Читать книгу My Wicked Pirate - Rona Sharon - Страница 7

Tingoccio replied, “Lost? If a thing is lost, it can’t be found; so what on earth would I be doing here if I were lost?”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Meuccio. “What I want to know is whether you’re among the souls of the damned, in the scourging fires of Hell.”

—Boccaccio: Il Decamerone

West Indies, September 1705

Alanis opened her eyes in response to the loud banging on her cabin door. She sat up, intoxicated by the smell of salt and sea blowing in through the ports and by the sweet fragments of her dream. She was running barefoot on a white, sandy beach dotted with palm trees. She remembered an azure ocean and roaring waves breaking into white foam. She was free.

“My lady, may I come in? It’s urgent!” John Hopkins, the chief mate of the Pink Beryl, insisted beyond the door, his voice strained with concern.

Alanis heaved a sigh, letting her dream fade away. “Yes, Mr. Hopkins. Do come in.”

The door opened. Hopkins’s lamp pierced the darkness. His face looked grim. “I apologize for disturbing you at such an ungodly hour, my lady, but—” His voice caught at the sight of her.

Blinking lazy cat eyes, she pulled the sheet up to her chin and swept back tangled locks, which appeared more silvery than golden in the moonlight. “Yes, Hopkins, what it is?”

“Pirates! We are under attack—”

Cannons roared on the horizon, discharging an ear-splitting broadside, and a terrible blast hit their ship. Walls shattered. The ship tilted sharply. Mayhem ensued outside her door. Thrown against her pillows, Alanis heard officers bellowing, sailors scurrying on deck, guns firing.

“Bloody hell!” Hopkins dropped to his knees beside her bed. “My lady, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Alanis gasped, shaken but still in one piece. “And you?”

“Fine.” Hopkins stood up, yanking his navy jacket back in place. “We must get you off this ship, my lady. Pardon my cheek, but you ought to dress and make haste about it, for they will be upon us in minutes. We can only hold head to a warship for so long, and theirs is a seventy-gun frigate. I must ensure you are safe and away by the time they come.”

“Safe and away? Where?” She stared out the open ports. Water and night surrounded them on all sides, and not too far off a giant vessel loomed, cutting fast through the waves, its cannons’ mouths breathing smoke. Silhouettes moved across its decks, working the guns, preparing to board Alanis’s ship. Where the devil could she possibly go? She threw the sheet aside and pulled on her cut boots. A pirate attack was no time to be miss-ish. “Hoist the white flag, Lieutenant. I won’t have us all murdered for my jewels.”

Hopkins averted his gaze. He cleared his throat. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but jewels aren’t the only prizes these villains are after.”

She glanced at her nightgown. A warm flush pinched her cheeks. She wasn’t a young chit fresh out of the schoolroom, yet in that area she was as green as a pea. “I…must get Betsy.” She threw a cape around her shoulders and was about to leave when her maid burst into the cabin.

“Disaster upon us, my lady!” Betsy wailed, and a second broadside hit the ship. They fell to the floor. Hopkins’s lamp crashed and lost its light. Betsy screamed. Alanis grabbed a bedpost and hauled herself up. Hopkins lent Betsy a supportive hand and ushered them out the door.

They ran up the narrow companionways, swaying with the sharp tilts of the ship. Someone collided into them.

“Sir,” Matthews, the navigator, exclaimed. “Captain McGee has surrendered. The Viper is boarding us. Make haste! We can’t hold them off.”

Alanis started. “The Viper? The Italian they call Eros?” A byword for infamy and vice, Eros meant cruelty, bloodlust, and destruction. He sailed the seas, seizing one prize after another by valor, trickery, or the sheer terror of his name; his legend hung over him like a thundercloud.

“I’m afraid so, my lady,” Matthews confirmed. “We have neither the men nor the metal to oppose him. The blackguard hasn’t raided private vessels in ages. He preys on fleets. We didn’t expect him to attack us. Nor did His Grace.”

“May God help us…” Alanis murmured, recalling her grandfather’s words of warning. The Duke of Dellamore had predicted a catastrophe. He was decisively against her sailing to Jamaica, to join her fiancé, Viscount Silverlake. She could still hear his harangues in her head. “Wartime is no time for a young lady to be scampering about the world. I am needed at Her Majesty’s Court, and you cannot travel alone. If Denton’s boy wishes to make a name for himself, hunting down pirates in Her Majesty’s service, he shall have to do so without you!” Sadly, Lucas Hunter, the distinguished Silverlake, was doing it without her while she pastured her days away at home. She tried to reason with the duke, reminding him that she was betrothed to Lucas since infancy, but he would hear none of it. The solution to the discord came in the form of trickery: Alanis exercised tears—so many tears the duke had no choice but surrender. If her grandfather had known her true motive for sailing away, nothing would have broken his resolve.

“Get the boat ready, Matthews,” Hopkins ordered, and to Alanis he said, “Fear not. San Juan is but a day away.” Before the terror of being cast adrift upon the sea registered in her head, he took her elbow and prompted her and Betsy toward the stairway.

The scene on deck was hellish. The mizzenmast was on fire. Pirates jumped off swinging ropes. Metal clanged. Guns blasted. Carefully paving a way amidst the fighting zones, Hopkins led them to starboard. Beyond the rail a tiny boat swayed precariously over black waves.

“Merciful Father in Heaven!” Betsy cried as she glimpsed at the boat.

“And the others? And Captain McGee?” Alanis inquired anxiously as Lieutenant Hopkins helped her onto the side step. Her gaze swept the battle-blazing deck. Acrid smoke burned her nostrils. Frozen to the spot, she watched the flames licking away at the masts and riggings. Twelve years ago, her parents died in a fire on her father’s exploration journey to the East. Only twelve years old at the time, she was left at Dellamore Hall with her younger brother, Tom. Now, as her father before her, her dream of sunshine and freedom was turning into a nightmare.

“Descend, my lady!” Hopkins urged. “Now!” He supported her arms as she took the first step downward. He cast her a reassuring nod before five pirates rounded on him from behind.

Alanis shrieked. One of the villains grabbed Betsy. Another yanked Alanis back on deck. Flailing wildly, she craned her neck to see Hopkins vigorously fighting his attackers, but they were hauled away toward the area where the triumphant cutthroats, now in command of the helm, surrounded the Pink Beryl’s crewmen.

Squeezed together with Betsy, Alanis felt her maid’s cold hands on her nape, twisting her long mane into a chignon and stuffing it inside the cape’s hood. Alanis pulled the hood low over her eyes. “Cover yourself as well, Betsy.”

Acute tension seized the smoky air. They were expecting the one man who could put a period to their existence—the Viper himself.

The pirates stirred and let him pass through their ranks. Containing her curiosity, Alanis huddled in the velvet folds of her hood and listened to his men greeting him in rapid Italian. The Viper stepped closer to survey his captives. A hum of dread passed among them. The confident pounding of his boot heels on the plank floor reverberated in everyone’s heart. He halted. Alanis sucked in her breath, sensing him standing directly in front of her.

“Giovanni, portami quella nel cappoto nero. Bring me the one in the black cape,” his deep voice commanded, and a giant of a man with a black patch on one eye materialized before her.

Hopkins and Matthews bolted forward and were immediately blocked by sharp dirks.

“Leave her alone, you vile monster!” Betsy screamed fearlessly. “She is the Duke of Dellamore’s granddaughter! He’ll hound you for the rest of your days!”

The Viper assessed the maid, then instructed one of his men, “Rocca, tu prendi la piccola serva. Rocca, you get the little maid.” He turned and walked away.

All Alanis saw was a tall, dark, ominous shadow disappearing in thick swirls of smoke.

Dimly lit, the Viper’s cabin boasted ample space and quiet luxury. Giovanni nudged her inside and locked the door. Alone, Alanis raised her head and looked around. It wasn’t the sort of cabin one would expect a savage to reside in. Gilded, black lacquered cabinets lined the walls—a trademark of Venetian artisans. Elegant fauteuils and sofas upholstered in purple satin formed a sitting area. An ebony desk occupied the far end, heaped with papers and maps, and to her left loomed a four-poster bed, draped with rich purple silk. The large shadowed bed shot a tremor up her spine. She recalled Hopkins’s warning how jewelry was not the only booty pirates were after. Was her fate to be ravished by the Viper tonight? Was this the reason she was brought here?

An old royal crest hung over the canopy, its black, silver, and purple matching the furniture. The insignia, although foreign to her, portrayed its family’s prestige in partaking in the Holy Crusades—a serpent eating a Saracen. Apparently, the villain had no qualms decorating his cabin with any pillage, even if it displayed someone else’s valor and magnificence.

The door opened behind her. Alanis’s heart leaped with a start. The door slammed against its frame. She holed inside her hood, sensing a large body coming to stand behind her.

“Buonasera, Madonna,” a low voice drawled over her shoulder. She remained silent and followed the sound of boot heels circling her. Tall sinewy legs in black leather boots stopped before her. “Remove your cape,” he said. “Let’s see the face you’re so determined to conceal.”

He was a large one, she realized, feeling very small and vulnerable. Thinking of the brave crewmen of the Pink Beryl who fought that night helped her muster her courage.

“Well?” The voice grew closer and huskier. “You’ve already piqued my curiosity on deck, hiding instead of gawking as the rest did.” He smirked. “I assure you, I’m quite intrigued.”

Alanis didn’t stir. He sounded civil enough. His Italian-accented English was fit to be spoken in the queen’s presence. Nonetheless, her heart thudded; her warm breath filled the hood.

“I don’t intend to harm you, simply to have some conversation,” he whispered to the hood. When she still refused to remove it, he cajoled, “I understand why you feel reluctant to reveal yourself, but speaking to a black cloak is somewhat tedious.” He waited, his long legs braced apart, until suddenly, without warning, her hood was yanked back.

Alanis gasped. Her head shot up, causing the loose bun at her nape to spill glamorously to her waist, shiny and golden. Startled, she finally came face to face with Eros the Pirate.

Shock and confusion clashed in their gazes. The pirate’s dark, glittering eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though he recognized her and was flicking through his memory to associate the face with a place. The disturbing awareness was dulled by her private reaction to him, though. Alanis rarely paid attention to men since she was contentedly betrothed, but the tall, dark Italian standing before her had such staggering looks he could make a nun reconsider her vows.

A slow smile curved his handsome lips. “Piacere.” He graciously inclined his raven head in a formal greeting. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

Again she was plagued with the feeling he recognized her, but how could he? Surely she would have recalled seeing him before. His eyes alone were unforgettable: Intensely expressive, they gleamed in his deeply tanned face. Thick, glossy jet hair slicked back in a queue framed a tall brow, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong square jaw—a warrior’s face sculpted in bronze. A crescent-shaped scar curved from his left temple to his cheek, but she found it did not mar his handsomeness one bit. It added character to his countenance, which made him look even more intriguing. A pair of earrings pierced his left earlobe—a diamond stud and a golden loop. His shape was another attraction—that great height, a head taller than Lucas, and strapping physique radiated pure male power. His code of dress was reserved yet painfully smart, a trick of fashion Italians mastered long before the French assumed superiority in the field. His broad shoulders tapered to a wasp waist in a close-fitting black coat trimmed in silver. A snowy cravat frothed at his tanned neck. He was utterly compelling, and he was utterly dangerous.

Grinning, he looped one of her golden locks around his forefinger. “Allora? Well then? Have you nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?”

Alanis snatched her lock back. “What do you intend to do with my ship and crew? If you hurt my maid, or if a single Englishman dies tonight—”

A taunting spark lit his eyes. “Aren’t you anxious to know what I intend to do with you, Lady Avon?”

“I do not give a whit what you do with me,” she said through clenched teeth while her cold hands curled into fists at her sides. “As long as my personal companion is untouched.”

“I see.” His bold finger shifted aside one of her cape wings, exposing muslin frills. “So I may do whatever pleases me with you?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Certainly not!” She gripped back the cape wing to conceal her nightgown.

A knock rattled the door. “Entra!” he commanded, sustaining her apprehensive gaze. Four men came in, carrying her heavy chests. They set them down and departed, shutting the door.

“As you see,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “all ship spoils go to the captain.”

“I was under the impression you have long ceased to harass small vessels,” she drawled scathingly. “Have you fallen on hard times?”

He laughed. “Fortunately, no, but you, my lady, are no doubt the most valuable prize I’ve ever acquired. The best of spoils.”

Dismayed yet at the same time curious, her gaze followed his tall frame as he sauntered to the wine cabinet. His snug black breeches emphasized every corded muscle on his lean thighs. A curved, silver-handled dagger was strapped to his hip over a silk purple sash. It was an Oriental dagger—a shabariya. Her grandfather had one in his library. She recalled hearing once that Eros had been raised in the Kasbah of Algiers and was notorious for his mastery of blades. She also noticed in spite of her fear of him that the fiend dressed in the same colors of his cabin.

Crystal clinked as he filled a snifter with a bright amber fluid. “May I offer you a drop of cognac, my lady?” he suggested pleasantly. “Surely tonight’s events have taken a toll on your nerves. A stiff drink should settle them down.”

“You presume much if you think I will drink such spirits,” she bit out caustically, “in the company of a bloody pirate, no less. Salute yourself!”

His eyes glided over her cloaked figure, making her feel extremely self-conscious. “The lady has a sharp tongue. I fear we must blunt it some with acid.” When her temper flared visibly, an elegant jet eyebrow cocked with amusement. “Va bene. Suit yourself.” He downed his drink, briefly shutting his eyes, as the acid charred his throat. He set the glass aside and continued perusing her with open appreciation. “Silverlake deserves to be shot for letting a woman like you sail alone when men like me roam the high seas.”

“Silverlake?” How could he possibly know Lucas, she wondered.

“Yes, Silverlake.” He started in her direction. “The blond pup you are engaged to, Lady Avon. The same one we shall pay a visit to in four days. The two of us.”

Hope lit her heart. “You intend to hold me for ransom, then?”

“So eager to join the dashing knight in Kingston? How romantic.” He smirked. “Yes, I do have it in mind to offer you back to Silverlake. For a certain price.”

“His lordship will readily pay your price, Viper, whatever it is.”

“Ah, now I remember.” He came up in front of her, his supremely tall head forcing her to look up. “We haven’t been properly introduced. So, allow me.” He gallantly took her hand.

Alanis snatched it back, shooting him a look full of poison. “I know who you are.”

Irritation flickered in his eyes, but he quelled it. He lowered his head closer to hers and whispered, “My name is not Viper.”

“Your name is Eros.”

He straightened up, saying nothing.

“So what is the price?” she asked. With the king’s ransom of jewels stashed in one of her chests he should be able to procure half of Jamaica. How insatiable can a man be?

“I’m a reasonable man.” He pensively rubbed his strong, clean-shaven jaw. “I only intend to ask for what is mine, something that is not measured in coin.” The infuriating eyebrow rose inquiringly. “Are you measured in coin, Lady Avon? Gold doubloons perhaps?”

Her aquamarine eyes slanted wrathfully, granting her the look of a cat. “Beast,” she hissed.

The black-hearted villain had the gall to tip his head back and laugh. “I’m certain you hope I am not, my lady, although…” His hand touched her face, causing her to flinch. Yet all he did was gently run his knuckles along the cream of her cheek, sending a suspicious shudder through her. “I shall be more than happy to live up to your expectations.” He glimpsed at his bed, then recaptured her gaze. Humor and challenge twinkled in his dark eyes. “What exactly did you have in mind—rough ravishing or prolonged pleasure? I’m game for both diversions.”

Alanis edged back. He followed, moving with an arrogant fluid swagger. A black leopard, she thought fretfully, graceful and deadly. When he caged her between his powerful arms and the wall, she barely managed to murmur, “Silverlake will kill you if you lay one finger on me.”

“A serious detriment, to be sure.”

Heart hammering, Alanis stared deep into his spellbinding eyes. Everything else faded into obscurity. His handsome face and the muscular breadth of his shoulders filled her view. Tension crackled between them, and for a brief moment she nearly forgot what he was.

He was thoroughly scrutinizing her face, admiring her naturally slanted blue-green eyes, the pert tilt of her nose, the soft roundness of her cheeks. His gaze settled on her lips—full, pink, and slightly quivering. Lust etched his irises. “You are beautiful,” he breathed, fanning her lips with rich, titillating cognac fumes. “I think Silverlake’s wrath is small punishment for a night spent with you, my lady.”

Lud. No man has ever looked at her this way. No man! Not even Lucas, her betrothed, has ever told her that she was beautiful. When her brother was killed in a duel five years ago, she was nineteen and preparing for her coming-out. So her first debut into society took place two years later when her grandfather presented her at the French Court in Versailles while in France on diplomatic affairs. This man—this pirate—with his midnight eyes and granite face stared at her as though she were the most desirable woman in the world!

Noting her discomfiture, he smiled, and what a sinful smile it was. White teeth flashed in wicked contrast to dark skin, and Alanis experienced a deep feeling of sympathy for the women who fell into this rogue’s net. This man was well aware of the power of his masculine allure.

“He is an idiot, your precious Silverlake,” Eros drawled. “I think I shall be well deserving of sainthood when I return you to him unscathed.”

Alanis swallowed hard. “You truly do not intend to harm me?”

Eros stood close enough for her to see the lines life had tilled into his skin. He was not as young as she had initially assumed. There was a hard, ruthless edge to him, yet something else as well, unexpected, which she hoped she was not imagining: a private code of honor.

“Harm you?” A strange look surfaced in his eyes. In an act of risqué, his thumb caressed the soft swells of her lips, its faint roughness startlingly seductive. His voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “A beautiful creature such as you was made for pleasure, Alanis. Not pain.”

Stunned, she merely stared after him as he turned on his heel, strode to the door, and left the cabin, locking her inside.