The Rogue’s Prize (11 page)

don’t think Simon would think kindly of

her returning sorely used.”

“Right.” He frowned. “How about

slightly used?”

A smile widened Percy’s lips. If

anyone were going to slightly use the

girl, it would be him. “What brings you

below deck, Ollie? I counted on you

being at the helm.”

“Frink’s crew, what’s left of ’em,

have agreed to terms. The others, those

what fought and refused to sail, are

floating like bloated whales in one of the

Striker
’s boats, headed to France.”

Ollie’s wicked cackle raised the hair on

his arms. They weren’t supposed to set

any of the men free and France and

England were at war.

“Why didn’t you put them in the

hold? Simon wanted them — alive.”

“There wasn’t room, Cap’n, not

with what Frink had pulled from the

Octavia
and stored in the hold. With

Collins, Guffald and his men, our own

men and now some of Frink’s men

aboard, we would’ve been playing with

fire if we thought we could control the

lot of them at once, especially those

loyal to Frink.”

Percy weighed the truth in Ollie’s

explanation and nodded. His mate was

right. According to his calculations, they

were eight days from London. The last

thing he needed was another mutiny on

his hands.

“Then that will have to do,” he

said.

“One other thing, sir.”

“Yes?” he asked.

“We, ah, well, sir, we pulled Frink

from the drink. He’s aboard, sir.”

“Frink?” Percy swallowed a heavy

lump in his throat. He hadn’t killed the

man? “How?”

Ollie’s hands began to move as he

talked. “Seems that after you fought the

captain, he recovered long enough to

swim away from the ship before it sank.

Our men pulled him aboard, but didn’t

recognize him at first. They threw him in

with the lot of ’em in the hold. Didn’t

want to bother you earlier in the night.

Thought you might like some privacy

with the girl. But this morning the

captain made a ruckus. I need to know

what you want us to do with ’em, sir.”

The ramifications were horrendous.

With Frink on board, his captaincy, his

control over the other men was at risk.

With the captain in the hold, Constance’s

life was in jeopardy. But with Frink

alive, he still had the potential

connections he needed to find the man

responsible for Celeste’s death.

“Leave him be for now, Ollie. He

can’t do any harm to us in chains.” At

least that was his most prevalent hope.

“Will do, Cap’n.”

“What about Guffald?” he asked.

“That conniving cuss has been

through worse. He got a good knot to his

noggin’, a few cuts and bruises, nothing

serious. The sawbones has patched him

up.”

“Where is he?”

Ollie smiled. “He’s with Collins’s

men.”

“Understood.”

Percy

frowned.

Something didn’t add up. But what, he

couldn’t be sure. He’d fought with

Guffald in the worst of conditions. The

man was a member of Nelson’s Tea.

However, Henry had not been privileged

to the information that Percy had while

working undercover for nearly a year.

Now was not the time to plunge Henry

into his methodical scheme. Not with a

personal vendetta on the line.

“What about Collins?” he asked,

his hand on the knob to his cabin door.

“Was the sawbones able to patch him

up?”

Ollie’s eyes fixated on the boards

beneath their feet. “Succumbed to his

wounds, the captain did. Not a good

sight, sir.”

What more could be said? He’d

done his best to save Collins. They’d

each made a pact in the event of certain

death at the hands of the enemy.

He lifted his gaze to meet Ollie’s

misted eyes. “Understood,” he said.

Captain Collins had been one of the best

nautical minds under the British flag. He

would never forget the man’s painful

expression, his concern not for his own

wounds but for Lady Constance, the

woman lying in his bed. “Tell the men

he’s to receive a proper burial at sea.”

Ollie nodded. “The word has

already been given, sir.”

“You’re a good man, Ollie,” he

admitted, slapping the man on the

shoulder. “What would I do without

you?”

Pride lit up Ollie’s eyes. “You’d be

at the bottom of the locker, I wager.”

Percy smirked. “At least I would

have had a delectable wench to keep me

company.”

“That is true,” Ollie said. His

second in command breathed deeply,

furrowed his brows and then cleared his

throat. “Been meaning to ask you, Cap’n.

What do you plan to do with Danbury’s

niece?”

“Good question, Ollie.” He tapped

his chin. “We’ll return her to her uncle

as quickly as possible. Until then, I’ll

keep her in my cabin,
away
from the

men. No one is allowed near her,

understood?”

“Aye. But who will keep her away

from you, sir?” Ollie suggested.

Halfway through the door, Percy

glanced back over his shoulder. “God

only knows, Ollie. God only knows.”

Ollie grinned. “If you get tired of

trying — ”

“Simon’s niece is off limits,” he

reminded him.

“Aye, sir!” Ollie saluted.

“Sound quarters. We’re headed

home. I’ll be up momentarily.”

“Aye, sir.” Twisting his toe on the

deck boards, Ollie added, “Would you

be wanting the galley to heat some

victuals?”

Percy nodded, imagining Constance

would be quite hungry when she awoke.

He rubbed the back of his neck against

the strain she’d already imposed upon

him. Collins had been known for

extravagant meals aboard his vessels.

Surely a good meal would assuage her

spirits. But what of his own?

“Aye,” he told Ollie. “I’ve built up

quite a hunger.” A hunger for revenge, a

taste for blood staunched only by the

death of those responsible for ending his

sister’s life.

Ollie shuffled away. Percy watched

his

man

disappear

down

the

companionway toward the galley. Josiah

Cane’s name and unanswered questions

inundated his mind. He was starving, but

not for food. He was eager to find out

who Josiah Cane was. Desperate to

know what kind of connections the man

had with Frink. Hungry for revenge and

the satisfaction achieving his goal would

bring.

“Hello?”

a

woman’s

voice

heralded, tearing him away from the

trials he calculated were near at hand.

Her voice sent a rush of desire straight

to his loins. Sultry, inviting, it enticed

him to close the door to the outside

world and disappear inside her flesh. He

closed the door and focused on the nude

form sitting up in his bed, hair in

complete dishevel, completely unaware

of her sensual allure.

All at once, he was seized by a

different kind of hunger.

CHAPTER FIVE

Constance’s muscles rebelled. She

stretched her limbs and stared at another

cabin

ceiling.

The

dark

wooden

paneling, polished to a burnished sheen,

revealed little as to her whereabouts.

Confused, she sat up on her elbows, her

eyes instantly alert as they focused upon

the

opulently

carved

window

encompassing the lighted end of the

room. Perplexed and frightened, she

gazed about. Nothing looked familiar.

Not the rich red brocade draperies

cascading down the corners of her bunk.

Not the large window, where light

radiated across the floor, or the

accessories — rope, lanterns — lining

the polished walls. She’d never been

inside a captain’s cabin before but

knew, without doubt, she had to be in

one now. But whose? Captain Collins’s

or Captain Frink’s? She had little to no

memory to indicate which.

Shaking her head to clear it,

Constance focused on several voices

streaming through a slight opening in the

doorway. One, in particular, seemed

vaguely familiar.

“I’ve built up quite a hunger.”

Her eyes widened with recognition

when she sighted the tall, dark

blackguard entering her cabin. Her

heartbeat jumped at the sound of
his

voice. She wanted to flee, to find a way

out of the tiny confines of the room, but

before she could choose an option, the

door closed behind him, cutting off any

avenue of escape.

The menacing man leaned against

the closed door. He took his time staring

at her, and then stepped forward.

Dressed in black from head to foot, the

pirate glared at her with a knowing gaze.

His open appraisal made her all too

aware she was in
his
room,
his
bed.

Instinctively, she gripped the sheet

higher before realizing it was but a

modest partition between them, one he

could easily cast aside should he so

choose.

“Little blossom, that sheet will not

protect you if I decide to delve between

your legs.” At her loud gasp, he laughed.

Setting

aside

her

modesty,

Constance slipped her feet to the edge of

the bunk, intent on proving she wasn’t

afraid of him. She wanted desperately to

prove she would not be subjugated. But

she gasped again, this time with shock.

“Where are my clothes?”

“You’ll not be needing them,” he

said.

She struggled to breathe. “What do

you mean I’ll not be needing my

clothes?”

Even before the question came out

of her mouth, his meaning was clear. An

abysmal vulnerability unlike any she’d

ever experienced forced a heated blush

into her cheeks. He stepped closer,

looming above her like a hawk stalking

prey. She shrank back, scurrying on her

hands and feet until her back braced

against the wall, intent on putting as

much space between herself and the

deplorable scoundrel as possible.

“Nothing can come between us,

Constance, including clothes.”

His alarming grin proved he meant

to ensure every word. Beads of sweat

broke out on her brow as her mind

labored for a response. Something

wicked churned in her stomach as her

mind labored over a memory, the

sensation of the two of them without

clothes,

their

bodies

scandalously

intertwined,

his

warm

fingers,

comforting touch, and his heart pounding

underneath her ear.

“How do you know my name?” she

squeaked, trying desperately to block out

the condemning images.

“Did you honestly expect me to

believe your lies about being Admiral

Duncan’s daughter? The man died quite

seasoned. His daughters most assuredly

wed and bedded before you were born.”

His penetrating gaze darted over her

body. “How old are you?” he asked. “I

wager nineteen — at most.”

He moved closer, his knee resting

on the edge of the bunk. Reaching out to

grab a lock of her hair, he added, “Too

young to be Duncan’s daughter,” he

continued, “and far prettier.”

Unsettled, she snatched back her

hair. Indignantly, she spat, “You

irritating simpleton! My age is of no

consequence to you.”

“Yet you claim to be one of

Admiral Duncan’s daughters. Who is the

simpleton?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“If I must,” he said with a wave of

his hand, acting as if the effort drained

him. But it was the look in his eye that

warned her not to insult him again.

She quivered. He stood and

crossed the room until he was positioned

by the door again. He leaned against it