The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (29 page)

“Holt told Fleming everything.” Percy’s gaze settled on each and every person around the table, stopping finally when he reached Constance. “He knows who we are.”

“But that is absurd!” Milford jumped to his feet.

Maxwell Hamlet pulled Milford back to his seat. “Animals like to play with their food. I’ve seen it while painting landscapes during the king’s fox hunts.”

Is that what Fleming intended? Baiting them like foxes? Was the attack on Simon’s carriage meant to keep Simon from helping Lord Melville or to kill the Duke of Blendingham? With so much riding on Melville’s trial, someone had to have been watching Melville at court and monitoring Simon’s comings and goings.

Melville sat back so a servant could remove his soup bowl. “We are talking about a man who’s made it his life’s work to create a fissure in the House of Lords, certain to implode the Admiralty Board, a sedition I suspect eases Napoleon’s plight, giving him time to focus on Denmark, Poland, Italy, and Spain.”

Spain!
Mercy gasped. Were her people doomed to die?

Garrick reached for
Mercy’s hand.

Simon rose from his seat and stepped behind Gillian’s. He touched his wife’s fluted rose collar then cleared his throat. “My fellows, it has fallen on me to tell you all why you are here.”

“Isn’t that as plain as the eye patch on Garrick’s face?” Milford complained.

“Belay and veer,” Jacko shouted as Randall and Moore jumped to their feet.

Men gasped and their fingers automatically searched for the tableware, specifically knives.

Why do they fear I’m going to lose control?

“Aye,” he said staring each man down, concealing the fact that his calm behavior even surprised himself. “Stand down.”

Trapped in a mind-numbing haze, he wondered if he’d really been that unpredictable since Delgado. Images of Holt attempting to kill Simon, and the recollection that he’d vaulted over the table to tear the man to pieces assailed him. Yes, he’d been like a cannon unfixed to the deck in heavy seas.
What made this moment different?

His glanced down at Mercy’s hand resting in his below the table and the answers suddenly fell into place. Mercy’s resolute presence, forcing him to face his fears head on by insisting
he
be the one to cauterize Percy’s shoulder wound had transformed him.
Don’t breathe a word about this to a living soul.

Garrick stripped his attention from Mercy’s hand then surveyed the men at the table once more. What good would it do to allow them to think he’d become domesticated?

“I’ve come from hell, and I’ll put you there presently.” He grinned wickedly at the slack jaws his announcement produced. “If you don’t help put a stop to Fleming’s treachery once and for all — here — now.”

“How?” Mercy produced a false smile laced with doubt as she reached for her wine. She raised the goblet to her lips and then hesitated. “Fleming will know anything we arrange will be a plan to entrap him.”

“Exactly.” Garrick squeezed her hand then let it go. He unfolded his body to stand, sending the chair screeching out behind him on the carpet.

Percy rose too, the action requiring Constance’s assistance. “We’ve discussed it at length. There’s only one way to trick Fleming and successfully lure the deceitful cur and his pawn, Roche, out into the open. We cannot wait for them to strike like helpless prey.”

Constance grasped Percy’s arm. “I know how much is at stake, but you cannot do this, Percy. Do not invite trouble to our doorstep. I beg you.”

Percy ran his hand over Constance’s cheek. “’Tis already done, my gel.”

“What is done?” Mercy’s confusion was written all over her beautiful face, in the lines pinching her brow, to the frown turning her full, kissable lips upside down. “I’m afraid I do not follow.”

She would have to. The danger to her — most of all — was very great.

Scenarios whipped around in Garrick’s head like a cyclone. His heart seized. Would they fail? His palms sweat. Percy, Simon, Melville, and Garrick had discussed every option available to them at great length, late into the night, while the others had slept. There was one sure way to entice the enemy.

Mercy isn’t going to enjoy this, not one little bit.

Garrick placed his hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “Do you remember the day you found our cache,
ratoncita
?”

“The gold? Of course, but what does the gold have to do with any of this other than we know it’s what Fleming and Roche want?”

“Aye. They want the gold and
we
plan to use
you
as bait.”

She stiffened. “Bait?” Her lower lip quivered.

He squeezed her shoulder, offering her what little comfort he could in the crowded room. There was nothing more he could do to ease her trembling with so many eyes watching.

Fleming and Roche wanted the gold. They knew where it was. And Fleming and Roche knew what
she
meant to
him
, since Percy had made the invitation clear. The ball not only ensured it would be one of the social events of the season, a time when notable figures solicited public adoration, but it had been announced that the celebration would include a betrothal announcement… theirs.

Coincidentally, certain information had been passed through several channels known to support Napoleon and Fouché’s henchmen confirming Fleming and Roche’s betrayals. The hidden cache would be Roche’s only way to fund his escape from Napoleon’s assassins.

Fleming needed the gold to circumvent being accused of treason and bypass a death sentence.

Aye, they’d pronounced war. And the high ground would be Sumpton Hall.

It was only a matter of time before Fleming and Roche were caught or he went to hell defending Mercy’s life.

Garrick pressed his lips together and grimaced. The situation had been taken out of Mercy’s hands. She had no choice but to agree to the plan and to their impending marriage.

Agony rifled through him, nearly doubling him over at the thought he had betrayed her. That, of course, was the farthest thing from his mind. He’d die protecting her. He’d never meant to lie to her and wouldn’t start now.

Hounds’ blood, would he be able to make her understand the importance of their plan? If there’d been time, he would have taken Mercy into his arms, offered reassurances, asked for her hand in a traditional manner then promised a life of marital bliss and devotion. But there wasn’t. It had been
his
plan to use her unjustly.
He
was the bastard responsible for putting her in harm’s way, for using her as a means to draw the enemy in for the kill.

Agony cut through him. “This ploy is the only way to lure Roche to the country.” Fleming and Roche were in constant communication. He’d bet Pendrim Hall — his father’s seat — that Fleming already planned to attack. A blatant invitation gave them the home advantage. “We’ve dropped hints that we’ve hidden the gold here.”

“But it isn’t here,” she insisted, her eyes narrowing as she moved out of reach, left her chair, and walked toward the window. “He’s bound to find out.” She hugged herself, drawing Garrick’s attention to her exquisite profile. Her gentle sloping forehead, arched brows, perfectly slanted nose, and sensual lips downward to the tilt of her stubborn chin.

“
Dios mio
! When he does…” She clasped her hand to her mouth.

“Shh.” Garrick moved faster than he realized he was able. He grabbed her elbow gently and pulled her aside. “Fleming will attend the ball Percy and Constance are giving here in honor of your coming out. He’d be a fool to reject our invitation.”

She glanced around him to Percy. “Percy invited Fleming to a ball? Here?” She bit her lower lip. “Do you both intend to parade me in front of the
ton
while that monster is hovering near?” She clasped his arm. “I do not worry about myself but—”

“Of course you don’t.” That was beyond dispute. “You are the bravest woman I know.”

She glared at him, a look of abject misery distorting her features. “What about Constance?” She gasped for air as if her life depended on it. “Oliver?”

“Do not fear for my son.” Percy and Constance moved toward them, their faces grimly set. “Oliver will be kept at a safe distance. I will not subject him to danger.”

Constance hesitantly reached for Mercy. “Have faith, cousin.”

Mercy moved swiftly into Constance’s open arms. “They do not know how vile Fleming is. Or what he is capable of.” She melted into her cousin, tears flowing freely as if they were the only two people in the room.

“What is this nonsense? Stand your claws.” Percy, eyes misting, pulled his arm out of its sling and used the fabric to touch up his powder. “We are all quite aware of the danger. And I would never put my
family
,” he said, with a nod to Mercy, “in jeopardy if it were not imperative to do so.”

Constance smoothed Mercy’s hair.

Mercy raised her head. Her frantic searching eyes located Gillian speaking with the paymaster, Richard Douglas. “Gillian’s baby…” She clasped Constance’s hand, eyes wide. “Someone has already tried to murder the baroness once.”

“Gillian will be safe, I assure you.” The passion in Simon’s voice as he shouted across the room, gave Garrick no doubt of it.

Percy leaned against the wall, borrowing it for support then grimaced. “Henry has received his instructions. If he follows them, cousin, you are sure to have a coming out no one will ever forget.”

Tap Tap Tap.

The loud knockers on the Hall’s front doors echoed through the house.

“That should be Henry now.” Percy nodded to Jeffers.

Jeffers bowed his head then turned, disappearing through the dining room double doors.

Percy rolled his shoulder and tossed the sling onto the floor. “Once Henry arrives, our numbers will be strong enough to make this plan work. All we need is your approval, cousin.”

Color heightened Constance’s face as she raised Mercy’s chin to face them.

Mercy’s moist eyes took in Constance, Percy, then settled on Garrick.

Every inch of him burned to hold her, to comfort her, to kiss away her heartache, fear, and despair. He fisted his hands and turned a blind eye to her plight. There was nothing he could do before a crowd of witnesses. He wasn’t ready to declare himself… yet.

Constance’s voice soothed the beast raging inside of Garrick. “You are in for a treat unlike any other, Mercy. You are about to meet Garrick’s sister.”

~~~~

The dining room
doors opened and Jeffers reappeared. “Lady Adele and Captain Henry Guffald.”

Percy pursed his lips then grumbled. “And here I’d begun to think life had become too damn boring. What does that teach you, Garrick?”

“Hide the knives!”

Randall burst out laughing.

“You’d better be glad I left Husam outside, Randall.” A broad grin transformed Lady Adele’s winsome face as she searched the room. When she spied Garrick, the redheaded beauty, clothed in a deep brown leather corset over a white linen shirt, laced-and-tied leather at her wrists, fawn-colored trousers, and tall black boots, rushed to Garrick as if no one else existed. “Garrick! Faith, you cannot know how relieved I am to see you in the flesh.”

Mercy dried her tears and stood enraptured by the scene unfolding before her. Garrick swept his sister into his arms and twirled her in the air until they laughed heartily and forgot there was anyone else in the room.

“Oh, brother! Sink and scuttle me, as sure as God sees me, I’ve been so worried you’d get caught by those Spaniards again and—”

“There’s an end on it. I’m back. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

Mercy’s previous upset turned to joy, tickling her breast. She understood the fear Adele must have experienced knowing that Garrick had returned to the place where she and
Capitán
Guffald had been forced to rescue him. The things they had seen then, Adele’s brutal captivity at the hands of Delgado, the captain’s brave assault on
El Aguila
to save her, echoed in the breathtaking reunion between siblings — half-delight, half-pain — transcending Mercy’s downhearted fears. Oh, how she yearned to experience the same excited reunion with her own brother.

How much longer until she saw Eddie again?

Jeffers announced Adele and
Capitán
Guffald’s companions, two more members of Nelson’s Tea that Percy had expected at the table. “Lieutenants Lucas Winters and Pierce Edwards.”

The two young officers, one possibly in his thirties, the other not much older than she, dressed in naval uniforms strode into the room. Instead of joining the small group assembled around Garrick and Mercy, they headed straight to the dining table, where they were ushered to their seats and quickly provided refreshment.

“Ignore their bad manners,” a man dressed in a slightly different blue uniformed jacket and white trousers told her as he limped forward. He bowed respectfully.

She curtsied in return.

“We’ve been traveling since yesterday. Winters and Edwards have talked of little else but eating at the duke’s table. It isn’t everyday an officer gets to sample such appetizing fare.”

The strikingly handsome man with a scar on his eyebrow, vibrant blue eyes, and wavy blond hair tied back in a queue had been introduced as
Capitán
Guffald. The very same man who’d nearly lost his life saving Constance from Lord Burton.

Her heart twinged with eager delight. Had Guffald not rescued the two people closest to her, she would have never met them. Because of this, she owed the captain a debt of gratitude for the sacrifices he, his wife, and his men had made. Not to be selective, she actually owed her life to the dogged talents of every man in Nelson’s Tea. Without them, she’d be dead.

Chauncey, Collins, Walden, and Cavendish had given their lives to defend everything Nelson stood for. Others had suffered incomparable physical harm: Percy’s repeated lashings while masquerading as a pirate,
Capitán
Guffald’s severe leg injury acquired while saving Constance’s life and Garrick, who’d lost his sight on a mission to obtain information. From
her
.