“You little liar,” he said softly, incredulously. “By God, you missed your calling, Cassandra. It’s an actress you should have been. So you are pregnant, my love? Quite an accomplishment I should say, given that your maidenhead is very much intact. No wonder your shock at seeing a naked man.” He pulled away from her and rose.
“What are you going to do?”
“What I would have done had I known you were a virgin.”
She drew her legs together and pulled impotently at the handkerchiefs. When she felt his weight upon the bed, she looked to see him holding a small jar in his hand.
“What is that?” she said, lifting her head from the pillow to see him better.
He did not answer her, but wedged his hand between her thighs, forcing them apart. Cassie felt his finger ease inside her, and her muscles tightened at the feel of something cool and soothing inside her.
The earl saw her eyes, wide and pleading, upon his face, and though he wanted to reassure her, he knew that anything he said would only prolong her fear.
Cassie felt herself stretch to hold him when he entered her, but she felt no pain. She felt him pushing against her maidenhead, and she stiffened.
“Cassandra,” he said, his voice bringing her eyes to his face, “I must hurt you, but just for a moment.”
She cried out once at a sharp pain, and felt him move deep within her. She felt a numbing shock that brought hopeless tears to her eyes. His large hands were clasping her hips, drawing her upward to meet him. She heard him moan above her, curiously tense, and felt his seed deep inside her.
She heard herself sobbing aloud, and tears streaked down her cheeks, their salty heat upon her lips.
Cassie felt a warm wet cloth touching her face, soothing away her tears, and slowly opened her eyes. She felt defiled, awash with helpless anger at her weakness, at her womanness.
“I hate you,” she whispered to the dark face above her.
“Yes, I know,” he said gently. “I am sorry that I had to hurt you, Cassandra.” He paused a moment and pulled damp tendrils of hair away from her eyes. “If you would know the truth, I wanted only to get the damned business over with. Next time, I promise you that there will be no pain, indeed, I want to give you pleasure, for that is the object of lovemaking, you know.”
The thought that he would force her again made her hollow with despair. She felt the cloth moving over her thighs, pressing lightly against her. She drew her stiff legs slowly together.
He continued calmly, as if in polite conversation in a drawing room. “In Genoa, and indeed in many parts of Italy, it is a tradition among the peasants for the bridegroom to hang the bedsheet out the window after the wedding night. There must be spots of blood on the sheet, you see, so that all will know that his wife came to him as a virgin.”
She said, her voice trembling with fury, “So you will fly the damned sheet from the mast?”
He looked up and smiled, delighted at her spirit. “I just might,” he said coolly, “if for no other reason than to celebrate your remarkable lie.”
She felt his fingers brush over her belly. “You will be a bit sore, but it will pass quickly.”
“So that is how you dismiss brutal rape, my lord. Your victim will only be a bit sore—nothing of any importance.”
“Not my victim, Cassandra, my wife.”
“You may take your insane notion and go to hell.”
“Then you will meet the devil with me. Now, if you promise not to lash out at me—physically, that is—I’ll release your wrists.”
She felt beyond caring, though she was aware of a growing numbness in her hands. She turned her face away from him.
She felt him unfasten the silk knots and bring her arms down to her sides.
Anthony frowned at the welts about her wrists as he gently rubbed feeling into them again.
“Do you feel better now?”
“I would feel better if I could stick a knife between your ribs.”