The Pirate Prince (31 page)

“We got to get our goods to market in Cuba,” insisted Bickerson, the giant towheaded Dutchman. “You know our buyers don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Ain’t them I’m worried about, personally,” young Morris drawled. “It’s them damned Genoveesies behind us.”

Lazar steepled his fingers. He could still taste his anger. “Landau, you have been silent.”

The tall, wily Frenchman, the disowned son of a gentleman, was captain of the swift and beautiful brigantine
Dragonfly
.

“My objection is that you will tell us nothing,” Landau replied. “You ask us to turn back, perhaps engage once more the ships that follow us, pass Gibraltar again, and skim the Barbary Coast, where there are treacherous shoals—all this for no recompense. We are your friends, Lazar, but you must at least tell us why it is so important that you go to the fortress of this opium trader.”

“You’re either with me, or you’re not,” Lazar answered with a shrug. “The particulars of this affair shall remain my own.”

“This man’s got pure lead eighteen-pounders for balls!” Morris said in delight at his reply. The boy captain took a swig from his flask. “What the hell,” he declared as he wiped his mouth on his dirty lace sleeve. “I’ll do it.”

“That’s three,” Vicar said, glancing at him.

“Fitzhugh?”

“ ’Tis madness,” the old Scot grumbled. “Sounds to me like a young man’s pursuit o’ glory, and I suspect the end and purpose of it all is to impress a woman. I’ll not be riskin’ my crew for the pleasure o’ you glands!”

Lazar was contemplating how he could possibly answer that when Allegra came into the stateroom from the cabin, as if on cue. He noticed she looked pale and frightened, but he refused to acknowledge her while the other men scraped their chairs, following Vicar’s example to rise.

“Is there a battle? Have we been fired upon?” she asked, glancing toward him.

Six men leaped to assure her all was well—it had just been the signal cannons. Lazar stared at his hands on the table while Vicar undertook to present each of the captains to the indomitable Miss Monteverdi.

Lazar was wholly aware of her, though he did not so much as glance her way. He could smell her, feel her, from three feet away. Fresh-scrubbed and radiant, her ivory skin had never looked more tempting. Her peach-colored dress was demure, safely buttoned again. Her gold-streaked hair was pinned up neatly, and she was every inch the convent-school miss.

Who would ever suspect such a delicate-looking creature had a tongue like a scorpion’s tail? he mused.

While the flamboyant young Morris tried to strike up a conversation with her, the Frenchman shot Lazar a look of understanding. He had been there on the wall when Allegra had defied him, and Lazar could see in Landau’s admiring gaze at her that the Frenchman applauded her courage.

When Landau introduced himself to her, gallantly kissing her hand, Lazar noted with some dry amusement a pulse of genuine jealousy in his own breast. Another novel experience. But Landau turned back to him with a smile when Allegra went on to greet the next man.

“Very well,” Landau murmured. “I will play along with this game of yours, and perhaps someday, my friend, you will tell me what it all meant. But I’m warning you, if my ship takes so much as a scratch…”

Lazar gave a shadow of a smile at his idle threat, then they both watched Allegra cast a spell on old Fitzhugh. Vicar cast him an amused glance when the old sea captain took her hand as though it were made of china, clutching his cap over his heart.

After Russo’s warm welcome and Sullivan’s courteous but uncertain one, Lazar was amazed—but showed no expression whatsoever—when Allegra came around the table and stood meekly behind and to the right side of his chair in what appeared to be a gesture of obedience. Then he realized why.

She was merely pointing out to those whose eyes gleamed with interest that she already had a protector.

She laid her hand on his shoulder.

The nerve of this girl, he thought. Laying claim to his protection moments after denying him his rights to her body and insulting him as he had never been insulted in his life.

Nevertheless, he lifted his left hand across his chest to his right shoulder, where she linked her fingers through his. He said not a word, watching the company without expression.

As she stepped up closer behind him, he felt her fear of him, and perversely it pleased him. It was the only satisfaction, it seemed, he would have of her. A vague sense of guilt gnawed at him for how he had talked to her and treated her,
but damn it
, he thought,
I am not apologizing. She’s getting what she bloody wants
.

Fitzhugh stared at Allegra, then looked up imploringly at him. “Take these glory chasers to the River Styx itself if ye will, Cap, but dunna bring this child into danger with you!” he said angrily. “Bickerson or I will see her to safety.”

“Oh, I am staying with Lazar, sir,” she said quietly and very fiercely as she placed her other hand atop his.

“Miss, ’tis very dangerous.”

“Is this true?” she asked Lazar.

“Fitzhugh is an honest man.”

She regarded the Scotsman evenly. “All the more reason for me to stay by his side.”

Something sparked painfully in Lazar’s chest at her words. He could not comprehend the creature. One minute she cut him to ribbons with her sharp tongue, then she came and stood by him as if she were his obedient wife—
whither thou goest, there go I
.

She might speak differently if she knew where he was taking them.

“
Brava, bella
,” Russo said with a broad grin.

“
Quelle femme
,” murmured Landau.

When Bickerson saw he would have to go on alone, his protests collapsed, and the thing was unanimous.

Within the hour, Lazar would turn the fleet around, taking them back east and south to the Barbary Coast.

Though at the moment he would not have deflowered the sharp-tongued little shrew if she begged him to on her knees, he had to admit she was right once more—tediously, stingingly right.

She could not respect him, and he could not respect himself, if he did not do this thing, and he was sick of fighting the inevitable.

If he wanted Allegra, he had to help Ascencion. To prove that Ascencion was rightfully his, he would have to be able to produce the signet ring, and that meant facing his worst nightmares.

By God, if it took him all the powder in his hold, he would blow Malik’s lovely hell sky-high, and he would get that thrice-damned bloody ring.

Or, more likely, die trying.

For the next half hour, he and his men discussed their course, the winds, and battle formations in case of a confrontation with the Genovese ships, though in truth Lazar did not believe the enemy vessels had followed them into the Atlantic.

At length, all the captains except Sullivan returned to their vessels.

“I got a matter to discuss with ye, Cap,” he said, eyeing Allegra warily. She had been silent behind his chair all the while.

“Speak freely, mate.”

“Found a stowaway when we left Ascencion,” he said. “I brought him aboard so you could question him if you want. He’s in your brig.”

“Bring him in.”

While Sully leaned out the stateroom door and ordered one of the crewmen to fetch the prisoner, Lazar turned to Vicar, aware of Allegra nervously watching him all the while.

“I want you to clear your cabin.”

Vicar stared at him for a moment. “Aha, I see.”

Warily, the older man rose, clapped him on the back in sympathy as he passed, bowed to Miss Monteverdi, and left the stateroom. At the door, Sully bade him good night. The Irishman then closed the door and turned to Lazar with a frown.

“This stowaway, Cap,” he said. “The man tells wild tales. He says”—he hesitated—“he says you’re the rightful king o’ that island. King, he says! Says they killed your family, and everyone’s been waiting there for you to go back and take over.”

“Is that so?” Lazar asked lightly.

Sully looked utterly puzzled, watching him suspiciously. “I kept him locked in me brig, but aboard ship his tales have been spreadin’. All me men are asking questions, and I want to know what I’m to tell ’em. Well, hell, is it—true?”

Lazar gazed at his trusting old friend for a long moment.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s true.”

Lazar could feel Allegra’s gaze dart to his face. Before Sully found his tongue to reply, the prisoner was brought in. Lazar flattened his gaze in displeasure at the sight of the same fat, ill-kempt little guitar player, Bernardo, who had accosted him in the square after the raid.

“Sire! Oh, my liege, I have risked my life to follow you—”

Abruptly he stopped, his beady-eyed gaze clamping on the late Governor’s daughter with recognition and instant malice. For her part, Allegra returned his hostile appraisal with a matter-of-fact glare, folding her arms over her chest.

“Miss Monteverdi is under my protection,” Lazar said icily. “You may remain aboard
The Whale
, for you may prove useful in some small way, but if you give the lady the slightest insult—if the mere stench of you should offend her nostrils, my friend, you’re shark bait.”

As soon as Sully and Bernardo had gone, Lazar swept to his feet and went into the cabin.

Allegra followed her towering captor at a wary distance, daring to go only as far as the threshold of the room where she had so narrowly escaped the loss of her virginity…
for now
, a voice whispered in her head.

Careful to stay clear of him, she stared at the broad outline of his massive shoulders and muscled back against the night’s blue glow. He moved about the cabin with restless grace, his profile hard and introspective as the orange flame rose from the lantern he now lit.

“Lazar, what on earth is going on?” she asked timidly.

“Collect your belongings from this room, Miss Monteverdi.” His voice was hard and flat.

“I—I have nothing here,” she stammered. “My trunks are in the storeroom below.”

He strode over to the washstand and picked up her silver-handled comb. He brought it to her and held it out at arm’s length with a look of sharp reproach. She took it and held it close to her bosom, frightened by his remote demeanor.

“Come.” He brushed by her as he went into the stateroom. “Follow me, please.”

She did, heart pounding. They went to the second cabin, which was tucked under the companionway. It was the only other cabin on the ship, and it was shared by Vicar; Doctor Raleigh, the ship’s surgeon; Mr. Harcourt, the boatswain; Mr. Donaldson, the purser; and Mutt, the head carpenter—all of whom were presently carrying out their bedrolls and their few belongings.

She lowered her head, ashamed that these men were being removed from their quarters all because she did not wish to let the captain have his way with her, but Mr. Harcourt offered her a rueful grin as he passed, as if to say,
Don’t worry, miss
.

Vicar gave her a bolstering wink and chuckled to himself as he went off down the passageway to sling a hammock with the others in the common sailors’ gallery.

When they had gone, Lazar cast a critical eye over the cabin, which was only about half the size of his. Then he gave a curt nod.

“Good night, Miss Monteverdi.”

“Lazar, please. Why are we turning around? Where are you taking us? What is the danger Captain Fitzhugh spoke of? Tell me what is going on.”

He paused, half turning toward her. He pierced her with his most severe, sea-captainly stare, the one that made the crewmen quake.

“I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on,
chérie
. Once more you’ve turned me to your will. Go on—congratulate yourself. Only this time it may well cost me my life. But never fear—when I am dead, you’ll still have your virtue to comfort you,” he fairly spat.

“Are we going back to Ascencion?” she whispered, holding her breath.

He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes fiery black, yet cold. “First I need proof of my identity.”

She sucked in her breath. He was truly going to do it! “What is this proof? Where must you go to get it?”

“You’re pushing your luck, my girl,” he warned.

“Please tell me,” she asked meekly.

Slowly he stalked toward her. She shrank from him, backing away until she found he had driven her up against the bulkhead. He loomed over her, breathing harshly.

“I’ve set a course for the Barbary Coast, madam. Otherwise known as hell.” He reached down and slid his fingers between her legs, cupping her woman’s mound with an intense caress as he lowered his head, skimming the line of her cheek with his lips. “You’d better be worth it,” he murmured.

He withdrew before she had time to protest, going back to the door.

“This door has a good lock,” he said, pausing. “I suggest you use it.”

Then he left her standing alone in the bare little room, wide-eyed, holding her comb to her chest.

Shaken by his touch, she sat down weakly, then began to wonder what on earth proof of his true identity was doing on the Barbary Coast.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN