for whoring women, gambling, theatre,
and drink, a perfect cover for his
activities with Nelson’s Tea. He’d not
seen the signs warning him her life was
at risk until it had been too late.
Gazing longingly at the cut-glass
doors of his study, he felt an urge to
disappear, to drink himself into oblivion
as he’d done so often before. But before
he could reach the door handles, he
caught his reflection in the beveled
glass. Curious, he lifted his quizzing
glass and pivoted in front of the door,
only to be taken aback by his mirrored
image. Gone were the pirate disguise,
beard, mustache, and eye patch. He was
clean shaven, hair tied back in a neat
cue,
face
powdered.
Dressed
immaculately in a fine grey suit, silver
vest, and opalescent cravat tied to
restricting perfection, one would never
know he’d spent nearly eight months
with pirates. Lace dangled from the ends
of his sleeves and his boots shone
without blemish. The debacle sickened.
He resembled a spooney and felt like the
fool. Encumbered by his high collar, he
reached for the study door’s brass
handles.
“My travels have taken me far,
Jeffers, and I’ve developed quite a
thirst. I’ll take libation in my office.”
“I’ll have tea sent to you
immediately, my Lord.”
“No need to put yourself out, my
good man. I’ve got more potent
refreshment in mind.”
“What could more potent than tea,
my Lord?”
“Jeffers, I’ve told you many times
that moniker isn’t necessary between us.
Be a good man and humor me when
we’re alone.”
“Yes, my Lord. Would brandy
suffice?” Jeffers egged.
“Interminably so,” he said, raising
a quizzical brow.
“You’ll find all that you need on the
side table in your study.”
“Marvelous!” he exclaimed. “You
remembered.” Jeffers was a marvel,
worth every penny he’d paid to pluck
him out of the mud. A might puzzling at
times, but just as proficient at his job as
Jacko on any given day. Squeezing his
fingers around the double door handles,
Percy pushed the doors open and inhaled
a deep breath. Satisfied everything had
been left as he remembered it, he entered
the room. Leather and sandalwood
assailed his senses. He stepped into the
study, turning his back on the man who
had his whole life under control.
“Jeffers?”
“Yes, my Lord?”
He grimaced and Jeffers’s eyes
glistened mischievously. “See to it that I
am not disturbed.”
“Yes, my Lord. Shall I send in
dinner?” his man cued with a quizzical
brow.
Percy strode purposefully over to
the side table nestled in the corner of an
expansive mahogany bookcase filling
fifty percent of the curtained, dark
paneled room. Opening a crystal
decanter containing sparkling honey
brown liquid, he poured himself a
healthy portion of brandy and downed
the contents in one swallow, relishing
the searing burn down his throat, and
then poured himself another glass.
Jeffers’s eyebrows rose and his
Adam’s apple bobbed up and down
ludicrously. He gazed down his aquiline
nose as if to speak, but kept his lips
tight-rimmed. Percy was impressed at
the man’s control. Though Jeffers
disapproved, no more loyal servant
could be found.
“Shall I send for more brandy?” he
quipped.
He took a deep breath and
reproached
Jeffers’s
disapproving
frown. “No need to go into any trouble
on my account, Jeffers. I intend to join
friends for dinner.”
“Friends?”
“I should think many anxiously
await my return,” Percy submitted.
“Though,” he said grimacing with the
effort, “I suspect I may have to remind a
few of my worth.”
“Lady friends?” Jeffers asked.
Percy pivoted on his heel. “Is there
any other kind, my good man?”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Jeffers’s snickering could be heard all
the way down the hallway. Satisfied that
he’d managed to draw a smile out of the
man, Percy approached his personal
desk near the curtained window and sat
down. He ran his fingers along the edges
of the large wing-backed furniture,
lingering over nicks on the well-worn
surface. His gaze penetrated the dimly lit
room, settling upon a vase of fresh
flowers with colors as vivid as a spring
morning
against
the
improbable
backdrop of glowing embers in the
hearth, reminding him of Constance —
beauty and passion combined.
He inhaled smoke and spice,
content that he’d been able to spend time
with such a woman. But, he reasoned,
straightening his shoulders, that respite
was past. Now he must transform
himself into a man playing a fool at
playing himself.
Shaking off his melancholy, Percy
turned his attention to the stacks of post
awaiting his perusal. He gazed at the
bothersome correspondence, narrowing
his eyes, knowing he would be better
served to acquaint himself with what
was before him than what might have
been. Resignedly, he gulped down
another dram of brandy and then picked
up a letter opener. Past due requests for
parties and balls were contentedly
unimportant.
Reports
on
property
appraisals and maturing investments
accompanied a note from his father’s
doctor petitioning his presence. The
latter gave ill-fated evidence that this
had also been too long overlooked.
The Duke’s vitality is gone. I
have done all I can. You, dear
sir, are his only request.
Come soon. Come home
before it is too late.
Yours respectfully,
John Turbin
Percy dropped the missive to the
floor. The news he’d dreaded for four
months had come. All hope was lost.
The doctors had no other recourses left
and his beloved father did not have long
to live. He quickly retrieved the letter to
note
the
date.
March twenty-third,
eighteen hundred and four.
Two weeks
ago. Was his father still alive? Had he
arrived home too late?
A commotion rose in the foyer,
jarring the throttling rhythm in his chest.
Percy’s hawkish gaze darted to the
double-paned doors. What now? He
craned his neck to listen and could not
help but overhear Jeffers arguing with a
man, quite insistent to see him.
“I will not be ignored!” came the
wayward vow.
Footsteps
scuffed
the
marble
flooring and the glass doors barreled
open, slamming inward. Simon Danbury
burst into the room.
It begins.
“Deny it, if you will,” Simon
ordered, his voice booming like cannon
shot.
“My apologies, my Lord! He would
not wait to be announced,” Jeffers
interjected.
Nodding
to
Jeffers,
Percy
encouraged his loyal servant to ignore
their intruder’s impudence. “Forgive
him,
Jeffers.
Simon
needs
no
introduction, but it appears since I’ve
been gone the gentleman has forgotten
his manners.”
Jeffers slowly backtracked out of
the room. Relaxing, Percy reclined in his
chair. “Deny what, sir?”
“You know very well of what I
speak!” Simon raged.
Percy’s eyes narrowed. “That is
untrue. I know only that you’ve openly
broken one of your stringent rules of
conduct by entering my home.”
“And with just cause!” Simon
exclaimed.
“What has happened?”
Simon’s chest heaved as he
perched his white-knuckled fists upon
Percy’s desk and leaned forward to
debate his case. Percy likened the look
in Simon’s eyes to violent gale force
winds on a perilous sea. He imagined
himself the doomed sail and prepared
for the brunt of the weather’s assault, to
be torn to shreds in his wake.
“You have scandalized my niece! It
is only a matter of time before the ton
hears of it.”
“I assure you that neither I nor my
crew has maligned Lady Constance in
any way.”
Simon stepped back and paced in
front of the barrier between them,
wearing a path in the oriental carpet. He
wrung his hands in frustration. Percy had
never seen him this disturbed. Something
else was amiss.
“What’s really bothering you?” he
asked.
“My brother will not wait!” Simon
began rattling off his concerns. “He
believes I’ve misled him, abused our
relationship and his funds, an offense
which, he’s decided, has led to
Throckmorton’s ruination. I cannot
convince him otherwise.”
“Simon, I begged you not to invest
your family inheritance on this mission,
but you insisted the funds spent would
not be missed. You particularly advised
me not to use my own money so that
nothing we did could be traced back to
me.”
“Indeed, I did. But something else
has gone wrong and Byron blames me
for it. Now, because of me, my niece
must sell herself like a common doxy.”
He shook his index finger at Percy. “Let
it be known she does so under protest.”
He began to pace again, shaking his fist,
rousing Percy’s alarm. “Byron will not
hear me out. He will not see reason.
Stoutly resisting any suggestion I make,
he insists Constance marry Lord
Montgomery Burton, a man nearly twice
her age.”
Percy drew his hands together,
tenting them under his nose. He’d heard
of the man’s ruthless business dealings
but had yet to gain an introduction. Was
Burton the man she’d been running away
from?
“What are your niece’s feelings on
this matter?”
His mind raced. He’d ruined
Constance, damaged her chances of
finding a love match. A reality that was
hard to stomach. Were he a better man,
he would take responsibility for his
actions by asking for her hand. Yet,
harsh times required harsher measures.
Percy frowned. If she agreed to this
match, he would be equally engaged.
But, if she did not —
Simon laughed, directing Percy’s
eyes to the angry slant of his mouth. “The
extra rib, Percy, is Constance doesn’t
want to marry Burton. She has this crazy
idea that he will hurt her. In fact, my
darling niece accuses the man of already
having done so.”
Percy searched his memory for any
snippet of conversation Constance might
have spoken that would help him
understand why she’d accuse the
gentleman of such an affront. He recalled
their first meeting, entering her cabin,
seeing her standing like a valiant angel,
bed warmer in hand, prepared to
flummox him. He smiled. She’d shown
the kind of courage and conviction he’d
never dreamt a woman capable of, at a
moment when other women would get
the vapors or beg unceasingly for mercy.
Recalling Frink’s attack upon her
person, rage filled him anew. He relived
their escape from the
Octavia
’s hold,
gazed with abandon upon the sight of her
naked in his bed. Fisting his hands, he let
his eyes feast on the memory of her
womanly curves until his gaze finally
settled upon her breast. He’d asked her
where she’d gotten the unsightly bruise.
Desperate to lash out at him, she’d
practically accused him of putting it
there. Did that bruise hold the key to her
accusations against Burton? Or had it
come from someone else entirely?
“Have you heard a word I’ve said,
Percy?”
“Have I missed something?” he