The Rogue’s Prize (48 page)

“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
St ri ker
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.”

• • •

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.”

The man reached for Constance

with grimy hands. “Don’t touch her,” he

ordered, swatting the man’s hand away.

“I’ll bring her aboard.”

“A might sensitive, aren’t you?” the

one-eyed man asked, ogling Constance’s

breasts as Guffald lifted her into his

arms, descended the hack, and carried

her aboard the
Stockton
.

“Where is he?” he bellowed to a

sailor loitering on deck.

“Below, Captain. Where else

would he be?”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Pain throbbed in Constance’s head. That

first awareness built into a moan as she

tried to move and her head rebelled. She

brought a hand up to her throbbing skull,

suddenly conscious of the fact that she

lay upon a lumpy mattress. But how had

she gotten here? And where was here?

She tried to open her eyes. Though the

light was muted, she squinted and

focused on the last thing she could

remember. But she could remember

nothing. Besieged by more questions

than she could handle, she sat up,

fighting back an urge to empty her

stomach.

“Glad to see you’ve joined the land

of the living, my dear.”

That voice!
Constance inhaled

sharply, the action causing her pain. She

shoved her fist into her mouth to choke

off the scream threatening to burst from

her throat.

“You see the reverence in her eyes,

Guffald?” Burton cooed. “The little chit

has an enticing way about her, doesn’t

she?”

Imprisoned and squeamish, she

absorbed the sights and sounds around

her. Her gaze scanned the circumference

of the room, scrutinizing the confines of

the cabin. Then her eyes settled upon

Burton, seated piously before her.

Guffald stood to his right. The sight of

him boosted her spirits. Surely, she

thought, he would help her. Yet, the

troubled blue eyes held no hint of

rescue. Why? What had happened?

She searched her aching head for

the answers. Her heart hitched as her

memory returned. The captain appeared

numb to her plight because he was the

reason for her presence here. Guffald,