The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (37 page)

“Then I shall wield it without prejudice,” Garrick said, finishing the code they shared from their sword-fighting days.

“You will die trying,” Roche spat.

They would discover who the better swordsman was soon enough.

A surging tide for vengeance pulsed through Garrick’s veins as he riveted his attention on Admiral Roche. With a forward lunge, he swung his muscles into a downward thrust sure to dislodge the admiral’s weapon and end the fight before it truly began.

The admiral was prepared for his attack. Their blades engaged, steal singing to life in their hands. On point guard, their bodies adapted to feint and parry. Roche’s sword jumped to Garrick’s ploy, convincing him Roche was far better skilled at self-preservation than he’d given the admiral credit for.

Roche’s blade grappled with Garrick’s. The admiral moved with unnatural speed for a man his age — which Garrick estimated to be five score and ten — forcing Garrick off-balance.

Crates overturned in their wake. Barrels rolled to the side with each assault. One busted, spilling rum onto the floor, its pungent aroma splicing the air, the sticky substance mucking the ground underfoot.

Garrick somersaulted free, springing back to his feet then spun on his heel, bringing his sword down, full swing, connecting with empty space as Roche backed into an overturned crate. He attacked again, swishing his cutlass through the air, slicing open a bundle of cocoa. Their swords engaged, hissed and sparked to life, locking at the hilt.

Roche applied pressure, his body so close Garrick was forced to stare into his volatile eyes.

“Your first mistake,
L’amiral
, was your association with Fleming and believing any plot he’d concocted would succeed.”

“Ha!” Roche spat in Garrick’s face temporarily blinding him. The admiral shoved Garrick backward. “Fleming got what he deserved. I told the reprobate not to attack Nelson’s Tea.”

Garrick lost his footing then grappled for something to steady himself. “I don’t believe you.” Regaining his bearings, he resumed attack, protecting his blind side, dancing around the Frenchman, circling, waiting for an opening to strike.

“Then you are a bigger fool than Delgado claimed.”

Delgado.
Blood curdled in Garrick’s veins. Had Roche been involved with Delgado, ordering his incarceration, his torture? His nostrils flared. His throat tightened, restricting air from his lungs. He blinked, chasing back ghosts that haunted him with recurring awareness.

“Don’t listen to him, Garrick!” Mercy shouted. “He’s deceiving you.”

“Am I?” Roche’s lip turned up at the corner. His jaw produced a lethal tic.

Mercy was right. Delgado, Holt, and Murray were dead. Fleming had been arrested. Melville was free. He had a chance right now — in this moment — to retake everything that had been taken from him, to vindicate himself, to change his future.

Energy coursed through Garrick limbs. He burrowed into Roche. His cutlass slipped down Roche’s blade, forcing the admiral back over another barrel. The admiral’s arms went lax.

Garrick lunged in for the kill but Roche twisted and turned, having feigned defeat. The tactic worked to break Garrick’s momentum, generating a near miss, carrying him over the crate to the floor as their blades stripped apart.

Garrick’s weight worked against him. He landed on the ground with a thud, but immediately sprang to his feet, fighting the vertigo his partial blindness triggered.

Roche charged.

Garrick waited for the right moment to meet Roche’s bombardment. Then as the admiral thundered close, Garrick bypassed him, spun on his heel, and matched each thrust and strike, parry and
feint
, forcing Roche over a row of coiled rope.

Roche scrambled for footing.

“Reminding me France allied itself with Spain was a fatal mistake,
L’amiral
.”

“Taking an English lord as my ally cut me to the quick.” Roche spat again, but Garrick didn’t allow himself to be caught unawares. He turned his head just in time.

“Tell me, was it Fleming’s plan to assume Guildford’s power in the House of Lords?”

“No.” A victorious sneer transformed Roche’s face. He grunted. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

Garrick repelled another cut to his right, making sure to keep Roche on his good side. “What then?”

“Fleming despised Nelson’s meteoric rise to fame and the morale England gained from the palace all the way to the mews.”

“Is that why he set out to destroy Nelson’s Tea?”

“You’ll have to dig deeper. As far back as the moment Nelson was ordered to protect England against Napoleon’s fleet. Melville was in the Treasury then. And his plan would have worked if
Señorita
Vasquez had minded her own business.” Roche glared at Mercy momentarily before jumping across several bags of sugar. “My guess is she’d be married to
Don
Esteban — and
breeding
— if it hadn’t been for you.”

The thought of any other man lying with Mercy, knowing her intimately drove him mad. “You’re wrong. She would be dead. Holt had her targeted for assassination.”

Fury exploded in his veins, and Garrick increased the tempo, lunging toward Roche, slashing at the man’s torso. Several of the admiral’s uniform buttons splintered off, and flew through the air, clattering to the floorboards.

Roche parried, evading attack. “Only after she forged Fleming’s letter, left me the forgery, and took the original, along with Fleming’s signet ring!” The admiral fell backward, wheezing as air thumped out of his lungs. He gasped then flipped out of the way to regain his stance. “Your underestimation of Fleming will prove deadly.”

Had he been so blind that he’d missed something important?

Roche performed a stop-thrust, repelling Garrick’s attack. “Fleming planned to ruin Nelson’s legacy no matter how it could be done. When Nelson was cut down at Trafalgar, that should have brought an end to his retribution. But…” Roche managed to slice Garrick’s sleeve, drawing blood that penetrated the white linen to his wrist. “You delivered Holt on Guildford’s doorstep.”

“You didn’t think we would let him kill Lord Danbury, did you?” Garrick asked with a smirk.

“Tsk. Tsk.” Roche retreated behind a stack of lumber, in an attempt to use it as a barrier between them. “Your mistake was challenging Fleming.”

Garrick charged, extending his arm, accomplishing a deep thrust that bloodied Roche’s left leg.

Roche retreated.

“So he trumped up charges against Melville, targeted
Señorita
Vasquez, and ordered Murray to kill her and my entire crew
if
she made it out of Spain alive?”

“We,” Roche said, gesturing open-armed to himself, “planned to be on the winning side of this war, pirate.”

Garrick grinned. They had all the evidence they needed now to prosecute Fleming and witnesses who’d swear that Fleming and Roche had masterminded a coup that would have dethroned King George and enslaved a nation.

Treason most foul.

Garrick swished his sword, smacking his adversary’s blade then bowed. “Thank you. I now have everything I need to ensure Fleming never sees the light of day.”

Roche reddened with rage. “What about
me
?”

“What about you?” Garrick asked, blocking Roche’s attack, kicking a feint and hopping a lunge. “You must have known Fleming’s delusions would never bear fruit.”

A wicked hiss erupted from Roche’s blade as it traveled along the edge of Garrick’s.

Garrick slashed a diagonal then horizontal cut across Roche’s torso. The admiral howled in pain, arching backward.

“A man must choose… the lesser of two evils.” Sweat beaded on Roche’s brow. He wiped his forehead with the back of his bloody hand then charged Garrick with a full-on assault.

Garrick swept out his leg and dropped Roche to the ground.

The admiral landed hard. He struggled to catch his breath. “Fleming’s ambition… crippled me. All I wanted… was the gold.”

Garrick lowered his sword. “And now, you will never get to spend any of it.”

“Garrick.” Mercy threw her arms around Garrick’s torso.

Rage drained out of him as soon as she touched him. He held her close, tucking her head beneath his chin, savoring her nearness. “You’re safe now,” he said, caressing her hair, never wishing to be parted from her, yet fearing that day was inevitable. “No one can hurt you now.”

“No one?” Roche howled, springing off his heels, rushing toward Mercy.

“Look out!” Henry shouted.

Garrick shoved Mercy behind him, bracing for Roche’s attack. On instinct, he threw his cutlass, aiming at Roche’s chest to stop the man’s advance.

The admiral took a few steps back, glanced down at the five blades sticking out of his torso, gurgled and gasped, then fell back dead.

Henry crowed. “Good aim,
señorita
.”

“I could say the same to you and Garrick, Henry.”

“Had sa’id.”
The deep, rich voice boomed. Husam produced a triumphant grin as he clanged the heads of the two men in his charge together and then stood beside their motionless bodies.

“It was more than luck, Husam,” Garrick argued against Husam’s
Darija
, feeling particularly honored the Moroccan had actually smiled. Husam rarely did so.

James cackled. “Welcome to the family,
señorita
.”

Garrick wanted to strangle Husam and James as the two men hauled Roche’s surviving henchman to the exit.

Before Garrick could reprimand them however, James turned back. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

James’s prisoner held up his hands. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to. This is all way too rich for my blood.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” James said, holding the man by his collar.

Husam hit the man over the head, knocking him out then picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. He nodded to James and the two men walked away.

Max and Rigby burst into laughter.

“Well done,” Henry said, moving forward to clap Garrick on the back. “I was beginning to wonder why you were playing around with him until I realized you were interrogating the man.” Henry’s vibrant blue eyes flicked from Garrick to Mercy. “I’ll let the authorities know the admiral is dead.”

Henry bowed to Mercy then spun on his heel, teetering only slightly before following the others to the exit.

“What about the gold?” Mercy asked, stopping Henry in his tracks. “What will you tell them?”

“It belongs to the Treasury. As a measure of good faith, Melville will want it restored.” Henry’s broken staccato sounded on the planked floor as he moved past the debris.

Garrick pulled Mercy back into his arms, eager to feel her against him once more. “That should appease his naysayers and ensure the impeachment is overturned.”

“What will you do now that this horror is behind us and the
Priory
is yours again?” she asked.

He cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I’m going to sail to Spain.”

“
España
?” She pushed away from him, her eyes wide. “You cannot go back there… not after Delgado, not after stealing a ship right out from under
La Mota
’s nose. You have the
Priory
. You have been reunited with your brothers.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she glanced over at Eddie then pointed to Roche’s motionless body. “Your enemies have been brought to justice. What more can you possibly desire?”

“To bring the woman I love incredible happiness,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

She choked on a sob. “The woman you love?”

“
Sí
. And I will do whatever it takes to prove my love for a certain Spanish
señorita
, including reuniting her with her parents.”

She choked on a sob. “My parents? But… what if—”

“A smuggler doesn’t succeed as long as my father or
Don
Vasquez has without a plan. I wouldn’t have agreed to let your parents stay behind if I wasn’t confident your father knew what he was doing.”

“My parents… alive?” She moved into him, her stare unwavering as she looked up at his face. “Oh, Garrick! Can it be true?”

“I intend to find out,” he said, leaning close enough to feel her warm breath on his face. “And even
you
won’t stand in my way this time.”

Mercy’s lower lip quivered. Tears glistened in her eyes. “You will get no argument from me as long as you take me with you.”

“I thought you’d had enough adventure to last a lifetime.”

“Only…” Mercy raised her hand to his face, hesitating by his eye patch. “Only if I can share a lifetime with you.”

Garrick’s breath caught.
Devil damn me, I want her to touch me, feel me, look upon me with longing. But would she scream, run… faint?