The Pirate Prince (28 page)

He didn’t respond. He looked as though he were in shock.

“These men can help you. Lazar,” she said, holding up the papers, “you can have your kingdom back. Everything you need to take back Ascencion is right here!”

He still stared at her, looked at the papers in her hand, then fell back onto the mattress and pulled the sheet up over his head with a vexed groan.

Oh, dear, she thought, frowning at the jut of his stubborn nose under the shroud.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a splendid king. Once we’ve smoothed out your edges just a bit,” she added hesitantly.

A second muffled groan came from under the sheet. Lazar pressed his fingers to his forehead through the cloth.

“You have made it your life’s purpose to drive me insane, is that it?”

She lifted her chin, taking exception. “My father might have been a traitor, but my loyalty to Ascencion is unquestioned. I intend to help you.”

He pulled the sheet off his face, rolled onto his side, and propped his head on his fist to regard her with a flat gaze. “Help me
what
, dare I ask?”

“Regain your throne, of course.”

He began to laugh.

She felt her cheeks warming. “What is so funny?”

He gazed toward the window and let out a long, tickled, heartbroken sigh. “You are, my little zealot. Don’t think I failed to learn of your quest to save Ascencion single-handedly. I know all about your charitable projects, your meddling in politics, your democratic leanings. But trust me, stay out of this. You’re in deeper waters than you can possibly navigate.” He gave the mattress beside him a broad slap. “Now, come back to this bed and be deflowered.”

Somehow she ignored his smoldering dark eyes, his lips made for kisses, and his golden hand now stroking the white sheets like an invitation to sin.

“There’s so much I want to ask you. How did you survive the attack? How have you lived all these years? What were your parents really like? How did you come to be a pirate—”

“Don’t,” he said. “Just…don’t.”

“But I can help,” she said softly, puzzled but determined. “I can find out who among the nobles are still faithful to the Fiori and whose sympathies lie with Genoa. I can help you handle the Councilmen, and I know dozens of important people in Paris whose support you could well use for the revolution—”

“Revolution?” he shouted. “There’s not going to be any revolution! Bloody hell.” He jumped out of the berth and angrily stalked to the washstand. “I’m not going back there, and neither are you, so forget it. Genoa can have it, for all I care.”

She gave him a blank, disbelieving stare.

“I should have known you would do this,” he growled. He splashed his face impatiently, getting water everywhere. He dried his hands and face on the shirt slung over the chair.

She was dumbstruck. She’d guessed from the many cynical things he’d said over the past few days that he was ambivalent about reclaiming Ascencion, but she had no inkling he would be dead set against it. He sat down heavily and thrust his foot into his left boot.

She seized upon her voice at last. “Lazar!”

“Yes, Allegra?” he asked wearily.

“You—you cannot be serious!” she sputtered.

“Why not?” He jerked the other boot onto his right foot.

“You cannot mean to tell me you sailed away when Ascencion was in your power, with no intention of formally overthrowing the Genovese. You cannot mean to tell me there was no
plan
.”

He leaped to his feet, his eyes afire. “My mission, my plan, Allegra, was vendetta—a mission
two years
in the making, which you destroyed in a moment with your pretty tears!”

“Well, never mind that, then. We’ll make a plan. At least we have the information in these files to help us.” She held up the papers. “First we’ll send word to your father’s advisers—”

He marched toward her. She cried out when he grabbed the papers out of her hands and threw them, scattering them across the cabin.

“Worthless. Meaningless. Stupid words, words on paper! Nothing! I have no proof! No proof, Allegra. Do you understand? I can make no claim to the throne, for I have no proof of who I am!”

He trembled with rage as he glared down at her.

“But there are plenty of people still alive who knew you then and will know you now,” she protested. “They’ll all recognize you, if only you’ll meet with them—”

“All those corrupt, smiling bastards with a vested interest in Genoa’s continued reign, you mean? Ah, let’s see. What am I to do? March into the Council’s chambers and hand them my calling card? Of course! Then everyone could bow down and say ‘God save the king,’ and we’d all live happily ever after, I suppose.”

“Why are you being sarcastic?”

“You are so naive,” he said bitterly. “They’d butcher me, like my father, in a death even more pointless than this life of mine. It’s too late, Allegra, thanks to your sweet papa. Everyone thinks me dead, and—trust me—it’s better for everyone if I stay that way.”

“Even for those who are starving? And unjustly imprisoned? And whose lands have been confiscated—”

“We’ve all got our burdens to bear.”

“Lazar!”

“Look at me, Allegra. Look at what I am. My presence on Ascencion would only tarnish my father’s name.”

“You are absolutely wrong. If I did not think you would be a just and kind ruler for Ascencion, I would not want you in power there, and I wouldn’t help you.”

“Obviously you don’t know me at all.”

“Lazar, how can you say that after last night?”

“Because you don’t know what—” He suddenly cursed and turned away, and it was plain he wished he had not said it. “You don’t know anything.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“Forget it.”

“It has to do with those scars on your wrists, doesn’t it?”

He said nothing.

She took a deep breath. “Lazar, were you raped?”

He turned white. “Jesus Christ, what a preposterous suggestion. I’m shocked you would say something so disgusting.” Woodenly he strode to his locker.

She stared at him. He was lying.

His whole big body was rigid as he scrambled to put on his clothes. She read the panic in every hard line of him. She lowered her gaze, heart pounding.

She found she was suddenly enraged.

Papa, she thought, I hope you are in hell.

She could not think of one single thing to say in the agonized silence while he hunted desperately for a waistcoat in his locker, as if he could not see the one hanging right in front of him.
Who was it? Who had dared do such a thing to him?
It must have been long ago. His powerful body and deadly skills had indeed been developed to a purpose, but, once, he had been a lost, bewildered boy.
How unprepared he must have been for the horrors he’s endured
.

She swallowed a lump of emotion in her throat as she gazed at him, unable to bear the fear making his movements jerky, almost wild.

She had never once seen him move awkwardly. Now his hands fumbled merely to tie his shirt’s neck strings. The only thing she could think of to do at the moment was to save his pride, even if it meant pretending she believed his lie, at least for now. Something told her if she spoke kindly to him now, it would destroy him. She lifted her chin.

“Lazar di Fiore, you have a duty,” she said in the coldest possible tone.

He turned on her with a strange expression of mixed anger and relief. “Don’t you dare presume. My only duty is to myself.”

“How can you say such a thing after all your father sacrificed?”

“Postscript: my father is dead. I am alive. And if you don’t mind, I intend to stay that way. Now, would you please do me the honor of leaving me the hell alone.”

“No.”

He stared at her for a moment, then scowled at the floorboards, hands on hips. “No. Of course you wouldn’t.” Finally he heaved a great sigh and came toward her. “I know I am a disappointment to you, Allegra—”

“No, you are not,” she said savagely.

“—and I am sorry. I admire—perhaps even envy—your idealism, but I cannot—I will not go back to Ascencion. I’m no hero, and certainly no martyr. Were I to go back at this point, they’d hang me for piracy. As I’ve taken great pains to avoid hanging thus far, you’ll pardon me if I prefer to prolong my short, unhappy life. Though God knows why I bother,” he added under his breath.

“You forget that I’ve seen you in action, Your Majesty. Somehow I have trouble believing you fear anyone, least of all the Genovese courts-martial.”

With a melancholy laugh, Lazar shook his head, resting his hands on her shoulders. He grazed her cheek lightly with his knuckle. “How now, is that a compliment I hear among all your disparaging remarks? I could sorely use one at the moment.”

She gave a sad smile at his limping attempt at humor. The naked despair she saw in his eyes doubled her resolve to get him back his rightful heritage.

She took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Think of it, Lazar! Such changes you could make. Such cities you could build. At last, here is a task worthy of you! You could carry out the reforms your father only dreamed about.”

“I’m shocked you think me capable of it,” he muttered.

“Impossible man, of course you are.” She reached up and caressed his scratchy cheek. “People would follow you, you know. I’ve seen how people respond to you. Governing Ascencion could not possibly be harder than commanding men like this crew of yours. If you will have a little faith, I know we can do it. How your people would love you—”

“Allegra, you’re killing me. No more,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“But I cannot bear the injustice of it! It’s so unfair! And to know my own father was the one responsible—”

He shook his head. “What’s done is done.” He pulled her close and stroked her hair, his chin resting atop her head. “All I really want is peace and quiet. I’d like to grow some grapes, I think, and to be able to sleep at night without the worry of someone cutting my throat.”

“Oh, God, do not say such a thing.” She shut her eyes against the image. “I will help you,” she whispered fiercely. “Somehow I will help you.”

“Then help me this way,” he murmured, lowering his lips to hers. “Make me forget.”

He kissed her slowly. “I have a plan, too,
chérie
. Do you want to hear it?”

She nodded, eyes closed, while his caresses soothed the tension from her.

“My plan is to lead you over to that bed and make love to you, make a child with you. Our child. I want to put the past behind me, Allegra,” he whispered. “I want the future with you.”

She clung to him, staggered by his words. She accepted his drowning kiss so full of grief, until she felt his heart pounding under her palm as she caressed his chest. She had no idea how she was going to resist him, or even if she should.

“Live with me,” he said. “I have gold. I can take care of you and our children. I want to buy a plantation or a farm—”

She tore herself out of his arms and walked stiffly to the other end of the cabin, her back to him. She hugged one arm about her body and covered her mouth with the other to keep from sobbing aloud.

Behind her, Lazar was silent.

The man was mad. How could he choose her over his kingdom? How on earth could she be so insane as to refuse? She pressed her eyes shut, fighting for self-possession. She had to think of what was best for him. Best for Ascencion.

“I can’t offer marriage—”

“No.”

Silence.

“You do not want me,” he said in amazement at last.

Her hand over her mouth stifled the bleak truth she might have sobbed out, if not for the imperative to maintain her composure,
I am not recompense enough for all you’ve lost
.

“She does not want me.” The note of astonishment in his deep, soft voice turned to something harder, colder. “Well, then. Fine. If that’s the way you want it.”

She could not speak, did not turn around. Her whole body trembled. Lazar spoke, his voice low, rough.

“Tonight, Allegra, you’ll pay your debt. I just ran out of patience.”

The door slammed.

“Pumpkin honey-bunch!” Maria called down to the dim wine cellar beneath the country house. “My sweet boy, your luncheon is ready!”

“In a minute!” he shouted harshly up at her.

God, Maria annoyed him. And poor, innocent little Allegra, he thought. Domenic paced back and forth slowly before the three big, variously bleeding men the black-eyed savage had left behind to kill him.

The first he had used as an example to show the other two what would happen if they didn’t cooperate. What was left of that poor creature slumped against his bonds in the chair, wimpering now and then. He was close to death.

The second had merely had a good beating from Domenic’s assistants, a little of the old-time Inquisition treatment, good for the soul. Alas, the second fellow wouldn’t last much longer unless he started giving up some interesting information very soon.

The third, a cutthroat by the name of Jeffers, was the one Domenic expected to talk. So far Mr. Jeffers was unscathed. It pleased Domenic to let Jeffers wait and agonize, wondering when it would be his turn for torture.

“Pirates, eh? We’re still sticking with this story, then, are we, gentlemen? Unfortunately, I still don’t believe you. Quit your crying,” Domenic snarled at the second man. “Now, for the last time, I’m going to ask you nicely. Tell me. Who. He is.”

Jeffers tremblingly spoke up to repeat the same story they’d told him a hundred times.

“He’s called the Devil of Antigua, Yer Worship, and his name is Lazar.”

“Lazar who? What is his family name?” he growled expectantly.

“I never heard it, sir.”

“We
are
pirates, it’s true!” the second man screamed out all of a sudden. “The Brethren! Tell ’im the coordinates of Wolfe’s Den, Jeff! Go on—tell ’im! I don’t give a damn anymore—let ’em all hang!”

Jeffers was silent.

The dying man made a garbled moan.

Domenic considered his one unscathed prisoner’s veracity while the man watched him like an abused dog.

Between the rebels he’d captured and these men, Domenic was left with two opposing stories from which to choose. First there was the tale according to these crumpled, cowering men that the black-eyed savage was truly a pirate called the Devil of Antigua. Originally an Ascencioner, he had sailed all this way for a vendetta against the dimwit Monteverdi, then decided at the last minute not to carry out his revenge.