The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(71)

“Hurry it up, princess,” the pirate growled. “Don’t keep me waitin’.”

“Comin’.”

She bit her lower lip to control her fears. Would the fake Regent harm John if she didn’t return quickly enough? If she attacked her guard in the darkness and returned without him, would that just earn her the impostor’s wrath and thereby cause him to harm John? The very thought of losing him unleashed something feral inside her.

Oriana lifted the box, hoping its newfound weight would mislead these men into thinking, however briefly, that they had Charles’s gold.

“Hand the chest to me,” the pirate said, advancing on her in the darkness.

Without hesitation, she passed the small trunk to her guard. “Take it. Do with it what ye will.”

He gave it a shake. Items jingled and clanked, drawing a wickedly satisfied grin from the man. “Move,” he said, prodding her back to the main cellar.

“Here’s the box,” the unrepentant pirate told the Regent when they arrived.

The impostor jerked the latch. “Where’s the key?”

“I don’t have it,” she said, exchanging a look with John.

“You don’t have it?” the supposed Regent asked.

“My brother,” Oriana supplied, “carried that chest from the Viper before it sank. He left it down here before you came to rescue Lady Chloe, and he was forced to escape. He must have taken the key with him.”

“I see.” The Regent pinched his nose and paced several times, his gait slightly awkward.

Murmurings erupted in the depths of the tunnel. Had his goal been to steal Charles’s gold for himself? Her support for this Regent’s plan was fading every moment that went by as his crew’s vocal complaints grew. He turned and regarded his men, shoving the box into one of his companion’s hands. “We’re running out of time. We must go.”

“Go?” She glanced at John, reining in her emotions and fighting to think clearly. She was valuable to these men now, but for how long? If she kept silent, she’d stay alive, but she could not let them hurt him. “I am not goin’ anywhere.”

“And why not?” the Regent asked, cocking his brow. “It’s not safe for you here, Miss.”

“The Roost is my home,” she said. “I belong here.”

“With Mr. Hunt, you mean?” Almost as an afterthought, the Regent pointed to John. “I thought he meant nothing to you.”

Horror dried her throat, but she forced herself to speak as normally as possible. “I . . . feel safer with him.”

The Regent rested his hands on the hilt of his sword, now sheathed in its scabbard, his eyes penetrating her defenses. “And you do not feel safe with me and my men, is that what you’re saying?”

Torn by wanting to save John and needing him by her side, she rooted her feet to the floor. She stood her ground, motionless, her heart sinking in her chest. “That isn’t what I meant.”

But the Regent wouldn’t be swayed. “Haven’t we helped you enough by giving you two carpenters to rebuild your tavern?”

If he really was the Regent, she couldn’t argue with that. Instead, she nodded. “Aye.”

He regarded her for several tense moments and then waved his hand, dismissing the conversation like a servant swatting a fly.

Pressure seemed to be building among his peers. Oriana couldn’t count them all, but she guessed there were six or seven men clamoring for the Regent to leave. Some argued behind him, pushing and shoving, their rumbling voices declaring how combustible the situation had become.

In response, the masked man fidgeted, one hand still on his sword, the other on the butt of his pistol. “Let’s go.”

Oriana wasn’t clothed for travel on the open sea. She’d catch her death in more ways than one. “I’ll go as long as ye promise not to hurt John.”

“I don’t have time to squabble over particulars.” The Regent eyed John coldly. “Grab him!”

“No! Don’t hurt him!” With her knees threatening to buckle, Oriana flung her hand out and placed her body between the Regent and John. “I said I’d go!”

“Oriana!” John dragged Oriana behind him. With his legs spread and arms wide, he raised his fists to fight the pirates launching toward them. “Stay behind me!”

In the ruckus, Oriana was forced back against the stone wall, where she struggled to get the dagger John had given her out of her sleeve. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs, and her hands shook. John had no way to protect himself! Clumsily grabbing at the blade, its tip cut into her arm. “Oh!”

John glanced back at the sound of her voice. Then his gaze shifted to the blood oozing through her fingers.

In the split second that John’s guard was down, his opponent grabbed him by the throat. He grunted, clawing at his assailant’s arms and spinning, trying to dislodge the pirate from his back. But it was no use. The man held firm.

She had no time to retrieve the dagger. Fearing these men would kill John before her eyes, Oriana rushed toward a stack of tightly bound bags of tobacco. She grabbed one, turned, and waited for the precise moment to strike the pirate’s head. Hauling back, she hit her target. The pirate stiffened before he let go and collapsed at John’s feet.

John broke free, coughing and sucking in mouthfuls of air. Oriana gazed into his eyes. In that moment, the blood drained from her head to her feet. His stare was murderous, lethal, and his subsequent actions practiced, methodical. Suddenly, besieged by fear unlike any she’d ever known, Oriana realized John planned to fight to the death for her.