The Rogue’s Prize (18 page)

herself further, he twisted the knob,

opened the cabin door, and disappeared

without another word.

Constance turned back toward the

window and gazed out the large angled-

panes, hugging her arms close. She had

no one other than this pirate to turn to.

Could she trust him? Did she dare?

He’d saved her life on two

occasions. But what was he saving her

for?

• • •

Mrs. Mortimer conspired with cook to

prepare a meal with supplies they’d

garnered from the
Octavia
’s ample

stores. Cook’s menu normally left much

to be desired but the man had thankfully

known enough about cooking to feed the

lot of them from sun-up to sun-down on

meager rations.

The small, cramped galley bustled

with activity as Mrs. Mortimer, sleeves

rolled up to her elbows, commandeered

the crew, instructing them how the food

should be presented for her Ladyship.

Arguments arose, but she tamped them

down

quickly,

more

than

once

admonishing

crewmen

when

they

requested cook remove the
old goat

from the premises.

Percy watched the middle-aged

woman interact with his men and it was

no

wonder

why

she’d

followed

Constance to sea. She was a mother hen.

Her actions and language suggested

she’d once been a woman of import, yet

her overbearing nature suited pirate life.

Stepping out of the shadows, he

ordered dinner for two to be served in

his cabin, ignoring Mrs. Mortimer’s

frown and Jacko’s uplifted brow. Percy

did not care. He was tired of delaying

the inevitable. It was time he discovered

the source of the hold Constance had

over him. Did it lie in the bond he had

with her uncle or was the spark between

them something more? With Frink and

all the other prisoners safely secured in

the hold and London days away, he

wanted to discover what kind of trouble

Constance Danbury was in before

releasing her in port.

The woman had gotten under his

skin. She was running away from

something. And now she haunted his

dreams as a temptation no amount of

liquor could mollify. Something had to

be done. He had to get her out of his

system.

Cook and Mrs. Mortimer collided.

Cook’s

obscenities

were

quickly

reprimanded. Percy frowned and left the

galley confident the woman would

ensure the meal arrived as scheduled.

She was that devoted to her charge.

Percy stepped into the hatchway, at

odds with himself. Wood moaned and

the ship rocked a steady sway beneath

his feet. He scanned the companionway.

If he knew what was good for him, he’d

go above deck. Instead, he closed the

distance between himself and his cabin

door and put the key in the lock.

End this! Get the girl to trust you.

Protecting her and providing for her

safety are your primary goals. Don’t

think about her uncanny beauty, those

enticing green eyes, the perfect slant of

her breasts, or the unwitting charms

between — damn it, man, focus!

The lock grated loudly. Stepping

into the room, he spied Lady Constance

standing against the open window

staring out to sea — again. The window

was propped open and her windswept

blonde hair fluttered about her head like

sunshine radiating off of a cloud.

“I find myself drawn to the sea,” he

confided, his voice huskier than he

intended.

Constance

glanced

over

her

shoulder. Her eyes glistened with unshed

tears. “I’m not,” she admitted.

“Then why sail for Spain?”

“That is the question I find myself

repeating.”

She seemed fragile, untouchable.

“To what result?” he asked, hoping to

draw her out of her melancholy.

There were only a few legitimate

reasons a young woman related to Simon

Danbury would travel to Spain.

Stay the course.
“Was the risk

worth it?” he asked.

“That is none of your affair,” she

snapped.

He stepped further into the room,

carefully working his way toward her.

“That might be true. But you are on
my

ship. I committed mutiny for you.

Everything about you, everything you do

from this moment on carries pertinent

weight upon me and
my
men. That makes

everything about you my affair.”

“You can hardly blame me for — ”

“No blame imposed. But I expect

gratitude.” Her lips turned downward,

but he would not back down. “I’m

entitled to an explanation.”

Her haughty gaze scanned him, head

to foot. More than ever before, he

wanted to kiss her downturned pert little

mouth.

“You may have saved my life but

that doesn’t entitle you to anything

more.”

He took a step forward, determined

to prove he was entitled to everything

and more for the sacrifices he’d made,

but a knock on the door shackled him,

putting his urges to rest.

“Aye,” he said. “Enter.”

A

bald-headed

man

quickly

appeared. “Dinner is ready, sir.”

“Bring it in, Martin. Place it on the

desk there,” he pointed.

His gaze flicked to Constance. Her

wide-eyed expression brought a smile to

his lips. But Percy rarely smiled. Indeed,

it was ridiculous that he found her

surprise amusing. She had every reason

to doubt his sincerity. That is, unless her

fears were a ruse and she meant to

manipulate him.

No. She was afraid, he thought, as

he watched her follow the men in the

room.

He

tapped

his

mustache

thoughtfully, questions riddling his mind.

What role did Constance play aboard the

Octavia
? Had she had any contact with

Whistler? Was she, in fact, in league

with the fox and afraid of giving herself

away?

Martin set the desk with table

linens, silver, and fine china, until the

center of the room gleamed.

Constance’s

eyes

narrowed

suspiciously when the last of his men left

the room. “What is the occasion?”

“A truce,” he said, spreading his

arms to encompass the feast.

Clicking his boots together, he

bowed and offered her a chair. She

approached cautiously, and then allowed

him to help her sit down. Percy leaned

forward, slightly brushing her shoulder

and poured red wine into a silver goblet,

hardly missing her swift intake of breath.

“Honestly — ”

“Easy now,” he said, the memory of

her naked body coiling around him. “Let

us be civil.”

“You expect me to be civil?”

“After I saved your life, twice, I

suspect

you’d

be

particularly

encouraged to oblige.”

She harrumphed. “I don’t even

know your name. That, sir, would be the

start of a civil relationship.”

“All you have to do is ask,” he

mocked.

Astonished, she gasped. “When

have you given me the chance?”

Percy moved over to the opposite

chair, sat down, and lounged before her

with outstretched legs. He crossed his

arms over his chest and waited.

“Well?” she harped.

“Well … what?”

“Do you honestly enjoy playing

dim-witted games?”

“I’m a pirate, remember? We like

to

play

games,

especially

those

involving the opposite sex.” He winked.

Constance’s chest rose and fell

rapidly, drawing his attention to her

breasts. “Very well, then,” she said. “I

can see this is getting me nowhere.” She

blinked her succulent green eyes and

spoke, her voice caressing him like silk.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me your

name, sir?”

He clapped his hands together.

“Bravo! Yes, I’d be happy to oblige.”

He hesitated long enough to watch a

blush creep up her neck. “My name is

Thomas.”

“Thomas? Would that be your

surname or first name?”

“Thomas,” he paused long enough

to add, “Sexton.”

Her eyes crinkled. He watched her

lips form his name as she said it again,

letting it roll off of her tongue. “Thomas

Sexton.” Her nose wrinkled. “The name

does not suit.”

“Why not?” He shifted in his chair,

playing the thoroughly insulted villain.

“I suspected something like One-

Eyed Jack or — ” Her hand quickly

covered her mouth. “I didn’t mean …

It’s just … well … with your eye patch

and so many of your men aptly named for

their physical traits, I assumed — ”

“You assumed my name must

mirror the image, eh?”

Her horrified expression was too

precious for words. He burst out

laughing.

“You’re not angry?” she asked

disbelieving.

“For assuming the obvious? No.”

Lifting a cloth to his mouth, Percy

shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been

called worse.”

“I’m sure all well-deserved,” she

snapped, once again in control of her

wits.

His gaze rose from the roasted

game hen sitting upon a bed of boiled

potatoes to her eyes shimmering like

brilliant emeralds in the candlelight. He

saw no hint of laughter within them. She

despised everything he stood for. As

well she should. First impressions were

crucial in his line of business. Hating

him was her only protection. But she

didn’t know
him
, the real man, the man

who’d sailed the world and beyond on

an impossible hunt for someone who

pulled his puppet strings. If only he

could show her Percival Avery, the

refined gentleman, adored and sought

after by the ton. He’d not met a member

of the demi-monde who could resist him,

especially not the daughter of a duke.

Changing tactics, he loaded his next

question. “Does this meal not meet with

your approval, your Ladyship?”

She scanned the table and licked

her lips. Suddenly, he wondered what it

would be like to have her gaze at him

with hunger in her eyes, what it would

feel like to have her tongue flick over his

lips, slowly moving in to battle his own.

He lowered his gaze.

“Cook said you haven’t eaten since

last night,” he nearly choked. “Why?”

In the process of reaching for

bread, she put her hands into her lap.

“After you didn’t heed any of my

requests for an audience, starving myself

was the only way to gain your attention.”

“What a devious plan, starving

yourself so you can look the hapless,

abused prisoner when we pull into port.

Are you so eager to see me in chains?”

Her look of surprise proved he’d

hit the mark. She sat back in her chair.

He stuck a knife into the meat and cut a

few succulent slices, placing a large

portion on her plate. Steam and enticing

odor of a perfectly roasted beast rose

from the table to her nostrils. She closed

her eyes and inhaled.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you would

enlighten me.” That got his attention. He

would love to enlighten her in many

things, all mostly physical. “Why is it so

important that Mrs — ”

“If I’d wanted the old hag in here

with you, I’d have locked her in here

from the first,” he finished. Tired of her

penchant for whipping a dead horse, he

plunked a potato unceremoniously next

to the game hen on her plate.

“You’re a heartless brigand!”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Understand this, Lady Constance.

You’ve come between me and something

I wanted more than once. I will not

allow you to do so again.”

• • •

lanterns wafted with the pitch and sway

of the ship. Draperies attached to the