The Pirate Prince (7 page)

Monteverdi’s daughter sat sidesaddle in his lap. How he had been cast in the role of her rescuer, Lazar had no idea. He only knew he had been cut because she had distracted him, and he was not amused.

Nor was he amused that her pleas had caused him to spare Clemente, nor presently was he amused at the way her slim body rocked lightly, rhythmically against his. Nor by the flowery scent of her hair beneath his nostrils, nor by her silken hands almost caressing him as she changed her snug hold around his waist.

He got the distinct impression Miss Monteverdi might be enjoying her own abduction. He scowled over her head. It would not do. She was supposed to be afraid of him.

There were twenty or thirty mounted soldiers in hot pursuit of them about half a mile behind, but Lazar was glad. For one thing, the more soldiers who followed in the wild-goose chase on which he was about to lead them, the fewer would be left behind to man the gate towers.

For another, the chase kept his mind off other things, such as the way his prize victim shifted her soft derriere in his lap, or the tear in her dress that gave him an unfettered view of her virginal cleavage.

When he saw the ancient oak that bowed out over the road, he pulled the black horse to a halt, cocking his head.

“Why are you stopping? They’re right behind us!” Miss Monteverdi cried.

“Shh!” He listened.

No. Farther
. He whipped the horse into action again, went only about fifty strides, then stopped again, listening.

“Damn it, it’s around here somewhere.” He drove the animal back to the tree.

There, yes
.

“Give me one of your hairpins. Now,” he ordered her as he leaped off the horse and reached up for Allegra.

He tied the reins over the horse’s neck while she swiftly pulled out an emerald-studded pin, long hair tumbling over her shoulders in the moonlight. In the distance, through the trees, he could see the soldiers on the road, swiftly approaching. He took the pin and wove it through the horse’s saddle pad so the end of it pricked the animal’s hide. The horse protested violently. Lazar slapped the big animal on the rump, and it bolted angrily down the road.

He grabbed Allegra by the hand and ran with her into the thicket on the side of the road, ducking branches, tearing through briers. He leaped over a large fallen log and helped Allegra over it, then pulled her down with him onto the leaf-packed ground behind the log, for her white dress would give them away easily if the soldiers looked into the woods.

They lay side by side, she flushed and he panting, like lovers after an afternoon of vigorous sex. She watched him, wide-eyed. He lifted a finger to her lips in a hushing gesture, but oddly he didn’t sense any intention on her part to scream for help.

He stared warningly into her eyes as two squadrons thundered past on the road, chasing the riderless black horse. Their horses’ hooves drowned out the distant rushing murmur of the waterfall. Still holding his hostage by her delicate wrist, Lazar scanned the road in the direction of the city, for he guessed reinforcements could not be far behind.

“Come on.”

They got to their feet. Her soft, slender fingers linked through his rough, callused ones, he led her through the dark, fragrant woods, following the sound of the waterfall. He was satisfied they were out of danger once they crested a small ridge, for now the road was no longer visible. With their every step, the sound of the waterfall grew louder.

When he heard her little cry of pain behind him, he turned to find one of her long tresses snarled on a thorn. He drew his knife and moved to cut her free, but she gasped.

“Don’t you dare!”

He looked down at her in surprise. She glared up at him in rebellion.

“Kidnap me if you must, but you will
not
chop off my hair!”

He stared down at her, barely comprehending how she could fret about something so trivial at such a time. But when he considered what he was going to do to her at dawn, he was overcome with guilt and thought,
This is the least I can do for her
.

Gently, he unwound her hair from the thorn. She stood there, patiently waiting. Then he became aware that she was staring at him again, her face tilted up to his, bathed in moonlight. He tugged the last knot free and turned away.

“Thank you,” she said, blushing a bit. “Now. What is your name?”

“Come on, no questions,” he grumbled, annoyed by her managing tone. This time he held her hand a little more loosely, all too aware of how soft her skin was, until at last they arrived in the clearing, where the waterfall spilled into a large pond.

He turned to find her watching the moonlight sparkle on the water.

“You could act a little scared, you know,” he muttered.

“I’m scared,” she assured him.

He stared at her, itching to taste that pretty mouth where an impudent smile tugged.

I cannot possibly take this creature’s life
, he thought. Then he remembered Father, how they had fallen on him like dogs on a wounded bull, stabbing him again and again right before his eyes, cut Pip’s throat as if he were a yearling calf, his little brother only eight years old.

Abruptly Lazar turned away, kicking off his boots.

“Going for a swim?” she asked.

In reply, he stepped into the pond, yanking her in behind him, his boots in one hand, her wrist in the other. She gave a little shriek of protest, but the water was not deep—only up to his thighs, her waist.

“Where are we going?”

He ignored her.

They waded across the pond to the waterfall, where he set his boots upon the rock. Allegra stared in fascination as she came in close enough with him to see the cave entrance the rushing water concealed. He climbed out of the water onto the rocks and turned, on one knee, offering her his hand. She took it, and as he pulled her up, drenched and dripping, from the water, lust hit him low in the gut full force.

Oh, for God’s sake, Fiore, why didn’t you carry her?

Wet white silk clung to every curve of her very female form, he discovered, and the full moon’s brightness only made the effect more magical. Once she’d gained her feet, he immediately checked his rusty fob.

How much time did they have? It was a quarter past one. Not enough time.

Growling at himself, he put the thing away. Even if he had a week, he was not going to make love to this woman. He was not even going to think about it. Perhaps he was a disgrace to his family, but he wasn’t that far gone.

Besides, what kind of twisted fiend could think of seducing a woman he intended to kill in a few hours’ time? But was it right that such a lovely creature should die a virgin?

You evil bastard
, he said to himself.

He glanced at the yawning black mouth of this branch of the tunnels.

“Come on,” he grunted, refusing to see her beauty or to gaze at the moonlight shining through the outline of her dress, where he could see every long, elegant line of her legs, all the way up to the apex of Aphrodite’s mysteries.

“Why are you taking me in there?” she asked, finally showing she had sense enough to be at least a little afraid.

“To feed you to the bears,” he muttered. “Hurry. I haven’t got all night.”

“Is your faction waiting in there?”

“My what?” He turned around.

She stepped closer to him, gazing up earnestly at him. “You’re not going to leave me with them, are you? People are angry at my father, and I—I should feel so much safer if you were there.”

“Safer?” Bewitched, he stared down at her.

She glanced up shyly at him, a brave smile on her lips as she brushed a billowing lock of hair behind her ear. “I know you wouldn’t let them hurt me. You already saved me once tonight.”

Lazar stared down at her as understanding slammed through him. She trusted him.

Agonized, he realized the conclusions Miss Monteverdi had drawn about his motives, and it came to him why she was cooperating so nicely.

Oh, his spies had told him all about the little patriot’s democratic leanings, picked up from the new philosophers in the salons and cafés of Paris. Allegra Monteverdi was a regular champion of the people. He knew all about her charity projects and her efforts to save the world—as if to atone for her father’s sins.

Don’t give her false hope. She deserves to know the truth
, he thought, but he found he could not bring himself to tell her.

What good would it do to let her spend the final hours of her life in a state of panic and hysteria? he reasoned. He didn’t want her to suffer any more than necessary. It was her father he wanted to suffer, not her. No, let her grasp the seriousness of her situation by degrees, he thought. It might be easier on her that way.

God knew it would be easier on him.

She was gazing up at him with wide eyes full of hope and trust mixed with fear.

How could that heartless fiancé of hers look upon such innocence, he thought, and think of rape? Aye, do more than think of it. At that moment, he decided to send men out after Clemente—he would hunt the viscount down and kill him for what he’d done to her.

Maybe that would help ease his own conscience a little.

For a moment, Lazar reached out and cupped her lovely face in one hand with a sense of ineffable sadness. By the happenstance of lineage, destiny made them enemies. If to this day he were some decadent, idle Crown Prince—for he had no doubt Father would still be alive, just turning sixty—and if Allegra had followed as lady-in-waiting to his little sister, Princess Anna, just as her mother, Lady Cristiana, had once attended his mother, Queen Eugenia, who knew? Perhaps he’d have made a conquest of her and been the one to instruct her in the arts of love.

“Come,
chérie
. We’ve little time,” he said, his voice a trifle hoarse. He took her hand and led her into darkness.

The rebel was an enigma, Allegra thought as he guided her slowly into a cave that was even darker than his midnight eyes. After having seen him beat Domenic so brutally, she never would have thought his large, warm hands could be so gentle, untangling her hair from the thornbush and presently steadying her as they went.

“There should be a torch and flint here somewhere,” he murmured, leaving her to search for them. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear his movements, feel his warmth.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice echoing strangely in the dark.

“There’s no need for you to know.”

“What am I to call you?”

“whatever you please. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Civility.”

“Sorry. I’m not much for that,” he muttered.

Their voices echoed into the cavernous gloom, making her realize the cave was much larger than she’d thought.

“What are your demands?”

His growl told her she wasn’t allowed to know that either.

“What is this place?”

She heard a frustrated sound of male exasperation. “No more questions! Do you want me to put a gag on you?”

“No.”

She heard the snick of flint on steel and saw a few sparks against the blackness. One of them caught, and as a few moments passed, the tiny flame grew, consuming the torch. Slowly it illumined his sun-bronzed face, his burning dark eyes and flared brows, the narrow planes of his cheeks. She wondered if she should be afraid of him instead of fascinated, but no man with so jolly a laugh could be cruel at heart, and his hands were so gentle.

She wondered if he would put them on her as Domenic had.

“You won’t tell me your name, then?”

“I will if it will put an end to your questions.” He smiled like a devil over the spreading flame. “My name is…Humberto.”

“Humberto! No,” she laughed. “Humbertos trip over their own feet.”

He slid her a mischievous look. “Paolo,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “Never. Too bland.”

He blew lightly on the torch, watching her. “How about Antonio?”

“Possibly.” She stared at the pout of his lips as he blew on the torch again, sending it into searing flame. “You swagger like an Antonio. But if you were a true Antonio, you would never have told Domenic I was insatiable. No Antonio would ever admit that he had left any woman unsatisfied, even if it was a lie.”

“I didn’t say you were unsatisfied, only that you wanted more.” His eyes danced.

“Your name is not Antonio,” she insisted.

“Come along,
chérie
. We have a rough two miles before us.”

“Two miles?” she echoed, gazing into the darkness ahead.

When he lifted the torch, she realized they were walking into the very bowels of the earth. She stared into the blackness ahead, incredulous, for she knew instantly what it was.

“The Fiori tunnels,” she whispered in awe. “Antonio—Humberto—how did you ever find them?”

She took the torch right out of his hand and walked ahead of him, staring about her in disbelief.

“You seem amazed, Miss Monteverdi,” came his deep voice from behind her.

“I thought these passageways were just a legend!” She turned back to him, suddenly grave. “Oh, we should
not
be in here.”

“Why not?” There was something strange in his eyes, a hard, glittering darkness within the midnight.

“These tunnels belong to the Fiori,” she said in a reverent, emphatic whisper.

He shrugged. “They’re dead.”

“Show some respect!” she said, quickly blessing herself.

One charcoal brow shot up. “It’s just that I don’t think they’ll be using them anytime soon.”

Bracing one fist on her hip, she turned to him and gave him a severe look. “
Tell
me you haven’t shown your whole faction these tunnels.”

“Er, no,” he replied dryly.

“It’s a good thing. They should stay a secret.” She walked to one of the tunnel’s walls and ran her hand down the sharp, black granite, knowing it was the closest she would ever come to touching
him
. “Poor Lazar,” she sighed.

“What did you say?”

She glanced at him, and something in the determined set of his shoulders, the proud angle of his chin, made her stare, and for a moment she almost thought—