“Yes. Let me help you.”
He clasped his hands beneath her hips and raised her, careful not to touch her back. He laid her on her stomach, and she felt the softness of the cover beneath her breasts.
The earl stared down at her quiet figure. How many times he had read guilt and hatred in her eyes before he had brought her to pleasure. Yet now, he had inflicted pain and she had willingly accepted it. There had been no hatred in her fine eyes, only her fierce pride.
He shook his head and made haste to mix some laudanum with wine.
“I never faint, you know,” she said as he handed her a filled glass.
“No, I wouldn’t imagine that you would. It is wise that you lie still, Cassandra. This will make you feel better.”
“What is it?” she asked after she had downed the wine.
“Laudanum and French burgundy. In a few minutes you will feel drowsy.”
He fetched a soothing cream to rub into her back, but did not touch her until her head lolled on the pillow and her breathing evened into sleep. Six welts stood out against her white skin, red and ugly, but none so deep as to cause him worry. He gently rubbed in the ointment.
He eased her out of her clothes and pulled a cover to her waist, then drew up a chair beside her. He found himself studying her closely. Her beauty was startling, but he knew that his feeling for her was drawn strong by her own strength of character, and he reveled in the knowledge that he possessed her. Had she ranted at him, or even resorted to tears to save herself from punishment, he would not have loved her less. Perhaps, he thought ruefully, if she had guessed that her fierce sense of honor would result in his wanting her all the more, she would have behaved differently. But she would not know, for the time being; he would not tell her.
He had caused her many kinds of pain, he knew, and his jaw tightened in stubborn resolve. Someday, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, she would smile at him with love. Dammit, it would be so, he would make it be so.
Cassie stirred. Before she could plant her mind firmly in reality, she moaned dully from the effect of the laudanum. She opened her eyes and saw the earl gazing intently at her.
“What day is it?” she asked, and saw him blink.
“You have been sleeping for but an hour.”
“How odd,” she mumbled, and tried to raise herself on her elbows. She realized that she was naked and let herself fall again.
“There is no sign of the Spanish frigate?”
“No.”
“Will my back be scarred?”
He grinned at her belated display of vanity. “I do not believe so. You will be sore for several days.”
“You will not tell the men, will you, my lord?”
“I do not think that will be necessary,” he said. Actually, he imagined that he would have a mutiny on his hands if his men were to discover what he had done.
He started forward in his chair at a tear that fell from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
“Cassandra,” he said, uncertain.
She raised her hand and dashed it away. “I am sorry,” she choked out. “The laudanum is making me a fool. I cannot seem to help it. I wish you would but leave.”
“No. I will not leave.”
She flinched at the anger she saw in his eyes. “Do not be angry. I am sorry to shame you.”
He scraped back his chair and rose abruptly. He guessed that she felt pain but was too proud to admit to it. “Be quiet. It is not a question of shaming me. Do not move, I will get you more laudanum.”
With shaking hands, he poured a few more drops into a large goblet of wine. It was much more than she needed, but he needed it to relieve his guilt as much as her discomfort.
He thrust the glass to her lips. “Here.”
It took her some minutes to down the entire contents, and a trickle of wine fell down her chin. He wiped it away with his fingertip.