A Most Unconventional Courtship Page 23

  Where he thought he was going to find five willing crew members, besides herself, and how he expected to sail something of this size, Alessa had no idea. She could sail a small skiff—so could Chance, she recalled from that day in the bay. He was an intelligent, observant man, so he would have watched the way the ships he had sailed on were handled, but that was a far cry handling this craft. In naval terms she supposed it would be considered a cutter.

  ‘We are coming about,’ he whispered. The sounds of activity below deck were gone, everything was happening above their heads. ‘They have given up here. Damn it, I wish I could see…Ah!’ He was kneeling on the bed, craning to look through the porthole. ‘I can see the Plymouth and I think—yes, they are lowering a boat.’ Alessa stood, heart in her mouth. Would enough go? ‘Twelve. Good. Now we act.’ He caught her to him roughly, bent his head and took her mouth with a possessive arrogance that made her blood sing. ‘Stay behind me, do as I tell you.’ He tipped up her chin. ‘Don’t get hurt, you are very precious to me.’

  Chance jerked his head towards the door, then went to stand behind it, the knife reversed in his fist in the same way she had used on Big Petro.

  ‘Help! I don’t feel well!’ Alessa scrabbled feebly at the door panels. ‘Oh, please help me.’ She stooped and picked up a soft valise, tossing it into a corner. It landed with a soft thud like a body falling. As the door opened she collapsed artistically in the centre of the cabin, arms outflung.

  Chance’s blow took the man completely unawares as he bent over the limp body and he folded up on top of her with a grunt. ‘Ough! Get him off me!’

  But Chance was already dragging the man clear and systematically removing weapons. The haul yielded a cutlass, a long knife and a pistol. Chance handed Alessa back her knife, untied the broad scarlet sash from the man’s waist, swathed it around his own and stuck in cutlass and pistol. ‘Very piratical,’ she said admiringly, flicking at the fringed ends.

  ‘When we get up on deck, I want to look as familiar as possible to those watching from the merchantman. We need to find you men’s clothes.’ Chance edged out into the empty passage and began to search each cabin systematically. Most were empty, but one had a pile of clean, but worn, clothing in it.

  ‘Try those.’ Chance leaned a shoulder against the door jamb where he could watch the passageway.

  ‘Close the door, then.’ Alessa stopped with her hands on the much-abused ribbons at her neck.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, I have seen you naked. Not an hour ago I was kissing—’

  ‘Never mind! This is different.’ Quite how, she had no idea, except that now he made her shy, in a delicious, tremulous way that she wanted to explore. And she did not want to feel like that when they were engaged in a life-and-death struggle.

  Chance grinned and turned a tactful shoulder on her as she scrambled into the smallest pair of cotton duck trousers, cinched them at the waist with a leather belt and pulled a coarse linen smock-shirt over her head. The weight of her plait swinging over her shoulder reminded her that disguise would be more difficult for her than for Chance. She snatched up a bandana, used it to trap her hair on top of her head and planted a broad-brimmed straw hat on it.

  ‘There, perfect.’As Chance turned to look at her she tossed him another bandana and watched admiringly as he wrapped it around his head. With it tied rakishly on his dark hair, the smile he gave her turned his tanned face from that of a respectable English aristocrat into pure pirate. It was devastatingly attractive.

  ‘You look very, um…masculine, in that outfit,’ she mumbled.

  ‘And I do not normally?’ He seemed mildly affronted.

  ‘Of course you do, only like that you look dangerous as well. It is very appealing.’

  ‘Hmm. Remind me when we are out of all this that it might be fun to play pirates.’ The twinkle in his eyes cut through her shyness and made her heart sing. ‘Come on, let’s do it for real.’

  Everywhere they went below decks was deserted. It seemed that the Count had stripped the Ghost to the number necessary to sail it in his desire to search for Chance. ‘We need to find the others, I can’t work the ship without them. Listen. The inimitable sound of your aunt in full flow.’

  The key was in the lock. Chance turned it and opened the door. Lady Blackstone rose to her feet and Alessa could only admire the icy composure of her stance. Behind her Frances huddled on the bed, her arm around the shoulder of the snivelling maid.

  ‘I demand that you take me to the Count immediately,’ Lady Blackstone proclaimed. ‘This is an outrage—Blakeney?’

  ‘And me,’ Alessa slipped under Chance’s arm and into the room. ‘Aunt, are you all unhurt?’

  ‘He would not dare lay a finger on us,’ her aunt said vehemently. ‘But what on earth are you doing, Alexandra? Why are you both dressed like that?’

  ‘So we can take this ship. There are not many crew on board, it is our only hope, but you all have to help.’ She braced herself, waiting for her aunt’s protests that this was impossible, that ladies should not do such a thing, that it would cause a scandal. This was, as she could never forget, the woman who had kidnapped her in the name of convention and saving face.

  ‘Of course,’ Lady Blackstone said briskly. ‘What must we do, Blakeney? Oh, and Dr Cobb is in the next cabin.’

  ‘The one you told I was hysterical and mentally distracted?’ Alessa enquired sweetly.

  ‘Yes, that one.’ Her aunt fixed her with a steely gaze. ‘This is not the time to discuss that now.’ The steel seemed to shimmer into something like regret.’ I am sorry, Alexandra.’

  The doctor, when released, was inclined to fume and bluster until Chance cut through his protests by the simple expedient of thrusting a pistol into his hands. ‘Use the butt,’ he said curtly. ‘I don’t want any gunshots to warn the other ship. Now, this is what we are going to do.’

  Ten minutes later Chance flattened himself just inside the hatch on to the deck as Frances, a vast handkerchief fluttering in her hand, brushed past him and on to the deck. ‘Oh, help,’ she wailed. ‘Mama is sick! Do help.’

  ‘Come in now,’he hissed, and she scuttled back, throwing him a watery smile before vanishing down the companionway.

  There was a sharp order from the bridge, running feet and a man came through the hatch. Chance stuck out a foot, tripped him neatly, bringing him down, and with him the two who were hard on his heels. Three at once was more than he had hoped for.

  Below there was the muffled sound of the doctor applying good medical theory to knocking all three out, and Lady Blakeney, in what she doubtless thought was a whisper. ‘Stop sniveling, girl, and help me drag them into the cabin. Silk stockings, those will do to tie them up. Tight, now…’

  Chance could see the merchantman lying perhaps two hundred yards off. The anchor was down and there was no sign that anyone had noticed anything amiss on the Ghost. He eased out of the hatch doors and worked his way round until the bridge deck was above him. There was no one in front of him: the three who were now safely stowed below must have comprised the deck crew, which was a relief. If they could beat gently up and down with three men, plus, he assumed, the steersman and the sailing master, then so could he.

  Boldly he stepped away from the cover and walked to the companionway leading up to the bridge, making no attempt at concealment. Behind him he heard a gasp. Alessa.

  He climbed the steps, again letting his bare feet slap noisily on the wooden rungs. The steersman was staring straight ahead, his eyes on the sails, the sailing master was leaning on the rail, about to look over, presumably in search of his missing men.

  ‘Buon giorno,’ a cheerful voice remarked. ‘Parliamo italiano?’

  Alessa, damn it, this is not in the plan! What the hell is she playing at? The bastard will shoot her…

  The man, startled, leaned right over, Chance slid up behind him, plucking a belaying pin from the rail as he did so, and hit him neatly over the head. The man folded up and fell with a thud at Ales
sa’s feet. The steersman let go the wheel, then grabbed it again at the sight of the pistol held unwaveringly under his nose.

  ‘Do you speak English?’

  ‘A little words,’ the man said warily.

  ‘You can choose. You steer as I say, or I shoot you. Which?’

  ‘Steer.’ The man nodded vigorously. ‘I steer good.’

  ‘Alessa!’

  ‘Yes, Chance?’ She was right behind him.

  ‘If you ever, ever, do anything that stupid again I will throw you overboard, is that clear?’

  ‘That will keep me safe.’

  ‘Don’t bring logic into this—I am furious with you.’

  ‘Yes, Chance.’

  ‘And don’t pretend to be meek, or I’ll drop you over anyway.’He turned to the steersman, who had been trying to follow this interchange with furrowed brow.

  ‘You see this lady? She is very angry because of the Count kidnapping her. She has been hurt and insulted. She wants to hurt someone.’ Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alessa nodding energetically, a fierce scowl on her face. ‘So I am going to give her this pistol.’ He handed it over, giving Alessa’s cold hand a comforting squeeze as he did so. ‘She does not shoot very well, so she will aim for your fat gut, then she cannot miss.

  ‘Hold it steady for now. Doctor!’ He jumped down to the deck and strode over to where a cannon sat, long, muzzled and black. ‘Let us see how good our aim is.’

  ‘Can you fire one of these?’ The doctor hefted up a shot and looked dubious. ‘Is it large enough for what we need?’

  ‘I’ve fired a starting cannon and I’ve seen a large one exercised at gunnery practise at a fleet review. This is enough for what I want, and they’ll notice if I run one of the big ones out below.’ Chance picked up the rammer and tried to recall exactly what he had seen that day. The risk was overloading or underloading the charge. And they only had one shot and he did not want to risk holing her below the waterline, not with her innocent crew on board. Not much to go wrong, then.

  ‘Right, run her out.’ They strained at the ropes and the long black snout poked though the gun port. ‘Go up and tell that fat rougue at the wheel that you are the Lord High Commissioner’s personal doctor and a man of much power—slowly, he hasn’t much English. Tell him that if he does what he is told, you will order me to release him on shore unharmed. If he does not, then we will shoot him, and, if he survives that, hang him.’

  ‘Right.’ The doctor squared his shoulders. ‘Just so long as you do not expect me to shoot an unarmed man, I will threaten all you like.’

  ‘Give him the impression that I am a dangerous madman, but you can rein me back and save him. When I raise my hand he is to bring her in alongside the merchantman as though we are trying to get within easy hailing distance. Tell him to keep it steady.’

  ‘I understand. And then what are you going to do?’

  ‘Shoot out their rudder.’ There, I said it as if I believed I can do it. He glanced up to where Alessa was holding the pistol steady on the fat steersman, said a quick prayer and turned. ‘Have you managed to get the match alight, Lady Blackstone?’

  Her ladyship, somewhat smudged about her aristocratic features with her efforts with a coal from the mess fire and a length of slow match, produced the results and handed it to him with as much elegance as if she were awarding a trophy after a horserace at Epsom. ‘Is that as you required?’

  ‘Certainly, thank you, ma’am. Could you now go below with the other ladies? This may get rather heated in a few minutes.’

  ‘Shall I take Alessa?’

  ‘I doubt you can get her to go with you. I will try. Alessa! Give the gun to the doctor and go below.’

  ‘No!’

  He shrugged, attempting to conceal his anxiety from Lady Blackstone who produced a wintry smile. ‘My niece, should we live through this, is going to lead you a merry dance, my lord, believe me.’

  Am I that transparent? Apparently yes, if Kate, Lady Trevick and now her aunt can see it. He raised a hand and signalled to the doctor and the Ghost swung its predatory nose towards the anchored merchantman. But can Alessa see it? Does she want to?

  He narrowed his eyes as he crouched next to the gun’s breech, counting off the yards, judging the angle, trying to visualise the ideal point to hit the rudder, trying not to let himself imagine that Zagrede had seen something was wrong, that at any moment the Plymouth Sound’s guns would run out and blast them to hell. He adjusted the angle a touch. Too much? Not enough?

  There was some interest from the other ship, men were coming to the rail. Glancing up, he saw Alessa give a jaunty wave, just as there was an incomprehensible hail.

  ‘What are they saying?’ he shouted up to the wheel.

  ‘What do you, you sons of female dogs?’ the steersman yelled back.

  One minute…steady, steady…Chance lowered the smouldering match to the touchhole, remembered to jump back away from the recoil and prayed.

  The noise knocked him back, choking in the smoke as the gun crashed back on its ropes. He ran along the rail, straining to see.

  ‘Yes!’It was Alessa, dancing a jig on the bridge, the steersman flinching away from the pistol waving under his nose. ‘You’ve got it!’

  There was no time to check, he had to trust it was enough. ‘Get the hell out of here,’ he shouted up to the wheel. ‘Anywhere, just get out of range.’

  The fat pirate at the wheel was as eager as anyone to get out of range of the guns that were slamming out through the gun ports.

  ‘Lady Blackstone, go up there please and take the pistol from Alessa. And please look as though you are capable of putting a bullet in that man.’

  ‘My dear Blakeney—’ her smile sent shivers down his spine ‘—I am perfectly capable of doing just that.’

  ‘Alessa, doctor, down here. Frances, bring that maid. I need you all on the sheets.’

  The first shots crashed out. Chance held his breath, but surprise, unfamiliar guns, and presumably an unsteerable ship, were all acting against the gunners.

  Pushing ropes into their hands, shouting orders at the steersman, Chance chivvied and bullied his makeshift crew into hauling as he demanded. The elegant vessel responded to the clumsy handling like a lady, with scarcely a flap of the sails to show her displeasure when he let the wind spill too quickly, or the women got their ropes tangled.

  ‘Can they catch us?’ Alessa panted as he stopped by her side to add his strength to the rope she and Frances were hanging on to with grim determination.

  ‘No. Even if they are carrying a spare rudder, it isn’t a quick job to fix, and we are going into the first Italian port we come to, not racing them back to Corfu. Leave this rope with me and go below, see if you can find some charts. I’d rather get somewhere friendly before night falls.’

  As he spread the curling charts out on the hatch cover, he puzzled over where they were, but too much time had passed below decks for him to have seen the last landfall.

  ‘Which way?’ Alessa asked. He had taken them all off the sheets as the crippled merchantman vanished in to the haze and, with the exception of the doctor, who had relieved Lady Blackstone with the steersman, they were sitting wearily on hatch covers, fanning themselves.

  ‘That way.’ He pointed.

  ‘How clever of you,’ Frances exclaimed. ‘I have no idea how you work that out.’

  Alessa linked her arm through his and walked him out of earshot. ‘You haven’t a clue where we are, have you? It’s a case of turn right for Italy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He grinned down at her. Something inside him was bubbling up. Relief, happiness. Love. He wanted to tell her, sweep her off her feet and kiss her, here and now. But caution and common sense kept him silent. They were not out of the woods yet. Better to wait until they were safely back in Corfu for the declaration he wanted to make. He wanted all of her attention, he needed to know this was right for her.

  ‘You know how to sail, don’t you?’ she asked, l
eaning back against the mast. ‘You have sailed something more than a little fishing skiff before.’

  Her figure was tantalisingly hinted at under the shapeless lines of the man’s clothing she wore. Her throat was exposed where the neck of the shirt was unbuttoned and her slim calves and slender feet were bare. Under that rakish hat and bandana was a mass of springing black hair, just waiting to be released, and her smile as she watched him touched his skin like a caress.

  ‘I own a yawl,’ he admitted. ‘Not as big as this, but big enough to transfer the skills.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ She watched his face, her own puzzled. Then she gave a sudden crow of laughter. ‘I know! You didn’t want to say in case you couldn’t sail this after all. Men are so funny…’ She took to her heels as Chance gave a growl and reached for her. Laughing, he pursued her back to the others where she dodged behind Frances, who looked startled as they chased each other round her.

  ‘Lord Blakeney, ‘Lady Blackstone uttered with an awful dignity that had them both stumbling to a halt and shuffling their feet in embarrassed silence, ‘is that another ship approaching?’

  Chanced snatched up the telescope that lay beside the charts. ‘Yes, a big one. I think our luck is in.’ He swung himself up on to the rail, grabbed hold and began to climb until he could hook an arm through the rigging and get a better sighting. ‘A man of war. It can only be British. Doctor! Steer for it.’

  He slid down the rigging to the deck and smiled round at his unconventional crew. ‘We’ve done it.’

  And Lady Blackstone sat down with a thump on the nearest hatch cover and burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘And that was almost the worst thing,’ Alessa said feelingly. She wrapped her arms round her knees as she perched on the old bench and willed Kate to understand.

  ‘Because she is always so cool and poised? Yes, I can imagine that was a bit of a shock,’ her friend agreed. Kate, as usual, was perched perilously on the parapet of the roof of their house. The children, as reluctant to move far from Alessa as she was to be out of sight of them, played quietly in one corner with the new kitten Dora had been given by the nuns.