Duke by Day, Rogue by Night (16 page)

“I can't keep my hands off you, no matter how hard I try,” he admitted.

“Then don't try, Thomas,” she pleaded. “Don't try.”

The
Striker
pulled into port amid laudable hails and applause. Dockworkers and passersby stopped to gaze upon the previously unbeaten ship that had beleaguered the English coast, oppressing one vessel after another before spiriting away to parts unknown. One by one, onlookers ogled and spat upon Captain Frink and his men as they were led down the boarding plank in chains to an awaiting military wagon. Word had traveled fast and buoyant cheers arose for the victorious survivors of the
Octavia
as Captain Collins's flag was carried aloft, followed by Guffald and members of the
Octavia
's crew.

Percy stood with his legs braced apart, his back to the crowd.

“A lot of fanfare for a motley crew, is it not, Cap'n?”

“Aye, Jacko. Frink's reputation precedes him. His men are bound to get what they deserve and the
Octavia
's crew will be celebrated henceforth.”

Jacko clicked his tongue. “Collins finally found the fame he'd searched for.”

“Not the kind he'd hoped for,” Percy said.

“What is to become of Guffald?” Jacko asked. “Will his testimony be sufficient in keeping the constable from your stoop?”

Squaring his shoulders, Percy nodded, “Henry will give his rendering of events. No one will question his loyalty.” Percy turned his head to scrutinize Guffald's swagger as he accepted a flower from a young girl and entered the general's coach, carrying himself with unusual panache. “Henry's knowledge of our mission has been limited. He's smart, sure to figure out the details in time. Until then, his confusion is paramount.”

Jacko shifted his feet to avoid the setting sun's omnipotent glare. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“Think on Guffald no more,” he said, slapping Jacko on the back. “Our focus must turn to Josiah Cane.”

“What about the lady?”

“What about her? Lady Constance and I have parted ways.” Fixing his gaze on the dock where Constance descended onto dry land, dressed in a modest gown Ollie had found on the docks, Percy slapped his glove upon his thigh. “Transport her home. Deliver her to Simon or her father, no other.”

“As you wish,” Jacko agreed.

Turning away from Jacko, Percy busied himself with the crew who tightened down sail in the rigging. Much needed to be done to prepare the
Striker
for inspection by the war office and that is where he directed his thoughts. To dwell on Constance was pure folly, even if she had branded him with her scent, her taste.

• • •

Constance and Mrs. Mortimer sank into the well-used leather seats of the hired hackney Jacko Clemmons paid to have them transported from port to Throckmorton House. Suppressing a shiver, Constance focused on her father's initial reaction to the scandal certain to darken his doorstep.

Gazing out the muted panes to scenes unfolding on the cobbled streets, the ramifications of her actions became clear. Her unconventional relationship with a pirate, her presence aboard the
Striker
and poor fitting gown had surely been noted.

“Jacko,” she said, turning her focus on Thomas's first mate.

“Aye?” He turned his untrusting gaze upon her.

“How long have you known your captain?”

“Long enough.”

“How long would that be?” she pried.

“Long enough to know my place.” She scowled unappreciatively.

“As should you,” Mrs. Mortimer interjected. “
That
man isn't of your ilk, Constance, and now that we are free, 'tis time you put him out of your mind.”

“Morty, it's time you kicked that pedestal out from under my feet,” she said. She put her hand on her governess's arm and squeezed reassuringly.

Mrs. Mortimer harrumphed and cast a fiery-eyed stare at Jacko, then pointed her perturbed nose into the air.

“Jacko,” Constance continued, “I fear you misunderstand my intentions. What if I wish to know is, what if I need to contact the captain in the unforeseeable future?”

“Why would you need to contact
that
man, Constance?” Mrs. Mortimer erupted. The woman's unlikely barbs cut Constance to the quick. She raised her chin defiantly.

“Father may want to thank him,” she offered.

Jacko's eyes rounded. “It makes no difference. I doubt you'll be able to find him. He won't stay idle long.”

Constance was undeterred. “Does he intend to sail soon?”

“You'd better concentrate on what you're going to tell your uncle and your father,” Mrs. Mortimer reminded her.

“You have a point,” she said, wringing her hands, worrying the cream-colored shawl clenched between her fingers after being properly put down.

Jacko shrugged. “You've a hard road ahead, m'Lady. Simon Danbury is not to be slighted. And only you can say what your da will do.”

“I do not plan to turn in your captain, if that is what you're suggesting.”

“Why wouldn't you?” Mrs. Mortimer exclaimed.

“I'll explain later,” she said, patting the woman's hand. “Please, let Mr. Clemmons talk.”

“Mr. Clemmons? Ha!” the woman exclaimed.

“Morty!”
Strangely, Jacko ignored her barbs, as if this hadn't been the first time Morty had cut into him. But how was that possible? What had gone on between them while she and Thomas had —

“Lord Danbury and the Duke of Throckmorton are formidable men,” he declared. “They may induce you to surrender my captain against your will so charges can be brought against him.”

Jacko meant to protect Thomas. He did not trust her. She couldn't blame him. She could not be trusted where Thomas was concerned.

“Captain Sexton believes he is doing the right thing by sending me back to my father. Be assured, in the meantime, I'd never do or say anything that would put him in danger.”

“You have his name.”

“You must believe me when I say that I will not discredit your captain,” she vowed.

Cocking his head to one side, Jacko appeared unconvinced. “You are not an ordinary wench.”

“That she is not!” Mrs. Mortimer blurted, appalled. Morty turned toward her. “I cannot believe I'm hearing the words coming from your mouth, Constance.”

“Captain Sexton's secret is safe with me,” she promised, ignoring her reprimand.

Both Jacko and Mrs. Mortimer exclaimed, “What secret?”

Constance blinked nervously. “Oh! You know,” she said with a wave of her hands.

“I don't. Explain,” Mrs. Mortimer said.

Caught in a web of her own making, Constance leaned forward conspiratorially. “He really isn't the dreaded pirate people think he is.”

“You could have fooled me,” Mrs. Mortimer snapped.

Jacko grinned slyly and slapped his thigh. “Well now, that
is
a secret we must keep under our hats. Let ol' Morty say what she must,” he said, his eyes transferring between both women. Then he grew serious. “But know if you ever revealed the cap'n's true identity, he wouldn't last the week.”

“Precisely,” she insisted. “Inform Captain Sexton that I will never malign him.”

Mrs. Mortimer used the lull in conversation to her advantage by listing Captain Sexton's shortcomings. Constance knew at once when Jacko tuned the woman out. Mrs. Mortimer had a point. Given her circumstances, it would suit her better to denounce Thomas instead of protect him. She'd been ruined, but she'd also played a significant part in that ruination. As the carriage wheels rattled across the ruts in the road, her resolve weakened. What would she tell her father?

Jacko placed his well-seasoned hand over her clenched fists. “I shall pass along your vow.”

Constance smiled weakly, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders even though her battles had only just begun. Soon she would face her father, Uncle Simon, and the inquisitive stares of the servants at Throckmorton House. It was not lost upon her that she projected a frightful appearance as she'd only been given a simple brown round gown made of scratchy wool and a cream-colored shawl for the journey home. But she hadn't complained. The garments provided her modesty and prevented her from being seen in rags.

Jostling across uneven stones, they rode in silence. The conveyance continued through the city for nigh onto thirty minutes until it pulled to an unceremonious stop. A plain-clothed footman appeared at the door. Jacko exited, stopping just beside the last step leading up the stairs to the portal of Throckmorton House. He offered his hand stiffly. “It's been a pleasure to sail with you, m'Lady.”

Constance smiled but her joviality did not last long. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied her father and uncle crossing the threshold, both men filled with determination. Before she lost heart, she said, “I'll never forget him, Jacko. Will you tell him?”

Not waiting for his response, she broke away and ascended the steps, rushing toward her father's comforting embrace.

“Constance, I've been so worried,” her father declared.

“Who's your escort, Constance?” Simon pressed, frowning.

“Thank you, Uncle.” She nodded, hoping to chide him for not showing distress over her disappearance. “I'm happy to see you shared Father's concern.”

Undeterred, Simon asked again, “Who's your escort?”

Hoping to ease both her guardians' frustrations, Constance turned as the landau disappeared at the end of the lane. Mrs. Mortimer, prepped for disaster, stood with a firm grip on her valise and tight-lipped fortitude. Straightening her shoulders, Constance opted for half-truths.

“Why that was — a kind gentleman who helped me find my way back home.”

“He appeared to be less than exemplary,” her father insinuated. His eyes narrowed upon Mrs. Mortimer. “You should be more careful, madam.”

Mrs. Mortimer opened her mouth to speak, but Constance stopped her. “No,” Constance insisted. “On the contrary, he was a fine man doing a good work.”

Repulsed, her father stared after the vehicle and then exchanged a questionable glance with his brother, one she did not miss, before he took her by the arm and ushered her inside the house where no one would be privy to their
spectacle
. Cooper's brow rose at her appearance, then he bowed and nodded a greeting before stepping quickly aside to remove her wrap.

“Welcome home, my Lady,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Cooper.” Of all the household servants, Cooper's manners and dedication appealed most. With a conspiratorial wink and a knowing smile, the man quickly bowed out of sight.

“Constance, what are you wearing and where did you meet that ridiculous man?” Simon barked.

“I'll reveal all, Uncle, after I have some tea. It's been ages since I've had a hot cup of tea.”

“I know what you're about. Where have you been, Daughter?” her father asked, astounded. “Look at you! And just what were you thinking, running off without telling me where you were bound?”

“Questions,” she tsked. “All warranted. I assure you, my dearest loves, I will answer them all. I truly have had quite a tiring ordeal, however. I simply must gather my wits. Will you not allow it?”

“Byron,” Uncle Simon said.

Constance shot her uncle a scathing stare. “Please don't spoil everything, Uncle,” she whispered.

“I insist you know where Constance has been,” Simon interjected, shame and guilt in his penitent eyes. Twisting, he faced her father, poised for battle.

Wary of the outcome, Constance placed shaking fingers to her temples.

“That has been my deepest desire,” her father said.

Her uncle had terrible timing. She fixed a heated stare upon his person, and then turned toward her father. “I swore him to silence, father,” she said, directing her plea so that her uncle would not fall further out of favor. “Please do not blame Uncle Simon for my insistence on going to see Aunt Lydia.”

“Lydia!” her father howled. “Lydia?”

“Byron, I know how much anguish you've suffered over Lydia's conduct. I do not wish to cause you further torment, but I — ”

“What would you know of suffering?” her father raged. “You strut about like a peacock, no care to your credit, whereas I owe everything I am to my accountant and no thanks to you, you've narrowed down that field.”

Simon continued unaffected, “The girl wanted to go see her mother's sister. Why do you begrudge her this?”

“Lydia? San Sebastian? Spain, of all places!”

“Uncle Simon booked passage for me aboard the
Octavia
, a merchant ship.” Every pore of her body anticipated his outburst at the mere mention of her setting foot on board a sea vessel, something her father had sworn never to allow. What little courage she'd saved for this moment slowly withered.

“
You
put Constance on board a
ship
!” her father raged.

As feared, her father cast aside all protocol and lunged toward his brother. She put herself in his path, hoping to prevent bloodshed. “He was acting on my behalf, Papa.”

“Is it bad enough that I must sneak past my creditors, Simon, without having to worry whether or not you are putting my daughter in harm's way? You said she'd gone to visit the Carringtons.”

“Try to understand, brother,” Simon volunteered. “I've explained the reasons for our financial predicament but you have refused to believe them. Constance had a plan to tap into Lydia's inheritance, to use what is inherently hers to aid your cause. If you weren't determined to keep her under lock and key, you'd see she's highly capable of making her own decisions.”

“Deciding Constance's future is my affair, Simon. Not yours. You've done nothing but violate my trust. I suggest you leave before I do or say something I'll regret.”