The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (31 page)

“Do be kind, my gel. I believe the problem lies with the fact that our adorable cousin has bewitched the man.”

Was
Garrick affected by her?

The idea excited her. She began to hum. Garrick hadn’t stopped staring at her since the moment she’d begun descending the grand staircase.
Dios mio
, she actually enjoyed the affect she had on him.

“Let us be off,” Percy said, corralling them into motion. He raised his quizzing glass. “I have quite the desire to make merry.”

“As do I.” Constance carefully slipped her hand inside Percy’s arm. The duke had refused to wear his sling and was determined not to arouse suspicion about his injuries. “Let us make tonight the merriest of nights.”

“Shall we?” Garrick asked, finally finding his voice. He held out his right arm.

Mercy moved to his other side, choosing to slip her arm through his left instead. “There is no time like the present to finish what we’ve started.” She squeezed Garrick’s forearm as Percy and Constance set off before them.

When it came time to follow, Garrick refused to budge.

She glanced up at his profile. “What is it?”

“Bear away,
Señorita
.” His mouth turned downward with displeasure.

“I thought we agreed you would call me Mercy.”

“I prefer
señorita
.”

She resisted the urge to box his ears. “I thought you hated everything related to Spain.”

He growled low in his throat. “You should be walking on the side a lady is expected to walk. A man’s right side.”

“I prefer to be unconventional.” Was he too damned proud to admit he needed her on his blind side?

“A man’s place is at a woman’s left, not the other way around.”

Mercy didn’t care for
normal
, nor did she share the
ton
’s penchant for illusion. Garrick was vulnerable to attack on his blind side and by heaven, she refused to allow anyone to take him by surprise.

Senses sharp, her mind set, she leaned her head back and smiled as sweetly as she could, channeling Constance’s penchant for dealing with Percy. “I prefer the view from here.”

Garrick swallowed thickly. Muscles tensed in his arm. His steps faltered.

He leaned on his cane for balance. “Now is not the time to play games with me.”

“I am not
that
kind of woman.”

Games had their merits, especially when dealing with enemies. But Garrick wasn’t her enemy. He was her ally, her champion. He’d been fiercely loyal to her. She admired him, adored him… loved him.

God help her, was she in love with the pirate, a devilish rogue who considered himself unlovable?

Mercy glanced away, fastening her gaze on the ficus trees cordoning off the exit to another set of gardens. Music and laughter grew louder, stealing her breath with excitement that intensified as they neared the ballroom.

“Are you ready?” he asked, tapping her hand to get her attention. “Once we enter the ballroom, there will be no turning back.”

She was more than ready to end Fleming and Roche’s diversions. “I have no regrets. I am ready.”

The four-man orchestra produced an excellent rendition of Boccherini’s Number Five in honor of Constance and Percy. Gilt-framed paintings sparkled like gold, the pattern repeating in well-dressed mirrors hanging throughout the expanse. Swaying bodies undulated past the doorway, participating in various modes of dance.

Mercy prepared to enter the ballroom behind her cousins. She straightened her spine, feeling empowered, ambitious, and thrilled to finally make her stand against her adversaries, accompanied by family and new friends and, at the same time, she was frightened everything would be stolen out from under her feet. If it was the last thing she did this night, she vowed to end Fleming’s tyranny. And by God, end it she would.

In anticipation of that very event, nothing had been left to chance. Nelson’s Tea had infiltrated the room, posing as servants, guests, or themselves. The doors and gardens were under watch. Men were stationed in the livery. She had nothing to fear and yet, a sense of impending doom took root inside her like butterflies speedily flapping their wings and massing at nets, windows, and doors, eager for escape. Her heartbeat thudded against her ribs. Her nerve-endings protested.

The music stopped on a screech of violin strings as Jeffers thumped a cane. “Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Blendingham.”

Percy led Constance into the thrall, exuding a devil-may-care spirit, giving no sign that he’d been severely injured. That very tactic gave her cause for concern.

“Lady Mercy Claremont and Viscount Seaton.”

Mercy blinked.

“Percy thought it best to connect you to his family,” Garrick whispered, “by using your mother’s maiden name and giving you an English association. There are several here who despise anything slightly related to Spain, especially after Nelson’s death. Your cousin hoped to spare you any humiliation so that you could focus on the guests… and our cause.”

Warmth spread through her. “Percy thinks of everything, doesn’t he?”

A slow grin transformed Garrick’s face, bringing his close-trimmed mustache and beard to life. “Be careful not to compliment him more than necessary. I fear it will go to his head.”

“How so?” She knew the answer, of course, but desired more than anything to hear him admit it.

“If I have to explain that to you, you aren’t the brilliant woman I believe you are.” His eyes twinkled playfully with a hint of fire and something unobtainable. “Come. The sooner this is over, the better.”

They moved in unison as the quartet — violin, cornet, cello, and pianoforte — picked up where they’d left off.

Fragrant scents of blush and white-colored floral arrangements tickled Mercy’s nose as she took in the extravagance. Sumpton Hall’s competent staff had decorated the hall in splendid fashion for the festivities. Strategically placed in a convenient alcove, refreshment tables laden with sumptuous fare of sugary fruits and biscuits, effervescent lemonade, tea, and wine as well as chocolate beckoned.

Mercy’s stomach protested unbecomingly, reminding her she’d been so focused on the plan to ensnare Fleming that she’d missed luncheon. Thankfully, Garrick seemed not to notice. She glanced away from the tables and surveyed her surroundings. Chairs lined the wall, leaving the middle of the hall open for dancing. She studied the lords and ladies in the throng, all in fancy raiment, each seeming to outdo the next.

“I didn’t expect to see so many people here this evening.”

Deep and throaty laughter rumbled from Garrick’s chest. “Have you forgotten who your cousin is? People flock to him because he has a reputation for throwing wonderful parties.”

“He is an amazing man,” she admitted honestly.

Women curtsied, fanning rosy faces, perusing Mercy and Garrick behind veiled lashes. No one had to say aloud what they were thinking as they moved through the throng or spoke to one another in hushed tones as she and Garrick passed.

Anger burned inside her. How unjust the stares, whispers, shunning movements. She wasn’t selfish enough to think the actions were a result of her birth. Rather, her heart ached with compassion for the man she loved. Something vicious and unsettling uncoiled inside her. Didn’t these prestigious members of the upper crust have an ounce of sympathy for a man who’d come back badly maimed from a war that offered no prejudice for nobility?

Even their beloved Admiral Nelson had borne visible scars from his heroic duties at sea.

Screech. Pluck. Pluck.

Percy stepped onto the ballroom floor and lifted his hand toward his wife as a minuet began to play. There was no doubt that Constance loved Percy. The glow radiating from her face illuminated as she accepted the duke’s outstretched hand and proceeded with him to the dance floor.

“What is he thinking?” she asked, keeping her voice low so no one could hear.

“That he must play the game.”

“And what kind of game are
you
playing?” Mercy’s heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want Garrick to leave her side. “Aren’t you supposed to be mingling with the guests?”

A gentleman stepped forward and bowed low. “May I have the honor of the first dance, Lady Mercy?”

Garrick put his left arm on Mercy’s back. “The lady has already agreed to share that pleasure with me.”

The young lord eased off as Garrick led her to the dance floor.

“Refusing to allow me to dance with the gentlemen present is not part of our plan,” she said, trying not to show her bewilderment.

“No. I’m giving you what you need, however… a closer look at our hosts.” He moved into the line of male partners.

She took her place across from him, daring not to look him directly in the eye, for fear of what she’d find, what he’d reveal. It was simpler to experience unrequited love. One-sided love offered fewer complications. Love was a foolish notion for a spy to cling to, though Simon and Gillian had managed to make their marriage work. Love made the strong weak, vulnerable.

Tonight, of all nights, Mercy needed every weapon in her arsenal to survive.

Garrick bowed to
Mercy’s curtsy as music for the set began, hating how inept he felt without his cane on the polished dance floor. His equilibrium was off again, making him work extra hard not to embarrass his dance partner or draw attention to his inefficient abilities. Careful to focus on the direction of the dance, he dipped his knees again, hoping to exhibit finesse, and then turned, deploying skills he’d learned maneuvering the
Priory
’s decks. The floor beneath his feet, solid, still, certainly benefited him as he maneuvered each step, bemoaning the fact that a simple wrong turn might knock someone over or, worse, force a fall, humiliating him before the lot.

Devil damn me, for the proud fool that I am, especially where Mercy is concerned!

The set continued with one avoided blunder. Garrick synchronized each breath, each step, anticipating every movement before it needed to be made. Around him, people shifted directions in dizzying motion. It was all he could do not to grab Mercy and hold on for the stability she provided as he circled her, moving back into line.

An energetic, healthy blush complimented Mercy’s cheeks as she twirled around a partner. When she returned to him, she raised her gaze slowly to his, the seductive act forging an inextinguishable fire inside him, filling him with a possessive urge to whisk her outside the garden doors and kiss her soundly.

What was this folly? The music infiltrating his senses? Or Mercy?

Step. Circle. Step back in line. Repeat.

His frustration mounted as she sauntered close, brushed against him, and then skipped away again.

Was this a dance for monks? She was driving him half-mad with need.

Mercy sashayed diagonally and back again.

He repeated the movement, hoping to get close enough to speak to her.

She switched places in line, moved forward and back.

His turn.

He switched places and moved forward. “You are drawing attention.”

“Am
I
?” She nodded to the partner at her right, bowed her head then dipped and turned. “Isn’t that the definition of bait?”

He fought back his frustration. “Are you punishing me?”

“Do you deserve it?” She smiled sweetly before disappearing behind another man.

“Yes,” he said when she drew near again. There was no need denying it.

“Have you located him yet?”

“Who?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her close.

“I assume your motive for dancing had to do with our plan.”

Was she blind? Couldn’t she see that he wanted one moment to show her who he’d been before duty split them apart forever? Though from his estimations, he was bungling this ritualistic courtship profoundly.

Unable to share his true feelings, he grappled for words. “I had just warned a boy off. It seemed appropriate—”

“So your goal wasn’t to bring me out here and dangle me before Fleming’s nose?”

Fleming? Bloody hell, the woman had a one-track mind. Didn’t she realize she was the most beautiful woman in the room? That with her hair neatly arranged on her head — exposing her elegant long neck — she drew the interested stares of every man present? He wanted to put his hands around the back of her neck, feel her pulse throb beneath his fingers, and draw her close. He wanted to plant kisses on that pulsing spot and create a trail to her earlobes where her ruby treasures dangled, hypnotizing with a tantalizing faceted dance that both intrigued and fascinated him.

“Have you seen him?”

“Seen who?” His gaze settled on her full, plump, ripe lips, recalling the kiss they’d shared in Percy’s study.

“You told me what he looks like, but for some reason, I cannot recall his physical characteristics.”

Her soul-searching eyes told him what her mouth didn’t dare speak. She wasn’t unaffected. She felt the heat rising between them as much as he did.

Aware of her desire, he sobered instantly. Distracting her meant she wouldn’t be ready when Fleming made his move. But devil damn him, he needed to warn her that Percy had promised an engagement announcement would be made.

She had a penchant for memorizing details, and in the time he’d known her, she’d never forgotten anything. He couldn’t allow himself to get in the way of duty. A spy without a mark was a liability.
Hounds’ blood, as much as it gives me pleasure, I have to be the one to put an end to whatever is going on between us.

“Look for a man with blank eyes.”

Her laughter caught him off-guard. “That could be anyone here. The
ton
is renowned for expressing boredom.”

“Fleming is different. He’s got no soul. Do not underestimate him. He’s smart, but his heart is as black as the devil’s.”

All humor fled from her face. “Understood.”

“Any manner of men will come up to you tonight.” Until their engagement announcement was made. “Be suspicious of everyone.”
Especially once our enemies everyone know you are mine and seek to use you against me.

His last thoughts hovered over him until she joined him again and they walked through the aisle of dance partners to the other end of the line.

The music stopped.

Garrick ignored the disappointment spreading over Mercy’s face. “Distrust will keep you alive.”

~~~~

An ominous chill
slithered up Mercy’s spine. She relied on intuition. Instinct kept her alive. Was Garrick warning her not to trust herself… or him? Wasn’t it clear by now that she’d been successful enough to avoid capture?

Unlike him.

Garrick’s past weighed heavy on her heart. He’d proven himself time and again. And the trust he’d won inside her had blossomed into love. A woman would have to be deaf, as well as blind, to resist his gravelly baritone, a voice that ignited the most carnal female yearnings inside, summoning ancient urges no woman could ignore. His fiery touch, the way he gazed at her accelerated her pulse, filled her with thoughts she’d tried to push to the back of her mind, images of family, children that had forever seemed so far out of reach.

“Any manner of men will come up to you tonight…”

Was he afraid someone else would steal her away? Couldn’t he believe she loved him and that nothing on this earth would change her feelings?

I must tell him how I feel before it’s too late.

The moment passed all too quickly as the dance ended and Garrick escorted her past Simon and Gillian, who spoke with several notable people. Though the couple appeared preoccupied in conversation, they nodded inconspicuously at her as she and Garrick passed.

Mercy kept her hand tucked in the crook of Garrick’s arm as they took a turn about the room.

Henry and Adele laughed gaily at something said between them as they enjoyed glasses of syllabub. Adele winked at Mercy as they passed then laid her hand on Henry’s arm. Henry peered over his shoulder and bowed his head formally.

Mercy relaxed ever so slightly, her heartbeat slowing to an agreeable pace, as she absorbed the couples, lilting music, and Garrick’s fortifying touch. A flash of candlelight off one of the gilded mirrors drew her eye, reminding her once again how Sumpton Hall’s near decadence contrasted her life in San Sebastian. Was this what her life would normally be like if she chose to stay in England? She’d seen nothing finer in all her days and yet none of the splendor stirred her senses more than the heat penetrating her gloves as Garrick placed his other hand over hers. In his presence, a peace unlike any she’d ever experienced before took hold. As long as she was at Garrick’s side, she fought no sense of impending doom.

Several officers in His Majesty’s Navy burst into laughter as they conversed with officers from a foot regiment. The men, dressed collectively in blue and red, lent everyman sentimentality to the party that few dukes allowed. Another reason Mercy respected her cousin’s husband immensely. He entertained more than the upper crust. He appreciated good company when it could be found.

Garrick finally led Mercy to a somewhat secluded area near a potted fig. Her pulse soared, pounding in her ears like the deafening cannon fire she’d heard between the
Priory
and the
Armide
.

This momentary sanctuary afforded her the perfect place to confess her love, to convince Garrick that he was the most handsome, desirable man in the room. She opened her mouth and drew a breath, but closed her lips. No, she’d been mistaken. Now wasn’t the time. Was it?

“Lady Mercy, a dance, please,” several men said at once as they approached snatching the choice away from her.

Garrick stepped forward, glowering at the men.

Disappointed that another chance to proclaim her affections had elapsed, and that luring Fleming and Roche out of hiding took precedence over their own desires, Mercy turned to Garrick. “How can I refuse these noblemen? We must keep up appearances if we are to fool a certain
gentleman
, mustn’t we?”

His high-handed tactics didn’t help the situation. Even though Garrick
was
the only fascinating man in the room, there so much more was at stake here than what either of them wanted. Duty. Nelson’s Tea. England. Freedom from Napoleon’s tyranny. They couldn’t lose sight of what was really important now.

Lord Fleming’s confession would have to be acquired with witnesses to ensure his arrest met all the criteria of the higher courts. Acquiring that diabolical performance involved cool heads, a hard-won tricky business.

Of the two men still actively pursuing her attention, the shorter red-haired man with freckles gave her a polite bow. “Lady Mercy, if you will allow me to escort you—”

“Indulge me a few more moments of the lady’s time, Huntley.” Garrick flattened his palm and held it aloft. “That’s all I ask.”

“But you have already had your turn, Seaton.” Huntley puffed out his chest, refusing to be scared off.

“You know my reputation, do you not, Huntley?” Garrick moved in front of Mercy, nudging her toward the fig, dwarfing her with his size.

She fought off the five-pointed fig leaves and stepped around him.

Huntley swallowed thickly. His shoulders slumped. “That I do.”

“Five minutes, if you please,” Garrick finally said.

Huntley and the other man, Lord Leighton, if she recalled correctly, sauntered away complaining to one another.

Garrick turned back to Mercy, his eye narrowed to a slit.

Mercy bit her tongue. While she knew it wasn’t proper to refuse Lord Huntley’s attention, curiosity warred with her good sense. What did Garrick want to say to her? Was it foolish to hope that he’d profess he loved her as much as she loved him? She clutched her heart in feigned shock but inwardly her heart beat willy-nilly against her ribs.

She chose to gloss over the encounter with sarcasm. “You are quite charming when you want to be.”

He released a futile sigh. “I’ve been trying to tell you something all night, but I haven’t been able to.”

“Well, take advantage of this moment. You’ve certainly arranged it so you can speak freely now.”

“Yes,” he said pensively. His expression softened and yet he appeared to struggle with what he wanted to say. “You… are a beautiful woman, Mercy.”

Fluttery-wings took flight in her chest.

“Your bloodlines,” he continued, “link you to a duke adored by the
ton
. You deserve nothing but the very best England has to offer for the sacrifices you’ve made. Huntley and Leighton are randy pups with little to credit you.”

She tsked. “I am not a fool.”

“No, you aren’t. And I am not that blind, though many would believe otherwise.” He regarded her as if he waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he exhaled a heavy sigh. “Do you imagine yourself in love with me?”

Should she admit the truth? Here? Now? “I—”

“Deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Breath lodged in her throat. “What are you saying?”
Dios mio
, she deserved to be loved by
him
and only him. More importantly, he deserved
her
love. No one could possibly love him more than she. “I love you, Garrick. There I said it. I do not want anyone else but you.”

He stepped back, pain etching his brow. He shifted his feet, turning his blind side toward the crowd — giving her his full attention — a very risky move. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You do not know what you’re saying.”

“That is not true.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He reclaimed her hand and cupped it between his. The stark contrast between his fingers and hers, his touch, his heat, made her giddy. She wanted more than his hands on her hands. She wanted to feel his palms roving over her body. She closed her eyes, imagining the possibilities, the passion that would mount between them when he moved his fingers…

“I saved your life
and
you saved mine.”