The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (11 page)

Dios Mio!
Seaton’s voice ignited a thunderstorm in her belly.

The bulkhead door walloped against the screened wall, nearly coming off the hinge. Light streamed into the crevices around her as men shuffled inside, carrying lanterns.

“It was a bad idea takin’ that woman aboard, Cap’n.”

Seaton didn’t respond.

“Can’t say as I understand why you think she’d be hidin’ down here.”

“Women,” Seaton said, “are nosy creatures.”

God in heaven, her nerves skittered on the precipice. Mercy cringed, fearing discovery as a hissing sound gutted the air near her ear. She bit her hand to keep from crying out, tasting blood.

A bright light illuminated her face.

“
Hola, ratoncita
.”

The fuse lit
loudly, fissuring the air with a sulfuric odor as Garrick peered into Mercy’s hiding place.

He gazed into her frightened eyes, swallowing back unconscionable pain. No one liked to be cornered, especially a spy. Being surrounded by rats was the second thing he and this Spanish
señorita
had in common. Unlike him, she wasn’t held captive by a demented monster. He might look like a demon, but he wasn’t Delgado.

With the French so close behind, the hold was the last place this woman should be. If they took on water, she’d drown. If they suffered a hit, there was a good chance gunpowder in the magazine would explode. In either case, there would be no escape.

What was he supposed to do? Leave her be and pretend he didn’t know where she was? He couldn’t leave a chit exceptionally good at espionage to her own devices, especially when he hadn’t even had the chance to find out what
Capitán
Vasquez had stored in the
Priory’s
cargo hold.

“
Hola, ratoncita
. Come out of your hiding place, little mouse, before the rats take a fancy to you.” There were drawbacks to captivity even he loathed to re-experience. “I confess you are a tempting morsel even rats cannot resist.”

She shifted slightly then exhaled in a huff. “I am
not
a mouse!”

“Then stop hiding like one.”

Infuriated, she inched her way out from between the trunks, mumbling several Spanish obscenities under her breath, cursing him to hell and back. He couldn’t have imagined a more surprising litany for a cultured woman. Her repertoire gave him an interesting perspective into the real lady beneath the beautiful facade. What kind of upbringing had her parents given her?

She took a step toward the light then halted abruptly.

What was she so afraid of? Him? A low growl escaped his throat. His chest tightened as he reached out his hand to lure her forward. “I warned you.”

Mercy avoided his olive branch and turned back, reaching for her skirt. She jerked on the material then lost her footing and bolted forward as the fabric ripped free.

Garrick caught her in his arms before she landed head first on the floor. The shocking contact of her body flush against his sent his nerve-endings spiraling.

Her distrustful eyes blazed with combustive heat. Was she as exceptionally sensitive as him? Or did she find his touch disgusting?

She tried to push him away but he held tight. “I would not be in need of your services,
señor
, if you hadn’t filled my mind with nonsense about the rats.”

“Liar.” His muscles tensed as awareness flooded his body. “You’d already stirred them.”
As you do me.

Her lips parted. “I will admit they startled me at first but—”

“Startled you?” It was probably the other way around, he thought, as he struggled to control his heartbeat.

Several of his men chuckled. He shot them a glaring look of disapproval over his shoulder then turned back to Mercy.

The spitfire put on a brave face even though her entire body shook.

“Why don’t you come right out and admit why you snuck down here to play with vermin in the dark?”

Mercy lifted her chin. “I…” Inches away, she opened her mouth to speak again then wisely closed it, holding her tongue.

She couldn’t fault him for speaking the truth and she knew it. She’d been snooping around his ship and he’d caught her red-handed.

“Did the rats take out your tongue?” He looked hard into her eyes, choking back accusations that made little sense. “What were you doing down here?”

Had she been the one mirroring signals to the enemy ship off the
Priory
’s stern? How long had she been out of his cabin? Was she trying to assist the enemy by sabotaging his ship?

“Answer me before I lose my patience.”

She squeezed his forearms. The close contact of her body against his chest took away Garrick’s breath, making him forget for an instant who he was — where he was. Something about Mercy ignited a cauldron of desire within him.

Was it instant attraction? Aye, she was beautiful. He’d have to lose his other eye not to notice. Was he intrigued by her? Quite possibly. She was incredibly intelligent, perhaps too clever for her own good, a vexing combination sure to impair the simple duty of transporting her back to England. Or was her complacency now a ruse to deliver him into the hands of his enemies once more?

“I will tell you, if you let me go.” She narrowed her eyes when he didn’t respond and yanked her arm. “Get your hands off me, you disgusting brute.”

There had been a time when women had flocked to him, praising his ruggedly handsome face. While he knew what it was like to be trapped and understood Mercy’s anger at being discovered spying below decks, a part of him died yet again.

“Brutish I may be, but that’s no excuse for you to lurk below decks like a bilge rat.”

She huffed. “
You
are no gentleman.”

Her rosewood scent infiltrated his senses in the dim light, arousing him unlike ever before. Her body quivered and a sensual growl erupted from his throat. He let Mercy go so quickly, she almost fell to her knees.

She retreated, putting as much distance between them as she could, massaging her arm. As she backed away, her gaze dropped to the trunk at their feet.

Roddy broke the eerie silence that followed. “What be your orders, sir?”

“Hold where you are.” He gave Mercy his full attention. She knew he spoke to his men, but he also addressed her. She appeared too smug by far. Why?

He wrinkled his brow then arrowed his gaze to the trunk at their feet. “My actions are not in question. Yours are.” He pointed at the trunk surrounded by wood shavings. “Were you trying to burrow your way back to Spain? Or nap with your newfound friends?”

“Ha!” Furious, she pointed a finger at him. “
You
are a fool,
Capitán
. These trunks were erroneously labeled. You should thank me for discovering that fact for you.”

“Thank you?” Taking no offense now, he bowed chivalrously. “When I want help, Mouse, I shall ask for it.”

“Even if you asked me now, I would not be inclined to tell you what I found.” She tipped her nose to the air with a refined quality belying their dank surroundings. “I will tell you one last time,
I
am not a mouse. I have done things you couldn’t fathom,
Capitán
Blade, things requiring the tenacity of a bull. I am not skittish. I do not scurry at the first signs of danger like these rats infesting your ship.”

He stepped closer so only she could hear him. “You should.”

She stared up at him long and hard. He could almost see the wheels of her mind spinning. A denial poised on the tip of her tongue. “And are you not the least bit curious as to what is on board
your
ship?”

“
Very
curious.” His husky answer lingered between them until he stepped back and walked toward his men — wanting, no needing — to put distance between them. “And what did you find on your quest, little mouse? Anything significant?”

Her laughter was instantaneous, throaty, and sensual, entirely overwhelming in the confined space. Her boldness surrounded him like a fishing lure, reeling him in. His lower lip quirked a motion, that, in another life, might have been considered a smile. But he instantly sobered when skin on his cheek tugged excessively, meeting resistance, reminding him of loss, disfigurement.

“Let go of me, you disgusting brute.”

He swallowed a lump of regret.

“This shipment…” she pointed to the rows of trunks beside them, “has been labeled in Latin.
“Danger, do not open.”
I ask you, why would anyone label a trunk filled with nothing but wood clippings ‘dangerous’?”

Garrick regarded the refuse scattered amongst the disrupted gravel on the deck. “You’ve obviously scoured the interior. What did you find?”

Brilliance radiated from her gaze, shocking and awing him at once. “I thought the cases were meant to transport pistols or muskets, but there were no weapons in this one. You have to agree that is beyond strange.”

Strange? He didn’t care about the damned cases. Mercy was
his
responsibility. Lord Melville’s life depended on her making it to England alive. How was he supposed to protect her if she continued to wander off alone?

“Furthermore,” she continued, “these trunks are unnaturally heavy. I ask you, why would trunks be weighted if they are empty, eh?”

As much as it pained him, her logic began to interest him. “That is a puzzling conundrum.”

He gave the trunk a kick. His boot met resistance and the heavy thud echoing about them grounded her theory in fact.

“Birney and Pye.” He waved the men over, praying she wasn’t right.

“Aye, sir,” they replied, stepping forward in unison.

If something had been hidden inside the boxes, could that explain why his ship had been stolen, refurbished, and kept safely docked in San Sebastian?

He glanced at Mercy then pointed at the trunk. “Open the case.”

Mercy let out a strangled cough. “But surely you do not want—”

“What I want and what I must do is no concern of yours. Now,” he said, stepping closer, hovering inches away from her delectable mouth, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll show them how to do it.”

Her stare branded him with unspoken heat. Without saying another word, she nodded, albeit slowly, then sank to her knees. “There is a gear.” She placed her finger in the exact spot. “Here.”

The lock disengaged and a concealed drawer bolted forward. Garrick snapped his fingers at Birney, who lowered the lantern for them all to see what the case hid inside. Gold!

Pye grabbed a handful of doubloons and passed them up to Garrick. “Blimey, Cap’n. Have these been under our noses all along?”

Garrick frowned. “Brilliant.” Not only was he carrying the only answer to Melville’s legal problems, his ship had been transformed into a juggernaut.

“Cap’n.” Birney’s eyes blazed. “Where do you suppose these pieces of eight were headed?”

Where had the gold come from? More importantly, where was it going to? “It makes no difference now. This cache is going with us to England.”

Pye rubbed his head. “Have these trunks been here all along?”

That very question had already danced through Garrick’s mind. Was this the reason Delgado had captured him and taken control of the
Priory
? Had his ship been used to smuggle gold out of England and into the Bay of Biscay without his knowledge? Wouldn’t he have known?

Suspicion lanced through him. He growled low in his throat. “
Capitán
Vasquez is the only one who can answer that question. Too bad we set him adrift.”

Mercy screeched. “You—”

“Open the rest!” he ordered, not giving her time to finish her rant.

The ship listed suddenly. Birney and Pye rolled backwards into the ballast gravel.

“Douse the lights!” Garrick shouted as he and Mercy were catapulted to the opposite bulkhead. He braced his footing then grabbed hold of Mercy’s skirts to hold her upright. Barrels moaned, protesting against their bindings, as the sharp sound of material ripping echoed in his ears.

Birney and Pye scrambled.

Pinned to his chest, Mercy complained. “You promised me, my brother was safe!”

“Pipe down.” He was tired of her melodramatics. “He is.”

The ship leveled out. Before she had time to protest, Garrick hoisted Mercy unceremoniously over his shoulder.

She beat at his back. “How dare you manhandle me! Put me down!”

“Hold still before I paddle your behind.” He was losing his patience. Was the French ship chasing their stern after the gold instead of the
Priory
and Mercy? Lives were of no consequence when greed held sway. If so, that meant extraordinary measures would have to be met in order to escape. He didn’t have time for theatrics.

“Birney. Pye. Do not speak of what you’ve seen here.”

“Aye, sir,” they answered in unison.

“Swear it.”
Devil damn me, I don’t know who I can trust.
“Swear it in Nelson’s name.”

The two pirates looked at each other, their expressions serious. They nodded. “We swear in the good lord’s name.”

“That’s blasphemy!” Mercy exclaimed.

“That’ll do.” His men’s affection and loyalty to Nelson far outweighed any religious preference they employed. “Put everything back the way we found it then report topside.”

“Aye, sir.”

He grabbed the top of Mercy’s thighs and hoisted her over his shoulder before turning for the doorway.

“You filthy cur! Take your hands off me!” When he didn’t respond or do as she asked, she beat on his back. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ve given me no choice. If I can’t trust you to stay in your cabin, you will have to come with me.”