One Night of Sin (46 page)

“Sire, we are not far from the sea! Why wait for Lady Campion and the Englishman to return when there’s still time to escape? We can go now. It would be a small matter to get our hands on a boat and be gone before they discover us.”

“Run?” Mikhail hated the prospect of retreat, nor did he know where he could go. If his treasonous plot had been discovered, what country would receive him? “It is a boon that at least we have the girl,” he mused aloud. “She may be our only point of leverage. Of course, we’ll soon have Alec Knight, as well, and Eva. We can kill them one by one if Nelyudov or anyone else tries to lay hold of us.”

“Your Highness swore that we could have the man who killed our comrades when we found him,” Sergei grumbled in a surly tone.

“How dare you speak out of turn? I’ll give you your orders and you will follow them!”

“Our brothers must be avenged!”

Mikhail heaved a snarling sort of sigh and turned away.
Perfect.
The last thing he needed right now was an insurrection among his Cossacks. Without his men’s loyalty, he knew he was doomed. “Very well. When Lady Campion brings Alec Knight, you may kill him. But indulge me, won’t you, and at least do it slowly. It will be a pleasure to hear that cocky bastard beg for his life.”

“Gladly, sire. We thank you.”

“Stay here and guard the girl.” Mikhail began walking away. “Escape may already be impossible if Nelyudov has blockaded the bay. I’ll be right back. I shall go and have a look.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Mikhail followed the footpath through the woods for about two hundred yards, until he came out to a treeless, grassy promontory with a broad view of the sea. The towering cliff face dropped off to the pounding surf far below. There was no sandy beach, just jagged rocks jutting up from rough water.

Resting his foot on a rugged gray outcropping of rock, Mikhail stared out to sea, his eyes narrowed against the sun’s glitter on the waves. He clenched his jaw and shook his head, spying two formidable warships of the Royal Navy on the horizon. He swallowed hard. Just as he feared. Nelyudov was too shrewd to have overlooked the task of blocking his escape route.

The ships were moving into position to intercept any small boat that tried to slip past them and to blow any craft out of the water that did not heed the order to turn back. His fist clenched at his side.
Too late.
No getting away now, unless he used his hostage.

With a low growl, he shrugged off intimations of doom, left the cliff side, and went striding back to the ruined cottage to interrogate his little cousin. He needed to find out how much she had told Westland, and he was happy to beat it out of her if he had to.

When Eva showed up at the villa, the authorities had immediately moved in to arrest her for her role in the abduction, but Alec shoved them back almost savagely, knowing the baroness was the only one who could lead him to Becky.

One look into Eva’s eyes told Alec that this time she knew she had gotten in over her head. Perhaps she understood now why he had been driven to threaten her life, for though she gave him Kurkov’s message to come alone and unarmed, she tried in a lower tone to dissuade him from going.

“They will kill you.”

“They can try,” he had said, immediately swinging up onto his horse. Knowing that this summons would come, he had already ordered a groom to saddle the massive thoroughbred hunter that he had won in the whist drive.

Eva had flinched. For her part, she did not seem to relish the idea of going back to that madman, but having already implicated herself by choosing to aid the outlaw, she had no choice.

Alec’s final words had been a terse command to Nelyudov not to attempt to follow him or to interfere, for Kurkov had said he would kill Becky if Alec did not come alone. Eva had then mounted up again to show him the way, and they were off, thundering out of town.

Swift as eagles, they rode now through the woods, their galloping horses sweeping over the dusty ground. Alec could think of nothing but Becky, her safety, her well-being. Until he saw her with his own eyes, he would know no peace. He did not expect that Kurkov would let her go once he gave himself up, but at least when he arrived, he would have a chance to fight for her. Somehow, he would get her out of there. If it cost him the last breath in his body, he would find a way.

Motioning to him, Eva pointed wordlessly to a small dirt road that branched off to the right ahead. Choked with weeds, it wended its way up a steep hill as the woods thickened. His face taut and coated with traces of dust, Alec guided his horse into the sharp turn.

The baroness, however, kept riding down the main road. She glanced anxiously over her shoulder as their paths split. Alec headed up the hill; but Eva, ever the survivor, galloped on toward the next harbor town, seizing her one chance to escape.

Alec clucked to his horse, squeezed its sides with his calves, and forged on grimly alone.

As Becky opened her eyes, coming to after several minutes, the room still wove unsteadily. The door was closed. Mikhail was gone. At last she had been left alone.

It all came flooding back in a rush. Alec was on his way, and when he got here, they were going to kill him. Cold fear gripped her. She had to escape.

Struggling to sit upright again, she carefully bent forward, stretching her shoulders painfully until she could step through the circle of her bound wrists. Lifting her hands in front of her, she seized the rope-end between her teeth, hurrying to work the knot free, but her gaze was riveted on the unloaded pistol Mikhail had left behind. The bullet had rolled away, but she saw exactly where it lay in the dust.

She could hear the men in the next room arguing. She had no idea what they were fighting about, but she heard several repetitions of a word that sounded like
“Nelyudov.”
She did not know what it meant, nor did she care. Her sole concern was escaping before Alec walked into this trap. Freeing herself was the only way she could be of help to him. Hope climbed.

At last she cast off the ropes and retrieved the pistol and bullet, handling both with disgust, considering the use Mikhail had tried to make of the former. She dropped the silver ball back into the muzzle and checked the powder. Gingerly lifting Lady Campion’s abandoned vial of acid for extra protection, she moved silently toward the open window.

The door suddenly banged open. She whirled as Mikhail saw her heading for the window and cursed.

She menaced him with the pistol. “Stay back!”

“It isn’t loaded.”

“It is now.”

“Ah, so you can’t make a proper curtsy but you know how to load a gun. It figures. Well, I hope you’re a good shot because you’ve only got one bullet. Do you think you can hit me?”

She cocked the pistol. “Don’t try me.”

“You’ve been a great deal of trouble to me, Rebecca. I hear that you managed to get to Westland. Don’t bother denying it. They’re after me now, and it’s all your fault.”

Mikhail barked out an order to his men. At once the Cossacks filed into the room. He gestured at Becky, who stood with her back to the wall with the open window. Uneasily, she watched the soldiers surround her in a loose U-shaped formation, but her thoughts flew. If the Duke of Westland had taken action based on her report—if the authorities were now after Mikhail, as he claimed—then she was no longer just a prisoner. She was a hostage, and they needed her alive.

The prince muttered another command, and the Cossacks started closing in on her slowly. Becky surmised he had ordered them to take her weapon. She swung the pistol from left to right, trying to hold all of them off at once.

“You’re very happy to sacrifice their lives, aren’t you?” she challenged her cousin, her eyes on his men. “Why don’t you try to take my weapon yourself and see what it gets you?” Still pointing the gun from one Cossack to the other, she backed up against the low wall.

The nearness of escape was bitterly tantalizing, but she feared that the awkward motion of climbing out the window would give the Cossacks an easy chance to grab her, and if she ran, she already knew they had no qualms about shooting people in the back.

She heard, then, swift hoofbeats approaching as a rider galloped up the hill and into the clearing where the cottage stood.

“Aha,” Mikhail murmured, lifting his chin with a cutting smile and a glimmer of cruel anticipation in his eyes. “Here comes your hero, riding to your rescue. The fool.”

“Alec, stay back!” she yelled over her shoulder out the window behind her. Becky’s heart beat faster, but she dared not take her eyes off the Cossacks in order to turn and look.

“Becky!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him through the window as he swung down off his horse and strode boldly toward the cottage.

Mikhail just shook his head cynically at Alec’s courage. “Seize him. And bring him in here first. I’d like a word with our lucky gambler before he dies.”

“Mikhail, please,” Becky begged him. “He had nothing to do with this. He didn’t know anything. It was all my doing—” Her words broke off as she heard the scuffle erupt in the next room. “Alec!”

In the next moment, the Cossacks dragged him into the room and threw him to the floor. A few could not resist the opportunity to kick him in the ribs when he was down. Alec let out a grunt of pain, holding his middle.

His black leather riding breeches and knee boots were coated in dust from the road, but his state of undress attested to the haste with which he had responded to Mikhail’s summons, for he wore no waistcoat, jacket, or cravat, only a loose white shirt—and no weapon.

On his hands and knees before her, surrounded by five towering Cossacks, he slowly lifted his gaze, meeting hers. Becky could not utter a word—could barely breathe as they stared at each other for a fleeting second with a world of emotion between them.

Beneath his tousled, sun-streaked forelock, Alec’s eyes, now dark blue, were stormy with tortured love.

“Get up,” Mikhail bit out.

As Alec climbed warily to his feet, he scanned Becky with an assessing glance. The dark cast in his expression sharpened as he took in her torn dress and the welt on her cheek, but pride gathered in his eyes when he noted the weapon she had managed to commandeer. Standing to his full height, he squared his broad shoulders and lifted his left chin, looking, for all the world, she thought, like Prince Charming from the fairy-tales, taken prisoner and battered, but far from bowed.

Her heart raced as she cast about for a solution. His very nearness gave her new courage. He veiled the treacherous glint in his eyes beneath his dusky lashes, but he seemed to be swiftly mulling over some way to get them both out of there. He smiled at her with discreet pride, glancing meaningfully at the pistol in her right hand. But then his gaze homed in on the vial of acid in her left.

“Where is Eva?” Mikhail demanded in a jaundiced tone.

“Ah, sorry, Kurkov. Your lady has abandoned you. I can’t imagine why.”

His cocky drawl almost made Becky smile. How did he do it? How did he lift her heart even now? But when she looked at him in awe, only one thought came to mind.

I love you so, so much.
She couldn’t believe he was really here.

“Your insolence, Knight, is unadvised under the circumstances.”

“I had a feeling you’d be a sore loser. Did you hear, Becky? I won the whist drive for you.”

“Oh, Alec,” she breathed, staring at him. “I knew you would.”

“Kill him,” Mikhail snarled to his men.

“Stop!” Becky shouted, and then she pressed the pistol to her own head with a shaky gulp. “Don’t anybody move! If you hurt him, I swear, I’ll pull the trigger and you won’t have a hostage to bargain with.”

Her announcement seemed to take them all aback. Even Alec looked startled. He knitted his eyebrows, clearly not liking this move.

She could see no other way.

“I said get away from him,” she reiterated coldly.

The Cossacks glanced at Mikhail for instruction, for their fate, too, rested on using Becky as a hostage, since, after all, they planned on killing Alec. The prince hesitated, then called off his dogs with a curt nod.

“Put the gun down, Rebecca,” Mikhail ordered her as the Cossacks reluctantly backed up, giving Alec a bit of room.

All but one—the ugly, bearded one behind him who seemed more interested in revenge than survival. With a curse, the Cossack drew a knife and reached to grab Alec’s shoulder, as though he intended on cutting his throat, but as they grappled momentarily, Alec met Becky’s gaze and then sent a forceful nod at the vial of acid in her hand.

She nodded, flicked off the lid, and hurled it at the Cossack as Alec ducked.

The vial of acid hit the Cossack in the face, and spilled all over him. The man let out a bloodcurdling howl and dropped his weapon, lifting his hands to his face and eyes. As he went running blindly out of the room, Alec swooped down and grabbed the weapon he had dropped and in an instant was slashing out with it.

The Cossacks swarmed him, but Alec held his own, stealing a sword for his right hand and shifting the dagger to his left. He fought in all directions at once. Embattled with the man in front of him, he did not see the one behind him draw his weapon.

Without hesitation, Becky aimed the pistol at the man’s chest and fired. He dropped to his knees and fell dead with a gurgle

“You little bitch,” Mikhail spat at her.

“Becky, get out of here!” Alec shouted, parrying a brutal thrust. “Take my horse and go!”

“I won’t leave you here alone—”

“Go!” he roared furiously at her.

When one of the Cossacks pointed a gun at her, Becky gasped and dove out of the low window behind her. The bullet slammed into the stone wall, spraying dust. She raced toward Alec’s huge, unfamiliar horse and spooked it in her haste.

“Damn it,” she whispered, recalling the trouble she’d had the last time she tried to steal a horse. How could she leave him behind? But he was her protector and he had given her an order. He had demonstrated his prowess as a warrior before. . . .

While the sound of blades clashing filled the cottage behind her, Becky laid hold of the hunter’s bridle. Mounting the huge thoroughbred was another matter, however. She struggled to lift her foot up into the high stirrup. “Damn it!”