The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (21 page)

Garrick shook his head trying to understand. “Are you saying Holt implicated Lord Guildford?”

“Not exactly. He did confess that the man we were looking for resided in Habersham Place. Since Guildford’s ties led back to the church, I assumed Holt was identifying him.”

Bile rose in Garrick’s throat and he fought to swallow it back. “Could the gold have come from Langbourne Ward?”

Holt. Murray. Parsons. Heads of the church, and the Admiralty Board. How many more would betray them before they apprehended the mastermind and brought those involved to justice?

“It’s possible.” Percy accepted his hat and turned toward the front door. “Probable.”

“Wait,” he said, reaching out to grab Percy’s arm.

The duke stared down at Garrick’s hand.

Nonplused, Garrick asked the one question that had plagued him for months. “Why did Holt betray us?”

“Behave like a civilized man and I shall tell you.”

Garrick released his grip.

Percy straightened his sleeve, trying unsuccessfully to remove the wrinkles Garrick’s fingers put there. “It’s positively ruined, I tell you,” he complained to Jeffers who stood off to the side of the room, looking disinterested.

The opposite was true. One never underestimated Jeffers’s intelligence.

Visibly struggling not to show his impatience, Percy looked Garrick square in the face. He lowered his voice. “Holt had one vice he could not resist… greed. Suffice it to say, he used St. Dionis Backchurch’s legacies to fund his private entertainment, and Guildford, or I suspect someone else in his employ, tightened the noose about Holt’s neck until access to our organization had been achieved. I firmly believe Holt’s situation had become so desperate that he allowed himself to be used as the devil’s pawn. He as much as confessed to being responsible for Phillip Cavendish and Chester Walden’s deaths and…”

Garrick fisted his hands as he waited for Percy to continue.

“I’m quite certain information Holt volunteered ended Lucien Chauncey’s life.”

An untamable fury seethed within Garrick as a low growl erupted from his throat. “Does Gillian know?”

“No. And I do not want her to find out, especially now that she and Simon have finally settled into their marriage. She’s suffered enough.”

“I cannot agree more.” Lucien’s espionage skills were legendary. He’d been a mastermind who’d taught Gillian everything she knows. Was Holt responsible for him being caught by Fouché’s men and murdered on his way back from France? It all finally began to make sense.

“Unfortunately, Holt gave us no more information. He spent most of his time praying he wouldn’t end up in the fiery pits of hell.”

“Then how—”

“Easy. Do not question how we will take down Holt’s puppet master. Mercy is our key to locating the man behind every betrayal. She knows who we’re dealing with.” Percy’s grin widened as Garrick began to understand fully. “Yes. Being targeted for assassination can make one especially determined not to hand over evidence to the wrong person. If bringing Simon here will ease Mercy’s burden, I will do it without delay. The sooner she’s free of the one thing our enemies need back, the safer she’ll be.”

“Then go. Quickly.” Garrick nodded vigorously. “I won’t leave her side.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Yes?” At the knock on the door, Constance halted mid-brush stroke to stare at Mercy’s reflection in the mirror. “It’s Jeffers.”

“What does he want at this hour?” Mercy asked.

“Tea, Your Grace.” Constance smiled back at Mercy in the mirror as the butler’s voice replied from the other side of the bedchamber door.

She laid a bolstering hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “I hope you do not mind. I took the liberty of ordering some refreshment for us. Tea will do us both a world of good… especially now as we continue to wait for Percy and my uncle to return.”

Mercy nodded, though she doubted tea alone would do that trick. But her cousin appeared distracted, and she knew Constance had to be at sixes and sevens. “I shall like that very much.”

“A heady blend of tea, no matter the hour, helps calm my nerves whenever Percy is gone.”

Was Constance aware of what Percy did for Nelson’s Tea? “You are accustomed to his…
adventures
?”

The question caught Constance by surprise. Her unnerving stare brought gooseflesh to Mercy’s arms.

“Jeffers,” she said, “good man that he is, and loyal to a fault, has picked up on my nonsensical habits of pacing the room for hours. He’s quite inflexible for a servant, though I don’t suppose I should school
you
on his background.”

What did her cousin think she knew about the butler? Was he a member of Nelson’s Tea?

“I’m sure by now you know no one is who they appear to be.” She waved the brush in the air, several strands of Mercy’s dark hair clinging to the bristles. “In any case, Jeffers is very prompt about producing my much-needed respite. It’s an unspoken signal between us that my husband is up to no good or a world of good.” She waved the brush again. “Whichever way you look at it. Perspective is always needed to decide which, and unfortunately, Percy’s insistence on keeping me in the dark… is for my safety.”

“Ah.” Mercy smiled at Constance, more certain than ever that she liked the butler. Though he’d been sworn to keep Percy’s secrets, somehow he’d found a way to bolster Constance’s spirits.

“I suppose we shouldn’t keep the poor man waiting.” Constance turned away from the mirror and faced the doorway. “You may come in, Jeffers.”

The door opened with silent finesse. Jeffers appeared, arms laden with a tea service, the silver glistening in the candlelight like shiny armor. He gave a slight bow then moved quickly to a table near a burgundy-damask chaise longue and placed the tea and sandwiches there.

“Tea is late, Your Grace.” He bowed again before moving to exit the room.

“Better to do something late than never at all.” Constance’s admission struck Mercy hard. How long had her cousin lived without word from Percy? The code between duchess and butler demonstrated the sheer force of will it took to be married to a spy. “The care you’ve taken to brew tea this evening is greatly appreciated.”

Jeffers bowed. “Your Grace.
Señorita
.” He opened his mouth to speak then closed it, stepping forward and stopping short of clearing the doorway. Something akin to pain flashed across his eyes as he placed his hand behind his back. He cleared his throat and gave a slight nod of his head. “If I may be so bold.”

“When has that not been the case?” The teasing words brought a smile to Constance’s face.

“I advise you to rest. Come morning, we shall all need our faculties about us. Until then, there is no way to discern how long it will take His Grace to reach Lord Dan—”

“You will contact us, no matter what happens?” Mercy couldn’t help interrupting. Jeffers slanted a quizzical glance her way. She bristled under Jeffers’s emotionless stare. “When they arrive,” she added, without fear of having overstepped her bounds, “no matter the hour.”

Constance returned to her side, squeezing her shoulder. “I expect Mercy and I will be told immediately when my husband returns.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Without another word, Jeffers supplied a curt nod then made a quick exit.

Mercy released a heavy sigh as the door soundlessly closed. “
Dios mio
, I must learn my place.”

“You needn’t worry, dearest.” Constance placed her hand on Mercy’s head and began to brush her hair again, peering at her guardedly in the mirror. “If anyone can reach my uncle, Percy can.”

“I shall endeavor to believe as strongly as you do that the duke can reach your uncle before it’s too late.”

“Simon is many things but not a fool.” Constance began to speak more of her uncle, though Mercy was only half-listening as she went on. The melodious sound of Constance’s voice and the exhilarating sensations of the brush stroking her hair did much to soothe her riotous mind. But her wild thoughts couldn’t be harnessed.

No matter how diligent Garrick had been in covering their tracks, had they been followed? Did her enemies know she’d gained the help of her cousin’s husband?

War and loss had wedged a lifetime’s divide between Mercy and Constance. What if something happened to Percy? Could she live with the knowledge that she had stripped her cousin of happiness or cost Oliver’s father his life?

Mercy hid her shaking hands in her lap, hoping Constance didn’t notice her innermost struggle.

Much had happened within the last twenty-four hours since Percy had gone to court. Garrick had sent word to Randall and Moore, ordering them to post an extra guard outside the townhouse. Over dinner and then over a glass of port, Garrick had explained the particulars of their voyage to Constance: the narrow escapes, the betrayals. Afterward, she’d followed Constance upstairs to bathe off her filthy disguise then donned a beautifully embroidered nightgown that had been sewn specifically for a duchess.

The steamy bath, hand-toweled hair, and feminine touches had done much to improve Mercy’s disposition, if such a thing was possible. Constance had transformed her from a filthy spy into a fashionable, gentile… spy.

There was no escaping what she was.

She stared back at her reflection, thinking of the many times her mother had brushed her hair the way Constance did now.

Mamá.

Would she ever see Lady Lydia and
Don
Alberto alive again?

Constance set the brush, bristle-side down on the vanity then squeezed Mercy’s shoulders one more time, for good measure. “Come. Our tea is getting cold. Jeffers meant for it to improve our spirits not deflate them.”

She giggled most adorably, but both of them knew the only thing that could set their spirits to flight would be the sound of Percy and Lord Danbury’s return.

Where were they? What was taking so dreadfully long?

Mercy rose from the vanity stool then followed Constance to the chaise longue, coming to sit down beside her as her cousin began pouring steaming tea into a beautiful, dainty cup. With elegant grace, Constance offered the cup and saucer to Mercy and together they listened to a warming fire pop and crackle in the hearth.

“Is it true?” Constance finally asked, startling Mercy with her bold-faced honesty as she set her cup on its saucer. She grabbed one of Mercy’s hands and held it within hers. “You can tell me anything, cousin. I will not cast blame.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak. “Is what true? What is there to blame?”

“I must confess that I do have eyes. Er… I mean I cannot help but understand that after being together for so long, you might have developed feelings for Garrick.”

Heat rushed to Mercy’s face. “He saved my life, Constance. I owe him… everything.”

“I see.” She patted her hand. “But that isn’t exactly what I am asking. Let me rephrase my question delicately.” Constance smiled. “How often were you alone with him in his cabin?”

Mercy snatched her hand back. “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you suspect, he’s done me no harm. In fact, the exact opposite is the case.”

“The exact opposite? Forgive me for being so bold. How you must think ill of me.” Constance inhaled a steadying breath. “You cannot possibly understand my motives. Without revealing too much of my own suspicions, I must know the nature of your relationship with Garrick. He is a complicated man, reclusive, tormented. He’s…” She placed a shaky hand over her mouth, unable to finish.

Tears filled Mercy’s eyes. Her heart twinged, producing an unbearable tightness in her breast. Was her cousin deeply affected by what had happened to Garrick and only sought to protect him? Or was she trying to protect Mercy? “Garrick has proven himself to be resourceful, skilled and a loyal and trustworthy man in every instance.”

“You don’t understand.” Constance placed the heel of her hand on her forehead. “I’m afraid I am bungling this wretchedly. What I mean to ask is—”

“It’s quite all right, cousin.” Mercy smiled hauntingly. “I understand perfectly. Nothing happened between us on board the
Priory
.”

“Nothing? Are you certain? Because I can see something has happened between the two of you.”

“Garrick has been a perfect gentleman.”

“Then what explains these bruises?” Constance asked, easing Mercy’s night gown off her shoulder. Mercy had forgotten them while she’d been enjoying the hot bath.

“Garrick did not do this to me.” She saw the doubt in Constance’s eyes. “Is that what concerns you, his unpredictable nature?”

Constance bit her lip. “The poor man has had such a lamentable time. Why, the only one of us that has ever been able to calm him down — besides Gillian, of course — is Captain Henry Guffald.”

“
Capitán
Guffald? Isn’t he married to Garrick’s sister,
Capitán
Belle?”

Constance giggled a very contagious laugh. “Yes, Garrick’s sister, Lady Adele, is married to Henry. You shall meet them soon. With all that is going on —surrounding you, that is — Henry shouldn’t be far. Adele will make sure of it. The Seatons are a complex family, but they are as loyal as any blood relations can be.”

Mercy couldn’t agree more. “Family loyalty is a highly valued trait.”

Constance put her arm around Mercy’s shoulders. “You shall not find anyone more loyal or devoted to family in all of London, perhaps even the world, than the men of Nelson’s Tea.”

But Constance was wrong. What about Holt? Murray? They’d been treated like family and had betrayed them all. How could she trust Nelson’s Tea when several men in their employ proved the opposite was true? As much as she wanted to believe, there was only one person she could trust… herself.

“Come,” Constance said, drawing Mercy up off the chaise longue by the hand. “I know we have only just begun to know one another, but I pray you do not doubt my sincerity. You and I are much stronger than these rogues give us credit for. And I dare say, our bond, won by war and loss will never disappoint us.”

Mercy placed her hand over Constance’s. “You will never have reason to doubt my loyalty.”

“Nor you mine.” Constance clapped her hands together with glee. “I own we are going to get along famously.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “You are here now, safe and sound. That is all that matters. In faith, you are like the sister I never had and will be treated as such. And so, I leave you now to get some much-needed rest. We shall speak more tomorrow. Yes?”

“
Sí.
I would like that very much.”

Constance helped Mercy into bed. She tucked the burgundy and gold counterpane around her with loving care. “No matter what happens, we shall see it through together. All of us.”

Mercy watched Constance glide out of the room with the grace of an elegant Spanish dancer.

“
Todos nosotros
.”

She closed her eyes but knew sleep wouldn’t come. It was only a matter of time before this beautiful family reunion was tarnished by deceit and blood.

~~~~

The ormolu clock
chimed half-past eleven. Garrick waited until the last ding sounded then swirled brandy in his tumbler. The liquor gleamed, reflecting light from the fire in the hearth beside him, whispering deceiving promises to end his insufferable nightmares.

To hell with promises!

He raised the glass, examining the honey-brown liquid. Too late, he found a Spanish maiden’s eyes staring back at him.

Mercedes Catalina Vasquez Claremont. Mercy…

“Devil damn me, for not being able to get that wench out of my mind.”

He saluted the mantel clock and downed the brandy in one swallow, embracing the burning sensations that seared a fiery path down his throat to his stomach. He leaned back on the leather chair.
God, how glorious it is to experience something other than the horrific dreams plaguing my mind.

He’d gone to bed, prepared to finally close his eyes and rest, however briefly, before Mercy awoke and he’d be called upon to monitor her whereabouts. Time to himself made that much easier since the vixen was safely tucked inside the room Constance had prepared for her.

He cast a glance around the pristine study. Percy’s townhouse was impenetrable, nigh inescapable. The duke had outfitted the architecture with enhancements to ensure the safety of his duchess and son, Oliver, to include several interesting hidden additions for weapons. Precautions an ordinary man might raise eyebrows for within the upper crust but not Garrick. He knew what men were capable of in the depths of their innermost souls, especially if gold was on the line. He most certainly understood a man’s need to protect those he loved.