To Surrender to a Rogue (27 page)

She stared at the pale flame, flickering inside the glass globe.

After giving a last little primp to his tousled curls, Frederico pulled a flask of brandy from inside his overcoat and took a long swallow.

"M-might I have a sip?" she asked. It wasn't hard to let a quaver creep into her voice.

His mouth slowly curled "Ask me nicely,
car."

"Trego?
she whispered. "Please."

Frederico laughed, a low, lewd sound that made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. "Oh, I have a feeling you will be saying that quite often during the coming journey to Italy. Remember how you used to beg for my attentions, Alessa?" He leaned close, so close she could feel the heat of the wine on his breath. "Perhaps we shall rekindle that old flame, eh? I always liked your passion."

Alessandra kept her eyes on the flask. "Shall we drink to old times?"

He took another swig before passing over the flask. "There, you see,
cara,
I can be nice, too."

She lifted it to her lips—and then let it slip through her fingers.

A hitch of her hand made sure that it spilled onto the seat right beside her.

"Diavolo,"
snarled Frederico, slapping away her clumsy attempts to pick it up. His face fell as he swirled the remaining contents. "It's almost empty."

"I'm s-o s-sorry," she said, deliberately drawing out her stammer. "But you've no idea how frightened I am." Frederico liked to exert control over his women. The trick was to turn his strength into a weakness. She recalled Jack saying that such a strategy was the key to defeating a powerful enemy.

Looking somewhat mollified, Frederico handed her his handkerchief. "I am sure there will be more spirits aboard the ship."

Brandy fumes wafted up from the wet velvet. Alessandra swallowed hard, knowing she must make her move in the next few seconds. The blood was pounding in her ears, and seemed to be growing louder and louder.

"What's that?" He jerked round, craning his neck to see out the window opposite the door.

Now or never.
Alessandra leaped to her feet with a choked moan. "Oh, I fear I am going to be sick!" She swayed and threw up her hands to steady her stumble. The swipe knocked the near lamp from its bracket, shattering the glass globe. Oil splashed over the brandy, and as the wick touched the fabric, a flame shot up.

"Sit down!" screamed Frederico, fumbling to find his pistol.

An acrid black smoke billowed up from the seat. She kicked the door open and heard the clatter of boots on the cobblestones.

Orrichetti.
Damn, she had been a fraction too late.

Still, maybe she could make a run for it

She scrambled down the iron steps, but just as her feet touched the ground, an arm snaked around her neck and the kiss of cold steel touched her cheek.

"You aren't going anywhere, Alessa," said Frederico.

"Oh, yes. She is." A figure stepped clear of the yawing shadows. "She's coming with me."

"Jack!"

"Yes, sweetheart. I've come to take you home."

lightening his choke hold on Alessandra, Frederico stumbled back from the smoking coach. "Oh, what a pretty scene—the hero comes to rescue the damsel in distress," he sneered after clearing his lungs with a cough. "But this isn't going to have a storybook ending. Throw down your pistol, Lord James, or I'll put a bullet through the lady's brain!"

"I
don't think you would be that stupid, Bellazoni." Jack kept a calm front though his innards were clenched tight as a fist "For in the next instant your own face would be spattered in gory bits across the cobblestones. And I daresay you value your handsome hide far too much to have that happen."

Frederico's eyes betrayed a flicker of indecision.

"So let us be reasonable and come to terms. There's no reason we both can't get what we want Let Alessandra go and you are tree to walk away."

"Ha! You want me to trust in your word of honor?"

"A foreign concept to you," replied Jack. "But be assured that I am bound by my word."

"Let me mink." Frederico slid sideways as he spoke, edging for the head of the carriage. The horses were stomping and snorting, their iron-shod hooves clacking a nervous tattoo on the cobbles as a plume of smoke swirled up from inside the carriage. The echo rattled off the soot-streaked bricks of the surrounding warehouses, all now shuttered tight for the evening.

Jack mirrored the other man's moves, his boot sending a pebble skittering over the uneven stones.

"Orrichetti—," began Alessandra, but Frederico gave a rough jerk to her neck, squeezing off her warning.

"I know, sweetheart," he said. To Frederico he added, "Do that again and you are a dead man."

"You're in no position to make threats." In a rush of backward steps, Frederico splashed through a puddle and pulled even with the coachman's perch. "For all your fancy medals, you are a pathetic soldier, Lord James. You allowed me to maneuver you into certain defeat" His voice now bristling with confidence, Frederico snapped off a volley of Italian to the caped figure on the box above him. "Luigi has orders to shoot if you don't drop your weapon by the count of three.
One"

"Take cover, Jack!" cried Alessandra.

"It's all right, sweetheart."

"Two."

Jack raised his pistol.

Wetting his lips, Frederico hesitated and then shouted
"Three!"

The slap of the sea and the thrum of the wind floated in from the harbor. Off in the distance, a faint rumble of laughter seeped through the planks of a dockside tavern. Overhead, a sign creaked on rusty hinges.

"Luigi!" Frederico was no longer looking so smug. "Fire, damn you." He added a shrill threat in Italian.

"Quindi displace
—So sorry, Bellazoni, but your coachman is not in any condition to hear you. He'll soon wake with a sore head. As for you,
amico..."
Marco shifted his position on the driver's box, his words punctuated by a metallic click. "Release my cousin. And I suggest that you do it this instant—I'm not nearly as patient as Lord Giacomo."

As Frederico looked up in stunned shock, the other oil-filled lamp inside the carriage exploded with a force that shattered the windows. Glass flew through the air and bright orange flames licked out from the splintered casement Eyes wild with fright, the horses reared in their traces, hooves slashing at the air. The impact knocked Marco from his seat.

Bloody hell.

"Take cover, Alessandra!" shouted Jack as he lunged for the panicked animals to keep them from bolting through the unloading wharves. Stacked high with wooden crates of cargo from the Americas, the area would be like a tinderbox. One spark and the whole place would turn into a raging inferno.

Rolling clear of the lurching wheels, Marco grabbed the collar of the fallen coachman and dragged him to safety. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Frederico slip, his foot tangled in the trailing reins.

An oath slipped through his teeth. Diving into the maelstrom of thrashing horseflesh and whipping shackles, Jack ducked under the center shaft. Jagged metal scraped across his knuckles and the oozing smell of mud and sweat clogged his nostrils, making it difficult to catch a breath. He could feel the warm wetness of his own blood trickling between his fingers.

"Damn" he swore, trying to see through the murky blur of spinning shapes. A flash of light blinded him for an instant Lanterns. And voices. The burning carriage had been noticed.

Dodging a kick, Jack dropped to a crouch and spotted Frederico sprawled on the stones, tearing feverishly at the length of leather wrapped around his high-top Hessian.

"Yank off your boot," he called, but his words were drowned in Frederico's scream as the front axle snapped and a flying shard of steel cut a gash across his cheek.

Jack flung himself forward, somehow managing to slip his knife free of its sheath. A quick slash cut the reins, and as he hit the ground, he twisted sideways, pulling the Italian free of the careening wheel.

"Santa Cielo."
Frederico collapsed on the cobbles, moaning like a stuck pig. He touched a hand to his face and when it came away dripping with blood, he promptly puked.

"You're a bloody idiot," said Marco, taking hold of Jack's ripped coat and hauling him to his feet.

Jack shook him off. "Where is Alessandra?"

"Safe and sound. I told her to stand there—" Marco pointed to a sheltered spot between two of the buildings. But there was nothing there now, save a stirring of murky black shadows.

"Son of a bitch!" swore Marco.

"Stay here with Bellazoni." Hauling Frederico to his feet, Jack cocked a fist and hit him as hard as he could. "He won't give you any more trouble," he added as blood spurted from the Italian's broken nose. Then, regripping his knife, he turned and plunged into the alleyway.

"You can't escape—surely you see that," gasped Alessandra.

"Not at all, my dear." Orrichetti sounded unperturbed, as if they were merely taking a pleasant afternoon stroll through the park. "This merely makes my plan even simpler." He veered left as the alley forked into several twisting passageways, quickening his pace through the oozing mud. The path narrowed, forcing them to go single file. She tried to dig in her heels, but the soft leather soles of her shoes kept slipping on the slick of rotted fish scales.

His grip was surprisingly strong, and he still had his pistol. As they hurried past a shuttered window, a gleam of lamplight showed that the snout was pointed at her chest. "While Freddi and your friends create an effective diversion, we will find it even easier to board the yacht and sail out of the harbor unnoticed." He let out a light laugh. "Lord James has actually done me a great favor. Freddi was becoming a nuisance. His hubris was making him far too erratic."

"You're mad. Jack will call out the authorities."

Orrichetti looked back at her, and though they were once again enveloped in darkness, she could just make out the pearly gleam of a smile. "On what charge?"

"Murder," she replied.

"You are quite alive, my dear. And will remain so, unless you do something extremely foolish."

"But your portmanteau is in the carriage. The papers are proof of your guilt."

Their steps slapped through the muck. "We will be long gone before anyone thinks to read through them."

Alessandra decided to hold nothing back. "Jack knows the truth—I passed one of the incriminating letters to the basket lad."

"Did you?" She felt his foot skid. So, finally she had him a bit off-balance. "That wasn't very wise of you, my dear. We had an agreement."

Up ahead, a glimmer of lanternlight showed that the alley was opening onto the cargo wharves. She saw the hulking silhouettes of the stacked crates and barrels—and then the long, lean shape of a familiar figure.

"Alessandra doesn't do deals with the devil."

At the sound of Jack's voice, Orrichetti shot an instinctive look over his shoulder. His attention wavered for only a heartbeat, but Alessandra seized her chance. Lashing out with a stinging blow, she knocked the weapon from his grasp. It hit the brick wall with a thud and exploded with a deafening bang.

In the flash of firegold sparks she saw his expression spasm from disbelief to fury.

"That
was for Stefano." Wrenching tree of his hold, Alessandra darted out of reach and ducked down to pluck the spent pistol from the mud. She was dimly aware of Jack's racing steps and echoing shouts, but all that mattered was. the dark, shadowy shape of her erstwhile friend. "And
this
is for me."

She threw the weapon with all her might and heard the satisfying sound of its
thunk
hitting Orrichetti square in the chest.

He slipped to a knee, and swore a vicious oath. But with Jack closing in on him, he had no choice but to abandon his effort to recapture her.

"You may elude me for now," he called as he spun away into one of the side passageways. "But you'll never escape from my power."

"Yes, you will, my love." Jack gathered her in a fierce hug, his hammering heart drumming against the sweet softness of her body. "His hold on you is over."

"Thanks to your heroics." Her lips feathered over his stubbled jaw. "I...I—"

Much as he wished to hear what she meant to say, he silenced her with a swift kiss. "Time enough for that later, sweetheart Words don't always come easy for me, but I have much to say to you. Now, however, I mean to finish this once and for all."

Her lashes fluttered against his cheek. "Let him go. It doesn't matter."

"No, he's gotten away with his crimes for long enough. I mean to see him brought to justice."

"Giacomo! Alessa!" Marco's shout reverberated off the blackened walls.

"Here!" replied Jack. Brushing another kiss to her brow, he broke away. "And if you let her out of your sight again, I'll break every damn bone in your body," he added as her cousin swept her into his arms.

"Si, si
—and you may slice up my liver for fish bait!" he exclaimed.

"Be careful, Jack," cried Alessandra as he turned to go. "Orrichetti is dangerous."

"So am I," he said grimly.

As he entered the dank passageway, Jack readied his knife. The squelch of his own steps covered any sounds that his quarry might be making, but he decided that speed was more important than stealth. His guess was that Orrichetti would not linger in the warren of alleys. The man was too clever to be trapped like a rat He would seek open ground and from there look to steal a boat or a horse.

As he edged around a sharp corner, a gust of salt breeze stirred the fetid air. An opening appeared, showing a sliver of the loading area. Two iron lampposts flanked the entrance to the cargo wharves, their only light softened by the glow of the rising moon. Several merchant ships were still berthed close to the cobbled cart paths, the seawater lapping gently against their wooden hulls.

Cat and mouse.
The area appeared deserted, though the night watchman had not yet locked the gate. Slipping inside, Jack dropped low and used a row of grain sacks to cover his approach to a better vantage point Off to his rear, a throng of deckhands was still gathered around the smoldering remains of the carriage. He doubted Orrichetti would risk the chance of backtracking and being spotted.

A more likely route was to circle around to the taverns at the far end of the harbor. From there a man could lose himself among the drunken sailors and winding streets. He ventured a peek over the rough burlap but the wharf was piled high with a dizzying array of merchandise— everything from exotic spices and dried fish to spare sailcloth and raw cotton was crammed along the walkways.

Holding his breath, Jack listened for any sign of movement

There it was, close by—the brush of wool against wood.

Jack pivoted and then went still.

This time he heard the faint crunch of shells. Just as he suspected, Orrichetti was stealthily creeping toward the sounds of raucous laughter.

Inching around a mountain of coiled hemp, Jack shot to his feet and hurdled a pile of spruce spars.

The conte burst out from between two rows of sugar barrels and began a weaving run through the crates of nutmeg and mace.

The silvery hair was deceptive—he was as fast and agile as a man half his age. But Jack was quickly gaining ground. Orrichetti slanted a look around as he skidded through a turn. Seeing that the distance between them was narrowing, he suddenly cut to his right and disappeared behind a billowing sheet of canvas.

"Damn," muttered Jack, realizing that they must have stumbled upon a sailmaker's workspace. Rack upon rack of ghostly white cloth fluttered in the night air. He slowed his steps and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

Flap, flap, flap.
He didn't need the whispered warnings to stay alert

At the next gap, he turned to make his way to the perimeter of half-stitched sails. Halfway along the line, the rasp of metal on metal sounded for just an instant Jack ducked, just as a length of anchor chain tore through the canvas, smashing the wooden frame overhead. Spinning sideways, he pushed through the tangle and lunged for Orrichetti. He caught the conte's wrist but Orrichetti twisted and hammered a hard blow to his hand.