The Pirate Prince (27 page)

Someone lit a lantern again nearby, and when Lazar ended the kiss, gazing down at her, his bold, cocky grin was pure pirate.

“My little captive,” he purred, sliding his arms tighter around her waist, “go to our bed, and get some rest. You’re going to need it when I come down.”

“Aren’t you finishing the night watch?” she asked in sudden alarm.

He glanced over the decks with that hard, critical gaze of the weathered sea captain. “I’ll mind the helm for another few hours, then I’ll join you.”

Oh, dear
.

“Don’t feel you must wait up for me. I’ll wake you. Trust me.”

“I couldn’t possibly sleep,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Perhaps I’ll look through more of my father’s files—”

“Now, why do you want to go filling your head with such matters tonight, of all nights?” He tenderly cupped her face. “We have both been waiting for this, Allegra. The time has come.”

“But I don’t think—”

“No, don’t think, Allegra. Just feel,” he whispered. “I can read your body’s signals, you know. The darkening of your eyes when you gaze at me. Your nipples pressing through your dress, aching for my mouth. Give in to it, Allegra. Nothing stands between us now, no more pretenses.”

“But—”

“Allegra,” he said, “you’re ready for me.”

She stared up at him, wide-eyed. To deny it would have been a lie.

“You grow wet for me even now, don’t you, my love?” he asked softly, seducing her with his deep, mesmerizing voice. “You thought you tasted pleasure when I made love to you with my touch and, this evening, when I drank of your beauty. But when we are one, Allegra, when I am deep inside you, you will see these things were but pale dreams.”

Her eyes flickered. She leaned against the rail to bear her failing weight.

“Go below,” he whispered. “Have a glass of wine. I shan’t be long.”

His heart was light when Lazar finally turned over the helm to Harcourt. With one final survey of the decks, he hitched his hands in the pockets of his well-worn black trousers and sauntered to the hatch, his face betraying no sign of the heady emotions churning within him.

The blissful sense of entwinement, his soul in hers, made his head reel a little. He could not stifle his sense of wonder. Never had he let anyone reach so deeply into him. Sea battles, raids, duels aside—this was somehow the most dangerous thing he had ever done. His relief was unbounded that at last Allegra knew a fair portion of the truth about him. Yet he worried about that determined look he’d seen in her eyes.

He walked slowly down the unlit passage, knowing that each step over the comfortably creaking planks took him closer to the cabin, where he would go about deflowering his virgin. Crossing the stateroom, he gave a soft knock on the cabin door, then went in. He stopped at what he saw.

“Ah,
chérie
,” he said with a weary chuckle.

She was surrounded on the rug by a sea of files and documents, and she was fast asleep, half leaning against the armchair. The lantern was still burning near her, the small flame like the warmth that tightened in his chest at the sight of her.

She’ll have a sore neck, he thought, seeing how her head rested at a skewed angle against the chair.

Lazar closed the door quietly behind him, locked it. He picked his way through the scattered papers and gathered her up in his arms, lifting her light weight easily. He carried her to the berth and gently set her down. She rustled in her skirts as she turned on her side in her usual sleeping position. He sat down beside her and just stared.

“Take the cakes to them,” she ordered him in a queenly murmur.

He smiled in the shadows. “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly.

“Josefina, put those…my
green
dress…” She drifted into silence.

“Ah,
chérie
,” he whispered, “what am I going to do with you?”

He considered for a moment, then, with a huge yawn, Lazar admitted defeat. Her sleep was deep, and he was damned tired. It was near dawn, and this was not the way it should be for her. No deflowerings tonight.

To hell with these night watches, he thought wearily, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment.

He stripped down to his breeches and loosened Allegra’s dress before climbing into the berth beside her and pulling her into his arms. She arranged herself fitfully, her face cradled on his bosom, her arm thrown across his stomach.

As he drifted to sleep, Lazar began imagining rows of orange trees in a sun-misty grove, as he sometimes did. He saw vines of shiny, ripe tomatoes and pale clusters of grapes dangling from a trellis. Then he saw Allegra, barefoot and laughing, holding her skirts above her ankles as she stomped the grapes in a great wooden tub for his homemade wine. When he thought of the old dappled gray plow horse that frequented such scenes in his fancy, this time he was leading the lazy animal, and perched atop its broad swayback were three perfect young children.

His eyes shot open with sudden awe in the dark. Yes. There was the answer, plain as day. The vine of his family had been hacked down, but he could grow it again. It need not die with him, as he had assumed all this time in his bitterness.

Children of the Fiori, he thought in wonder, living free and safe, far away from the endless burden of the crown, the endless jeopardy that leadership demanded. All he had to do was get his men situated back at Wolfe’s Den, let them vote for another leader to head the Brethren, then he and Allegra could be on their way.

He could settle them on Martinique, or the Florida coast, or even somewhere in Naples or on Sicily, in sight of Ascencion.

He stared, unseeing, in the dark as his mind raced. When he realized he was in the midst of one of the happiest moments of his life, he was vaguely amused at himself, ever the cynic. But he had to admit that what Allegra said was true, in the end—
There is always hope
.

Children, he thought, still awed.

He had been reasonably careful in his past amours. However much he had enjoyed the women he’d known, they weren’t the sort he wanted raising his daughters and sons. Pride in his lineage had stayed with him. To the best of his knowledge, he had left no illegitimate babies in his wake.

For a while he caressed Allegra’s arm while she slept. Here was a woman of beauty, grit, and moral fiber, he thought proudly. This was the one worthy to bear children from a royal line seven hundred years old.

He was mulling over how to phrase his offer of marriage to her without sounding like an utter idiot, when an insidious whisper in the back of his mind cast a shadow over the sunlit landscape of his imaginings. Perhaps it was years at sea that had made him superstitious, like all sailors, but, he thought, what if fate tried to strike down his happiness with its old trick of snuffing out those he cared about?

Don’t be irrational, he scoffed at himself, taking Vicar as the example. The old frigate bird had been with him over ten years now and somehow managed to remain unscathed.

Still, the prospect of Allegra’s coming to harm as a consequence of his past crimes or his dangerous career was almost enough to terrify him out of the idea. Surely she was better off with some tame Martinique planter. And babies?

Good God, what was more fragile than a baby?

His expression turned very grim in the dark. Numerous times now Allegra had called him selfish, and surely this was his most selfish move yet, even to risk it.

He argued with himself. The assassins, the old conspirators of the Council, now even Monteverdi, were dead, and by now Jeffers and his lads had probably shown Domenic Clemente to his Maker.

It was over. It had to be.

Surely now the curse that had seemed to cling to him was broken. He had already lost one family. Not even he could believe lightning would strike twice.

But when he felt Allegra’s gentle, steady breathing against his neck, he knew he couldn’t take that chance. No, he would trick fate, or at least try to compromise with it.

He would not marry her.

She would be his wife in every sense except the legal one. Then God might not strike her down to spite him. And on their farm, removed from the violence and chaos of the world, the Fiori could take new root. If danger ever came, he was certain he could protect his brood. That was the one regard in which he knew he was better than Father.

Yes, he told himself, it would be all right as long as he didn’t marry her. He only hoped she’d understand.

With the matter thus uneasily settled, at length Lazar slept.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the white light of morning, Allegra woke her sleeping Prince with a kiss.

She had been up for some time, had washed, dressed, eaten, and prepared her notes from the final boxes of her father’s files, which she had gone through last night while Lazar had finished his watch. Nearby she had breakfast for him from the galley to fortify him for what she had to say.

He was going to need it.

He shifted awake under the gentle brushing of her lips over his. She slid back before he beguiled her into more serious play, but he captured her wrist, still blinking against the morning light. He looked delicious, his short hair tousled, the sun-chiseled lines of his face softened by rest. All around him the sheets were still warm with his big body’s heat.

Shooting her a sleepy smile, he sat up and reached for the glass of orange juice on the tray. Without pausing, he drank it all. She gazed at the lift and fall of his Adam’s apple, thinking with an inward sigh that she had never known before how beautiful a man could look drinking a glass of juice. Lazar made a hearty sound of appreciation and set the glass back on the tray.

“Good morning, kitten,” he growled playfully, pulling her down, sprawling, atop his bare chest when he flopped back onto the mattress. He kissed her in earnest.

She stopped him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Your coffee will get cold.”

“Not if it’s anywhere near us two.”

“What a rogue you are,” she said in a scold that somehow came out tenderly.

“Somebody fell asleep on me last night.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose.

She braced both hands on either side of him in an effort to push up from his warm, hard body and his bed before she was utterly beguiled. “Yes, I wanted to talk about that—”

“No talking.” He held her down, both arms around her waist. “Kiss me.”

She suddenly noticed the place against her body where he was very much a man, and very much awake.

“Lazar,” she exclaimed, “we must discuss Ascencion!”

“Must we?”

It was difficult to think when he nibbled her earlobe like that. She used every ounce of her strength to pull back once more. She stared into his eyes. “Listen to me. There is so much to be done—”

“Mm-hmm,” he purred, ignoring her every word as he led her hand to caress him down there.

She shivered at the feel of his titanic manhood but refused to cooperate, pointing a finger in his face. “Stop it! Now, behave yourself. Let me go, and get out of this bed. I’ve looked through the files, and we haven’t a moment to lose.”

“Agreed. I’m going out of my mind to have you.”

“It is quite impossible!” She slipped free of him and fled across the cabin to a safe distance, panting in mixed lust and worry as she stared at him.

He sat up in bed and stared at her. Then his black brows knit in a thunderous line.

“Why,” he asked forebodingly, “is it impossible?”

“You are already betrothed,” she said in a small voice.

His stare turned incredulous.

She hurried over to a pile of her documents on the corner of his desk and picked them up, holding them toward him. “It’s all here. Your engagement to Princess Nicolette of Austria. Her dowry is two million gold ducats, Lazar, enough to save Ascencion from collapse! The names and addresses of all King Alphonse’s former cabinet members are here. Even my father thought these men were brilliant! They’ve been living in hiding throughout Europe since your father’s death—Don Pasquale, the prime minister they used to call the Fox. General Enzo Calendri, the head of the armed forces. And the archbishop, Father Francisco—do you remember him?”