The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (32 page)

Her eyes sprang open, and she prayed heat wouldn’t flush her face. “I have done no such thing.”

“Aye, you did. You brought me out of a reclusive hell.”

“Oh, Garrick.” Tears welled behind her eyes and she fought back her spiraling emotions.

“I am not good enough for you. I am a pirate, and that will never change. We are square. You do not owe me anything. So if you think—”

“Henry is married to your sister, a self-professed pirate. They appear happy.” Did he think just because her father was a
don
and that she was related to a duke by marriage that she belonged in fancy clothes and a gilded cage? Had he forgotten her father was a smuggler too? That was the life she’d always defended, chosen. “And, if the peerage is so important to you, do not forget you will one day be an earl.”

He smiled sadly. “Need I remind you where you’ve come from?”

Dios mio
, her heart seized. He wasn’t bringing up the fact that she was half-Spanish, was he? Did he still hold that against her?

“You cannot marry down.” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right.”

Ridiculous! “Nothing you say will ever change my opinion of you… or my feelings,” she whispered.

“Nothing?” His eye patch dug into his face as he raised a brow.

“Not one thing you say or do can change the way I feel.” Why was he so stubborn? Why wouldn’t he believe her?

“What if your parents die because I left them in San Sebastian?”

She opened her mouth to object then closed it, unable to form a sentence. God help her. What if her parents did die? What if they were already dead?

“Thank you for proving my point.” Garrick’s glower scared away another would-be suitor who tapped him on the shoulder. His fingers tightened around hers. “Your place is here... with them.” He shifted so that she could once again see the guests milling about the room. “
These
are
your
people now.”

“Are they?” Was he insane? She wasn’t welcome here anymore than in Spain. “I know where I belong.”

“
This
is the life you deserve.” The vehemence in his voice shocked her.

“I deserve to be happy like everyone else, with a man of my own choosing.”

He scoffed. “And you will be, with one of the men you meet here.”

He thought he didn’t deserve her. He was willing to surrender her future to someone else to ensure her happiness.
Love means setting the one you love free.
Her heart leaped in her chest.
He does love me!
She opened her mouth to argue further then snapped her jaw closed.

A man across the room caught her attention, his blank stare boring through Garrick’s back.

He caught sight of her.

Their eyes met.

His expression changed from mildly interested to exuberant as an unrelenting grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile didn’t reach his blood-red eyes.

Lord Fleming! It had to be him. Would he take the bait? Where was Admiral Roche?
Dios mio
, was the man nearby waiting to plunge a knife into her back?

She smiled sweetly, trying to calm her beating heart, employing every trick in her arsenal not to appear fazed. Dislodging her hands from Garrick’s, she raised her dance card and pretended to inspect several signatures. “Don’t look now, but a spider has crawled out onto our web.”

Tension altered Garrick’s expression. He stiffened, bent to retrieve his cane, and then tapped the end on the black and white marble floor. The staccato beats, strangely rhythmic, were an obvious signal to anyone within hearing distance.

Charged with anticipation and excitement, Mercy hissed. “He’s coming.”

“Prepare yourself.” Garrick’s blue-eyed stare sparkled in the candlelight. “Do not, for one second, go anywhere with him alone. Understand? The man is a conniving, cruel master.”

“I have no doubt of it.” Garrick let go of her hand, and she raised her card with practiced artifice. “Thank you, Viscount, for adding your name to my card. I shall look forward to our next set.” She curtsied to his bow.

“It will feel like an eternity.” Garrick began to pass her. He whispered. “Remember what I said.”

“I shall.” She remembered all of it, his denials, and his blundering attempts to stop her from loving him.
Never!

She turned away, riveting her attention on the fast approaching gentleman dressed in dark eggplant. His cream-colored waistcoat fit snugly over a slight paunch announcing his enjoyment of spirits and, perhaps, riskier pursuits. An overly large cravat emphasized the second chin jiggling over his stiff collar with his every advancing step.

She guessed he was at least four and ten years old, maybe more. Though fit, his legs were disproportionate to his body as he walked. His stockings and trousers resembled stuffed pillows. Had he enhanced his inadequate parts?

Mercy stifled her laughter and inhaled deeply, allowing her gaze to move over the room appreciatively. There, she found Percy and Constance engaged in conversation with several men she couldn’t place. One turned, nodded in her direction, and then begged his leave from the duke and duchess.

On the dance floor, Henry and Adele sashayed down a line of dancers, arms linked. Instead of assuming positions at the end of the row to continue the set, they continued on, arm in arm, to points unseen.

Satisfied that Garrick’s code had been heard, Mercy’s quizzical gaze returned to Lord Fleming, who stopped to bow to a gentleman between them. “Higgins.”

“Fleming, what a marvelous pleasure. Though I must warn you not to get too close to His Grace parading about in that monstrosity.”

Fleming’s eyes narrowed on the parliamentary peer.

“What?” Higgins returned innocently. “You should have taken my advice and gone to Weston on Bond Street. Without a good tailor, you are bound to flounder in society. We cannot have a man set on being our next prime minister looking like a pauper, can we?”

Higgins gave a well-meaning smile, gestured with his head, and then turned for the refreshment table waving his empty glass. “Ah, Lord Huntley.”

Mercy’s pulse began to race as Fleming spun to face her. She had feared, nay hoped for a moment such as this. The platter-faced man had extorted money from England and smuggled it to the French long enough.

She inhaled deeply, her palms sweating beneath her kid gloves. She could do this. She could face the man who wanted her dead.

Fleming didn’t waste time approaching her. He’d ruined lives. He’d infiltrated Nelson’s Tea and used Holt to kill them off one by one as surely as he’d prepared for their current confrontation.

Did he suspect a trap? Surely a man like him had not come to Sumpton Hall unprepared. But what would the calculating man do? What could he do? He was surrounded.

He stopped before her and assumed a pompous stance. His hands linked behind him, chest popped out and up, he heaved an exasperated sigh. “Ah. A pleasure it is at last to make the acquaintance of the woman who’s made my life a living hell.”

She produced a fraudulent smile. “You know the saying… hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Lord Fleming, I presume.”

“Of course, I am Lord Fleming, you annoying chit.” Her slight had no effect on the conceited man.

She’d have to work harder. “You are rather free with your insults. Have you forgotten where you are or that I am The Duke and Duchess of Blendingham’s guest of honor? Perhaps a bit more restraint—”

“There is little I forget,
Señorita
.” He smiled infuriatingly, drawing attention to his pasty skin and dead eyes. “As for restraint… well, I find that difficult to manage especially when it comes to money. Particularly
my
money.”

“
Your
income is no concern of mine.” Mercy feigned disinterest, slipping her hand behind the dance card in a guise of clutching her chest. There, she grabbed the handle of the knife she’d hidden in her corset, just in case Fleming became violent. Was the man desperate enough to attack her in public? There was no way to be sure. “What would I know about
your
finances?”

He leaned forward, his breath rancid as it blew across her face. “You know exactly what I mean.
My
gold.” He bowed his head, acknowledging a passing figure. “Don’t deny you’ve seen it. You know where it is, and I want it back.”

She broke free of his menacing stare to survey the room, catching a glimpse of a retreating figure that looked vaguely familiar. As if sensing he was being watched, the gentleman peered over his shoulder.

Admiral Roche!

The despicable officer turned toward her, bowed, then produced a firing spark, lighting a cigar…

Fleming snapped his fingers to get her attention. “Tell me where it is, and this won’t get ugly.”

Had anyone else spotted Roche? She had to stall for time. Fleming was under surveillance. He wouldn’t get away. But Roche…

“How would I know anything about
your
gold, my lord?”

The tips of his feet stepped dangerously close to hers. “Come, come. I know you found it.”

She waved her dance card in his face. The open card allowed her to view Roche’s movements as he wove his way through the guests without anyone being the wiser. Without his uniform, Roche blended into a sea of black, which would make singling him out, if she lost sight of him, extremely difficult.

“
C’est maintenant ou jamais.”
It’s now or never.
She raised her voice several octaves, hoping Garrick would pick up on her warning. But when she looked for him, she saw that he stood transfixed, staring at the cigar Admiral Roche puffed to life.

No! Dear God, no! Not now!

She’d have to solicit help somewhere else. Perhaps the men clamoring for a dance. She motioned to them with her dance card, hoping they’d offer assistance. “Would one of you gallant souls attend me? I have developed quite a thirst.”

Huntley and Leighton moved toward the refreshment table as Henry and Adele passed them. They must have seen Garrick moving toward Roche and were now following.

Percy nodded to his right and left, setting several men, who inconspicuously weaved in and out of conversing guests, into action. Were they being sent after Roche too?

“Quit playing games,” Fleming said, drawing attention back to himself. “You cannot stop what has been put into motion.” His stare penetrated deep into her soul. “You know very well where the gold is, and I want you to take me to it.”

“You do not own me,
señor
.”

“Ah, but you are wrong,
señorita
.” He laughed wickedly, sending a quiver through her bones. “Your disgusting allegiances are numbered. Queen Maria Luisa’s alliance with Godoy has weakened Spain. Foreign trade has endangered England’s independence. Gold is the only thing that will ensure England’s restoration and your cooperation.”

Fleming’s horrifying logic made her physically ill. “Funding Napoleon’s quest for dominion over the world is as insane as you are.”

“I will ignore your insults.”

“Napoleon cannot succeed,” she insisted. “Admiral Nelson—”

“Is dead. A Spanish sniper saw to that. One person can make a difference, you see. And
maintenant
, that has put you in a terrible predicament,
señorita
.”

But of course, Fleming speaks French. “Are you threatening me? I am surrounded by innocents. You cannot possibly harm me or anyone else here.”

“Stupid chit, I can make you give me what I want.”

“How?” She had him now. He’d reveal his plan. She’d unravel him, wheedle the truth out of him, and make him tell her everything she wanted to know. She’d learned how to make men like him forget where they were and substantiate the evidence she needed before witnesses. “Do you really expect Napoleon will give you a place in his new regime once he learns that you kept gold that was intended for his troops? It’s over, Lord Fleming. Melville’s impeachment failed. The Admiralty Board has proof of your blackmailing scheme. And now Guildford will call for your arrest.”

“Do not underestimate me.” He grabbed her upper arm, making her whimper involuntarily. “You’ll be sorry for interfering where you do not belong.”

She wasn’t sorry. She meant to ensure Fleming never hurt another living soul. “You are a member of the House of Lords. Guildford’s most trusted partner. How could you possibly believe no one would ever find out about your treason?”

“Ha! Guildford has been quite accommodating. In fact, his popularity opened doors formerly closed to me until he took me under his wing.”

“Then why betray him? England?”

“Simple. I didn’t get paid enough to satisfy my voracious needs.”

She drew in a ragged breath, jerking her arm free. “
Traidor!
”

“Enough!” Fleming spat. “Where is the gold?” He moved forward, making her back away until the potted fig was directly behind her.