by Kim Bowman
He wasn’t stupid enough to trust Burton, a man he’d seen knife a useless protégé to death. He’d been a witness to Burton’s treacherous games. He was a trusted confidant, an insider with knowledge of the man’s complex and foul ways of doing business. Even if he wanted to play into Danbury’s hands, as he’d been begged to do, he couldn’t pull away from Burton’s twisted web. Disloyal partners didn’t survive unless they cunningly played the game better than the high and mighty Lord himself. It was only a matter of providence that he hadn’t perished aboard the Octavia as Frink had planned. The double-cross had allowed Blendingham time to seduce Constance.
Danbury had warned him. A double agent walked a narrow line. Burton had become desperate, cutting off leads, murdering informants. A member of Nelson’s Tea had to slip into his ranks. He was chosen because Blendingham was bent on revenge, and his father, the late Blendingham’s dealings in the House of Lords, had garnered Burton’s unwelcome attention. Garrick Seaton couldn’t be contacted because he was out on patrol. He had been the right choice, the perfect mole, and he’d welcomed the duty knowing it would bring him closer to the woman he loved.
Indeed he had a duty to Nelson’s Tea, Danbury, Nelson, and his country. But he also had a duty to his own happiness. The deep chuckle rumbling in his chest was loaded with triumph. Some might say he’d been forced to participate in Burton’s plan to kidnap Blendingham’s bride. Far from the truth. He’d needed no coaxing to kidnap the one woman he’d give his last breath to possess — protect. If they could get through the next few hours, he could free her of Burton, Frink, and Blendingham’s influence, winning her love. But these next few hours would be paramount.
Henry stroked Constance’s hair as the carriage pulled up to the dock, wheels clacking over the boards that led to his ship’s berth, the Stockton — Constance’s new home.
“You’ll be safe with me,” he promised her.
The carriage came to a complete stop. After a sudden shift in weight, the door to his hack jerked open.
“There you are,” a diseased-looking tar named Bristol spat. “Burton’s been waitin’ on ye. Took your sweet time, ye did.” He reached for Constance with grimy hands.
“Don’t touch her,” Henry ordered, swatting the man’s hand away. “I’ll bring her aboard.”
“A might sensitive, aren’t ye?” the one-eyed sailor asked, ogling Constance’s breasts as Guffald lifted her in his arms, descended the hack, and carried her aboard the Stockton.
“Where is he?” he bellowed to a worker loitering on deck.
“Below, Captain. Where else would he be?”
Chapter Twenty-one
Constance’s first awareness was of blinding light then a sharp pain that built into a moan as she tried to open her eyes and stirred ever so slightly. Her stomach lurched. She brought a trembling hand up to her throbbing skull, suddenly conscious of the fact that she lay on a lumpy mattress. The effort it took to move increased her discomfort. Where was she? What had happened? Befuddled, her memory stuck in a murky haze, she tried once more to open her eyes and squinted as she focused on the ceiling above her head and the last thing she could remember. A dark void stared back. Besieged by more questions than answers, she sat up, fighting back the urge to empty her stomach.
“Glad to see you’ve joined the land of the living, m’dear.”
That voice. It couldn’t be. Her quick intake of breath cost her as shards of white light flashed across her eyes. Lord Burton. She shoved her fist into her mouth to choke off the scream threatening to burst from her throat.
“You see the reverence I bring to her eyes, Guffald?” Burton cooed. “I quite enjoy the moment chits acknowledge my authority over them.”
Chits? Authority? Burton had held women against their will before? Fear unlike any she’d ever known gripped Constance. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. She absorbed the sights and sounds around her, disbelieving her ears and eyes. The small confines of the cabin narrowed in as she searched, schemed for an escape, hoped beyond hope that she was actually living a bad dream. Then she settled her gaze on Burton, seated before her, a contented smile on his face. This was not a dream. No. Guffald stood to his right. The sight of him boosted her spirits. Surely she and her baby wouldn’t come to harm. Yet the captain made no effort to aid her, his troubled blue eyes expressing no hint of sympathy or censure. Why?
She searched her aching head for what she could have done to earn Guffald’s apathy. Her heart hitched as the unbelievable truth became clear. Nothing she’d done. The captain appeared numb to her plight because he was the reason for her capture. Guffald, her gallant knight, the man who’d nearly died trying to save her life aboard the Octavia, who’d protected her when she’d tried to escape on the gig, who’d attempted to visit her almost daily after they’d returned to London, who’d promised her sanctuary from an unhappy marriage… had masterminded her imprisonment?
The room nearly swallowed her whole as the walls closed in and she struggled to breathe. Weighted draperies hung neatly from the four corners of her bunk, hemming her in. Just past the brocade jungle, a large oak desk came into focus. Beyond it, a man she’d never seen before was locking the door.
Burton spoke, his bulbous lips pumping spittle into the air. He was dressed in a maroon jacket and breeches, a scant cravat peeking from his high collar, making his double chin much more pronounced. His balding head peeped above the high neckline of his frock coat like an aggressive turtle popping out of a shell as he sliced an apple and plopped a piece into his mouth, chewing the succulent fruit.
He studied her pensively. “I assume she came with baggage?”
Guffald cleared his throat. “He’ll be here momentarily. Give the man credit. He’s not as asinine as you might think. Should he discover your ruse, and your tars fail to fend him off, you and I shall both regret our affiliation with one another.”
“I’ve made no bones of the fact that the man has been a thorn in my side. If Frink had half the sense of an educated man, he’d have seen through Blendingham’s charade from day one. Of all the rotten luck! I still cannot believe that the man lived among my men undetected for nearly a year. ‘Tis a sad state of affairs,” he said, plopping another piece of apple into his expectant mouth.
Were they insane or was Constance about to lose her mind? Burton and Guffald spoke in riddles. Why were they discussing Captain Frink? The pirate was dead. Percy killed him aboard the Octavia. Suddenly, she began to worry that Percy had kept something else from her, other than the fact that he’d abducted her, saved her life, seduced her, leaving her pregnant with a bastard’s child and then portrayed the hero, marrying her to save the day. Was Captain Frink alive?
An ominous shiver vibrated through her body as she watched the men interact beneath submissive lashes. They thought her bird-witted, but it didn’t take an expert to decipher their intentions. Guffald, one of Percy’s dearest friends, had deceived her in order to draw Percy to Burton. What kind of treachery had this entailed? How could he have betrayed them? Though she hated her husband’s deceit, winning her heart and then dashing her hopes with countless lies, she didn’t want him dead. Denying her child a father would be the act of a mad woman.
Burton’s eyes gleamed. “You’ll be interested to know that we’ve prepared a wonderful surprise for your — ahem — husband.”
“Surprise?” she asked, unable to control the squeak in her voice. She didn’t want to hear the sordid details of Burton and Guffald’s plan. Were they going to kill Percy? Fearing that was true, her gaze met and locked with Guffald’s. What she saw mirrored no hint of familiarity, no hope he’d help them. Burton’s retaliation was clear. She’d refused to marry him. Why did Guffald hate her so much? Had her marriage been doomed before she and Percy had ever truly known each other?
Frantic the answer was yes, Constance’s nerves uncoiled like a spring. She wanted to bolt for the door, to warn Percy, to keep him from walking into a trap. But the men in the room were eyei
ng her closely, and she had the baby to consider. She gave Guffald one of her most soulful pleading stares, hoping the captain would empathize with her plight. His face, however, was a mask of complete indifference.
“I don’t understand,” she said, brows furrowing, fisted hands hidden in the folds of her skirts to conceal the way they trembled. “Is this how you plan to get even with me?” She feared she already knew the answer.
Burton’s shrill laughter frayed her nerves. “You are a simpleton!” he declared. “I always pictured myself schooling you on sexual matters, but I had never imagined you’d be so dense.”
Her spine stiffened.
Guffald came to her rescue. “There is no call to insult Lady Constance, Burton.”
Burton’s palm slammed on the desk. “You will address me as Lord Burton! I will not accept anything less. I have done everything you asked and more, Guffald. Do not begin to harass or disparage me!”
“I didn’t manipulate my superiors, betray my country, and cast my lot with you to lose sight of my prize now. You promised Constance would be mine!”
Guffald’s outburst stunned and rocked her to the core. He expected that she’d be his? Why, she’d never given him any indication that she’d accept his overtures. Good God! He’d betrayed England? He’d been collaborating with Burton all along! How? He’d taken vows to defend people against men like Burton.
Disappointment flickered over her as she stared at Guffald, dumbfounded. Finally her lips moved. “Yours?”
“I couldn’t have you any other way,” Guffald admitted. “Forgive me.”
Burton clapped his hands in mocking applause. “What you need is a real man. Not a dandy or a man known to disguise himself as a filthy pirate. Your husband’s lineage has kept him above reproach as a member of the ton. He threw away that right when he set out to rove with pirates and flirt with tarts along the docks. The man you married does not exist, Duchess, at least not anymore. He portrayed the popinjay only to relieve suspicion. I doubt you know that he is the man who tore you from Frink’s nest and laid claim to you on a bunk such as this,” he said, pointing to the lumpy mattress beneath her.
That was none of his business.
“I’m not immune to gossip,” he continued. “In fact, my men make it their duty to inform me on the dalliances of every member of the ton. There is more than one way to attain wealth, and to know one’s enemy is to earn great reward.”
“You are a fiend!” she screamed.
Excitement brightened Burton’s eyes. “There. There. Ladies do not exert themselves. I’m well aware learning you’ve been duped by a fool is hard to digest. Guffald and I didn’t even know the truth until he found Percy skulking around my meeting house. Poor soul,” he said, his gaze scouring Guffald. “He couldn’t summon the strength to kill Percy then, though he did strike him over the head quite nicely. It’s a terrible shame he didn’t have the wherewithal to finish the job. That would have made our plan much easier. If it wasn’t for that locket we stole from you and its perfect placement in Josiah Cane’s possession, I seriously doubt we’d have been able to control Percy as long as we have.”
Now she was confused. “My locket?” What did her mother’s locket have to do with anything?
“Yes, dear. I bribed one of your servants to steal it. The chit was quite happy to earn the extra shillings. Throckmorton really should pay higher wages.”
Her heart clenched. She was about to lose the father of her child, and now the safety of her father’s home had been taken from her.
Burton sighed. “Yes. Yes. All diabolical, I assure you. The plan was for Percy to find the trinket and believe you were in league with us. You see, I simply had to cast doubt as to your loyalties so he wouldn’t confide in you.”
Percy had lied to her because he thought she was involved with smugglers? It was all beginning to make sense. A burgeoning hope swelled in her chest. Burton had no way of knowing that he’d provided her with good news, something to cling to.
Guffald had resisted killing Percy when he’d had the chance. Could he be persuaded to help her? Percy might have thought she was involved with Burton, but Guffald knew the truth. She was innocent.
Perilously close to tears, Constance suddenly realized everyone around her had disguised their true ambitions. And with the exception of Lord Burton’s character, she’d been completely deceived. She’d allowed herself to hope her child might live a happy life. Fate warred against her.
Strange sounds clanked above deck. A loud thump and a crash followed. Shots were fired. Constance screamed. Her heart thumped an erratic rhythm, the organ practically burst from her chest. So much so, she couldn’t catch her breath and began to gasp for air.
Guffald stepped forward. Burton cast her an irritated glance, produced a sword to bar Guffald’s way, then focused his attention on the cabin door. He barked, “See to it that we’re not disturbed.”
Guffald thrust the sword out of his way and stepped beside Constance, pulling her close.
“Well now,” Burton said, as he watched two men leave the room, venom dripping from his tongue. “It appears our trap has been sprung.”
Constance managed to catch her breath and tried to jerk free of Guffald’s grasp. “Whose trap?”
No one knew Burton like she did. No matter what lies he’d told Guffald, Burton would never let her go. And the look in his eye proclaimed Guffald would regret the choice he’d made.
~~~~
Percy made his way along the wharf to the Stockton’s berth. His only thought was that he could not lose Constance the way he’d lost Celeste. He plowed forward using stealth and wit, his men not far behind. Darkness and a descending fog obscured his path, but the milky haze provided natural cover. He meant to take advantage of it. Per Guffald’s own words, the Stockton had been rigged for departure. Provisions would be stacked on deck, enabling the ship to slip away with the tide. He had no time to waste.
He also had no doubt his wife was on board. Guffald and his crew intended to set sail. Once out to sea, Constance would be out of Percy’s reach. Beyond rescue in international waters. His mind made up, Percy stormed the gangway, ignoring the ramifications of Guffald’s betrayal. Nothing was as important as rescuing the mother of his child. Truth be told, nothing in the world mattered but his wife.
Armed to the teeth with axe, blunderbuss, and sword, Percy wasn’t about to fall to the enemy before reaching the heart of the ship — the captain’s cabin. Constance would be held there. He’d lived too long among Frink’s crew not to know how his enemy worked. Thanks to Constance, he’d also learned to love again. What would his life be worth without the warmth of a woman, without love?
Yes. He loved Constance. He knew that now. She’d slipped through his wounds and settled into his heart, no matter how rigorously he’d tried to shield it. No matter how long and how hard he’d fought his attraction to her, he’d lost the battle. No, he decided. He hadn’t lost. Rather he’d won. He’d fallen in love with his wife, with Constance, and that act had been easier than he’d ever believed possible. Now that he’d found love, he couldn’t live without his wife or the child they’d created. Their child. His heir. The thought of Burton taking that away from him propelled him onward.
Percy rushed onto the Stockton with his gun primed, his scabbard and sword slung over his back. In his other hand, he wielded a boarding axe and swung it with flourish as men darted out from behind stacked provisions and began to attack, just as he’d known they would. One by one, men wielding knives fell beneath the circling arc of his sharpened blade. Shots fired near him ricocheted off wooden cargo boxes as his lethal movements helped him fell one man after another. Gunfire echoed behind him as his men caught up and snipers fell out of the rigging. Nearly a year of training aboard a pirate ship had honed his muscles and skills. With the help of his men, he kicked, maimed, slashed, and killed his way to the captain’s cabin, where he hoped beyond anything he’d dared hope to find Constance unharmed.
Guffald wou
ld be with his wife. Pain more raw than saltwater on a gaping, open wound pierced his chest. Percy still couldn’t believe his old friend had betrayed him — England. The naval officer had proven himself loyal to the crown, to Admiral Nelson, Simon, Nelson’s Tea — again and again. Theirs had been a noble calling, not one of selfish gain or pride. Whatever Guffald’s reasons for turning against him and for kidnapping Constance, Percy was prepared to kill Guffald in order to save his wife.
He had to make it there first. Damned if he wouldn’t. Side-stepping a sailor with a mallet, Percy back-stepped, grabbed the sailor by the neck, and slit the unsuspecting tar’s throat before pushing his way through the hatch. He skulked down the companionway and kicked the door to the captain’s cabin open, slamming the wooden portal into a man’s face, knocking him flush against the wall and out cold. He was vaguely aware that he was probably walking into a trap. Nothing could be done for it as his gaze took in Burton bloated like a rutting peacock, legs spread wide as if ready to run, his face a mixture of satisfaction, loathing, and fear.
“So good of you to join us,” Burton said, his mocking voice an octave higher than his cowardice allowed.
Percy scoured the room for his wife. But neither Constance nor Guffald were anywhere in sight. “Where’s my wife?”
“Why would you think your wife is on board this ship? Blendingham, I fear you’ve ruined my cabin door for nothing.”
“Your cabin door? Nothing?” he repeated. The man had to be on opium.
“Indeed,” he said, his eyes trained on Percy, tapping his fingers on the cabin desk. “Tsk. Tsk. I believe this is the first time I’ve ever seen you appear in the wrong and quite the worse for wear because of it.”
