“Damn you to hell!”
She drew up in her tracks, and turned a confused face toward the cabin door. Was that a chuckle she heard?
The door swung open, and she saw the earl’s laughing face. “My poor Cassandra, just tell me which of my belongings has so angered you and I shall stick my sword through it.”
“Then you may stick it through your black heart.”
He grinned at her and tossed her a bundle of clothing. “Here, my love, change into these and you can come up on deck with me. The breeches are a donation from the smallest of my men.”
She wanted to yell at him to take the clothes and himself to perdition, but she realized that she had to get out of this wretched cabin and settle her stomach. She thought of the salt spray on her face and the feel of the wind against her, and nodded. She bent down, picked up the breeches and the shirt, and held them against her chest.
“You will find boots in the armoire. I will come back for you in five minutes.”
When the earl returned, Cassie was seated on the settee tugging on her boots.
“May I assist you, Cassandra?”
She ignored him. When she rose, the soft leather riding boots hugging her calves, she saw that his eyes were sweeping over her.
“You cannot be so unfamiliar with men’s breeches,” she said, and walked toward the door, holding herself stiffly so that her hips would not sway.
“It is good of you to remind me,” he said.
Bundled in a large canvas cape, a woolen cap pulled over her head, Cassie walked onto the deck. The earl held her arm tightly, as if he thought her a child who would hurt herself if not kept on a short leash. She ignored him and raised her face to the spattering rain, closing her eyes for a moment as she drew a deep breath of fresh salt air.
She had hoped to make out land, but the yacht was shrouded by low billowing dark clouds that stretched impenetrably as far as she could see. The sails were tightly furled against the ripping cross-winds, and the huge masts, like winter-stripped trees, reached starkly upward. The Union Jack still fluttered at the jackstaff, and she wondered idly why the earl had not secured it. The yacht suddenly slammed at an odd angle through a deep trough of a wave, and she was thrown against the earl. He gripped her arm more tightly, and smiled.
“An awesome and beautiful sight, is it not? I have always fancied the notion of men daring to combat the power of the sea, with naught but their will and the strength of their arms. We have again won, for the winds have slackened. Perhaps we shall even see a glimmer of sunlight before nightfall.”
Cassie was not heeding him; her attention was upon the canvas-cloaked sailors, crouching forward into the force of the wind as they worked the rigging.
“We are sailing too high in the wind,” she said, steadying herself on the rigging.
The earl gazed down at her a moment, an arrested expression in his eyes. “I do believe you are right.”
There seemed to be pride as well as amusement in his voice, and Cassie looked away, wondering why she had even said anything.
“Would you care to take the helm, Cassandra?” he asked as they gained the quarterdeck.
“I?” She brushed the rain from her face and looked at him.
“Certainly.” He continued casually. “If you do not mind though, I do not think it wise to let my men know. They would be aghast if they found out an eighteen-year-old girl was holding their lives in her hands. Come, we shall relieve Angelo.”
He clasped her hand firmly in his and guided her carefully over the slippery deck down into the cockpit. He tapped the small, black-cloaked sailor on the shoulder and ordered him in flawless Italian to take himself below-deck. She saw Angelo’s dark gimlet eyes dart over her as he released the helm to the earl. With a salute to his sodden woolen cap, he turned and walked jauntily away on the lurching deck, as surefooted as if it were a drawing room floor.