The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (7 page)

She tried to yank free. “Then act civilized.”

He backed away, angling his face towards her as he lifted his arm and inspected his ruined coat sleeve. “Civilized? Who’s bleeding, eh? This is going to cost you.”

While he examined the blood staining his coat, she reached into her corset and retrieved the blade stored there. The steel sang into the quiet. “No,
señor
. You are the one who has lost. This is not your ship… not anymore.” She regretted the lie as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Seaton’s nostrils flared and an unspoken declaration of war materialized between them. He lunged for her retreating form. Hampered by her flowing skirts, Mercy was easily caught. He turned her to face him, leaned her backward over his arm, and twisted the knife cruelly out of her fingers. She elbowed him in the face as the blade fell to the floor.

He grabbed her hands, wrenching them behind her, forcing her body flush with his, entrapping her in his embrace. “You little hoyden.” Blood trickled from his nose.

Mercy fought back panic. “Wh-What are you doing?”

“I did not come here to harm you.”

She struggled against his tightening arms. “You have a strange way of showing it.” Held against Seaton’s solid wall of a chest, she was forced to acknowledge his power over her in ways she couldn’t define.

“Quit struggling.” His pained snarl caught her off-guard. He held both of her hands in one of his then grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look into his face. “I’ve come to save your life.”

“My… my life? You have a despicable way of showing it.”

“Would you prefer to be dead?”

Garrick wanted to
slap
Senorita
Vasquez’s beautifully clothed and perfectly round ruby bombazine derriere as if she was an errant child. He’d made every attempt to be generous and a captain’s orders must be obeyed. The sea, especially the Bay of Biscay, provided a difficult enough hazard to bypass without fear that a woman meant to torch his ship or kill him.

As much as he strived to fulfill Simon’s directive — bringing both Vasquez children back safely to England — he fought for some semblance of control. Lady Mercedes Vasquez Claremont was almost as dangerous as Delgado had been to him. She’d cut him, ruined his coat, threatened to shoot him and burn him alive. If her gun had discharged, not only could she have killed him, but the gunshot could have ricocheted and ignited the full gunpowder magazine below.
Spanish señorita, my foot.

Devil damn me, I haven’t sailed back into hell to lose the
Priory
— to a woman.

Hadn’t he promised Keane to bring the ship back unscathed? He meant to do that very thing even if he had to bind the young Spanish lady’s hands and feet like a lamb on a spit in order to bring her under control. It didn’t matter who she was. What mattered was the evidence she had that would save Melville’s life and getting her back to Simon Danbury alive.

The journey back to England would take two weeks, providing they could keep the wind at their backs. He grimaced. If today was any indication, the
señorita
would be lucky to live out one of those weeks.

Was this what he had to look forward to — her fighting him at every turn? Could he honestly blame her? He’d been held against his will. He understood the doubt and fear coursing through her veins. Was it fair of him to force that same fate on her? His goal had been to explain to the
señorita
she was in danger, not lay hands on her.

“Get your hands off me!”

She made behaving like a hero or a gentleman extremely difficult. If it was the last thing he did, he’d put a stop to her madness.

“I’ll gladly do so if you promise not to produce another weapon,
señorita
.”

Her body began to quiver. She peered up at him, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. Each drop coiling around his innards like a sly but deadly snake.

“I. Will. Kill. You. For. This.”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m already dead. Now—”

“Let me go.”

Her words clutched onto pieces of memory. Soon her oval, olive-toned face materialized into that of a seductive gypsy dancer.
Esmeralda
. He lost himself in defiant eyes that pleaded without success for his help.

Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed thickly. The blood…

“Did you hear me?”

What? Garrick blinked back Esmeralda’s unbearable stare and shook his head until Mercy’s beautiful unblemished face focused.

“What is wrong with you?” She regarded him suspiciously.

Mortified that he’d had an episode in front of the woman, he cleared his throat. “You are making this more difficult than it has to be.”

“
I
am making this more difficult?
I
am not holding
you
prisoner.”

Reality hit him like a broadside. He became all too aware of the way her breasts pressed into his chest. “If you will promise to stop trying to kill me, I will release you.”

Wisps of her hair caressed his face at each shake of her head, igniting his senses. “No. I demand you tell me what you’ve done with Eduardo.”

“He’s safe.”

“
Diablo!
” She squirmed in his arms. “What have you done with him?”

“I’m under orders—”

“Ha!
Órdenes de quien
?”

“If you’ll behave like the intelligent woman I know you are, I will tell you.”

Mercy peered up at him as if searching for any truth to his words.

Pins had loosened from her long jet-black hair, allowing the strands to frame her face. For the first time, he allowed himself the privilege of examining the thick lashes framing her fiery, mysterious brown eyes. Her unblemished olive skin flushed with a healthy glow, her aristocratic nose identified her as nobly born, reminding him that a vixen lurked beneath Mercy’s prim façade. It was as if, in this tempered, furtive mode, the cunning spy resembled her cousin, Constance, the most. And yet this Spanish hoyden was Constance’s complete opposite in every way but one… being related by blood.

Something else connected the two women. They’d both been kidnapped by pirates.

He released Mercy as if stung by that comparison.

Mercy sank to her knees, gasping, then rose and slapped his left cheek with her right hand.

The skin-to-skin contact took him completely off guard.

She raised her hand, launching a second attack.

He caught her wrist mid-swing. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

“Then take me to my brother, damn you!”

Garrick growled. Only a few worthy souls had earned the right to touch him and he’d struggled not to kill men for less. Furious, he fought for breath, searching her face, seeing Esmeralda, losing himself to memories.

“Let me go.” Blood drained from her face. Defiantly, she jerked her arm, trying to get him to release her. “
Capitán
Blade, you are hurting me.”

He blinked at the sound of his name and gripped her harder as he came to his senses, then leaned close. “
Never
touch me again.”

She flushed. “I did not mean—”

“Aye. You did.”

Was that remorse he heard in her voice? Good. He’d never hit a woman in his life but Mercedes Vasquez Claremont’s volatile temperament tested his limits. If either of them were going to survive this voyage, ground rules needed to be put in place.

His face stung. He fought the urge to examine his cheek with his fingers, choosing instead to ignore the brand she’d left on his skin. He’d driven her to violence. Aye, and didn’t he know it. He was a loathsome creature, a hideous devil, an appalling sight to anyone who laid eyes on him. Delgado had stolen the one thing he’d taken delight in — besides pirating — women. Now, forced into celibacy, he only allowed a few women near: his mother, the baroness, Constance, and Adele.

“Please.” Her whisper soft voice infiltrated his defenses with mellifluous ease. “I must know. Tell me what you’ve done with my brother.”

He stared at Mercy, unblinking, wishing for things he could never have again, a handsome face, perfect sight.

“Take me to him.”

He pulled her closer. Harsh words tore from his lips. “I told you that is impossible.”

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Have you already disposed of his body?”

Garrick released her and staggered back two steps. Was he that hideous? Was she that eager to believe he was a monster?

“Like it or not, I came to San Sebastian for you,
señorita
.”

“Me? Impossible!”

“As you can see,” he said spreading his arms wide and taking a bow, “not impossible.”

“But I am just a woman. I’ve got—”

“—no choice. I have orders to deliver you to London… alive.”

“London?” She gasped. “But I was in the process of—”

“Lord Danbury is quite aware of your duties.”

“Danbury?” Her eyes narrowed then closed as she hugged her arms close.

Was she afraid of revealing too much to him?

She opened her eyes. “You… know him?
He
… sent you? This is not part of some scheme to avenge your misfortune?”

“Misfortune? Is that what the Spanish call it?”

“I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken.” He thoughtfully played with the ring on his right hand. “Captain Belle and her husband made sure Delgado got his just rewards when they delivered my ransom.” He chuckled, remembering Adele had gone so far as to capture a navy frigate and imprison Henry to do it. “There is nothing left to avenge.”

Suspicion lined her face. “And yet, you stole my brother’s ship.”

“
My
ship.”

“Very well. I concede. But why would you attempt something so foolhardy?”

“Foolhardy.” Where was she going with this? Couldn’t she do something else with that insulting tongue of hers? “You know I wasn’t in San Sebastian to smuggle goods back to England. My arrest and the murder of Delgado’s mistress were not accidental, I assure you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “
Dios mio!
” She chewed her lower lip. “Poor, Esmeralda. When I think of what happened to her—”

“Yes.” His mouth twisted cruelly, tugging at the unforgiving skin on his face, a permanent reminder that Delgado had slit Esmeralda Vega’s throat before his very eyes. That “merciful” act had only come
after
he’d given her several unjustifiable wounds in other critical places.

Will I ever stop reliving that moment? Stop hearing Esmeralda’s screams? Stop hating myself for being unable to save her life?

Garrick cleared his throat and motioned for Mercy to sit in a chair near his desk. Once she was seated, he moved as far away from her as he could get, placing his hands behind his back.

“Your father and I made an agreement.”

“What agreement?” Her eyes widened. “When did this happen?”

He loosened his shoulders to release some of the tension coiling through him.

“
Don
Vasquez has always been a great benefit to my family, as of course, you know. You
are
privy to your father’s business dealings, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Ah! Then you should know his aid will only become more crucial as we escape the bay. Lives — your life and that of your brother’s — depend on it. In fact, he guaranteed you’d be on board the
Priory
when I came to retrieve her.”

“
Papá
sent you?” She touched her lips, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Then that must mean—”

“Yes.”

Understanding swept over her face. “But… the vicar.”

Garrick’s interest sparked at the mere mention of Reverend Albert Holt, the traitor who’d nearly succeeded in murdering Simon.

“I was supposed to meet him at
Castillo Urdiales
.” She rose suddenly and rushed to the windows. “This cannot be happening. If I am late...”

Garrick couldn’t stop the mocking laughter exploding from his chest.

“What do you find so amusing?”

“I am laughing at fate and the ironies of life,
señorita
.”

“I fail to understand,
señor
. I have been dealing with Mr. Holt for nigh onto four years.”

Holt.

Bile rose in his throat. Some betrayals left undetectable scars. Her allegiance to Holt was admirable, almost pathetic. Holt had wanted Mercy dead badly enough to hire assassins to kill her in order to save his own hide. Garrick inhaled a deep sigh. Thankfully, the vicar was no longer a hindrance to Nelson’s Tea or to this ill-advised woman who’d blatantly put her life in a traitor’s hands.

There was no way to break the news gently. “Holt planned to kill you.”

Her shock was palpable. “Kill me?”

“He is a traitor. Or he was.”

“Was a traitor? I fail to understand. Mr. Holt has taken vows to serve—”

“Himself.” What didn’t she understand was the devil in vicar’s robes was a gambler recruited by greedy men. “He sold you out.”

Mercy placed a trembling hand over her heart. She wrapped her arms about her and then paced.

“If what you say is true then my arrival at St. Mary’s would have been—”

“—the last thing you ever did.” The words had barely come out of his mouth when she stared at him blankly, staggered, then swayed.

Garrick bolted forward, catching Mercy just as she collapsed in his arms. He lifted her and held her close to his chest for a few powerless, indecisive moments. She wasn’t a fragile flower like Constance or as able-bodied as Adele, but her spirit far out-shone them in other ways. For all her blustery anger, she weighed next to nothing. He fought hard to remain detached, but became instantly aware of her supple figure flush against his, complimenting him in every way. Temporarily transfixed, he drank in the smooth angles of her exotic cheeks, her swooping dark brows, and the thick lashes concealing luxuriously rich, dark pupils.

Like him, Mercy had been raised for a purpose, outmaneuvering the enemy, by a father determined to forge a lasting legacy for generations to come. Begrudgingly, she was no longer her father’s concern. As much as he hated to admit it, she was his responsibility now. He’d made a promise to Simon to bring her safely back to England. He’d promised
Don
Vasquez he would protect her with his life. He didn’t take a vow lightly.