Devil's Embrace by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

raise her paddle to strike him, but he twisted it easily from her grasp and pulled her against him.
    “Damn you, let me go. My brother will hear about this, my lord. As will Edward.”
    Even as she yelled at him, her arms were pinioned to her sides as he lifted her easily and hoisted her over his shoulder.
    “Don’t fight me, Cassandra,” he said, and stepped from her boat to the ladder.
    Cassie felt a numbing sense of disbelief sweep over her. She had known Anthony Welles for most of her life, as a gentleman, a sophisticated yet kind man. She realized through a haze of fear that he was really someone different, a man she did not know or understand.
    She wailed aloud, reared up from his shoulder, and twisted about, smashing her fist against his cheek.
    The quickness of her assault took him off his guard and he nearly lost his grip on the ladder. Cassie heard shouts from the sailors above and struggled against him, until she looked down and saw that if he lost his hold, they would be plunged into her boat, not into the water.
    She went limp on his shoulder.
    “Death is never preferable, is it, Cassandra?”
    She gritted her teeth and said nothing.
    He stepped over the side, onto the quarterdeck, gently eased her off his shoulder, and set her on her feet. She ran until she felt a palm flattened against the small of her back.
    “Leave her be, Scargill, she is not a fool.”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    Cassie whirled about. “You are Lord Clare’s valet. I recognize you. Will you not tell me the meaning of this?”
    She heard the earl say crisply, from behind her, “All in good time, Cassandra. First I must see to your boat.”
    She turned slowly. “What do you mean?”
    “You will soon understand,” he said, striding toward her. Cassie forced herself not to move, and thrust her chin upward, unwilling to let him see how frightened she was.
    He reached out and lifted off her wide-brimmed straw hat. She watched as it floated in the stiff breeze to the polished wooden deck.
    “You will have no further need of your hat. I have never really liked them, you know. Your face should be tanned golden by the sun.” She blinked, and before she could respond, he turned abruptly away from her.
    “Dilson, is the bow firmly secured?”
    “Aye, captain.”
    Scargill stepped from her side to stand beside the earl. Cassie gripped the bronze railing and watched as her small sailboat lurched clumsily through the waves, drawn forward by the yacht.
    “Harden up a little, Angelo,” she heard him order the helmsman. “No nearer, the rocks are treacherous. Keep her so.” She saw him turn and nod to the sailor, Dilson, and the little man climbed like an agile monkey over the side and down the ladder to her boat. He drew a sword and with several powerful strokes hacked through the wooden mast. It teetered an instant and fell, shrouded in its white sail, into the water.
    “No!” She rushed forward, without thought, to climb over the side of the yacht.
    She felt a strong hand on her arm and turned in her fury to strike him. He efficiently clasped both her wrists in one large hand.
    “I am truly sorry, Cassandra. I know that you love your sailboat, but it must be done.”
    He shaded his eyes with his free hand, took in their distance from the clumps of outjutting rocks near shore, and commanded suddenly, “Cut her loose, Dilson.”
    Dilson’s sword sliced through the looped rope about the bow. In an instant, he scrambled back to the ladder and pushed off the sailboat with his booted foot.
    “Please do not,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. “The tide will smash her against the rocks.”
    “Yes, I know, but you will not witness it.” He turned to the helmsman. “Lay the course, Angelo. Come, Cassandra.”

C hapter 7
     
    C assie walked beside him down the deck to the companionway, vaguely mindful of low-pitched sailors’ voices blending with the sounds of flapping sails overhead. He drew her to a halt below deck in front of a