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image of her. You were such a lively child, full of wonder, your eyes bright with intelligence. It was in my mind to take an interest in Constance’s daughter, to watch her grow up, to be a part of her life in some way. When I saw you at fourteen, it was only Constance’s face that I beheld, not her character or personality. I was drawn to you as a young girl, Cassandra, and when you turned seventeen, I realized that I wanted you, loved you for yourself.”
    “You lie to yourself, my lord. It is my mother you love.”
    “You are quite wrong,” he said.
    “You do not really know me. You cannot love someone you do not know.”
    “But I know you quite well, Cassandra, believe me.”
    In her bewilderment, she tried to close her hands, and winced from the pain in her fingers. She felt his long fingers close about her wrists, and she knew it was to keep her from hurting herself. The small token of his caring made her sick with despair.
    She raised bleak eyes to his face. “How can you want someone who does not love you?”
    “There are few things in life that are unchangeable.”
    She reared back. “Damn you, I don’t want your glib words, my lord. I shall never change.”
    “You are but eighteen years old, Cassandra,” he said gently, and abruptly released her wrists. He sat back in his chair and regarded her silently. She saw tenderness in his dark eyes, and drew back instinctively. She hated herself,but could not prevent her pleading words. “Please, just take me home. I swear I shall tell no one about what you did. Just take me home, I beg you.”
    He said with cold finality, “No. And never again abase yourself, Cassandra, it ill befits your character.”
    “How dare you speak so arrogantly about my character? You can have no real notion whatsoever about me. If I choose to plead or abase myself, even to a knave like you, it is because it is in my character to do so.”
    Her torrent of words, spoken with such perverse defiance, made him smile. “I suppose that next you will tell me that a woman’s tears come easily to you, that a woman’s guile are also part of your character.”
    “Go to the devil.”
    “Ah, the lady finally speaks words I understand. I wager that other young ladies of your age would have demonstrated sufficient sensibility by this time to have swooned at least twice. I thank God for your character, Cassandra, for fainting ladies are a damned nuisance.”
    She turned stiffly away from him and felt cold despair once again pervade her mind like a familiar cloak. She could feel the swiftness of the yacht and knew that each minute took her farther away from her home and from Edward.
    “Where is your yacht bound?” she asked, not looking at him. Perhaps he would dock somewhere in England and she could escape him.
    He extinguished the small glimmer of hope with one word. “Italy. Genoa, to be exact. We have a long voyage ahead of us. You know, of course, that my father was an English peer, the third Earl of Clare. My mother was Italian. Over the past years I have spent roughly equal periods of time in both countries. Now, my mother’s homeland will be mine—ours.”
    Cassie had wondered why she had been taught Italian, not French, like the other young ladies of her acquaintance. It was not possible, she thought with mounting confusion, that he could know that. She said, “The Union Jack is flying at the jackstaff.”
    “Of course. The Cassandra has flown England’s colors for the past six months and she will continue to do so until we are in French waters.”
    “What do you do then, my lord earl, strut like a Frenchman and become the Comte de Clare? Have you a French flag to cloak your cowardice?”
    “Such a masquerade might prove amusing, but not at all necessary. The Genoese are the bankers of the French. Even the bucolic Louis has the good sense to protect the funnel to his royal coffers.”
    “And if the French attack by error?”
    As if he read her thoughts, he said, “Believe