The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (16 page)

He looked to Moore, who was also Irish and despised the fact many of his countrymen had joined the United Irishmen aiding Boney’s cause.

Moore fisted his hands. He mouthed a silent oath and then spun on his heel, brushing aside several hangers on.

“Let him go, cap’n. ’Tis a hard blow, losing a friend.” Randall kicked Murray’s body, turning it over with his boot. Murray’s sightless stare peered heavenward. “Betrayal is a hard thing to digest. Moore signed Murray on to the crew. He’ll never forgive himself for this.”

“Why does anyone betray their country?” Mercy asked, her voice soft and wistful. “Roche and his men… they are resourceful. In my experience, anyone is susceptible to a bribe. Mark my words, this is only the beginning.
They
will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

Randall rubbed his neck. “Exactly what do
they
want,
señorita
?”

“To tear England apart from the inside out.”

Another week passed
before they docked without fanfare or further incident. The
Priory
berthed, and while the crew was busy with minor details, a carriage finally arrived to transport Mercy to safety. In the interim, Mercy fidgeted, finding it increasingly difficult to purge her anxieties. Her entire life was spiraling out of control.

Who could she trust? Certainly not the people she left behind in San Sebastian. Life there balanced between two cultures vying for control over the Spanish government and the right to bear arms against Napoleon. And at this point, she had no idea if her mother or father were still alive.

Mercy peered out the carriage window and pretended to examine the congested streets. Confined as she was, she had no way to escape the captain’s dogged perusal. The
clip clip-clopping
on the cobblestones swelled in the bloated silence. Horses whinnied and indelicate odors assaulted her nostrils making her immediately want to return to experience clean ocean breezes once again.

Dios mio
, the farther into London they traveled, the higher the stakes of life and death became. Her hands trembled and she tried to hide them in her lap.

Several more moments passed before she glanced up again.

Heat flushed her cheeks as she caught Lord Seaton studying her. “I must look a fright.”

It was his idea for her to dress like a cabin boy. It had been her choice to add smudges of dirt to hide her facial features.

“You look…” He paused as the carriage jerked over the cobblestones. “’Tis the part you must play, that is all. Don’t be afraid. You are safe with me.”

Was she? She wasn’t so sure. His stare penetrated hers in ways that made her stomach ache and her toes curl in her boots.

“I do not feel safe.” Murray’s betrayal was just one example of what greed could do. Murray was dead now but Admiral Roche and Lord Fleming were not.

“What are you afraid of?” Seaton shifted on the squabs. The movement brought their thighs in close contact. She jumped, nearly coming undone. “I’ve proven I can protect you. I’ve saved your life… twice, if you recall.”

“I do not need to be reminded.”

He hadn’t left her side the past three days. He’d taken away her brother’s clothes, vowing the uniform offended his sight. Since the one eye was all he had left, she’d been forced to comply.

“Do you not?”

“I’m quite aware that I owe you a great debt,
señor
.” Were it not for the boyish clothes she wore now, he’d be able to see her racing pulse.

Dios mio
, he’d taken great pleasure in torturing her by lacing and unlacing her corset every day. She sucked in a breath, praying her efforts to remain detached had worked. But she knew that for the lie that it was. She bit her lip, trying with all of her might to ignore the liquid sensations the memories evoked.
Lord Seaton standing close. Her skin heated by his breath, his touch. The masterful way his gaze penetrated her defenses.

Surely, she’d been confined in close quarters for too long. She’d be a fool to fall in love with a man because he’d saved her life, wouldn’t she?

She bristled under Seaton’s unconquerable glower. “You are a vain man.”

“Spoken like a woman not a spy.”

Mercy bit her lip trying to rein in her temper. “I
am
a woman, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“
Señorita
, I am not
that
blind.” His cold-hearted tone unnerved her.

The carriage rumbled across the cobblestones and the silence between them swelled to unbearable heights.

Why did Seaton repurpose everything she said? She studied him — when she thought he wasn’t looking — beneath veiled eyes as they made their way from the wharf at Wapping to Number Seven, Hereford Street, where, he’d previously informed her, he would introduce her to the Duke and Duchess of Blendingham.

Cousin Constance.

Would Constance shun her when she showed up unannounced on the duke’s townhouse doorstep? Had she been influenced by her father, the Duke of Throckmorton’s hatred? Did Constance blame Mercy’s mother for her capture by pirates and her mother Olivia’s unfortunate death?

Seaton cleared his throat. “What do you know of the Duke and Duchess of Blendingham?”

She shook her head. “Almost nothing.”

When she was young, her mother had demonstrated public disdain for England, while secretly regaling Mercy with tales of English customs, balls, music, theater, and the
le bon ton
.

“My mother almost didn’t survive Aunt Olivia’s death.” That was an understatement. She’d nursed her mother, Lydia, back to health after she’d collapsed upon hearing the dreadful news. “The Duke of Throckmorton’s insistence that my mother was to blame for my aunt’s death made her more determined than ever to focus on securing our blood ties to Spain.”

“And your brother? How does he play into your parents’ ruse?”

“Eddie is… impressionable.” She took a deep breath, hesitating to speak about her brother, fearing anything she said would undermine his fate. After all, Eddie was in Seaton’s custody. For all she knew, he had only to send word to either spare or end Eddie’s life.

Was Eddie being held to ensure she cooperated with Nelson’s Tea? Didn’t the organization trust her? Would Seaton believe her, if she told him she didn’t trust her brother? Or would that seal Eddie’s fate?

God help her, no matter what Eddie had done under Napoleon’s orders, she was still his sister. And she would go to her grave protecting him.

Seaton wrapped his fingers around the head of his cane. “I wonder…”

“What?” she asked, hoping he’d change the subject.

“How impressionable he is.”

“Who?”

“Eddie,” he said.

“My brother is an honorable man, if that is what you are asking.”

Seaton twisted his lip cruelly then grumbled. “That isn’t what I’m asking, and you know it.”

She frowned. “Then what are you implying?”

“Don’t play coy.”

She inhaled deeply, trying to rein in her temper. “Eddie is a Spaniard. He’s a passionate man, and I am a hot-blooded woman. Do not mistake the difference.” She smiled fondly as thoughts of her brother warmed her heart. “His career as an officer helped
Mamá
and
Papá
forge international allegiances. Of course, as a young woman of marriageable age, my loyalties were never under as much scrutiny as my brother’s, which is why I found it quite easy to ferret out information from men who dared to declare themselves ignorant of my intelligence.”

His expression visibly altered. “Anyone would be foolish not to appreciate a woman of your… cunning.” His laughter struck a nerve. “How long have your parents worked for Simon?”

“Lord Danbury?” She was slightly taken aback that Seaton referred to the lord by his first name. That wasn’t customary, and she’d never done so. How close were the two men?

“I’ve known him all of my life. Mid-way through Aunt Olivia’s pregnancy, he convinced my mother to sail to England to unite our two families — Claremont and Vasquez — as a means of giving King George eyes in the Bay of Biscay. San Sebastian’s proximity to France and
Papá’s
involvement with smugglers provided the perfect cover.” She withheld the urge to swipe dirt off her breeches. “Of course,
Mamá’s
decision to marry a foreigner broke Aunt Olivia’s heart. And her death was the final blow to the duke. After that, His Grace cut all communication between us.”

Seaton furrowed his brow. He leaned forward and enveloped her hand in his. “Your family has seen considerable sorrow. You’ve been forced to give so much, and yet here you are, putting your life on the line for people you’ve never met.”

“No more than you have done,
señor
.” Strange tantalizing sensations coiled in her belly as his touch brought back startling memories of his hand caressing her bare shoulder in his cabin.

“No.” His discord brought her back to the intimacy they now shared. “I haven’t given enough.”

But he was wrong. Wasn’t he? He’d lost sight in one eye. He’d suffered immeasurable pain and countless hours of deprivation because she had trusted Esmeralda.

Guilt weighed heavy on her heart. She reached out to him. He retreated slightly back to the squabs.
Dios mio
, he blamed her almost as much as she blamed herself.

The agony was too much. She reached out her hand and touched his face with trembling fingers.

Strangely, he allowed her to touch him. In all those many nights, he’d bolted whenever she’d drawn too near, except to tie her corset laces.

He allowed her to lightly caress the scar trailing beneath his eye patch to his cheek. The skin there was stiff and unyielding… like him.

Mercy looked him in the eye. His pupil was the most brilliant blue, but the alternating hopelessness and hopefulness flickering in its depth made her breath hitch.

He sighed then closed his eye, effectively blocking her out.

Heaven help me, how long has it been since anyone has touched this man, loved him, told him how viable he still is?

Tears trickled down her face. “
You
have given all.”

Despair filled her as he opened his eye and stared into her soul for a fleeting moment before turning his face away. The woeful gesture melted her heart, making her desire to soothe his pain, to prove to him he was handsome, virile, and just as worthy of passion as she.

Dios mio!
His despondency clamped onto her spirit like a tempest.

What had Seaton been like before Delgado? What had Esmeralda seen in this man that had encouraged her to cast all caution to the wind and seduce him, knowing the danger she faced?

Mercy longed to discover the source of Seaton’s appeal. She wanted to slip the eye-patch over his head, prove to him he didn’t disgust her, kiss his scars, and absorb his pain. Show him the powerful ways he mystified her.

He cut a magnificent figure in his lordly garb.
Capitán
Blade was ruggedly male and commanding, but she preferred the blackguard dressed in leather to the resourceful lord who posed more of a danger to her heart. That man pretended to play by the rules. She had no such pretentions with the pirate. This man — this earl’s son — was the one she’d mourned for over a year.
Capitán
Blade had proven his worth. It was Seaton’s misery that touched places in her heart she dared never expose. His suffering had the ability to tear apart the ramparts she’d built to keep him — and others capable of crushing her heart to pieces — out.

His clear blue gaze darkened to gray as he turned to face her, as if from a great distance.

What was he thinking? Did he know that she found him one of the most appealing men she’d ever met, if not the most brave? Could he see that she’d absorb his pain, if she had the power to do so? That she fought against her emotions whenever he was near?

His fingers intertwined with hers and his lips parted slightly then closed. He pulled her closer, making her body thrum with every purchased inch.

She licked her lips involuntarily. Her breath caught as she stared at his mouth. Her pulse began to throb in her throat.
Kiss me. Ignite my passion. Reach out for me. Let me show you I am not afraid.

Mercy ached to ease his suffering, wanted — no, needed — to feel his mouth on hers, to taste him, to be desired. More than anything, she wanted to lose herself and forget. She was tired of bearing other people’s burdens on her shoulders. Now, here — in Seaton’s arms — she desired his sheltering embrace, the momentary escape he could provide her.

The carriage jostled across the cobblestones, forcing her unceremoniously onto his lap. Wide-eyed, he cocked a roguish grin as he settled her between his thighs.

“To the victor go the spoils.” He bent his head and hovered above her lips, only slightly before his mouth drew temptingly close. “I would dearly enjoy spoiling you.”

He pressed his lips on hers, softly at first, then more forcefully as he drew her to him.

She clung to him, glorying in the sparks igniting inside her. Skin to skin, his kiss burned through her like a torch, flaming to life, making her pulse soar to unparalleled heights. Eagerly, she gave in to the sensations coiling inside her like a wanton starved for affection.

The ache for more of him spawned a need to show him he wasn’t the monster he thought himself to be. He would not fully trust her until she proved to him she cared, no matter which part he played, no matter if he wasn’t whole.

Gathering her wits, she moved her fingers through his hair, kneading, stroking, pulling him closer.

He broke off the kiss to look down at her, his expression pained.

What tore at his soul?

“Let me look at you.” She smoothed her fingers through his hair.

He closed his eye and leaned into her hand.

She reached for his eye patch. “Let me
see
your face.”