The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (17 page)

His eye popped open and instantly widened. A tic danced in his jaw. “No.”

It happened all so quickly. One moment, she’d dreamily imagined their two bodies entwined and the next… she found herself tossed onto the squabs.

Mercy scrambled back against the cushions, inhaling a bracing breath. His stare penetrated her senses. What had she done? She’d never intended to anger him.

“I should have known better than to trust you.”

“Spoken like a true pirate.” She didn’t need more complications in her life.

He offered a fake smile. “I am one.”

She put the back of her hand to her lips, desperately trying to calm her beating heart. Hard to do when Seaton looked so masculine and appealing in black breeches, a tailored coat, and shiny black-buckled pumps, casting aside all manner of vulgarity associated with seafaring men.

He gave the simple white cravat tied about his neck a frustrated tug, proceeding to ignore her.

She wanted to rip the cravat off his neck in a violent display to prove she wasn’t falling deeply, madly in love with him. Why had she let
Capitán
Blade get under her skin? Did she feel guilty for what Delgado had done to him? Did her feelings have anything to do with the fact that he’d saved her life… twice? Was it because he’d brought her safely to London and now enabled her to fulfill her duty to Lords Melville and Danbury?

She sighed heavily and fought her dizzying emotions as she gazed out the window, embarrassed and ashamed. Espionage didn’t allow for indulgences or affairs of the heart. She’d already lost her parents… possibly Eddie. If she succeeded in saving Lord Melville and putting a stop to Lord Fleming’s corruption within the House of Lords, she might find a way to cope with that loss. But she would never recover from losing her heart to a man who’d lost his capacity to love.

An awkward silence swelled between them as Mercy bit her numbing lips and gathered her thoughts, struggling to regain control over her feelings. She owed the man before her a debt of gratitude she could never repay. His arrival in Spain, just under a year ago, had catapulted him into horrifying turmoil.

Delgado.

She bore much of the blame. Had she not enlisted Esmeralda’s help in contacting English agents along the docks, Garrick might not have been tempted by the woman, imprisoned, and then tortured.

Mercy closed her eyes to block out the horrific images she’d stored in her mind, but it was no use. The only way she could ever forgive herself was to see Seaton’s scars, brand them into her mind, and then do everything within her power to help him find a way to live again.

“Come now,
señorita
.” His voice had lost some of its power. “We’ve come much too far to let a simple jarring of the carriage come between us.”

She set aside her self-loathing and drew in a sigh. “I should thank you for preventing me from doing something I would have regretted.”

His mouth twitched. “Is the thought of kissing me that revolting to you?”

Dios Mio
, no! She clutched her chest. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Do I?” His broken tone implied he might not.

She bit her lip. This direction of their conversation did neither of them any good. And yet she couldn’t help but be enamored by Seaton’s bold features or stop her pulse from racing at the sound of his voice once again. The man seated before her was the most fascinating man she’d ever seen. There was a slight rakish dent in the bridge of his nose suggesting it had been broken more than once, and his full lips tempted hers beneath his mustache.

How could she forget his determination to silence her cries in the night after Murray’s attack? First, Holt. Then, Murray. How far would their enemies go? Would Constance be next? Was Seaton bringing danger to her cousin’s doorstep by escorting Mercy to the Duke of Blendingham’s townhouse?

He cleared his throat. “You will find Her Grace a very gracious host.”

Had he read her racing thoughts? She swallowed thickly. “We are not as close as our mothers would have liked us to be.”

“I dare say, you’ll have plenty of time to remedy that.”

Would she? She was a spy, a devious, calculating individual who understood action caused reaction. Facts didn’t always add up. Vows were meant to be broken. The demands of duty often solicited the last ounce of blood anyone could possibly shed. She knew little about the pleasantries in life unless they could be used to uncover information. That was how she’d lived since she was young enough to understand the difference. That made her exceedingly different from her cousin. If Constance was wise, she would not offer her trust.

“We will not always be at war,
señorita
.”

Wouldn’t they? Some grievances pre-dated time. “Forgive me if I cannot recall a time when I haven’t been at war.” She narrowed her eyes. “Let me be clear. Neither of us is prepared for what may transpire in the coming days. Constance is responsible for her husband and son. We, on the other hand, are two self-sufficient fools willing to do whatever it takes to serve our king. I might add, at the expense of all else, including
mi hermano
.”

“Your brother again.” He frowned and exhaled gruffly. “After everything that has transpired between us, you still do not trust me?”

She wanted to, more than anything in the world. “After what I have recently experienced, I have sufficient cause to distrust everyone.”

If only King Charles had employed more diplomacy. Queen Maria’s vile protégé, de Godoy was the reason for Spain’s careless allegiance with Napoleon.

He reached out to touch her for the first time since she’d tried to remove his mask.

She dropped her gaze to their entwined fingers.

“I shall make it my duty to win your trust then.”

She pulled her fingers away from his. “That will not be easy.”

Clothed as she was in ridiculous garments borrowed from Seaton’s crew, she detested his confidence. What would her cousin think when she appeared at her door dressed thusly? The serviceable apparel worked well to protect a person from the elements at sea but in the city, the fabric irritated her skin, making her shift uneasily on the cushions as she tried in vain not to think about who had worn the articles before her. God only knew when the garments had been cleaned. She’d been promised the beige trousers, blue plaid shirt, and black boots had been carefully selected and were in prime condition. Primed for what, she could only imagine — Bedlam? Disease?

He cleared his throat. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

He was apologizing… to her?

She chose her words carefully, knowing how much the admission must have cost him. “’Tis no inconvenience at all, my lord,” she lied, switching to the formal way of addressing him now that they were back in polite society.

“No?” His eye widened and he sat back against the squabs.

“Surprised?” What good would it do her to expose him for what he was, a pirate? He was one of the most proficient agents of the crown she’d ever met, though that gave her little solace for what lay ahead. Could Nelson’s Tea stop a foreign agent solidly stationed within the House of Lords without sacrifice?

“I
am
surprised. You astonish me a great deal,
señorita
.”

“Dressed as I am, I have no doubt of it.”

Garrick’s laughter filled the carriage interior. “There’s no question you’ve been bred well, m’lady.”

“Then what, pray tell, is so funny?”

“I’m just remembering what someone said to me once. ‘The clothes do not necessarily make the man.’”

“Bah!” She had no idea who’d said that to him and it made no sense. “You are teasing me again, no doubt. You know I am not a man.”

“Yes.” His gaze smoldered. “I do.”

She ripped the cocked hat off her head and tossed it at him to break the spell he was weaving over her again.

Reflexes sharp, he brushed the hat easily aside. “Have a care.” His eye raked over her with a burning, hungry fire or had she imagined it? “I’ve acted as your maid servant for nearly a fortnight. I am quite aware of the state of your sex.” His voice turned strangely gruff. “And I’m incapable of forgetting it.”

“If you had snatched my maid when you kidnapped me and stole my brother’s ship—”

“Reclaimed,” he forcefully added. “The
Priory
is
my
ship, if you recall.”

She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Many pardons.
Your
ship.” She fought to speak clearly. “If you had snatched my maid, I would never have been in need of your assistance. Nor would I have been forced to wear threadbare articles only a pauper would dare call clothes. If you had thought about my comforts from the beginning—”

“You are wrong.” He tore his gaze from her and looked out the window.

“Wrong? How can that be? I rarely blunder. Mistakes cost lives.”

“That they do.”

He agreed? What was the problem? “Then what are you implying?”

His hands fisted at his knees. She imagined he wanted to strangle her… again?

“The facts speak for themselves.” He hissed from between clenched teeth. “You are a woman targeted by assassins. What you wear has been the least of my worries — until now.”

“Why is my attire suddenly so important?”

“You are a woman who has just docked in London on a ship full of men.”

He turned his face back to her, his gaze capturing hers with a primitive hold she couldn’t quite shake. “I recall your cousin arriving at the east docks in the
Striker
, a ship not unlike my own. If your cousin had taken more care in hiding her identity when she’d disembarked, her reputation wouldn’t have suffered thereby forcing her into a speedy marriage.”

Mercy’s intake of breath was swift. “How dare you!
This
,” she said, glancing down at her body, “is not about protecting my reputation.”

“Protecting you in all things is my duty,
señorita
. However it must be done.”

His sincerity made her tremble. But there was something hidden beneath his words, a whisper of knowledge he refused to reveal. What wasn’t he saying?

“Nothing has happened between us. If that is what you fear.”

His frown tugged at his scar unforgivingly. “Ah, but only you and I know this.”

“Your men know the truth.”

“Do they? You of all people know that the truth means many things to different people.”

“But they were there,” she insisted.

“Were they? I don’t recall them sleeping in my cabin. Should I have allowed them to hang their hammocks alongside mine?”

“
Diablo!
You know the truth!” Since Murray’s attack, he’d not left her side. They’d walked the deck together, dined together, and slept in the same room together, just as they had every night she’d been on board the
Priory
.

“You are so easy to season,
señorita
. You need not worry for your virtue, I assure you. My lips are sealed.” He smiled broadly. “The duchess will see to it that you are artfully armed with a new wardrobe. You have nothing to fear in that regard.”

“I am not afraid, my lord.”

“That will be your downfall.” Fire ignited his gaze. He pointed to the squabs underneath her where she’d secured her cloak. “The sooner you hand over that dispatch you’re hiding, the better. Once the missive is out of your hands, you will be out of danger and free to do as you choose.”

“Do you believe it will be that easy?” She despised the sadness enveloping her heart at the mere thought of the pirate disappearing from her life.

“To escape you? Yes.” He revealed a devil-may-care grin, giving her a glimpse of the man he must have been before he’d been hideously scarred. He drummed his fingers on the carriage doorframe. “If you desire freedom, I will help you find it, no matter how it must be done.”

She frowned. “If only freedom came that easily.”

His unmistakable grumble permeated the interior of the conveyance.

The
clip clip-clopping
of the horses hauling the carriage ushered in a bloated silence between them as they progressed past stately homes in Mayfair and Hanover Square.

“What we do in our line of work,” Seaton said, leaning across the distance, “is never easy.”

“No?” Her desire to do what she could for the greater good had always been the easier choice. Perhaps one her parents had drummed into her when she was a young girl questioning the disappearances of so many young men who went off to war and never came back again… or returned changed in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“Spies are like bobbing fish. In order to stay afloat we fill our heads with half-truths. Lies everyone around us must believe if we are to avoid a fisherman’s net.”

“When will it end?” She feared the answer.

He patted her hand. “Don’t you see? If Holt and Murray have taught us anything, let it be this.” He raised her sleeve and fingered the pulse at her wrist. “We must always pretend that everything is normal. No one, not even those closest to us, can ever truly know who we are. For if we reveal our true selves, we will be irrevocably lost.”