The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (9 page)

“Ah. Ah. Ah.” He got up so swiftly, she wasn’t prepared. “I already have to replace one decanter. If you want to drink during the rest of this voyage, you’ll belay that.”

He grabbed her wrist, took the tumbler out of her hand, and set it on the desk. She fought the urge to slap his face but when he turned back to look at her, scowling, his expression cautioned her to stay seated, not to push him too far.

“Release me.”

“Are you ready to act with civility?”

Nothing about her situation made her want to be well-mannered. He’d stolen her from her homeland. It didn’t matter that he’d saved her life. He’d captured her and sailed her away from the only people she’d ever loved. Her parents had given her life, independence. They’d overlooked her bad temper. Not this man. He stolen everything she’d known away from her: Spain, her freedom, her parents, Eddie.

“I realize this must be hard for you to accept, but one thing must be perfectly clear. A ship isn’t safe, not for me, not for my crew, not for you, unless we act as if we are all in this together. Understand?”

“
Sí
.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,
Capitán
Blade. I have handed you my independence. Now, let go of my arm. You are hurting me.”

“But of course.”

His fingers sprang open and he jerked away as if touching her had repulsed him. She pulled her arm back into her ribs and rubbed the burning spot where his fingers had been, trying foolishly to understand why his touch bothered her so much.

“Now that we have discovered you can be rational, are you hungry, perchance?”

“Possibly.” She lied. She was ravenous!

The chicken glistened. She moistened her tongue. The roasted skin had been cooked to perfection. She fisted her hands to keep from snatching it off the desk and behaving like a starving animal.

He pushed one succulent leg toward her. “By all means…”

Mercy nodded. “Why ask me if I’m hungry? You must know that I am.”

She wiped her fingers on her skirts then grabbed the chicken as delicately as she could without appearing a heathen. But once the meat touched her lips and she took a bite, she couldn’t stifle a satisfied moan.

“I take it you like it.”

Pure heaven!
She nodded absentmindedly and tore off a piece of biscuit. “
Muy bien.
”

“English.”

“It’s very good, thank you.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Cook you approve.”

“
Sí
,” she said, waving her hand when she realized she’d spoken in Spanish again. To cover her misstep, she supplied, “Who knew Eddie ate this well?”

“Eddie?”
Capitán
Blade’s right eyebrow cocked at an awkward angle, tugging the scarred tissue beneath his eye patch disproportionately as he sat back down.

“My brother. Oh,” she said, dabbing her lip, “you know him as
Capitán
Eduardo Philippe Vasquez. I’ve called him Eddie since we were children.”

He stared at her long and hard. What was he thinking, this captain who’d returned to a place which had brought him untold horrors?

She regarded him from beneath her lashes. What was it about this smuggler that affected her so? He wasn’t extraordinarily kind. And yet her heart ached for him, for what he’d been forced to withstand in the name of all he held holy — England. God only knew how many endless hours of torture he’d endured without divulging a name ―
her
name. Esmeralda had been her one and only contact for nearly a year before her death. While acting as Delgado’s mistress, she’d supplied Mercy with detailed naval activities in the bay. No one had thought it odd that a Spanish prostitute had professed her sins to Mr. Holt during his rare visits to San Sebastian. What would Delgado have done if he’d known Holt was their go-between? Had Holt betrayed them both? Or was someone else involved? She couldn’t be sure. And until she ferreted out the truth, she wasn’t safe anywhere, except with this man who’d been willing to die protecting her name.

“You were close?”

She had to think for a moment to remember where their conversation had left off. Ah, yes. Her brother. “Were?” Blood drained from her face. Did he know what he’d just implied? She closed her eyes and tried to relax. “What an odd sort of question,
Capitán
.”

“Not odd at all. For instance, my brothers and I are very close.” He smirked. “You see how easy that was to admit?”

She stared at the pirate’s mouth for a moment, trying to piece together their previous conversation so she could respond intelligently. “Am I now to be interrogated like a captive in the very real sense?”

“Captive?” He grimaced.

Her heart twinged of its own accord at the painful memories that word likely brought him.

“Whatever did I do to give you that impression? You are not a prisoner here.”

“Am I not? Then why lock my door? Why question me?”

“The locked door was to protect you. And I merely seek to understand your relationship with your brother.”

“My brother? Then why ask, ‘You
were
close?’”

“Were?”

“I distinctly remember hearing you emphasize that particular word.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “And
are
you?”

“
Seguramente.
And why wouldn’t we be? We are siblings.”

“I can think of several reasons.” He stared at her blankly. Why?

Her father had long praised the tight bond between the Seatons and used their admirable ties as encouragement where she and Eddie were concerned. For her part, she was devoted to her brother. She’d applauded his efforts and successes.

Mercy dabbed her lips and pushed her food forward. “All right then. If you want me to be frank, I shall. I boarded
La Mota
…” at his frown, she amended the ship’s name, “the
Priory
to tell my brother goodbye. What kind of sister would I be
if
I didn’t value my brother’s life over my own? He was setting sail. How was I to know if he’d ever return? These are perilous times,
señor
.”

“Your brother is naive.”

She focused on the word he’d used, “is.” Was it possible so simple a thing could send a sudden surge of joy into her heart? “On the contrary, a bit misguided perhaps, but he’s young and passionate about what he believes to be true and just.”

“Is that the reason you’ve kept secrets from him?”

Laughter tumbled from her mouth. “Have you ever met a man who didn’t need help seeing the world differently?”

Seaton stood abruptly, his body a rigid line. His chair crashed to the floor behind him, the sound echoing into the awkward stillness.

Dios mio!
He was taller than an oak tree when she was seated. So tall she had to crane her neck to glare up at him. Had she hit a nerve?

“I have obviously said something to disturb you.” She searched her memory for the cause but nothing revealed itself. She’d been talking about Eddie, hadn’t she? “What I meant was―”

“I know what you meant,
señorita
.” He inhaled then spoke again. “Your brother needs to learn that loyalty and duty are forged through hardship. Time, my silly
captive
, is of the essence.”

It was her turn to stand. “Who are you to call me ‘silly’? You do not even know me. And what exactly do you mean by hardship,
Capitán
? I assure you that my brother and I have endured plenty.”

He didn’t answer, but stormed toward the screen door.

She banged her tumbler down on the desk in complete frustration. He could not leave. He hadn’t told her anything about Eddie. “What have you done with my brother?”

What was he hiding?

He turned back around, his expression thunderous. “Rest assured, he is safe.” His lip quirked oddly and his fists tightened reflexively. “He is where he can do no more harm.”

Dios mio!
What had Seaton done? She wanted to believe this man, a fellow spy, with every fiber of her being, but a sense of survival and an innate suspicion stopped her. “I do not believe you.”

“Then you are just as I first supposed — a
silly
woman.”

“
¡Que zanza soy!
” She was daft, if she expected him to treat her like his equal. “What are
you
hiding?” Her blunt question hovered in the air until a knock sounded on the screen door.

“Enter,” he shouted without turning.

A squat looking man — compared to Seaton — entered the room. “Cap’n. Ye be needed topside.”

“Thank you, Simmons. That will be all.” He nodded to his mate. When he turned his face toward her, her breath caught in her throat.

Simmons didn’t leave. Instead, he glanced between them as if trying to figure out what was taking place. Mercy wanted to enlighten him, but thought better of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Seaton said, “duty calls.” He gave her a mocking bow then followed the tar out the door.

“We are not done here,
Capitán
Blade!” How dare he dismiss her like she was nothing but a cabin wench? “You still have not told me what you’ve done with my brother!”

She reached across the desk and threw the tumbler at the door just as it slammed closed. Her blood boiling to maximum heat, she picked up the half-barrel and tossed it too. The empty container splintered into pieces.

“Aha!” She fisted her hands until her nails cut into her palms then shouted again as she stomped toward the stern windows. “Ooh!”

Lord Seaton will rue the day he used Eddie against me.

Mercy gazed out
through the stern windows at the
Priory
’s wake, her thoughts soaring to life. If Seaton wouldn’t tell her where Eddie was, she’d find out on her own. She had not survived countless balls, dimly lit alleyways, and clandestine meetings with strangers without learning a thing or two about negotiation. She had ways of getting what she wanted. Seaton would regret not being honest with her when he’d had the chance.

“Now,” she said, twirling about the room, “where did he put Eddie’s maps?”

The charts had been noticeably absent for days. Why? Imray charts provided vast information about navigation through the Bay of Biscay, but if she hadn’t been mistaken, she’d also seen blueprints of the restored ship among them. What was so special about
this
ship? Why had Napoleon kept the renovated vessel away from Trafalgar? God help her, she would investigate
Capitán
Blade’s ship from bow to stern to find out.

The place to start? Eddie’s cabin.

Polished cupboards overhead were simply constructed and laden with rope, blankets, and nautical instruments. She inspected each one until she closed the last cupboard door then fastened her attention on the bunk nested in the corner of the room. Thump! At the sound, she peered quickly at the deck above her to calculate whether or not the warning meant someone would soon come looking for her. After a few moments of holding her breath, a quick glance at the door revealed she was blessedly alone… for the moment.

Mercy sighed with relief then walked toward the bookshelf in the opposite corner. Several naval journals were stacked side by side, alongside nautical books on navigation, and Shakespeare’s
Coriolanus
, all surprisingly in English. Not Eddie’s books. Why had her brother, in all of his Spanish glory, kept
Capitán
Blade’s library? She’d been under the assumption that the
Priory
had been completely overhauled, stripped bow to stern of anything remotely English.

One particular wide-spined book garnered her attention.

She lifted it off the shelf and opened it, thumbing through the papers shoved inside. The parchment turned out to be letters written to Lord Garrick Seaton from
Capitán
Henry Guffald and Lord Simon Danbury. Simon was her uncle, related through marriage by her Cousin Constance’s father, the Duke of Throckmorton.

Why would Eddie save these letters? Were they of national importance?

She closed the book. There was only one reason why Eddie wouldn’t have passed the papers on to the authorities. They held significance to the family, quite possibly damning their father and mother in Admiral Roche’s eyes. But why keep them aboard his ship where they might be discovered by his superiors or subordinates? Her brother had been foolish in many things, but to endanger a member of their family?

Did the missives reveal their loyalties? She didn’t have time to read them to find out, so she shoved the letters into her bodice then slid the book back in its place, setting the location to memory. If the letters didn’t prove useful, she would return them to their rightful place.

Set on her task, Mercy searched the room, one piece of furniture at a time, finding no clues to aid her cause, until she stepped back behind Eddie’s desk. She sat down and put her fist to her chin. The drawer knobs appeared quite ordinary until she recalled her father’s intriguing library habits. Did the desk hide a secret compartment?

She opened the well-oiled drawers one at a time, searching through the contents. Nothing of use there, other than nautical contraptions, a few bank notes, an inkwell, ink, and parchment. Sitting back in a huff, she kicked her legs out in front of her.

“What is it about this ship that makes it more important than the others sacrificed in battle? There has to be something...”

An idea suddenly sprang to mind.

Mercy knocked the wooden base of the desk with her shoe until she heard a strange hollow sound. She slid to her knees and peered under the desk. Closer inspection revealed a framed lip just below the middle drawer that didn’t quite line up with the underside.

She pried the wood with her fingers.

Nothing.

She pounded on the surface. No telltale signs of hidden compartments, no outward motion.

Not willing to surrender, she pressed on the wooden section near the juncture of another set of drawers, inserting her fingers into a strange and unnecessary groove that had no specific use or foundational purpose.

Pop!

A mechanism clicked. Filled with exuberance, she listened closely to a strange grinding of wood that echoed in the room. She chanced a look at the door then craned her neck beneath the desk. An oblong drawer had flipped downward revealing meticulously coiled maps.

Aha!
Mercy rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and grinned.

Who is silly now,
Capitán
Blade?

~~~~

Garrick stepped out
of the main companionway and balanced his legs beneath his hips. Brilliant light reflected off the billowing canvas sheets clapping the air above him. He raised his hand to shield his good eye and inhaled a deep breath, never ceasing to take time to glory in the wind on his face and the sea spray saturating his skin. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of brine that had invigorated his soul since boyhood, leaving no doubt in his mind that a rover’s life was his mainstay. The sea, forever in motion, carried the earth’s lifeblood wherever it would without question, teaching him there was no looking back. That knowledge was a boon as well as a curse. That the currents of life forever led him further and further away from what he desired most.

A devastating lack of completeness stole his breath as he gazed at the
Priory
’s stern. Though San Sebastian had disappeared, and his mission had been a success, the ordinary evolution of the sea — a restorative addiction — could not conceal one bittersweet truth.

He
was still and always would be half blind.

Garrick closed his eye, regained his bearings, then adjusted his stance to the pitch and sway of the vessel beneath him. He was aware his men studied him. Did they think him unsuitable for command? Different from the captain they’d sworn allegiance to when they’d first set sail many years ago? He was far from being the same man, but as a result, he was rougher around the edges, more determined than ever to finish what Nelson had started at Number Eleven, Bolton Street.

Friends had lost their lives for a cause greater than one human life… his. To finish what Nelson started, when he’d first bestowed confidence in a lowly pirate, was the only way Garrick believed he could ever regain any amount of self-worth.

“Cap’n.” Simmons gently nudged him back to the situation at hand.

Garrick opened his eye and turned to his right, noting several men had halted their activities to greet him with a nod or a quick salute. He returned an affirmative shake of his head, acknowledging their salutations. Words escaped him as he directed his attention back to Simmons.

He despised weakness of any kind.
Devil damn me, have I just shown it?

“This way, sir.” Simmons extended his arm and waited for Garrick to make his way across the quarterdeck to the companion ladder. The deck cleared so he could pass without difficulty, once more cutting in to his bloody pride. He’d be damned if he’d allow anyone to believe for one second that he needed assistance.

Senses alive, he buried his self-disgust and ascended the companion ladder to the poop deck with Simmons falling into step behind. Wind whipped the hair at his neck. His heart pounded in his ears. Keeping a steady pace, he passed the mizzenmast and the stares of men stationed in the rigging above him.

What now?

Ahead of the skylight, Randall and Moore waited by the taffrail.

“Cap’n.” The two men spoke in unison. Their allegiance never once made him feel anything less than capable.

“Men.” He gave his loyal companions a quick nod.

They dipped their heads and turned back toward the stern.

“Tell ’im,” Simmons said, easing up alongside him.

Garrick joined them. “Tell me what, exactly?”

An uneasy quiet, save for sounds coming from the rigging and sails, lasted several moments. The thickening tension rippled through Garrick’s bones. He cursed under his breath when he stole a quick glance at the sky and spotted a black silhouette on the horizon.

Moore shouted at several men posted leeward. “Speed?”

The answering shout from the log line runner hopped from one seaman to another. “Five knots, sir.”

Randall leaned close to relay the obvious. “We’ve sprouted a tail.”

“How long?” Garrick cocked his brow with decided worry. Were they being followed by Spaniards or the French? In either case, they were in danger.

Moore raised his spyglass and peered into the distance. “Sails appeared southwest of us just as the sun began to set.”

Gooseflesh prickled Garrick’s skin. Vasquez had promised him a twenty-four hour head start. It was too soon for anyone to have sailed in pursuit, and yet the proof they were being followed crested the horizon.

Who or what had alerted the enemy? Had they missed one of
Capitán
Vasquez’s men? Had someone alerted the French? Worse, was their pursuer the
Vesper
? If the ship behind them
was
his brothers’ ship that meant his brothers and the
señorita
’s brother were in trouble. He’d given them strict orders to follow at a safe distance, ensuring no one got within firing distance of the
Priory’s
stern before they made it back to London.

Moore lowered his lens then offered Garrick the spyglass, pointing behind the
Priory’s
stern. “Two leagues, sir. If my eyes don’t deceive me, I spy a French flag.”

Could this be one of my brother’s tricks?
“Any sign of trouble?” Not traveling in pairs would draw the least suspicion, especially since they hadn’t had enough time to clear France’s coastline.

“One and a half leagues, sir. She’s gaining fast.”

That wasn’t necessarily a reason to be concerned.

“Our position?”

“We’re heading straight for
La Helle
.”

Garrick took the lens and placed it over his right eye. With a flick of his wrist, he spun the contraption into focus. He inspected the vessel, determining it wasn’t his brothers’ ship
.
The
Vesper
had a distinctive masthead, a crowned woman sporting an English seal on her breast. This ship — a French masterpiece — labored roughly through the swells just as keenly as the
Vesper
could. Ocean spray vaulted from the vessel’s sides as if she parted the sea or practically skated on the surface, a testament to how fast she was traveling. A breathtaking, heart pounding beautiful menace she was — a
Téméraire
class ship of the line.

All at once, a familiar sense of dread consumed Garrick, and he lowered the spyglass to his chest. A niggling suspicion tugged at his brain, igniting all sorts of theories in his mind. “It’s the
Armide
, a forty-gunner scout at full sail. If I miss my guess, she pulled out of
Les Sables d’Olonne
. The port has been heavily guarded by Admiral Stopford, and a large naval focus has kept the port completely blocked.”

“Do you think the
Armide
escaped?”

“We’d better hope that Stopford has put an end to Captain Troude. If he is aft of us, we are in for the run of our lives.”

He leveled the apparatus and searched the yards. Lower to the bowsprit where a blue, white, and red flag waved, exactly the same as the French standard flying on the
Priory
. He raised the scope to the main mast where a white flag with a black cross signaled
stop carrying out your intentions,
and a quartered red and white pennant warned other ships to
engage
. He aimed the lens at her gun ports. They were wide open.

“Whoever she is, she intends to stop us.” The finality of his voice stirred his men into motion.

“What be your orders, Cap’n?”

He scoured the
Armide’
s deck for the captain he sensed mimicking his actions. Several men pointed toward the
Priory’
s stern, spouting orders.

Garrick started to turn back to his own ship but caught sight of a flicker of light. If he had moved one second sooner, he might have missed it. He centered his attention on the particular spot where he’d seen the flash, focusing on the brilliant signal, probably a mirror glinting off the ship’s bow in successive spurts. Was the signal meant for someone on board his ship or another ship nearby?

Hair rose on the back of his neck as he trained his suspicious gaze on the
Priory
’s quarterdeck.