“I’m afraid so, my lady,” Matthews confirmed. “We have neither the men nor the metal to oppose him. The blackguard hasn’t raided private vessels in ages. He preys on fleets. We didn’t expect him to attack us. Nor did His Grace.”
“May God help us…” Alanis murmured, recalling her grandfather’s words of warning. The Duke of Dellamore had predicted a catastrophe. He was decisively against her sailing to Jamaica, to join her fiancé, Viscount Silverlake. She could still hear his harangues in her head. “Wartime is no time for a young lady to be scampering about the world. I am needed at Her Majesty’s Court, and you cannot travel alone. If Denton’s boy wishes to make a name for himself, hunting down pirates in Her Majesty’s service, he shall have to do so without you!” Sadly, Lucas Hunter, the distinguished Silverlake, was doing it without her while she pastured her days away at home. She tried to reason with the duke, reminding him that she was betrothed to Lucas since infancy, but he would hear none of it. The solution to the discord came in the form of trickery: Alanis exercised tears—so many tears the duke had no choice but surrender. If her grandfather had known her true motive for sailing away, nothing would have broken his resolve.
“Get the boat ready, Matthews,” Hopkins ordered, and to Alanis he said, “Fear not. San Juan is but a day away.” Before the terror of being cast adrift upon the sea registered in her head, he took her elbow and prompted her and Betsy toward the stairway.
The scene on deck was hellish. The mizzenmast was on fire. Pirates jumped off swinging ropes. Metal clanged. Guns blasted. Carefully paving a way amidst the fighting zones, Hopkins led them to starboard. Beyond the rail a tiny boat swayed precariously over black waves.
“Merciful Father in Heaven!” Betsy cried as she glimpsed at the boat.
“And the others? And Captain McGee?” Alanis inquired anxiously as Lieutenant Hopkins helped her onto the side step. Her gaze swept the battle-blazing deck. Acrid smoke burned her nostrils. Frozen to the spot, she watched the flames licking away at the masts and riggings. Twelve years ago, her parents died in a fire on her father’s exploration journey to the East. Only twelve years old at the time, she was left at Dellamore Hall with her younger brother, Tom. Now, as her father before her, her dream of sunshine and freedom was turning into a nightmare.
“Descend, my lady!” Hopkins urged. “Now!” He supported her arms as she took the first step downward. He cast her a reassuring nod before five pirates rounded on him from behind.
Alanis shrieked. One of the villains grabbed Betsy. Another yanked Alanis back on deck. Flailing wildly, she craned her neck to see Hopkins vigorously fighting his attackers, but they were hauled away toward the area where the triumphant cutthroats, now in command of the helm, surrounded the Pink Beryl’s crewmen.
Squeezed together with Betsy, Alanis felt her maid’s cold hands on her nape, twisting her long mane into a chignon and stuffing it inside the cape’s hood. Alanis pulled the hood low over her eyes. “Cover yourself as well, Betsy.”
Acute tension seized the smoky air. They were expecting the one man who could put a period to their existence—the Viper himself.
The pirates stirred and let him pass through their ranks. Containing her curiosity, Alanis huddled in the velvet folds of her hood and listened to his men greeting him in rapid Italian. The Viper stepped closer to survey his captives. A hum of dread passed among them. The confident pounding of his boot heels on the plank floor reverberated in everyone’s heart. He halted. Alanis sucked in her breath, sensing him standing directly in front of her.
“Giovanni, portami quella nel cappoto nero. Bring me the one in the black cape,” his deep voice commanded, and a giant of a man with a black patch on one eye materialized before her.
Hopkins and Matthews bolted forward and were immediately blocked by sharp dirks.
“Leave her alone, you vile monster!” Betsy screamed fearlessly. “She is the Duke of Dellamore’s granddaughter! He’ll hound you for the rest of your days!”
The Viper assessed the maid, then instructed one of his men, “Rocca, tu prendi la piccola serva. Rocca, you get the little maid.” He turned and walked away.
All Alanis saw was a tall, dark, ominous shadow disappearing in thick swirls of smoke.
Dimly lit, the Viper’s cabin boasted ample space and quiet luxury. Giovanni nudged her inside and locked the door. Alone, Alanis raised her head and looked around. It wasn’t the sort of cabin one would expect a savage to reside in. Gilded, black lacquered cabinets lined the walls—a trademark of Venetian artisans. Elegant fauteuils and sofas upholstered in purple satin formed a sitting area. An ebony desk occupied the far end, heaped with papers and maps, and to her left loomed a four-poster bed, draped with rich purple silk. The large shadowed bed shot a tremor up her spine. She recalled Hopkins’s warning how jewelry was not the only booty pirates were after. Was her fate to be ravished by the Viper tonight? Was this the reason she was brought here?
An old royal crest hung over the canopy, its black, silver, and purple matching the furniture. The insignia, although foreign to her, portrayed its family’s prestige in partaking in the Holy Crusades—a serpent eating a Saracen. Apparently, the villain had no qualms decorating his cabin with any pillage, even if it displayed someone else’s valor and magnificence.
The door opened behind her. Alanis’s heart leaped with a start. The door slammed against its frame. She holed inside her hood, sensing a large body coming to stand behind her.
“Buonasera, Madonna,” a low voice drawled over her shoulder. She remained silent and followed the sound of boot heels circling her. Tall sinewy legs in black leather boots stopped before her. “Remove your cape,” he said. “Let’s see the face you’re so determined to conceal.”
He was a large one, she realized, feeling very small and vulnerable. Thinking of the brave crewmen of the Pink Beryl who fought that night helped her muster her courage.
“Well?” The voice grew closer and huskier. “You’ve already piqued my curiosity on deck, hiding instead of gawking as the rest did.” He smirked. “I assure you, I’m quite intrigued.”
Alanis didn’t stir. He sounded civil enough. His Italian-accented English was fit to be spoken in the queen’s presence. Nonetheless, her heart thudded; her warm breath filled the hood.
“I don’t intend to harm you, simply to have some conversation,” he whispered to the hood. When she still refused to remove it, he cajoled, “I understand why you feel reluctant to reveal yourself, but speaking to a black cloak is somewhat tedious.” He waited, his long legs braced apart, until suddenly, without warning, her hood was yanked back.
Alanis gasped. Her head shot up, causing the loose bun at her nape to spill glamorously to her waist, shiny and golden. Startled, she finally came face to face with Eros the Pirate.
Shock and confusion clashed in their gazes. The pirate’s dark, glittering eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though he recognized her and was flicking through his memory to associate the face with a place. The disturbing awareness was dulled by her private reaction to him, though. Alanis rarely paid attention to men since she was contentedly betrothed, but the tall, dark Italian standing before her had such staggering looks he could make a nun reconsider her vows.
A slow smile curved his handsome lips. “Piacere.” He graciously inclined his raven head in a formal greeting. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
Again she was plagued with the feeling he recognized her, but how could he? Surely she would have recalled seeing him before. His eyes alone were unforgettable: Intensely expressive, they gleamed in his deeply tanned face. Thick, glossy jet hair slicked back in a queue framed a tall brow, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong square jaw—a warrior’s face sculpted in bronze. A crescent-shaped scar curved from his left temple to his cheek, but she found it did not mar his handsomeness one bit. It added character to his countenance, which made him look even more intriguing. A pair of earrings pierced his left earlobe—a diamond stud