Читать книгу My Wicked Pirate - Rona Sharon - Страница 8

The pirates of the Alastor perked up when Rocca escorted Alanis to the foredeck the next day. They abandoned their chores and gawked as she traversed the sun-drenched deck in an ice pink gown with bolstered hips and far too deep a cleavage to remain calm in a sea of lecherous stares. She took shelter beneath her wide-brimmed hat, squinting against the radiant light, and reminded herself anything was preferable to dreary Yorkshire.

Eros sat on the foredeck railing, his long mane catching the breeze, as he wielded a dagger on an orange and spoke to Giovanni. He wore a white lawn shirt and black breeches with a purple stripe along the side seam. Black and purple, she smiled mockingly; the man certainly advertised his colors. She swept her gown’s silk train off the plank floor and took the steps.

Giovanni noticed her first. He smiled broadly. “Capitano, sono innamorato! I’m in love!”

Eros ordered Giovanni to make himself scarce and greeted her with a gleaming white smile complemented with a disarming pair of dimples. “Buongiorno, bellissima.”

A strong flutter rippled in her belly. Not only was the blasted villain annoyingly handsome, but also the eyes glittering like gems in his suntanned face were the clearest, most unusual ocean blue eyes. Sapphires, she mused, somewhat dazed—a stone once believed to be the core of the earth and reflected by the sky. How could she have mistaken his eyes to be black?

His keen gaze raked her from head to toe, not missing an inch of face, bare ivory skin, or tastefully exhibited figure. And to her deepest chagrin, Alanis discovered she felt no less affected now than she had last night. She tingled, knowing this godless pirate, for whom the world was an oyster, found her—beautiful.

He grinned, munching a juicy slice of orange. “I trust you slept well…in my bed?”

So he couldn’t resist asking. She leveled a glare straight into those confounding, ultrablue eyes. “I most certainly did not sleep in your bed, villain! Perhaps I will tonight, though,” she riposted tartly, “and take pleasure in knowing I am depriving you of it.”

“Touché!” His dagger sliced the air as he tipped his head. “My bed is at your disposal.”

She eyed him hostilely, finding the suggestive gleam in his eyes contradictive to his gallant gesture. “You merit no thanks from me. Honorable men do not kidnap innocent ladies.”

“Indeed they do not.” He popped another slice of orange into his mouth. “The fools.”

A tall wave broke on the bow. She skidded back, but Eros got soaked through and through. She laughed and licked salty drops of seawater off her lips. His boots landed hard on the plank floor. “Mannaggia!” he growled, wrenching water from his dripping mane. He glared at her, his eyes sparkling. “I’m amusing you?” Not waiting for a reply, he peeled his wet shirt off.

She gaped. He had a stupendously beautiful body. Tanned, smooth of hair, and shaped in male perfection, it displayed supple strength obtained through years of a strict athletic régime. A golden medallion, large and lustrous in contrast to his burnished skin, dangled over his chest.

He threw her a cocky smile, setting her cheeks on fire, and sauntered to a table laid out for two. Crystal goblets, silver cutlery, and porcelain plates shimmered over a snowy tablecloth.

“Join me for lunch?” he offered and pulled out a gilded chaise caré.

She dithered. Verbal sparring was one thing, but consorting with a pirate? “I am not hungry,” she lied, striving to keep her eyes off his powerfully wrought torso. It wasn’t easy.

“You haven’t had a bite to eat since yesterday, and it would be a shame if even a dram of beauty were to be lost. E dai,” he said sweetly, “I’m certain you’ve built up some appetite.”

“I lost my appetite when I was captured by a rude pirate.”

The indulgent smile disappeared. “You shall join the rude pirate regardless and keep him company while he eats.”

“I will not,” she articulated boldly. She hadn’t escaped England to wind up dancing to a pirate’s whims. Pivoting on her heel, she headed for the flight of steps. She managed two strides before a steely, tanned arm swept around her waist, pinning her back to a naked granite chest.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Eros whispered softly in her ear. “I’m endeavoring to behave like the perfect gentleman. Do not tempt the beast in me.”

Her breath caught at the feel of his warm mouth moving in her ear. Realizing she liked it charged her with greater antagonism. She twisted around and gave his chest a hard nudge. “I will never sit at your table, not unless you strap me to a chair!” Yet the instant her hands touched his velvety, suntanned skin they jerked free as if singed by fire. She had felt his heart drumming, strong and steady, beneath cords of warm muscle.

Eros twisted his lips. “Strapped to a chair, eh? Don’t put ideas in my head, Alanis. I’m half tempted to strap you to my lap and feed you myself. I shall make it very clear to you. If you wish to keep enjoying my gracious hospitality, you shall have lunches and dinners in my company until I return you to your viscount. Now, will you sit at my table like a good girl?”

He released her and she staggered back, nodding obediently. He seated her and dropped into the opposite chair. “Vino?” He gestured at the green bottle gracing the edge of the table.

Giovanni appeared out of nowhere and seized the bottle. As he filled her glass with rich red wine, despite his black eye patch, he seemed more human to her than the dark Lucifer sitting across the table, his one brown eye lacking the diabolical fire of Eros’s blues.

“I thank you,” she said warily, and raised the glass to her lips.

Giovanni beamed. Unable to peel his one good eye off her, he let vast quantities spill into Eros’s glass. Red wine gushed on the pristine white tablecloth. Eros caught Giovanni’s wrist and pried the bottle from his fingers, snapping, “Ma cosa fai, idiota? What the devil are you doing, idiot? Have you nothing better to do than to make a pest of yourself?”

Giovanni grinned sheepishly. “No. Nothing.”

Eros slammed his fist on the table and got up, radiating supreme annoyance. “away!”

“Va bene. I got it.” Giovanni chuckled. He sent Alanis another shy smile and walked off the foredeck, snickering loud enough for every sailor to hear.

“Are you always ill tempered with your subordinates?” Alanis inquired as Eros regained his seat. “If you keep this up, next thing you know, they’ll be caballing behind your back, knocking you on the head, and making off with your ship.” She smiled prettily.

“Isn’t it impolite to wear one’s hat at the table?” he inquired with a hint of a smile.

Arrant mutiny tilted her cat eyes. “Not when one is coerced to dine in poor company.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but taking silly maidens and irksome maids hostage is not my idea of first-rate entertainment.”

“Then, what is?” She winced, flaming obscenely red. “I meant…why did you abduct me?”

He cast her a brain-muddling smile. “My idea of first-rate entertainment is abducting silly maidens without their irksome maids.” He chuckled when she averted her gaze. “Ma dai, come now. Don’t sulk. You’ll have your revenge on me yet. Besides, I’m famished. Remove your hat so we may finally eat.”

Reluctantly, Alanis complied. A manservant dressed in a long white tunic approached the table. He set down silver platters heaped with fresh bread, colorful antipasti, and a covered bowl.

“Ayiz haga tanya, ya bey? Would there be anything else, master?” he inquired respectfully.

“Lah, shukran, Raed. No, thank you, Raed.” Eros dismissed him.

“Was that Arabic?” she asked, failing to hide her admiration. Upon his nod she added with grudging respect, “You speak many languages.”

“Grazie.” He inclined his handsome head. “Kind of you to notice.”

“It was an observation, not a compliment,” she muttered, riled by his vainglorious grin.

“I choose to be flattered.” He popped an oil-dripping olive into his mouth, making her own mouth water. She never tasted olives before. “Allora,” he pointed at the opulent fare and began naming the dishes, “zucchine e melanzane, pro-sciutto crudo…” He whipped the bowl’s top off, uncovering beef and spring vegetables cooked in wine. A waft of aromatic mist drifted her way. “Feel free to change your mind.” He selected a slice of crusty bread, dipped it in green olive oil, scattered a pint of salt on it, and tore a bite. “Salute!” He raised his wineglass and drank deeply.

Wretchedly, Alanis stared at the appetizing food and stoically ignored the churning protests of her stomach. She was prepared to starve to death rather than dine with a man of his sort.

He smiled perceptively. “Dinner is hours away, and your maid is lunching in my cabin.”

“I’m not hungry,” Alanis clipped stringently.

“I see. Allora, I give you permission to enjoy watching me eat.”

She did watch him, thinking his table manners were as polished as a nobleman’s. Yet he seemed determined to taunt her, savoring every bite, rolling his eyes, groaning with pleasure. Their gazes met over a sauce-dripping zucchini speared on a fork. Eros grinned. “Pity you’ve lost your appetite, Princess. There’s so much to be shared. Ship’s cook is a gifted Milanese. Worked for a royal family once. Are you certain you’re not remotely peckish?”

She threw him a belligerent smile. “I prefer French cuisine.” When a jet eyebrow rose at the deliberate provocation, she lifted her glass and prepared to do battle. Three years ago, she engaged in a similar debate with a French baroness, defending her true opinion, which was pro Italian, of course. So she had ample arguments up her sleeve. Today she was in the mood to play devil’s advocate. Anything to annoy her host. “Italians have a lot to learn from the French.”

Eros subsided onto his chair’s satin upholstery and calmly sipped his wine. “Enlighten me about something. The English despise the French, yet they emulate and embrace everything that is French—French brandy, French food, French fashion. Why is that?”

“For the same reason the rest of the world does—it’s the best! I imagine Italians may have had something to commend them once, but they lost the touch ages ago. I daresay the French outshine you in every quarter now. Even in art.”

His blue eyes blazed. He was also smiling rapaciously, eager to crush the opposition. “You are aware that to settle the debate you will have to sample the food. By the bye,” he studied the scarlet fluid swaying in his wineglass, “is the Bar-bacarlo to your liking? I personally feel it goes down very smoothly. What do you think, Princess?”

Her wine-glossed lips curled daringly. “If you are issuing an experimental challenge, you ought to provide French wine and food for comparison.”

“That will not be possible since the only French object around you is the ship.”

Intrigued, she glanced around. The Alastor was by every standard a formidable vessel, a floating fortress carried by vast, sun-bleached sails. “How did you acquire this French frigate? Unmistakably, ’tis a navy warship.”

He looked impressed. “Very perceptive of you. The Alastor is indeed a French Navy girl. Used to be one of Louis’s finest.”

“I see,” she said frostily, finding his allusion to the King of France as if he were one of his closest acquaintances daft. “Louis’s docks were overcrowded, so he let you have one.”

“Actually, I took it. A small matter of a private bet I had going with Monsieur le Roi.” He flashed her the infuriating grin again. “He lost.”

“That’s ridiculous. You run bets with the King of France as surely as I am on my way to the gaming hells in Tortuga!”

He was still grinning. The cad. “I pity the soon-to-be-impoverished pirates.”

Ignoring him, Alanis concentrated on the scenery. How many sad winters had she longed for this breathtaking view? If she were doomed to go through life missing her parents and her brother to the depth of her soul, at least she would do so under a warm sun and as a free spirit.

“Have you visited this side of the globe before?” Eros summoned her attention.

“No, I haven’t.” Her tone turned sarcastic. “Have you?”

“I’ve been to many places, Princess, places that would fascinate you.”

“Silverlake and I have grand plans to travel the world once we’re married,” she lied again, peeved by his cool superiority.

“Davvero? Would that be after or during the war? I regret having to put a damper on your plans, Princess, but it seems to me that your honorable Silverlake is more interested in fighting pirates than he is in fulfilling his duty to his lovely fiancée. It was very careless of him to let you travel alone in these waters when one is liable to run into French or Spanish warships.”

“What would you know of honor or duty?” Alanis hissed.

“Very little, I imagine. Still, aren’t you past the usual marital age of fine young ladies?” He studied her at length, then inquired quietly, “How long have you been engaged to him?”

“It hardly concerns you,” she replied icily, rattled by the twist their conversation had taken. Though their engagement was settled ages ago, Lucas seemed determined to put it off, not giving thought to his restive fiancée sitting in wait at home. Sailing to Jamaica presented the perfect solution. She would finally have her taste of sunshine and freedom, experience the world she had read and dreamed so much about, and encourage Lucas to set a final wedding date.

“How long has he been stationed in Jamaica?” Eros dogged.

“Three years.”

“Three years is a long time to be apart from the woman one loves.” He held her gaze in laden silence, then leaned closer. “I know your opinion of me, Alanis. I have a rotten black soul, whereas he is a saint deserving of a pair of pretty white wings. But assuming Silverlake is the man you claim he is, why has this idiot left you behind? Does he prefer little boys or is he simply blind? If you were mine, bella donna, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for three days, let alone three long years. I’d keep you right where you belong—with me, at all times, and for the most part in my bed. And I would teach you better ways to use your quick tongue, Amore.”

Her tongue went dry. Gradually, coherency returned. “Why did you attack the Pink Beryl?”

“I was looking for you.” Noting the terror in her eyes, his hard face softened with a smile. “Nothing like that. Finding you was pure luck. I stopped every ship en route to Kingston.”

The tension eased from her shoulders. “Despicable wretch! Little wonder you’re loathed by every man in the world. What were you hoping to catch? A poor victim to keep you company at meals while you feasted on your Milanese cook’s treats? One who’d give you no trouble?”

“You call this ‘no trouble’?” He chuckled and took a sip of wine. “If you must know, my sharp-tongued beauty, I was hunting for something of value to Silverlake.”

“Something to barter with for that thing which is not measured in coin.” Then she got it. She smiled triumphantly. “That thing isn’t a thing! It’s a person! Someone more important to you than gold, whom Lucas has captured and is holding prisoner, and given his honor won’t allow Lucas to sell this man to you, you sought something to force his hand. Who is this unfortunate soul you are so desperate to set free? One of your cronies? A fellow picaroon?” she mocked.

“Now who would have guessed a blonde should have so much sense in her lovely head?” Eros remarked with genuine fascination. “I already regret having to forfeit you, Amore. Perhaps I should try to entice Silverlake with gold. One never knows until one tries.”

Fear etched her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He smiled, his eyes daring her to challenge him. “With all this meat on the table, I’d still relish latching my teeth onto a choice area of flesh on your delectable body.”

She stood up. “Insufferable beast! Find someone else to put up with your pitiful manners. I’ve had enough.” With a scathing glare she left the table.

Eros bounded after her. He caught her wrist, and with a tug she pirouetted straight into his arms. She instantly recoiled. “Let go! You’ve had your lunch. Now let me return to the cabin.”

He put a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. “You are more beautiful than I remembered, Alanis, and although I promised myself I’d leave you be, I find it…almost beyond my control. Three more days of this will turn me into a softheaded imbecile.”

It took her mind several seconds to resume working. “You remember me? It’s impossible! I don’t know you. We’ve only met last night, for heaven’s sake!”

“We have crossed paths, Alanis,” Eros whispered, “and I can prove it. Dine with me during these three days we have together and I promise to tell you everything before we part company.”

Alanis stewed in a mental caldron of curiosity and enmity for a long moment, enfeebled bit by bit by the potent plea in his bedeviling blue eyes. “Fine. Now release me. I…I am starving.”

Chuckling, Eros did as asked and invited her to take her seat once again.