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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?’
