DEVIL’S EMBRACE by Catherine Coulter

The earl said, “You see the dock starboard? That is where The Cassandra will berth.”

Cassie wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming smell of fish and sweat. Shoremen dressed in little more than heavy homespun trousers formed a human chain from the gang-planks of the ships to the dock, heaving huge crates and bales of foodstuffs. She saw men upon the decks of the ships, dressed in various uniforms, shouting orders that sent other men scurrying about to obey them. The din of men’s voices was almost overwhelming, and she wondered how anyone could be understood, particularly since so many languages were being spoken.

The earl made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Every country, I believe, is represented here. Normally, as I told you, either a ship pays tribute to the pirates or she travels with a sister ship to protect her cargo.”

Cassie did not reply, for her attention was caught by a British cargo ship. “A Union Jack.”

“Ah yes, the English are great traders and their ships dot the harbor. They sail from Genoa to the American colonies, even to such exotic places as the West Indies and Mexico.” A hint of distaste entered his voice. “ Unfortunately, their cargo is many times human.”

She looked at him, cocking her head inquiringly.

“Human beings, Cassandra, black men and women captured on the coast of Africa to be sold as slaves.”

“How fortunate for you, my lord,” she said in a voice deep with sarcasm, “that you had to pay nothing for me.”

He grinned at her. “You are really quite mistaken, cara, my payments will be endless.”

“I will see that they are.”

He laughed and said in an amused drawl, “Don’t look so hopefully at the British ships, Cassandra. For the most part, the men who captain them are scoundrels. Traders in general have few scruples. If you offered your striking person aboard one of those ships, you would likely find yourself in a harem in Constantinople.”

“We are, however, back to civilization, my lord.” Her voice was clipped, inviting no response.

He gazed at her and shrugged, wincing as the untoward movement brought pain to his shoulder. He said easily, “We will ride in an open carriage through the city. I trust it will give you enjoyment to see Genoa. Scargill will follow with our luggage to my home—the Villa Parese.”

She nodded, her attention drawn to the filth that floated in the harbor, refuse, she supposed, from the many ships. She saw a dead sea bird, and swallowed convulsively.

“Excuse me, Cassandra, but I must see Mr. Donnetti.”

She watched him make his way to the quarterdeck to where Mr. Donnetti stood, legs apart, like a hovering lean eagle, shouting orders to the men.

Those sailors who were not securing the rigging and pulling the lines tight stood at the railing waving to people on the dock. True to the earl’s word, The Cassandra moved sleekly into her berth, her masts, like those on other ships surrounding her, standing tall and bright in the sunlight.

Men climbed nimbly down the port ladders to the long wooden dock and moved easily to catch the lines tossed down from the deck. She heard the heavy anchor drop overboard and made a note to herself to ask the earl the depth of the water in the harbor. The runged gangplank was lowered and Cassie walked quickly to port. She looked up to see the earl striding toward her, a knit shawl in his hand.

“My lady,” he said in a lazy voice, “I see that I must take care of you.”

He handed her the shawl and with a great show of ceremony escorted her down the wooden gangplank. All she heard now was Italian, and she imagined, from some of the curious looks darted at her from assorted men at work along the harbor, that she was the subject. She frowned, for there were many phrases she did not understand.

The earl guided her past scores of bare-chested fishermen, yelling at each other amiably as they mended their nets, to an old barouche harnessed to a slope-shouldered bay mare who looked as ancient as the open carriage.

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