Duke by Day, Rogue by Night (36 page)

Jeffers coughed, his censor galvanizing her into action. Constance felt the weight of a cloak draped about her shoulders. She wrapped her fingers around her mother's locket and held it tightly, closing her eyes, praying to God to give her the strength to leave behind the men she'd loved. Yes, she could admit it now. She'd loved Thomas and Percy, both equally and yet differently.

Jeffers opened the front door and held it at the ready. For an awkward moment, Constance thought she should race up the stairs and wait for Percy until she could confront him and he could explain why he'd deceived her. But as her hand left the locket and became enveloped in Guffald's, she cast that idea aside.

“Lady Blendingham,” Guffald said, her name slipping out of his mouth on a sweet caress. “May I escort you to the ends of the earth?”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, “but I only have need of reaching Convent Garden.”

He winked, exuding his charm. Then the smile left his eyes as his gaze dropped to her breasts. “By the bye,” he said, “I see you have finally found your locket. Did you have difficulty locating it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “As a matter of fact, I've only just discovered its whereabouts.”

He smiled, his teeth flashing white. “I can see the object has brought you peace of mind.”

Peace was not what she felt. “I have been at odds without it,” she admitted truthfully. Her eyes flit to Jeffers's face as the captain swept her toward the door. “Do thank my husband for finding my necklace.”

Jeffers stood as solid as one of the statues in the garden. Guffald's next words, however, caused the man to blink. “Pass along my regards to Blendingham.”

Jeffers bowed. “I shall relate your message, Captain.”

Guffald patted Jeffers on the shoulder as he ushered her out the door. “That's a good man.”

• • •

Percy broke through the back door of his townhouse, soaked through and through. A deluge had forced his retreat after hours of searching for signs of Burton's participation in a deal with the
Delrina Gray
. The cargo aboard the ship practically proved Burton held the key to Celeste's death. Word had previously come to him by way of Jacko and Ollie that one of Burton's servants had been sighted at the landing on the west end of town, hawking items from the recent sinking of the
Arboreal
. When questioned about how the man had acquired the merchandise, he'd fought desperately to evade his men. Reacting on instinct, he and his men had chased the tyrant to a literal dead end, where the man had found a dagger in his gullet. Still breathing when they had approached, the thief eagerly purged himself of his sins, giving an eyewitness account of Burton's involvement.

Baroness Chauncey had not led him astray. He owed a huge debt for her vigilant guard over Burton's household affairs, his comings and goings.

Percy's gut clenched. The news had been grave indeed. Throckmorton had unknowingly betrothed Constance to a man who took great pleasure in beating and raping his servants. The power hungry despot had been willing to kill anyone in his way as he sought out the young with a perverse, insatiable appetite, making no aristocrat his match.

Frustration fueled Percy as his eyes surveyed the empty foyer. His greatcoat dripped water onto the marble surface. His mind raced with newfound knowledge. Had Celeste fallen prey to Burton? Were the carriage accident, his father's illness, and her death, a ploy to get back at him for convincing his father to speak out against Burton's lobbying for control over the House of Lords? What of Constance's near miss with the fiend? The mere thought of Burton bruising his wife's perfect breast enraged him.

He slammed his gloves down upon the floor and growled. Jeffers would want to cosh him, but he thought no more of it as he beat the raindrops from his sleeves and removed his coat.

“Jeffers!” he bellowed. He listened for an answer, but the house was eerily quiet.
Highly unusual.
“Constance!”

Where was cook, the servants? Jeffers, especially, seemed to always be around whenever he entered the house. “Jeffers!” he howled.

Footsteps thump, thumped on the second floor. He looked up and yelled, “Constance?” Knowing full well that Burton would continue to make good on threats against all those he loved, Percy bolted up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He intended to make sure his wife was safe.

Jeffers stuck his head over the banister when he was half-way up the staircase. “Your Grace,” he said.

“Where have you been?” Taking in the man's unusual dishevel, he asked, “What has gotten you into such a state?”

Jeffers stared down with frantic, apologetic eyes. “Your … G-Grace,” he stuttered. “She found it.”

“Who found what?”

“Her Ladyship,” he explained.

“Where is my wife?”

“Gone, sir.”

What had happened to addle Jeffers? The man never used the informal address of sir. “Gone where?”

“I received your missive and — ”

Percy held up his hand and interrupted the disturbed servant. “Stop! What missive?”

“The note you sent confirming that Guffald was to accompany Lady Blendingham to the opera in your stead.”

“I sent no such note,” Percy growled. He scanned the foyer. The house suddenly took on an emptiness that didn't need to be explained. Urgency filled every fiber of his being.

“When she left wearing the locket, I — ”

“The locket?” His heart clenched.

“Yes, Your Grace, I've been trying to tell you. She had the locket around her neck. I assumed you'd finally told her the truth and had given it to her, but couldn't question her in front of Guffald without giving you away.”

Percy leaned against the stair railing as if he'd been gut shot. “I wrote no such note. The trinket is evidence. I've kept it locked in my room ever since I found it. How could that confounded woman have possibly gotten to it?”

If Constance had the locket, she knew the truth. She knew who he was, what he was, and worse, what he'd done to conceal his identity, without any explanation to champion his cause. She would loathe him.

“I left the room unlocked,” Jeffers admitted. “She must have found everything.” The man's shoulders slumped. “I have failed you.”

“Now is not the time for a litany of sins, Jeffers! God knows mine outweigh yours.”

Percy's eyes rounded. He'd meant to destroy the damn locket, though it had pained him to do so. The necklace had been a gift from Constance's mother. Even so, he could not forget where he'd found it, in Josiah Cane's possession. After discovering Burton's duplicity in the attack on the
Octavia
, in Celeste's abduction, and his father's accident, he'd put the locket out of his mind.

Damn him!
Why hadn't he destroyed it?
Because it meant so much to her? Because she would never forgive you?

Whatever strides he'd made in persuading Constance to trust the Duke of Blendingham had been destroyed. She would never believe anything he said now. What could he do?

The answer hit him squarely in the face. Whatever it took. He could not lose her. He'd kept the locket because it had brought her immeasurable joy. Her presence in his life had given him meaning, something he hadn't lived with for nearly a year and, like the locket, he would not be parted from her.

There was no help for it. He loved Constance and with that admission, he knew he could not live without her.

“Where is she? Where have they gone?” he asked.

“Guffald said you had asked him to accompany Constance to
La Duenna
at Convent Garden.”

“I would never openly ostracize her by not appearing at her side this early in our marriage. For her to be seen without me, and with another man, would be completely scandalous!”

“If you'd told her Ladyship about your stint on the
Striker
as I have suggested many times, Your Grace, this would not have happened.”

“This is not the time to chastise me now, Jeffers,” he said.

God help him, he'd not been given the time to break the news to her gently, though he'd been prepared to tell her the truth during their ride in Hyde Park. If Guffald hadn't interrupted, perhaps then —

He shook his head. He was sick and tired of trying to fix the past. He wanted Constance. He needed her.

His thoughts turned inward. Hyde Park. Coincidentally meeting Guffald along Rotten Row. Henry appearing to escort her away from the townhouse. Suddenly it all seemed clear.

I expect the road ahead to be a challenge, but I've no doubt in my mind as to the outcome.

May success guide you,
his wife had said.

'Tis what I pray for every day, my Lady.

Guffald had made no effort to conceal his interest in Constance. He'd been aboard the
Octavia
. He'd been one of two senior officers to survive the
Striker
's attack. And yet he and his men had saved him from being murdered. If he were involved, why would Frink want to have him killed? Had Frink double-crossed him? Was Guffald in league with Frink? Was he Whistler?

During their meeting in Hyde Park, Guffald had mentioned he'd just received command of the
Stockton
. And Percy had just found out that particular ship had been associated with Burton's illegal activities aboard the
Delrina Gray
and the
Arboreal
. Was Guffald also working for Burton? If so, what kind of web had he drawn Constance into? Burton's man had said his master spoke of nothing but acquiring his wife's prestige and wealth. If that was true, the man had been ciphering funds from Danbury's accounts since he'd made designs upon Constance nearly a year ago. Shortly after Percy had refused Burton's access to Celeste.

Celeste. Had she been one of Burton's victims? Whatever the case, he could not allow Constance to suffer the same fate, no matter what she must think about him, especially pregnant with his child.

Percy raced up the stairs. “Send a messenger to Jacko. Tell him to get Ollie to round up the men. I can only hope I'm not too late.”

• • •

Her hand fit easily within his. It was a shame her father had never seen fit to acknowledge that fact. Radiant and youthful, Constance's blonde hair spilled from her neatly arranged quaff, as she lay in his arms. She'd tried to convince him to take her back to Throckmorton house. When he'd been unwilling to do so, she'd attempted to exit the coach. He'd been prepared for this eventuality and had sedated her to keep her from harming herself.

Fondling her fingers, the very ones he'd dreamt of caressing him, hardening him until he felt near exploding, he worked the bejeweled ring on her third finger free. Holding the bauble up to the light, he was filled with a sensation of guilt. The feeling gripped him with unyielding force. But his guilt lessoned when he recalled how vehemently she'd sworn to hate her husband.

He'd never meant to harm Percy. That was not part of his original plan. Burton had guaranteed that, if he'd cooperated fully, he could have the woman he'd always loved — Constance. Her father had prevented their marriage. Society had ensured their paths could never cross. As a seaman of no account, one who did not warrant attention from a duke's daughter, he wasn't wealthy enough to tempt Throckmorton. Caught in a web of lust and desire that had him twisted left and right, Henry had never been able to tear the image of Constance from his thoughts, no matter how far he'd sailed. Seeing her from afar, doing everything within his power to serve Simon Danbury and Nelson's Tea in order to catch a glimpse of her had made his life worth living — until the news had come that she was being forced to marry Burton. At that point, glimpses hadn't been enough. To rectify the situation, he'd done the one thing that went against everything he believed in, he'd become a double agent.

He was not 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 Simon Danbury's hands, as he'd been begged to do, he could not 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. And then Percy had seduced Constance.

Simon had warned him. A double agent walked a narrow line. Burton had become desperate, cutting off leads, murdering informants. One of them had to slip into his ranks. He was chosen because Percy 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, Simon, and country. But he also had a duty to his own happiness. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. Some might say he'd been forced to participate in Burton's plan to kidnap Percy's bride. Far from the truth. He'd needed no coaxing to kidnap the one woman he'd give his last breath to possess. If they could get through the next few hours, he could free her of Burton, Frink, and Percy's influence. 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 will 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 sailor named Bristol spat. “Burton's been waitin' on you. You took your sweet time, you did.”