
“No,” she yelled and backed away from him. “You will not do this to me, do you hear?”
“Since you are not a virgin, Cassandra, and know a man’s body well, you must also know that I will not hurt you. You will learn my touch and the feel of my body against yours.” As he spoke, he moved slowly around the table. She saw the purpose in his eyes and ran to the corner of the cabin, her shoulders pressing against the windows astern. He loomed huge and dark, towering over her. She struggled wildly when he clasped her shoulders, trying to twist free of him. She jerked up her knee, but it connected with his thigh. He pinioned her arms easily against her sides and lifted her to his shoulder, one hand cupping her hips and the other holding her legs tightly against his chest.
He dropped her onto the bed and sat down beside her, holding her hands above her head. “Don’t fight me, Cassandra, it will change naught.” His mouth closed over hers.
“No,” she yelled, and twisted her face away from him. She arched her back and brought up her legs to kick at his back.
In a swift movement, he uncoiled his body and lay beside her, throwing his leg over hers to hold her still. He felt the giving softness of her, and instinctively moved atop her, and pressed himself against her.
He saw that her eyes were filled with fear and forced himself for the moment to calm his desire. He gently stroked the firm line of her jaw, the whiteness of her throat, his touch light and undemanding.
“Do not do this to me,” she whispered.
“I must, Cassandra.”
She felt his hand upon her breast, and his touch, hated and alien, unleashed her fear. She writhed and twisted until one of her hands slipped loose from his grasp, and she raked her bandaged fingernails down his face.
He rolled suddenly off her and rose to stand beside the bed. She watched him in frozen silence as he shrugged off his waistcoat and his white shirt, baring his chest. He was not lean and slender like Edward. His chest was covered with black curling hair. Her eyes fell to his muscled flat belly above the line of his breeches, and in a spasm of terror, she tried to fling herself past him. He picked her up easily with one arm and tossed her lightly back onto the bed.
“Cassandra, listen to me,” he said sharply. “If I must rape you, then so be it, but I will not allow you to fight me like some wild thing. You will only hurt yourself, and I do not wish it. Either you accept me, or I shall tie you down.”
“I will never stop fighting you. Never, do you hear me?”
“Very well,” he said flatly, and strode away from the bed, out of her view.
She scurried to the far side of the bed and came up on her knees, her back flattened against the rich mahogany paneling and crossed her shaking arms over her body.
He appeared suddenly, two silk handkerchiefs in his hand. She shrank back.
“Stay away from me.”
But he climbed swiftly over to her and dragged her back toward him. He straddled her, holding one arm down beneath him while he grabbed her wrist and swiftly knotted a handkerchief about it. He jerked her arm up and secured the other end to a wooden lattice in the headboard. She heaved wildly beneath him, but if he felt pain from her legs striking his back, he gave no notice. He pulled her other arm above her head and secured it. She felt the silk tighten about her wrists as she struggled to free herself. He moved off her and she lay panting, staring up at him, her eyes dark with fear.
She tried to stop the deep upward and downward heaving of her breasts as his hands moved over them, unbuttoning her bodice. He appeared unhurried in his undressing of her.