The Rogue’s Prize (39 page)

Lady Celeste?

The woman’s eyes unnerved her.

Tamping her jealousy, a feat that would

not be as ridiculous had she been given

the pleasure of a wedding night to ease

her burdens, she placed the woman’s

picture back on the cupboard and turned

it face down. Her life was spiraling out

of control. She was weary of digging for

a strength she did not feel. Thoroughly

rejected, as only a bride without a

husband on her wedding night could be,

she stepped to the bed and stared at the

rumpled coverlet, imagining to the two

of them there.

“Don’t leave me, Percy,” she’d

pleaded. “I need you!”
She needed him

to keep her mind off of the rogue whose

memory continued to stir her flesh.

Her fingers traced the golden seams

flowing through the fabric as if tracking

miserable paths her life had taken.

“She toils amiss when giving in to

the devil’s kiss,” she whispered.

By marrying Percy, she’d been

given a chance to publicly mend her

reputation,

to

prove

Burton’s

accusations unsound. Why then, when

she’d married a man of taste and repute,

a man willing to put his reputation on the

line for her, did she find herself wishing

for the devil’s unruly fire? Yes, even

now, on her wedding night, surrounded

by evidence of Percy’s protection and a

promising future, she longed for the

father of her child. For Thomas, the man

who’d taken and given love before

expelling her from the
Striker
like

discarded cargo.

Climbing onto the bed, Constance

gathered her knees to her chest. To be

sure, Percy was the better choice of the

two men. He represented everything

Thomas was not. So why, when she had

everything a woman could want, did she

pine for a scoundrel’s touch?

• • •

overpowered his senses. Percy crept

low, bent over at the waist in order to

keep from hitting his head on the ceiling

of the darkened hallway leading into a

labyrinth of underground tunnels. Jacko

and Ollie moved soundlessly behind

him. Neither spoke. Both understood the

sacrifice it took to leave a willing bride

alone on her wedding night. Both knew

what was at stake if Burton succeeded in

killing Percy before there could be no

question where his wife belonged.

Percy held up his hand. Motioning

to his lips, he urged his men not to make

a sound. Voices drifted through the

corridor, leading them forward. Josiah

Cane had finally spoken to the wrong

man, a man willing to receive a hefty

price

for

leading

them

to

his

whereabouts.

Jacko,

inventive

in

gathering pertinent information, never

steered him wrong. On this night,

however, he should be lying in

Constance’s arms, a fact that sat in his

gut like sour meat. But some decisions

came at great cost and tonight, he was

moments away from learning what he’d

spent nearly a year striving to find — the

name of Celeste’s killer.

Ollie’s two fingers pointed toward

the opening, prodding him forward.

Percy retrieved a silver blade, and then

quickly lowered it to his side to keep

any reflection from warning the enemy of

his approach. Wind whistled through the

narrow passage, carrying with it

conversation identifying the men they

sought.

“I

warned

you

never

to …

unnecessary questions. Your employ is

void whenever … say … ”

“ … they continue to search … Fox.

You cannot expect … ”

“But I can!” the answer erupted,

echoing clearly throughout the tunnel.

Percy crept low, his face tilted

against the stone wall at his back. Jacko

and Ollie drew close, each brandishing

knives. Motioning his men to the right,

Percy veered left. But all too soon, the

voices dissipated, warning their window

of opportunity had closed.

Stepping into the light, Percy

shouted, “Hold where you are.”

Jacko and Ollie appeared from the

shadows. A small man, quicker than

expected, slithered off into the night with

Ollie close at his heels.

“What do you want?” Cane

supplied, his hands upheld, offering no

resistance.

Percy nodded, indicating the bundle

in Cane’s hands. “Hand it over.”

“There’s nothing in this bag that

would interest you.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “That is for

me to decide.”

Jacko stepped forward, ripped the

leather pouch from Cane’s hands and

stepped back to Percy.

“Open it,” he ordered. Then

nodding at Cane, he said, “What is the

name of your employer?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Who’s pulling your strings?”

Percy thundered.

Jacko shuffled various documents

within the satchel, and then pulled out a

silver trinket. Percy held it up to the

light. The oval jewelry piece shimmered

in the moonlight, glistening with

familiarity. Shock registered on his face

when he opened the silver locket and a

familiar face stared back at him.

Constance’s mother!

“Where did you get this?” he

questioned Cane.

Cane staggered backward. Percy

quickly had the man in his arms, his

blade slanted menacingly close to the

man’s neck, gouging rivulets of blood

that

slithered

down,

disappearing

beneath his collar. Cane howled in pain.

“I asked you where you got this

locket!”

Jacko offered a word of warning.

“Better answer the man, Cane.”

“I’ve … ” Cane strangled out until

Percy released pressure on his throat.

“I’ve never seen it before. All I know is

what it means.”

“And what does the locket mean?”

Percy asked, the knife pricking the man’s

flesh. An answer was already beginning

to formulate in his mind, though he

resisted.

Cane squirmed, trying to wiggle out

of Percy’s grip. “Don’t,” Percy pleaded.

“Don’t move!” But it was too late. His

sharp blade had done its work.

Jacko swore. Ollie ran back

breathless as Percy grasped the dying

man by his bloody collar. “What does

the locket mean?”

Blood percolated from the dying

man’s mouth, his neck, dousing Percy’s

hand, his chest. Cane gagged, “Girl …

kill … ”

When the man’s body finally went

limp, Percy let go and watched his only

informant drop to the ground with a

thump. He stood up and faced Ollie and

Jacko with stone-faced determination.

“Did you catch the other one?”

Ollie grimaced. “The toad gave me

the slip not far ahead. I tried to follow

’em. But he disappeared over a stone

wall and when I arrived, he was gone.”

Percy nodded.

“What are you going to do, Cap’n?”

Jacko asked.

“Go home to my wife,” he offered

numbly.

“What about the locket? How do

you think they came by it?”

His eyes focused on Jacko’s face,

seeing past him. “That’s a good

question. I’ve never seen her without it,

except this morning — at our wedding. ”

“Do you think she could be

involved?” Ollie croaked.

Percy didn’t answer. His mind

began to spin. Simon had sent Constance

to the
Octavia
. He’d seen enough of

Burton to know why she’d been trying to

get to Spain. Or had she been sent? What

better way to undermine a plan then to

coerce someone from Simon’s inner

circle to tip the scales? Was she the one

Frink was insistent upon scourging the

ship for? Had the whole thing been

arranged to make it look like she’d been

abused and kidnapped so no one would

be the wiser? Or perhaps to flesh him

out?

He’d been there. How could he

doubt the danger she’d been in? But

were

there

even

more

lethal

ramifications? Was there a traitor in

their midst? In the past few months,

Constance had attended the first of many

social events under the guise of finding a

suitable husband. Anyone could have

slipped her information.

Blinking back the sensation that

he’d been hit with a brick, Percy thought

about the way she’d insisted he stay in

their bedchamber. Had an informant

tipped her off to his ambush? Was she

trying to keep Cane from being

intercepted?

“You

can’t

be

seriously

considering that she — ” Ollie hissed.

Jacko backed away, shaking his

head. “The air’s grown fowl.”

“Cap’n. There has to be an

explanation,” Ollie said, holding up the

necklace. “I can’t believe the lass would

cap her lot in with — ”

“We’ll know the truth soon

enough,” he said.

“Do you want to know the truth?”

Jacko asked.

Percy ground his teeth, ripped the

necklace from Ollie’s fingers, and fisted

it in his hand. “I’ve never wanted

anything more.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Constance paced in front of the fireplace

anxiously wringing her hands. A week

had gone by with no word from Percy.

But try as she might, she could not find

fault with the distinguished gentleman.

After all, he’d placed a wedding ring on

her finger and saved her from a life of

abuse. His father was gravely ill. She

did not have to reverse their roles in

order to understand the adversity Percy

faced. Having already lost a parent, she

understood a son should not hesitate to

reach his father’s ailing bedside.

Further, she had no hold upon Percy

other than a piece of paper signed by

witnesses and a ring to grant her the right

to retain him.

She gazed down at the square-cut

sapphire gem, offset with amethyst

stones, and raised her hand toward the

firelight, entranced by the sparkle

flickering against her pale ivory skin.

That a man who barely knew her would

gift her with such a ring, let alone

propose marriage, astounded her. That

he would desert her on her wedding

night cut her to the quick. Dejectedly,

she dropped her hand.

The door creaked open, jolting the

hopelessness weighting her chest.

“Oh, dear! I’m afraid you’re as

jumpy as the fish we spotted at sea.”

Peering

quizzically

at

Mrs.

Mortimer, Constance chided, “Morty!

Truly, you say the strangest things.”

“No stranger than a new bride

spending her wedding night alone,”

Morty huffed, stomping into the room to

deposit a tray of sausage, hot buns, and

chocolate upon Constance’s bedside

table.

“Don’t be angry with Percy. I

would react the same way if my father’s

life was in jeopardy.”

“Yes. But you would allow your

husband to accompany you,” the woman

reminded

her.

“Therein

lays

the

difference.” Morty outstretched her arms

and Constance needed no further

encouragement to run into her embrace.

“There. There,” Morty cooed. “Two

weeks is not such a long time. Your life

will be set to rights soon enough. All

will be well. I promise.”

“Oh, Morty,” she cried, reminded

of the last time Mrs. Mortimer had

promised a fruitful end to her dilemma.

Images of the pirate attack, the
Octavia

sinking,

and

Thomas

immediately

flashed before her eyes. Her heart ached

for what she couldn’t have. She had

given her love once. She could ill afford

to do so again. Closing her eyes, she

willed the memories to dissipate.

“Time will not cure my ills. I’m

sure of it,” she said, sniffling.

“Time has a way of taking care of