The Rogue’s Prize (21 page)

gaze upon the previously unbeaten ship

that had beleaguered the English coast,

oppressing one vessel after another

before spiriting away to parts unknown.

One by one, onlookers ogled and spat

upon Captain Frink and his men as they

were led down the boarding plank in

chains to an awaiting military wagon.

Word had traveled fast and buoyant

cheers arose for the victorious survivors

of the
Octavia
as Captain Collins’s flag

was carried aloft, followed by Guffald

and members of the
Octavia
’s crew.

Percy stood with his legs braced

apart, his back to the crowd.

“A lot of fanfare for a motley crew,

is it not, Cap’n?”

“Aye, Jacko. Frink’s reputation

precedes him. His men are bound to get

what they deserve and the
Octavia
’s

crew will be celebrated henceforth.”

Jacko clicked his tongue. “Collins

finally found the fame he’d searched

for.”

“Not the kind he’d hoped for,”

Percy said.

“What is to become of Guffald?”

Jacko asked. “Will his testimony be

sufficient in keeping the constable from

your stoop?”

Squaring his shoulders, Percy

nodded, “Henry will give his rendering

of events. No one will question his

loyalty.” Percy turned his head to

scrutinize Guffald’s swagger as he

accepted a flower from a young girl and

entered the general’s coach, carrying

himself with unusual panache. “Henry’s

knowledge of our mission has been

limited. He’s smart, sure to figure out the

details in time. Until then, his confusion

is paramount.”

Jacko shifted his feet to avoid the

setting sun’s omnipotent glare. “I wish I

had your confidence.”

“Think on Guffald no more,” he

said, slapping Jacko on the back. “Our

focus must turn to Josiah Cane.”

“What about the lady?”

“What about her? Lady Constance

and I have parted ways.” Fixing his gaze

on the dock where Constance descended

onto dry land, dressed in a modest gown

Ollie had found on the docks, Percy

slapped his glove upon his thigh.

“Transport her home. Deliver her to

Simon or her father, no other.”

“As you wish,” Jacko agreed.

Turning away from Jacko, Percy

busied himself with the crew who

tightened down sail in the rigging. Much

needed to be done to prepare the
Striker

for inspection by the war office and that

is where he directed his thoughts. To

dwell on Constance was pure folly, even

if she had branded him with her scent,

her taste.

• • •

the well-used leather seats of the hired

hackney Jacko Clemmons paid to have

them

transported

from

port

to

Throckmorton House. Suppressing a

shiver, Constance focused on her

father’s initial reaction to the scandal

certain to darken his doorstep.

Gazing out the muted panes to

scenes unfolding on the cobbled streets,

the ramifications of her actions became

clear. Her unconventional relationship

with a pirate, her presence aboard the

Striker
and poor fitting gown had surely

been noted.

“Jacko,” she said, turning her focus

on Thomas’s first mate.

“Aye?” He turned his untrusting

gaze upon her.

“How long have you known your

captain?”

“Long enough.”

“How long would that be?” she

pried.

“Long enough to know my place.”

She scowled unappreciatively.

“As should you,” Mrs. Mortimer

interjected. “
That
man isn’t of your ilk,

Constance, and now that we are free, ’tis

time you put him out of your mind.”

“Morty, it’s time you kicked that

pedestal out from under my feet,” she

said. She put her hand on her

governess’s

arm

and

squeezed

reassuringly.

Mrs. Mortimer harrumphed and

cast a fiery-eyed stare at Jacko, then

pointed her perturbed nose into the air.

“Jacko,” Constance continued, “I

fear you misunderstand my intentions.

What if I wish to know is, what if I need

to

contact

the

captain

in

the

unforeseeable future?”

“Why would you need to contact

that
man, Constance?” Mrs. Mortimer

erupted. The woman’s unlikely barbs cut

Constance to the quick. She raised her

chin defiantly.

“Father may want to thank him,”

she offered.

Jacko’s eyes rounded. “It makes no

difference. I doubt you’ll be able to find

him. He won’t stay idle long.”

Constance was undeterred. “Does

he intend to sail soon?”

“You’d better concentrate on what

you’re going to tell your uncle and your

father,” Mrs. Mortimer reminded her.

“You have a point,” she said,

wringing her hands, worrying the cream-

colored shawl clenched between her

fingers after being properly put down.

Jacko shrugged. “You’ve a hard

road ahead, m’Lady. Simon Danbury is

not to be slighted. And only you can say

what your da will do.”

“I do not plan to turn in your

captain,

if

that

is

what

you’re

suggesting.”

“Why

wouldn’t

you?”

Mrs.

Mortimer exclaimed.

“I’ll explain later,” she said,

patting the woman’s hand. “Please, let

Mr. Clemmons talk.”

“Mr. Clemmons? Ha!” the woman

exclaimed.

“Morty!”
Strangely, Jacko ignored

her barbs, as if this hadn’t been the first

time Morty had cut into him. But how

was that possible? What had gone on

between them while she and Thomas had

—

“Lord Danbury and the Duke of

Throckmorton are formidable men,” he

declared. “They may induce you to

surrender my captain against your will

so charges can be brought against him.”

Jacko meant to protect Thomas. He

did not trust her. She couldn’t blame

him. She could not be trusted where

Thomas was concerned.

“Captain Sexton believes he is

doing the right thing by sending me back

to my father. Be assured, in the

meantime, I’d never do or say anything

that would put him in danger.”

“You have his name.”

“You must believe me when I say

that I will not discredit your captain,”

she vowed.

Cocking his head to one side, Jacko

appeared unconvinced. “You are not an

ordinary wench.”

“That she is not!” Mrs. Mortimer

blurted, appalled. Morty turned toward

her. “I cannot believe I’m hearing the

words coming from your mouth,

Constance.”

“Captain Sexton’s secret is safe

with me,” she promised, ignoring her

reprimand.

Both Jacko and Mrs. Mortimer

exclaimed, “What secret?”

Constance blinked nervously. “Oh!

You know,” she said with a wave of her

hands.

“I don’t. Explain,” Mrs. Mortimer

said.

Caught in a web of her own making,

Constance

leaned

forward

conspiratorially. “He really isn’t the

dreaded pirate people think he is.”

“You could have fooled me,” Mrs.

Mortimer snapped.

Jacko grinned slyly and slapped his

thigh. “Well now, that
is
a secret we

must keep under our hats. Let ol’ Morty

say what she must,” he said, his eyes

transferring between both women. Then

he grew serious. “But know if you ever

revealed the cap’n’s true identity, he

wouldn’t last the week.”

“Precisely,” she insisted. “Inform

Captain Sexton that I will never malign

him.”

Mrs. Mortimer used the lull in

conversation to her advantage by listing

Captain

Sexton’s

shortcomings.

Constance knew at once when Jacko

tuned the woman out. Mrs. Mortimer had

a point. Given her circumstances, it

would suit her better to denounce

Thomas instead of protect him. She’d

been ruined, but she’d also played a

significant part in that ruination. As the

carriage wheels rattled across the ruts in

the road, her resolve weakened. What

would she tell her father?

Jacko placed his well-seasoned

hand over her clenched fists. “I shall

pass along your vow.”

Constance smiled weakly, feeling

as if a weight had been lifted off of her

shoulders even though her battles had

only just begun. Soon she would face her

father, Uncle Simon, and the inquisitive

stares of the servants at Throckmorton

House. It was not lost upon her that she

projected a frightful appearance as she’d

only been given a simple brown round

gown made of scratchy wool and a

cream-colored shawl for the journey

home. But she hadn’t complained. The

garments provided her modesty and

prevented her from being seen in rags.

Jostling across uneven stones, they

rode in silence. The conveyance

continued through the city for nigh onto

thirty minutes until it pulled to an

unceremonious stop. A plain-clothed

footman appeared at the door. Jacko

exited, stopping just beside the last step

leading up the stairs to the portal of

Throckmorton House. He offered his

hand stiffly. “It’s been a pleasure to sail

with you, m’Lady.”

Constance smiled but her joviality

did not last long. Out of the corner of her

eye, she spied her father and uncle

crossing the threshold, both men filled

with determination. Before she lost

heart, she said, “I’ll never forget him,

Jacko. Will you tell him?”

Not waiting for his response, she

broke away and ascended the steps,

rushing toward her father’s comforting

embrace.

“Constance, I’ve been so worried,”

her father declared.

“Who’s your escort, Constance?”

Simon pressed, frowning.

“Thank you, Uncle.” She nodded,

hoping to chide him for not showing

distress over her disappearance. “I’m

happy to see you shared Father’s

concern.”

Undeterred, Simon asked again,

“Who’s your escort?”

Hoping to ease both her guardians’

frustrations, Constance turned as the

landau disappeared at the end of the

lane. Mrs. Mortimer, prepped for

disaster, stood with a firm grip on her

valise

and

tight-lipped

fortitude.

Straightening her shoulders, Constance

opted for half-truths.

“Why that was — a kind gentleman

who helped me find my way back

home.”

“He appeared to be less than

exemplary,” her father insinuated. His

eyes narrowed upon Mrs. Mortimer.

“You should be more careful, madam.”

Mrs. Mortimer opened her mouth to

speak, but Constance stopped her. “No,”

Constance insisted. “On the contrary, he

was a fine man doing a good work.”

Repulsed, her father stared after the

vehicle

and

then

exchanged

a

questionable glance with his brother,

one she did not miss, before he took her

by the arm and ushered her inside the

house where no one would be privy to

their
spectacle
. Cooper’s brow rose at

her appearance, then he bowed and

nodded a greeting before stepping

quickly aside to remove her wrap.

“Welcome home, my Lady,” he

whispered.

“Thank you, Cooper.” Of all the

household servants, Cooper’s manners

and dedication appealed most. With a

conspiratorial wink and a knowing

smile, the man quickly bowed out of

sight.

“Constance, what are you wearing

and where did you meet that ridiculous

man?” Simon barked.

“I’ll reveal all, Uncle, after I have

some tea. It’s been ages since I’ve had a

hot cup of tea.”

“I know what you’re about. Where

have you been, Daughter?” her father

asked, astounded. “Look at you! And just