My Wicked Pirate. Rona Sharon
as well. Your lover will die as a dog, because that is precisely what he is.”
His snarl proved conclusively what Alanis already suspected: He and Jasmine were lovers. This duel wasn’t about her. It was about eliminating the competition—Eros.
Jasmine’s eyes flashed murderously. “Eros is not my lover, you idiot! He’s my brother!”
Alanis’s jaw dropped open. Of course! How could she have been so blind? A brother and a sister, so much alike, both tall, dark Italians, damn-your-eyes beautiful with sapphire eyes. Everything clicked into place: Eros’s efforts to rescue Jasmine, his willingness to spare Lucas’s life because his sister loved him, and last, it dawned on her that his kisses, their moments together…He meant it. He must have meant it. And now he was dying.
Jasmine wept bitterly, her arm protectively draped over Eros’s chest. “I need to get him off this board,” she cried brokenly. “Madonna mia, he’s losing too much blood…”
Alanis’s tears were just as raw. “Jasmine, lower him on deck. I’ll treat his wound.”
Jasmine’s head came up, hope brightening her eyes. “You will?”
“I’m no surgeon,” Alanis admitted. “I’ve merely assisted our physician Giles in Yorkshire on occasion. Nothing fancy. Stitching, cleansing. But if there’s no one else…”
“There isn’t. Please help him.” Jasmine stood up. Giovanni and Nico came to lend a hand.
Lucas blocked them. “My fiancée will not treat this vile man.”
“Yes, I will!” Alanis countered. “I won’t watch him bleed to death.”
The viscount looked appalled. “Why should you concern yourself whether this blackguard bleeds to death, Alis? After what he did to you, you still want to help him?”
His attitude sent the pirates to their battle positions. Muskets and pistols were drawn. The Master Gunner gave out orders to load the guns. Dangling on ropes from the Alastor’s masts, the pirate crew prepared to board the Dandelion, and then the best boys would carry the day.
“If you don’t let me treat him, we shall all be swimming for our lives,” Alanis warned.
“Please!” Jasmine implored. “Don’t ask me to choose between my brother and you.”
“We’ll take him to Kingston, then.” Lucas grunted. “My fiancée will not take one step toward this villain. She has suffered enough at his filthy hands.”
Alanis looked at Eros. He was staring at her with the eyes of a wounded tiger. How could she let him die? “I never suffered at his hands. I will tend to him.”
“Alis, what are you saying?” Lucas demanded. “You can’t possibly treat this criminal!”
Alanis saw the terror in Jasmine’s eyes. She knew that terror. Her brother was about to die. “He’s lost too much blood already,” she insisted. “If we wait until we reach Kingston, he will surely die. I refuse to see another man bleed to death and be told there is nothing to be done.”
“You are thinking of Tom, aren’t you? But you have no idea how evil this man is. Eros is a brutal murderer. He deserves to be hanged. I forbid you to come within a yard of him.”
Her resolve was final. Because of his mad behavior, because he was besotted with another woman, he put them both at risk. It was time to assume command of her life and make her own decisions. “If Eros dies because you forced me to withhold treatment, I’ll board the first ship home and tell my grandfather everything! He will not approve of your conduct and neither will your father or the queen. Do you wish me to state my case with Her Majesty?”
Lucas flinched. He sustained her glare, unsure whether she’d pursue her threat to the end. She didn’t blink. “Do as you please,” he muttered. “You have my permission.”
Not wasting another precious moment, Jasmine helped Eros up. Giovanni and Nico offered assistance, but to everyone’s astonishment, Eros barked at his helpers and lowered himself to the Alastor deck. Grating his teeth with every agonizing gesture, he slumped against the railing.
Alanis knelt beside him. “Are you in a lot of pain?” she inquired softly, sweeping his silky black hair off his brow. Cold sweat dampened it.
“Yes,” he gritted. His eyes glinted feverishly blue.
“Good. It means you’re not dying yet.” His white linen shirt was soaked with blood. She had to rip it off to expose the wound, yet peeling the attached cloth was sure to cause him unbearable pain. “Jasmine, lend me your dagger. And give him something to bite on.”
“Just do it,” Eros rasped through clenched teeth. “If I’m out when you’re done, spill coffee powder over the cut. It should seal it. You’ll find a pouch in my cabin.” Though pain was visible in every line in his face, his mouth was set with stoical resolve. “Do it, Alanis.”
Considering the amount of blood he’d lost, Alanis was amazed he was still in command of his senses. She wiped her brow and very tenderly slashed his shirt. Blood gushed, so she pressed the ruined cloth against the open wound. No panic, she commanded herself. You can save him.
Eros watched her the entire time, his eyes heavy with pain, yet he didn’t grunt. Nor did he flinch. He merely stared at her, his gaze obscure, his complexion gray, his body taut. Fighting the shaking, he gave only once to a sharp spasm. “Why?” he hissed. “Why are you…helping me?”
His question hung between them, challenging, personal. Why was she helping this ruthless pirate? He had done nothing to merit her kindness. “I hope your vigor lives up to your immortal name, Eros,” she whispered with a smile. “Whatever my reasons are, you shall have to trust me.”
CHAPTER 6
Soldiers patrolled the torchlit courtyard. Alanis left the window and came to her patient’s side. Her hair was damp from a recent bath; a silk penoir hugged her body. She set the lamp on the bedside console and sat on the edge of the bed. With a light finger she swept his hair off his forehead. The heavy stuff spilled aside like cool silk, exposing his tanned, patrician profile. He made her think of Samson, the legendary hero whose hair held the secret to his great powers.
Eros groaned and stirred in his sleep.
“Sleep peacefully, Samson,” she whispered. “You’re safe with me.” She put a cool hand on his brow to check his fever. Normal. The word made her grimace. Was it “normal” for the Duke of Dellamore’s granddaughter to be succoring a notorious pirate? Was she insane?
His breathing quieted. Yet she was unable to peel her eyes off him. The man fascinated her. He had the mannerisms of a lord, the reputation of the Monarch of Hell, the body of a Greek god, the handsomest face, and when he was not pillaging—he attended balls at Versailles.
“Who are you?” she whispered. She glimpsed at the golden medallion resting on his chest. Gently she lifted it closer to the light. It seemed exceptionally rare. Shaped as a medieval shield, a cross divided it into four quarters. Two figures were carved diagonally: An eagle, its majestic wings spread open, and a serpent—the viper stamped on Eros’s purple flag. The crest resembled the one in his cabin. At the bottom was inscribed: MORS ACERBA. FAMA PERPETUA EST.
She returned the medallion to his chest, and on impulse her hand glided down his torso. His warm, bronzed skin felt velvety soft. Cubically shaped muscles undulated beneath her palm.
Eros was sound asleep, but even in his weak condition, his potent personality radiated. She touched his arm, resting on the white sheet. It was thickly corded, as she well remembered, but shirtless the muscles felt larger, utterly masculine. She caressed the veined forearm below the elbow, marveling at the softness of his skin while recalling the immense power his hand could wield. His fingers were long and graceful. They gripped her. Her eyes flew to his face.
Brilliant sapphires glinted at her beneath heavy eyelids.