The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (22 page)

Percy had done well to establish a sanctuary for his wife and son. Would Garrick eventually be in the same situation? He frowned ruefully. Who could love a monster?

He poured himself another drink then glanced at the side table, locating a miniature of Percy’s sister, Celeste. The poor young woman had been Lord Burton’s second target, Percy’s father the third. Ironically enough, the sheltered daughter of a mourning duke, Constance had suffered the most, when she’d learned that her mother Olivia — Mercy’s aunt — had been Burton’s first and heinously twisted, disturbing kill in his quest to amass wealth.

True evil lurked behind the blemish-free and enticing faces of normality, complacency, and tolerance. And there were an unfortunate few who failed to recognize that truth.

Damn the lot to hell! What had they ever done for him? Le bon ton
would forever link him to immoral men based on his outward appearance alone.

The glass in his hand broke into shards, drenching his leg in brandy.

“What have you done?” a voice called from the study doorway.             

He snapped his head toward the entrance knowing who he would find standing there watching him. It was Mercy, her mouth slack, her eyes sparking to life with something he’d never seen in them before… torment? Within seconds, she clamped her mouth shut, dropped her night shawl, and came rushing toward him scantily dressed in an embroidered ivory nightrail.

She went to her knees on the oriental carpet near his legs.

“What are you doing? Jeffers will clean up the glass.”

“You’re bleeding,” she cried, swooping in to aid him like an avenging angel, without concern for broken glass, brandy, or… their close proximity.

“You shouldn’t be here.”
Devil damn me, but I’m glad she is.
The Spanish hoyden had sunk her talons into his soul and if she left him now, she’d tear it to shreds.

She ignored his suggestion, inspecting his hand for wounds. She, who balanced the importance of others over herself, was the second person who haunted his dreams. She was the only one he didn’t want to forget. The only person who had taken precedence over Esmeralda since that day he’d seen her dangling from the railing of his ship, five feet from certain death.

“No puedo nadar!”
Her lie pounded in his inebriated brain.

“What has come over you?” she asked.

He drew back his hand only to have her snatch it back. “It’s nothing.”

“You are wrong,” she said, administering aid. She grabbed the bottle next to him and poured more brandy over his wounds, her nearness stirring his senses.

Blood oozed between his fingers, coating her soft skin. He studied his hand in hers more closely, distancing himself, pushing back images of Esmeralda’s broken body. He’d been responsible then.

What is wrong with me? I didn’t even feel the glass pierce my skin or the alcohol dousing my raw nerves, but the sight of blood on this woman cleaves me in two.

“Leave me alone.” He flinched at his lethal tone. “You should run as far away from me as you can, while you still have the chance.”

She shook her head and leaned back on her heels, gathering up her nightgown. “Your blood is just as precious as anyone else’s.”

“Is it?” He bit his tongue, despising the words fighting to be freed from his mouth.
I am a monster. I don’t deserve to be treated like a human being.
Why wasn’t she like all the others? Why didn’t she stare at him and turn away fighting the urge to be sick? It would be so much easier to do his job and leave her afterward if she did. He hadn’t drunk enough brandy not to know the truth. Mercy wasn’t any different. Their time together had been thrust on them. She didn’t really
want
to be with him now. Hers was a merciful nature, nothing more. Once his wound was tended, she would again place distance between them. And once the danger of her circumstances in England had passed, once the evidence she carried had secured Melville’s freedom, she’d find the Duke of Blendingham’s introduction to society preferable to being harnessed with a pirate. She’d desire someone else… anyone else.

All good things came to an end.

Her thick eyebrows pulled down over her fiery eyes. “Why do you prize others over yourself?”

Hounds’ blood, how deep into his soul could she see?

Before he could form a denial, Mercy ripped the hem of her nightgown and yanked the fabric until she had enough to make a bandage, exposing her slender ankles. With the cloth in hand, she poured another tumbler of brandy.

“Is that to help ease the pain?” Nothing would ever be that strong.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She downed the glass with one swallow and a low growl of appreciation erupted from her throat.

“Is that necessary?”

“Essential.” She smiled wickedly and poured another glass.

“This isn’t a tavern.” What was she thinking drinking alone with a man? “Don’t forget yourself.”

“I never do.” She raised the glass again.

This time, he reached out to take it, thinking she meant to medicate him.

Instead, she tipped the tumbler and poured more brandy over his injuries to cleanse his wound. “I’ve seen minor injuries like this fester. I’ve learned never take anything for granted, no matter how small and unnecessary. You, of all people, should know that by now.”

“Aye.” That was the problem. She could take care of herself. He’d seen her in action. It would be so easy to walk away, to let her work her wiles on someone less suspecting. But she intrigued him, tempted him. He wanted her and devilish good that would do either of them. Desire would get one of them killed, most likely her.

He stared at her bent head, desiring to reach out and thread his fingers through her beautiful hair without fear she’d read too much in his actions. She’d bathed. There were no traces of the cabin boy left as a barrier against his lust. Her black hair shimmered in the hearth light like a heavenly night sky, reminding him of his youth and the countless wishes he’d made on stars over his head. Futile pastime… wishing.

If he could go back to simpler times, he would. He’d wish to have met Mercy instead of Esmeralda. Would fate have been more kind? Or would her sightless eyes be forever smelted into his mind?

She glanced up at him, concern etched on her face. “Did you have another episode?”

Episode? Is that what one called his spiral into hell?

He glanced down at the bandage she’d created around his palm then flexed his fingers, appreciating her medicinal skill.

“Have you heard upsetting news about the duke?”

Sink and scuttle me, she’s relentless.
“I’m impatient. That is all. Percy has been gone too long.”

She lifted her watery gaze. “Do you think something has happened to him?”

Did he dare confide in her? “I’ve begun to suspect it.”

Her kissable lips curved upward, drawing him like an insect incapable of resisting nectar from a flower in full bloom. He wanted to taste her, touch her, give in to the need building inside him.

Admit it, Garrick. You want to get lost in Mercy’s arms. She makes you feel whole again. And you’d do anything to experience that feeling, including sacrifice your soul for one second of bliss.

“That is what scares me.”

Shocked out of his quandary, he scoffed as if she’d read his mind. “You? Afraid?”

“Don’t be shocked. I was not always a spy. Sometimes I think like a woman.” She drew back onto her heels and placed her bloodstained hands on her knees.

“You’ve proven you’re more than just a woman.” He drank her in. He’d met no one who thought of everyone else — except herself — other than Gillian. “Your gown is ruined.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

He cleared his throat. “If you knew where my thoughts strayed, you’d understand why.” His heart beat rapidly, thumping against his ribcage like an animal demanding to be fed after a lengthy drought. Blood clung to her white gown near one nipple, revealing its telltale shape. If he expected to retain his stoic behavior while she sat partially covered before him, he needed to change the subject and fast. “Percy should be arriving soon.”

Where had that inane thought come from? They had just discussed the duke’s ill-timed delay.

“There will be much to deliberate when he does.” Her probing stare unnerved him. “I hope to one day know my cousins as well as you do.” She smiled thoughtfully. “Perhaps when Percy returns and Lord Danbury has all the evidence he needs to win Lord Melville’s freedom, I’ll be given that chance.”

Something melted inside him. This woman, so young, innocent, and vulnerable, practically an orphan, held on to the idea of family even when confronted with certain danger. She hadn’t been sheltered from violence in ways he’d only begun to understand, and yet she’d sacrificed more than enough to realize fate always had other plans. How did she find it within herself to keep going when life kept dealing her massive blows?

He reached out his bandaged hand, letting it hover like a flag of truce between them, daring to trust he could behave
if
she willingly took it within hers.

This was Percy’s home. She was Constance’s cousin. As such, he respected and valued the friendship he’d built with the Blendinghams enough to know his place, to behave like a gentleman, though it went against every basic urge racing within him at the moment.

Barely dressed as she was, Mercy was a virginal temptation neither of them could afford. Covered in his blood, she reminded him of a lamb sent to slaughter. He wanted to tear the stained nightgown from her shoulders, to watch it pool about her feet, revealing her perfectly formed naked body. He wanted to trail his lips along her skin, taste her, sample her charms, to feel like a man again, desired and complete.

Absolute madness!

Where was the end to his agony? He couldn’t stop envisioning her glistening with sweat beneath him, panting, clawing at his back as she reached one glorious pinnacle after another. A passionate creature, he knew she’d be his match in every possible way.

He swallowed the thickness coating his throat. “Why are you here, sneaking about this late at night? I thought you’d be asleep in your chamber hours ago.”

She frowned, gazing at the hearth as if drawn to its warmth, secrets only the flames could tell her. “Sadly, I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about the gold, the maps I discovered in Eddie’s cabin — your cabin,” she corrected. “I cannot stop thinking about Eddie’s plans to sail to Calais.”

“Why torture yourself? We already know these things.”

“But they keep replaying over and over again in my head.” She scowled. “What use is this information now?”

“Every bit of information we gather is useful. We just might not know it yet.”

She balled her hands into fists, the dried blood creating patterns in her skin. “Why was Eddie held back from Trafalgar when he had a capable ship to use under Villeneuve’s command? Why hide the gold so long?”

“We have no idea how long that gold has been stored in the
Priory
.”

She crossed her arms, bringing the shape of her breasts into further relief. “Your ship has not gone anywhere since it was taken from you.”

“Perhaps the gold was loaded from a visiting ship to fund Napoleon’s war effort.”

She negated his suggestion with a shake of her head. “No. It can’t be that easy. I keep piecing together every detail. No matter how hard I try, I can’t help but think I’m missing something vital.” She lowered her hand and plucked at the raw edges of her hem. “I can
feel
it in my bones.”

Mercy rose then and moved toward the fire, making him care more about the flesh silhouetted beneath her clothes, her shapely long legs, tight bottom, and perfectly round breasts.

She extended her hands to warm them, giving him a perfect view of said attributes. “I simply couldn’t sleep knowing that I might be to blame for putting Percy in danger.”

“I assure you, you haven’t put Percy in danger, and the duke can handle himself.”

“There are so many other things to consider besides Percy’s safety,” she confided, moving away from the fire to pace before him. “I have considered the facts, sorted every scenario inside and out.”

Garrick’s mouth felt like it was full of sand. “And what have you decided?”

“I cannot stay here. My presence is a threat to Constance and especially to little Oliver.”

She was wrong. Percy could,
would
protect her. “There is no doubt in my mind this is the safest place on earth you can be. Percy is entirely too clever to be caught unawares, and you’d best remember it.”

“You are that sure of him, his… abilities then?”

“Aye.” His ribs squeezed tight, and he forced a smile, wishing more than anything the same could be said about him. “More than the air I breathe.”

“How long have you known him?”

Laughter sprang from Garrick’s mouth. The very idea that idle chitchat entertained them in the middle of the night while she stood before him dressed in her nightrail seemed preposterous at best. “We met at the Cat’s Hole after I’d smuggled goods into Black Raven Alley.” He smiled to himself, proud that Percy, disguised as Thomas Sexton, had trusted him enough to recommend him to Admiral Nelson. “Our introduction came at the expense of two black eyes.”