The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (38 page)

The tips of her fingers traced his scars. Air became trapped inside his lungs. Her touch shot bolts of turbulent heat through his limbs all the way to his toes. He’d dreamed of this moment, a moment that had always concluded with a bloodcurdling shriek. He’d never dared to hope a woman’s touch would reawaken the man beneath the disfigurement, a man who yearned for love, family, children. For surely no woman desired a beast in her bed.

Her lips, plump and moist, tempted beyond reason as she lowered his eye patch with a gentleness that rivaled a piece of silk.

He moved to stop her, but she prevented him. “Let me see you, my love.”

“There will never come a day that I tire of hearing you say that.”

“I love you, Garrick.” She smiled tenderly, grazing his skin with the tips of her fingers, the feel of her so strangely raw, sensual, beautiful and right. “All of you.” She pulled him down to her face and kissed his monstrous flesh, her lips touching the void which prevented him from looking upon her beautiful face. “I will never stop loving you.”

Walls he’d erected around his heart collapsed, crashing into pieces. “Who am I to deserve a woman like you?”

“You’re a pirate.”

“Aye. You know that I am.”

“Pirates take what they want and get what they deserve.”

“That they do.”

“Then yield, Garrick. Give
me
your heart and soul. Allow me to love you the way you deserve to be loved, and I shall show you the world.”

His heart drummed in his chest, the rhythmic beat awakening the man inside him who struggled to be free. He was alive. He had so much to live for. Mercy had found him. And in this miraculous moment, he capitulated. “You’ve won. I surrender,
señorita
. I surrender all.”

Abbydon Cove, Talland Bay

July 1806

Constance leaned over
Oliver, held tightly in Mrs. Mortimer’s arms. “Goodbye, my darling. I shall see you after the service.”

“No need to worry over the lad, Your Grace. We have much to keep ourselves occupied along the beach.” Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes twinkled merrily. “There are seashells of all sizes for us to add to Oliver’s growing collection.”

Oliver looked up at Mrs. Mortimer and smiled. “Zeeshez.”

Mercy glanced at her mother, Lady Lydia Vasquez Claremont, with worry. Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, and Mercy knew she was thinking of the times she’d spent doing the very same thing with Eddie. She reached for her mother’s hand, raised it to her lips, and placed a kiss there.

“Look at the time,” Mrs. Mortimer said understanding at once where Lydia’s thoughts had strayed. Ever the peacekeeper, she hugged Oliver close. “We’re off to find seashells. They’ll be excellent keepsakes, fond remembrances of our visit to Abbydon Cove.”

Oliver cooed, pointing to objects outside the manor house as they disappeared out the double doors.

Constance slipped her arm into the crook of Mercy’s and heaved a contented sigh. “Being here has given me a much better perspective on life and what makes a family whole. I daresay the air has definitely improved Percy’s disposition. Have you seen how he’s taken to Lord Pendrim’s ships?”

“I suspect his mood has faltered since Fleming was brought to justice.” Mercy raised her brow. “Do you suppose boredom has set in again now that Lord Melville’s trial is over and the Admiralty has been put back to rights?”

Constance gave her a wide-eyed stare. “Do you think revealing that I am expecting another child will ease Percy’s burdens?”

Laughter tickled the back of Mercy’s throat. She clasped Constance’s hand. “You are indeed blessed, cousin. If only Garrick and I can one day experience the invigorating love you and Percy share.”

“I have no doubt that you and my son-in-law-to-be already indulge in that pleasure.” Lydia drew Mercy into her embrace and clasped her tightly to her breast. “A man who sails to the ends of the earth to gift his bride with her greatest need is a man worth keeping indeed.”

Constance joined them, hugging them both. “I second that. I have gained more than a cousin. You will have to mother both of us now, Aunt Lydia.”

Mercy laid her head on her mother’s shoulder, basking in her mother’s lavender scent and the feel of her cousin’s arms around her, silently thanking God for the hundredth time for the blessings they’d received.

Emotion overwhelmed her as she took hold of Constance’s hand and then her mother’s. “You are my blood relations and Garrick is my life.”

“You are the luckiest woman in the world this day.” Lady Emma Pendrim glided into the room, accompanied by Gillian and Adele.

Adele hurried forward and placed a loving kiss on Mercy’s cheek. “By fire and flame, I am exceedingly happy that the female to male ratio is increasing in this family.”

Emma’s face reddened. “Adele Frances Seaton Guffald.”

The redheaded fury, soon to become Mercy’s sister-in-law, had broken out the best for Mercy and Garrick’s wedding, donning an exquisite rose gown, lined with burgundy ribbon and flowers at the bosom, sleeves, and hem. Her long tresses, arranged with seed pearls, allowed for the bigger pearls dangling from her earlobes to be set off at great advantage. What a striking difference she made to the captain Mercy had admired in San Sebastian.

Adele merely shrugged. “Mother, you and I both benefit from Mercy’s ability to memorize every tidbit of conversation and correspondence. Think of it. With her exotic beauty, her other talents will offset our endeavors. Oh, we are sure to be blessed in future dealings with my brothers and father.” Adele raised her hands heavenward, rejoicing. “’Tis a day I’ve longed to come to pass.”

Laughter made Emma’s face redden even more. “Well, I must agree three against eight sounds much better than two.”

“I do believe Garrick has bitten off more than he can digest,” Gillian said. “I cannot wait to hear what mayhem you concoct.”

“Sadly, we shall have to save that conversation for another day.” Constance took Adele and Emma by the arm. “It is time. We must not leave Garrick waiting any longer than necessary.”

Gillian turned to follow the three women out of the room then looked back. She placed her hand over her blossoming stomach. “I shall never forget what you’ve done for me,
señorita
.”

Mercy smiled as she watched the women shut the door silently behind them. She stood beside her mother, her entire body expectant and alive. War had stolen everything from them except each other. Her parents’ escape from Spain had not left them homeless. Lord Pendrim had rewarded her father with an estate to rival the one they’d left behind as repayment for his loyalty. Their lives would be perfectly in order, if not… if not for Eddie and the hole his death left in their hearts.

Lydia clasped Mercy’s hand. “If only your brother were alive to see you marry this day.”

Mercy wiped a tear trailing down her face. She and Garrick had chosen not to tell her parents about Eddie’s betrayal. They would learn about their son’s deceit soon enough but for now, they needed time to mourn the boy her brother could have been. She prayed her wedding offered a glimpse of hope her parents dearly needed.

“Come. Come.”
Don
Vasquez moved into the room, his beaming smile contagious. “I am here to escort the two most beautiful women in the world to an affair I vow will rival nothing a proud
papá
can imagine.” He took their arms in his and drew them close to his side. “You look beautiful, my daughter. I know your husband-to-be will discover he is the luckiest man in the world today. If he does not, I shall avenge you.”

“
Papá
!” she scolded him.

“It is true. And I couldn’t be more proud of you, Mercy.” Her father gazed into her mother’s eyes. “I am indebted to you and Garrick for being solely responsible for allowing me more time with my adoring wife.”

“And for reuniting us with my sister’s daughter. Oh, but I’ve longed to see Constance for so many years.”

Her father’s lighthearted laughter filled Mercy’s heart with exceeding joy. War had almost destroyed them but one man physically changed by war had rescued them.

Garrick.

She owed everything to Garrick: her life, her love, her future. How she longed to proclaim her love before a crowd of witnesses, to say the vows that would unite them together, forever.

~~~~

Reverend Pickering’s rendition
of
Fordyce’s Sermon
made Garrick squirm uncomfortably. The writer’s disdain for women wasn’t exactly ideal when Garrick was marrying the most beautiful, headstrong woman he’d ever known. Why vicars insisted on reading from that damned book, he’d never know. What did it matter, eh? As long as he was good and married to the woman he loved, he’d be content.

Mercy stood before him now, her hair neatly arranged above her head, a lace-covered mantle situated at her crown. He preferred the strands hanging loose about her face and shoulders, tussled by the wind. Rose cameo earbobs dangled from her ears accentuating her graceful neck, drawing attention to her pulse, throbbing at its base. Her white silk frock neatly hugged her ample bosom, enhancing it to perfection, making him wonder how heavy her breasts would feel in his hands. The bodice, low and tempting, but modest enough for public view was lined with tiny lace frills sewn along the edges, the feathery ends dancing on Mercy’s skin with each calming breath.

His breath caught in his throat. She was calm, smiling up at him as though only the two of them existed. His soul leaped for joy. His heart cried out he was the luckiest man in the world.

He held her hands, rubbing his thumbs along the sides, visualizing where he’d touch her this very night.

Emotion clogged his throat. He attempted to clear it. If he continued with this line of thought, he wouldn’t make it through the ceremony without embarrassment.

He glanced over at the pews to the men who’d served with him for the past five years. Men who’d risked their lives to save his and the life of the woman he adored. Moore. Simmons. Roddy. One-eyed Douglas. Husam. And the men, and baroness, who’d been his friends… comprising Nelson’s Tea.

Henry stood with Adele and lifted a curious brow then bowed his head. The action brought back to mind Henry’s promise that this part of the ceremony, Pickering’s penchant for quoting
Fordyce’s Sermons
, was part of Garrick’s penance for the manner in which Henry had been forced to marry his sister. All forgiven, of course, because Henry had grown to love Adele. Somehow, standing up with Mercy, Garrick sensed Henry enjoyed watching him squirm.

“Do you, Mercedes Catalina Vasquez Claremont, take Garrick Cenewyg—”

Henry burst out laughing. He got elbowed by Adele for his trouble when Garrick glowered at him.

“Seaton,” Pickering continued, frowning, “to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“
Sí
.” She nodded. “I do.” Mercy’s voice settled over him like a tranquil sea.

Pickering adjusted his spectacles. “And do you, Garrick Cenewyg Seaton...” Garrick stared down Henry, daring him to laugh again. Henry shrugged. “Take Mercedes Catalina Vasquez Claremont to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Garrick squeezed Mercy’s hands. “I do.” The words ripped out of his mouth like a tempestuous gale.
Get on with it, before she changes her mind.

His heart beat a frantic pace as Pickering paused for inexhaustible seconds. What was he waiting for?

“Then I proudly proclaim you to be man and wife. What God has brought together, let no man tear asunder.” Pickering set down his books and intertwined his fingers before his paunch. “You may… kiss your bride, my lord.”

Finally, the words he’d been waiting to hear.
My bride.

Mercy smiled and tilted her head toward him. Her trusting stare penetrated his soul, uniting with him as one. He couldn’t wait to claim her lips, feel her sweet breath in his mouth, taste her tongue. She waited for him, her lips moist, plump, and ready. The Spanish spy he’d risked everything to save was
his
now — his bride — his life.

Mercy loved him, not for who he’d been, but for who he was now, scars, faults, and all.

He leaned down and claimed her beautiful lips, absorbing the charge that shuddered through him as they touched. He eagerly awaited the glint of heaven promised in her kiss, her touch, and ached for the moment they were finally alone, wishing their kiss could go on and on.

He broke away, immediately cursing the distance mounting between them.

The small chapel abutting Pendrim’s estate erupted into applause. Neighbors, friends, and crews from Seaton’s shipping waited expectantly as Garrick clasped Mercy by the hand.

“Are you ready to face what lies ahead?” he whispered in her ear.

“I am. I can survive anything as long as we’re together, my love.”

My love.
He would never tire of hearing Mercy call him ‘her love’.

He led her down the aisle, past Henry and Adele who beamed with a glowing, almost tearful smile, past Percy quirking his quizzing glass against his mouth speculatively until Constance pulled his hand down, past Simon and Gillian who stared at one another, past his mother and father who beamed with pride, past his five brothers, chuckling and slapping each other on the back, toward the light beaming through the chapel doors.

Outside, the sun shone brightly and a crowd of well-wishers waited, tossing flowers as they passed.

Garrick led Mercy to an awaiting carriage decorated with more lilies and roses and streaming ribbons. He helped her ascend the steps then climbed beside her. Once aboard, he faced the eager crowd.

Henry leaned on his cane, his eyes beaming with delight, while Adele clung to his arm. “We’ll speak more when you’re rested, Cenewyg.”

Couldn’t resist, could you, Henry?
And damned well he’d pay for that self-satisfied smirk too.

“Return to us soon, sister. We have much to plan… I mean discuss,” Adele said, clapping her hand over her mouth before dissolving into giggles.

Percy stepped up to the carriage and saluted Garrick. “Make her exceedingly happy or I’ll fire as fast as your guns can be padded.”

Garrick bowed his head. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Percy extended his hand. “She saved my life. Do not make me return the favor.”

He shook Percy’s hand as Constance rose on the tips of her toes, nudging her husband. “Do forgive him, won’t you? It isn’t everyday he sees a most-beloved cousin marry an illustrious, heroic friend.”

“Is it me you speak of or your cousin?” Garrick asked.

“You, of course, my lord.” Constance smiled.

The duchess’s high praise made Garrick stand taller. He mouthed “thank you” to her then allowed his gaze to stray to Simon and Gillian.

Gillian, grinning ear to ear, curtsied. “Your wedding has exceeded my greatest hopes. Take care, my
dearest
friend.”