Cassie roused slowly the next morning. The mattress beneath her was downy and soft, and a hazy warmth enfolded her. She lay on her side, cuddled against a solid heat that made her feel cozy and safe; never before had she been more comfortable. For an instant she could not remember where she was, only that she was not in her pallet at the inn. It took another moment for her sleep-befuddled mind to register that she was not alone -- and to recall the man against whom she lay curled so tightly.

Her eyes snapped open. Her cheek lay snug against the sleek hardness of his shoulder. Her hand, looking impossibly small and pale, rested in the midst of his bronzed and hairy chest. The contrast between their skin was riveting. It gave her a start to notice that the quilt lay haphazardly across the narrow ridge of his hips. Unbidden, her gaze wandered lower, skimming parts that were best left unnoticed and bringing a bright flush clear to the roots of her hair.

Swallowing an unfamiliar tightness in her throat, she jerked her eyes away only to find that his were open ... and investigating her own lack of dress with far more boldness than her own had displayed.

"Good morning, Yank," he drawled. "I trust you found my bed quite to your liking?"

Cassie bit back the scathing retort that sprang to her lips. The next instant her eyes flew wide and she ducked her head when he shoved back the quilt and proceeded from the bunk. That he could be so casual about his nudity was quite beyond her comprehension.

The instant his back was turned, she rescued the quilt from about her ankles. Hearing water splash in the basin, she dared a peek at him. She was relieved to find he had donned his breeches, but he had caught her glance as well.

An arrogant half-senile dallied on his lips. "I've no objection to you looking, Yank, but it's only fair you accord me the same privilege."

She regarded him unsmilingly. "I cannot think why you should want to," she stated bluntly. "I am no temptress. You said so yourself."

He wiped his hands on a towel and returned to sit on the edge of the bunk. A blunted finger-tip traced the graceful slope of one bare shoulder. "Ah, Yank, but perhaps I might be persuaded to change my mind."

She swatted his hand away. "I'll thank you not to!"

Gabriel watched the way her small fingers greedily clutched the quilt to her chin. Her eyes looked huge, like clear topaz. He was both mildly amused and slightly piqued that she chose to cling to this tack. Certainly he'd not expected a woman of her experience to be so discriminating in her modesty.

With a shrug he arose and returned to the basin.

He paid her no mind while he shaved. When he'd finished, he wiped the last traces of soap from his neck. He glanced at her, surprised to find her gaze still fixed upon him. Her expression was wary, yet he sensed something rather tentative in her manner.

He dropped the towel on the washstand and turned to her. "There is something on your mind, Yank. Come now. You may as well come out with it."

Cassie moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. How could he know her so well already? She found the notion disturbing, and resolved to guard herself far better in the future.

"I merely wondered ... what I am to call you."

Raising a devilishly arched brow, he reached for his shirt. "What would you like to call me, Yank?"

Yank. Why did he persist in calling her that? Already the address had begun to grate. Her eyes flashed and she flounced up unthinkingly, nearly losing the concealing protection of the quilt around her body.

"I can think of any number of fitting names to call you, sir, though I venture to say you'd not like a one of them!"

He pulled his shirt over the wide expanse of his shoulders. "Of that I have no doubt. But I do have a name, Yank."

"So do I, and it is not Yank!"

One corner of that hard mouth curled upward. "I see no reason why you should not call me Gabriel. As for yours, I told you the other night. 'Cassie' simply does not suit."

"We do not suit, yet here we are -- and wed yet!" She snapped the comment before she thought better of it.

Gabriel's smile withered. Her spirit roused his temper -- as well as an unwilling, but thoroughly male appreciation of her charms. Indignant or no, she presented a fetching picture, with her hair swirling in rich, thick waves over her shoulders, and invitingly so. But he found himself possessed of the urge to tumble her back upon the bunk, to show this haughty little vixen that were he so inclined, he might easily turn her sharpness to panting moans of rapture.

Blast! What nonsense was this! Perhaps it would have been better if he'd married a toad. Were she not so comely, he'd not be tempted to linger here and trade barbs with her. .. and perhaps a good deal more. He was vastly irritated that he had to remind himself he had more important things to do than wile away the morning with the wench he had taken to wife.

'You are right," he said coolly. "But I think neither of us would do well to dwell on that lamentable fact." He tugged on his boots and strode toward the doorway. There he turned to face her once more. "I'd get dressed if I were you. Ian will be down shortly with your breakfast."

His curtness hurt. Try though she might, Cassie couldn't banish the sensation she'd done something wrong ... but what? Ian's smile was wide and friendly, but after he'd withdrawn, she felt colt and deserted.

She moved restlessly around the cabin, finally halting near a small bookcase behind the desk.

She stared morosely at the bound leather volumes housed there, wistfully wishing she'd had some schooling, even a little. Oh, she could write her name, but that was all. If she were able to read, perhaps the time would not drag so, as it did already.

Mid-afternoon, the cabin door was flung wide. Cassie looked up from where she was perched on the bed to find her husband's tall form filling the doorway.

"The seas are very calm this afternoon, Yank. I thought you might like to come topside for a while."

Topside? Oh, no. She much preferred her solitude to braving the watery world that existed all around them. Indeed, she thought with a shiver, she had tried hard throughout the day not to dwell on that very fact.

"There's no need to burden yourself on my account. I'm sure there are other more important matters demanding your attention. "She managed to summon a smile. "Perhaps later."

Cassie held her breath. Several seconds passed while he stared at her, kindling a faint alarm. She prayed he would not insist ... luckily, he did not. Finally he shrugged. "As you wish then, Yank. Let Ian know if you need anything." He turned and left her alone.

Three days hence, he was not nearly so obliging. When she politely declined, he did not move, but regarded her through narrowed eyes.

"You are remarkably stubborn, Yank."

"Hardly, sir." She tried to pass it off with a light laugh. "It's just as I told you, I've no wish to burden you further. And truly, there is no need ---"

"There is every need, Yank." His countenance was grim and unsmiling. "You cannot stay below the entire journey. You need sunshine and fresh air, else you will sicken."

She drew herself up. "Of course I will not ---"

"I'll not have you on my conscience, girl."

His approach was swift and unrepentant; the unyielding intent in his eyes promised little hope of refusal. There simply was no denying him. Clad wholly in black as he was, a long, dark cloak swirling about the tops of his boots, it passed through her mind that surely he resembled the devil himself.

And likelier than not, it was hardly concern over her welfare that prompted his insistence. No, it was probably simply that he must have his way!

But all her protests were to no avail. He pulled her to her feet, shackling her to his side with his hand about her waist.

She wrenched herself free and glared at him. "I've managed without assistance for a goodly number of years" she snapped.

He gave a mocking bow. "As you wish."

And so with him following but a step behind, she had no choice but to mount the companionway stairs before him. Once they were on deck, her heart began to thud painfully in her chest. She prayed she could somehow control her fear, for she had no wish to let this man glimpse her weakness. No doubt he would think her silly and foolish, and his scorn was the one thing she could not bear.

Her footsteps slowed; she halted, though she was scarcely aware of it. Though she tried not to look, she could not help it. Her gaze swept outward and away. Ominous gray waters filled her vision as far as the eye could see. A jolt tore through her as she realized she was standing near the railing. Her gaze slipped inevitably downward.

A spasm of sheer fright tore through her. The seas churned furiously as the ship plowed through the waves. Yet Cassie felt as if the hungry waters lapped at her, eager to take her within their watery grasp and pull her deep within the icy embrace of the sea.

"Please," she said in a voice she did not recognize as her own, "I - I cannot stay here."

Gabriel glanced at her sharply. Her face was pasty white, making her eyes appear bigger and brighter than ever. His mind slipped back to when they had boarded in Charleston. He' d thought her merely timid and uncertain, but only now did he understand that she' d been terrified. It was then Gabriel realized ... he'd thought it was fear of looking down, walking the narrow gangplank, but such was not the case at all.

"Is this your first voyage?"

Her nod was jerky. "I pray it will be my last!"

She pressed close against his side, as if to meld herself inside him. He was stunned to realize she was trembling.

"Easy," he said quietly. "Take deep, calming breaths and think of something pleasant."

"I can't!" Her cry was utterly stricken. She squeezed her eyes shut.

He slid an arm about her shoulder. "Of course you can, Yank. It just takes a bit of effort." His tone was low and calm.

She shook her head wildly and turned her face into his shoulder. His gaze fell to where she had latched onto his free hand. Her nails dug like spikes into his palm.

A dark brow arose. "If you please, Yank, I'd prefer to return to England with my hand still attached to my person."

On hearing his dry tone, Cassie's eyes popped open. Surely her ears deceived her, for there was neither mockery nor disdain on those handsome features. Her fingers relaxed somewhat but she would not loose her grip completely.

"Good. Now that your eyes are open, look high and yonder and tell me when you've seen the skies so blue and clear. I must admit, though, a clear day at sea is not quite so awesome as sailing at midnight when the moon is full and the heavens seem cast in silver. I vow you've never seen so many stars in all your life."

Even as he spoke, a self-derisive scorn burned deep in his chest. What nonsense was this that he spoke of beauty and color, when he'd known little of either for... oh, so long now. But her piteous cry had jarred loose some long dormant emotion inside him. Gabriel did not like it, but he could hardly dismiss her terror with callous regard.

Beside him, she shivered. "What is it, Yank? Still afraid?"

She shook her head. "I am just cold," she lied.

"Next time we must remember your cloak."

"I have none." She made the reply unthinkingly, then flushed when she found herself enduring the hard probe of his gaze. Gabriel cursed himself roundly. He should have known her wardrobe would be so sorely lacking such essentials. He tugged his own garment from his shoulders and swirled it around her. She glanced up at him in startled surprise, then slowly smiled her thanks. An odd sensation knotted the pit of his belly. So small was she that the rich dark folds dragged upon the deck, eclipsing all but the narrow oval of her face. It struck him that she looked very young and defenseless . . .

He was immediately irritated with himself. "Come, Yank," he said shortly. "You've yet to look as I asked."

Though his slight impatience was not lost on her, his hands had yet to leave her shoulders. The warmth of his touch oddly reassuring, Cassie obligingly raised her face. The sun was warm upon her cheeks, the scented breeze fresh and clean. Cassie glanced up at the endless stretch of billowing sails, where the clear blue skies opened wide. High above, the masts swayed with the movement of the seas, gently creaking.

"There. Is this so awful now?"

"No," she admitted cautiously, then paused. "Now may I return to the cabin?"

Gabriel felt a slight smile curl his lips. Her plea was full of childlike hope; he suspected she but catered to his whim.

"A moment longer. Then I'll take you back."

Strangely, his insistence did not distress her nearly so much as it should have. No, she decided hazily, it was most certainly not distress he roused in her. The scent of him clung to his cloak, clean and faintly spicy -- a scent that was already familiar. She could feel the heat from his body, for he had moved to stand slightly behind her.

There was a shout from above. One of the crewmen stationed on the quarterdeck beckoned to Gabriel, who had raised his head.

"Damn!" he muttered with a grimace. "I am needed elsewhere." His gaze flitted back to Cassie, who quickly lowered her head. But Gabriel had already seen the brief rise of panic in her eyes.

Just then Christopher strode up from the companionway. Gabriel beckoned to him.

"Christopher! Would you do me the favor of staying with my wife while I attend to Simms?"

The other Englishman stepped up. "Not at all."

Cassie opened her mouth to say it was not necessary, but Gabriel's hands had already deserted her. The prospect of facing Christopher again made her wince. She could not help but recall how Christopher had stood slightly behind them, sober and unsmiling, when they'd been wed. She was very much afraid that Christopher disapproved of his friend's marriage -- and of her. The thought pained her, for she sensed she might have liked him.

She tried to smile. "There's really no need for you to stay," she murmured.

He gave her a quick bow, his manner faultlessly polite. "It's no bother, I assure you."

They both fell silent, sharing the awkwardness of the moment.

Cassie pulled the cloak more tightly about her and stared down to where the toe of her boot peeped from beneath the cloak. "I'm sorry you don't like me," she said, her voice very small.

Christopher blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Cassie swallowed. "I - I know you don't like me because I married your friend," she said, the words emerging with difficulty. "Because I - I am beneath him."

When no reply was forthcoming, she raised her head. She stared, both amazed and shocked to discover that he had broken into a wide smile.

"Cassie ... I do hope you don't mind if I call you Cassie ... moreover, I hope Gabriel does not take exception to it ... but I'm delighted to inform you that you are very much mistaken. I most certainly am not angry with you. If anything, it's Gabriel I'd very much like to take to task."

"Why?" It was curiosity more than anything else that prompted the question. Cassie realized uneasily that she knew precious little about this man who was now her husband.

Christopher led her to an overturned crate where he seated her with a teasing flourish. He pulled up another next to her, and sat.

"You know that his brother Stuart is dead, which is why Gabriel is now the earl of Wakefield? That Stuart was to marry Lady Evelyn Latham, daughter of the duke of Warrenton?"

Cassie nodded. "He said his father expected him to marry her in his brother's place."

"Yes. It's easy to see why, of course. Warrenton's lineage goes back clear to the time of the Conquerer, and coupled with Farleigh's wealth ... such a marriage would have been quite a coup, indeed ..." He halted when he saw her confusion.

He smiled. "I'm sorry. I do tend to run on at times." His smile faded as he returned to his discourse.

"The situation between Gabriel and his father is complicated," he said at last. "Indeed, there is much even I do not understand -- that he refuses to speak of. I assure you, Cassie, I am not such a snob that I am opposed to Gabriel marrying a woman not of his class. It's just that I'm not sure it was wise to bring you into this ... situation."

Cassie was quiet for a time. "I have only just begun to realize," she said slowly, "that I am no longer Cassie McClellan. I am now ... Mrs. Sinclair."

"No," Christopher corrected gently. "You are now the countess of Wakefield ... Lady Wakefield."

Cassie sighed. "Countess," she said glumly. "Earl. Duke. I'm afraid I don't know one from other!"

He chuckled. "Well, then, it will be my pleasure to acquaint you with the intricacies of the nobility..."

They were thusly engrossed when Gabriel returned. To Cassie 's delight, she caught on quickly, Christopher's warm praise brought a smile to her lips and a becoming rose flush to her cheeks. But her heart plummeted when she glanced up to find Gabriel towering over her. He wasted no time in escorting her back to the cabin. His image remained with her long after he'd retreated, leaving her alone once again. The cast of his profile was stern, almost forbidding. For a while he had seemed almost kind ... but he was once again cool and remote.

She did not know that Gabriel was rather provoked that his friend seemed able to allay her fears quite admirably -- and with far more enjoyment on her part!

The events of the day were still very much on Cassie 's mind when she crawled into the bunk that night. She averted her eyes when Gabriel blew out the lantern and slid in beside her. Although the day had passed much more quickly than the others, she was not looking forward to another trip up on deck. She couldn't shake the flutter of dread that quivered in her belly; she tossed and turned just thinking about it.