The Rogue’s Prize (14 page)

force behind the capture of Celeste’s

killer. When the ill-timed message came

stating that the
Octavia
was carrying

precious cargo meant for the fox, Frink

had jumped at the chance to claim the

Octavia
. No one doubted the captain

meant to stash the cargo for himself.

Others, including Simon and himself,

believed Frink meant to deliver the

bounty to his benefactor, the man pulling

his purse strings. Is it any wonder that

Frink was blindsided by the only thing

aboard worth pilfering, Lady Constance?

Was she the cargo meant for the fox?

Did she have knowledge of the mole’s

identity?

He’d gone against Frink to save

Constance’s life and cast his mission

into dangerously uncharted waters. Lady

Constance was a hindrance to his cause.

Her very presence in his cabin was

further evidence he’d been so long

without civilized companionship that he

was easily blinded by desires of the

flesh.

He had to refocus, turn his energy

back to his quest. Frink was alive! Held

in chains below, providing him a way to

discover the source of the captain’s

fiendish byplay. And as he sailed north

to return Constance home, he still had

time to question Frink about Josiah

Cane’s whereabouts and his connection

to the fox. Percy smiled. At last, he had

something to look forward to. Even if it

was the last thing he ever did.

Steeling himself against the sway of

the Striker as it cut through rough water,

Percy nodded at Jacko, who appeared

like clockwork at his side.

“There be a storm brewing. Will

you be needing your sextant, sir?”

“Aye, Jacko. We’re in for more

than we bargained for, if my suspicions

are correct.”

Percy lifted the mechanism to his

eye and gazed out upon the expanse

before them, relishing the breeze that

tangled his unbound hair. Something

twinged deep in his gut, a nagging

question he couldn’t quite answer. What

were the odds that Lady Constance

would be on the very ship Whistler had

identified to Frink?

“Jacko?” he asked. Between them,

he and Jacko had experienced enough

deception that a scenario like this

wouldn’t come as a surprise.

“Aye, Captain.”

“Where’s Frink now?”

“In the hold, sir. We figured, if we

wanted him to make it to London alive,

we’d have to segregate him from his

crew.” Jacko’s brow rose comically and

he nodded his approval. “Many of the

Octavia
’s men offered to guard him.”

Percy quirked his brow. “With

good intentions, no doubt?”

“I’m sure that be the way of it, sir,”

Jacko agreed with an impetuous smirk.

“Alert

the

guards,

I’ll

be

questioning the captain in a few hours.”

“Aye,

sir.

Has

something

happened?”

“I’ve

encountered

some

new

information,” he said, unwilling to

divulge anything more at the moment.

Jacko sucked in his breath. “Tell

me the girl isn’t involved, sir.”

Percy wished someone would tell

him the very same thing. Lifting the

sextant to eye-level, Percy scanned the

horizon, and then calculated their current

position. They’d attacked the
Octavia
at

the English Channel’s widest girth. The

wind was steady with occasional gusts

that hinted a storm brewed just over the

horizon. With a good wind, it would take

eight days to reach London. Lowering

the v-shaped contraption, he stared at the

horizon with contempt, the futility of

their situation hitting him full force.

They’d be lucky if they beat the storm.

Jacko seemed to read his thoughts.

“We’ll get her home, sir.”

“That’s not the only thing I’m

worried about, Jacko,” he confided. He

pointed to the horizon. “We’ll need

every hand available to get past that.”

The Channel had a way of whipping up

sudden storms packing all of Poseidon’s

fury.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Jacko said.

“Our men are well-trained and we have

what’s left of the
Octavia
’s crew. And if

Frink’s men know what’s good for them,

they’ll man the braces with the rest of us.

We follow orders. That’s what we do

best. That’s what keeps a sailor alive.”

“Do you think we can get Simon’s

niece back home in one piece?”

“We’ve sworn to do riskier things,

sir.” Jacko’s honesty shook him. In truth,

he was right.

He nodded. Simon was a hard man.

When you signed with Danbury, you

signed on for life, swearing to endure

anything until the job was done. If Simon

told you to do whatever was in your

power to attain a madman’s trust, you

did it in spite of your misgivings,
if
you

had any. Simon had trained them all,

twenty men total, and extremely well.

“How is her Ladyship faring?”

Jacko asked.

Percy peered down from the

sextant. “Exhibiting much more spunk

then I thought her capable of.”

“Not hard to imagine,” Jacko

jested. “She
is
Simon’s niece.” Jacko

squinted toward the north. “If she has but

one ounce of Danbury in her, we should

expect no less.”

“She’s shown her meddle more

than half.” Percy smiled, remembering

how she’d used a bed warmer to

neutralize Saracen and how easily she’d

melded into his embrace.

“You can ill afford to be swayed by

the fact that she’s a woman, sir. She’s

untainted, thanks to your quick thinking,

and Simon will want her back that way

— completely unscathed.”

A growl rumbled up from his core.

“Say what you mean.”

“The men expect you to claim your

reward.”

“What about you, Jacko?” he asked.

“I know you, sir. You’ve sacrificed

everything for this,” he said, pointing

toward the crew scuttling along the deck.

“Lady Constance is as fine as they come.

I think you’ll have a hard time resisting

her, especially if she shares your cabin.”

Jacko was right to warn him off.

Simon had tackled Robert Surcouf, one

of the most successful corsairs France

had culled in the Indian Ocean, and lived

to tell the tale.

“What would you do?” he asked.

Jacko winked. “I’m not you,” he

said. “But consider the ramifications.

Lady Constance is not weak-willed. If

you seduce her, she could demand your

life for it.”

Percy’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Be a good man and fetch me some

grub.”

“Will you not be taking your meal

with her Ladyship?”

“No,” he said.

“Aye.” Jacko grinned. His quick-

footed retreat left Percy unsettled.

Food was the furthest thing from his

mind. Instead, images of Constance’s

naked body, strawberry blonde curls,

cherubic face, and silken limbs teased

his senses. “Damn your hide, Jacko,” he

grated through clenched teeth. He was a

cad, and being reminded of that fact did

not sit well.

The sea crested and foamed,

mimicking his riotous thoughts. He

raised his eyes heavenward, and then

cast them back to the swells. There was

a storm brewing, on the sea and in his

heart.

Percy strapped himself to the helm

and prepared for the worst.

• • •

missive and held it beneath tempered

candlelight, fuming with rage as he read

the hastily scribbled note, which had

been blotched by drizzling rain.

No one has seen your

intended for nigh a week.

After some extensive research

into

the

matter,

I’ve

concluded that the lady in

question has run.

Never fear, I will continue

the search.

Your dutiful servant,

Josiah Cane.

Embroiled with rage, Burton threw

the note his butler had just handed him

into the fireplace. He watched the edges

ignite, inwardly laughing at the irony.

Months of wooing Lord Byron Danbury

into giving him permission to marry his

only child appeared to have been for

naught. In horrible financial straits, the

duke had been only too willing to merge

their two families in order to release his

creditors. He’d also had the untimely

misfortune of not being able to keep his

daughter under control.

Providence had given Burton a

fortune to wield at his whim. His shrewd

business sense had grown an empire.

The only thing left to continue his

pretense was a woman to complete the

façade, a woman of gentile breeding —

one above reproach.

Burton did not delude himself. He

was an older man, not the kind a young

woman craves, fit and eager to flatter,

though his cravings lent themselves to

women of the very young persuasion. He

knew the only way he was going to get a

woman above reproach was to marry a

young, impressionable one, which would

also satisfy both needs. To do so quickly

meant finding such a one from the

meager stock of families in want or need

of financial gain. Yet, that stock had to

be of noble blood, of that requirement he

would not waver. And, due to a

questionable business venture, he had a

short amount of time to conceal his

deceit by drawing attention away from

his trade dealings and onto his personal

life.

He made it clear he cared not if the

Duke of Throckmorton’s brother, Simon

Danbury, was blamed for placing the

family fortune in jeopardy, which had

been his best-selling point. His only

concern was getting what he wanted. If

that meant helping Danbury’s finances

plummet in order to get it, so be it.

Lady Constance was a rarity. He’d

recognized that fact the moment he’d set

eyes upon her. She was chaste, pure, and

thoughts of teaching her ways to satiate

his carnal lusts filled him with

unquenchable fire. It had been no small

feat to keep his hands off of her these

past few months. The fact that he’d

frightened her off with his violent vow

of affection only fueled his desire to

attain her betrothal.

He did not take Lady Constance’s

rejection at his home a week ago lightly.

Nor did he take the news with stride that

the frightened twit had run from their

impending engagement. Pulling the bell,

he beckoned for one of his maids, a tasty

young morsel he’d recently acquired.

Until he found Lady Constance and led

her to the chapel altar, the young maid

would slake his needs well enough. If

she didn’t, he had ways of ensuring he

got his way.

CHAPTER SIX

Constance stood at the far end of the

captain’s cabin and stared out the grand

windows to the agitated water in the

Striker
’s wake. Powerless to champion

her family, to plead for her aunt’s

intervention, she had nothing to look

forward to now but misery. There were

no supporters to her cause aboard ship,

save Mrs. Mortimer, and London, their

final destination, provided no relief. In a

stroke of rotten luck, the heartbreak

she’d given her father led her straight

back

to

Throckmorton

House

in

disgrace, to Lord Burton, his marriage

proposal, and repugnant touch.

Her last impression of Burton

resurged. His unreadable eyes and

bulbous lips twisted cruelly when she’d

made her rejection plain. Portly, not

much

taller

than

she,

she’d

underestimated him. Though outwardly

he’d exuded a gentlemanly demeanor in

all their previous meetings, he was no

gentleman, no matter how diligently he