Romancing the Rogue (62 page)

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. 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. And she hated herself for it.

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?

~~~~

The dank interior
of the outer room 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 purse 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!” someone yelled, the sound 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 grabbed it and 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 woman’s face stared back at him. Constance’s mother!

“Where did you get this?”

Cane staggered backward. Percy quickly launched and twisted Cane 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 Cane’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 ordered. “Don’t move!” But it was too late. Cane’s desperation to escape had forced the sharp blade into his throat.

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 Cane gasped his last breath and his 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.”

Ollie kicked the dead man as he asked, “Do you think she could be involved?”

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 on 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?

Bloody hell! He’d been there. How could he doubt the danger she’d been in? But what other lethal ramifications were there? 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 couldn’t finish.

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.”

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 couldn’t fault 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 didn’t have to reverse their roles in order to understand the adversity Percy faced. Having already lost a parent, she understood a son shouldn’t hesitate to reach his ailing father’s bedside. Further, she had no hold on 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, off-set 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 their wedding night cut her to the quick. Dejectedly, she dropped her hand.

The door creaked open, and she froze, barely able to control a gasp of surprise.

“Oh, dear! I’m afraid you’re as jumpy as the fish we spotted at sea.”

Her eye widening in astonishment, Constance chided, “Morty! Truly, you say the strangest things.”

“No stranger than a bride spending her wedding night alone.” Morty huffed, stomping into the room to deposit a tray of sausage, hot buns, and chocolate on 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 out-stretched her arms, and Constance needed no further encouragement to run into her embrace. “There. There,” Morty cooed. “A week 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 everything, my dear. Take this room. You’ve already brightened the space up nicely and with little expense.”

Gazing about the room, Constance inspected the gold curtains and papered walls, along with other added accoutrements — a vanity, stuffed chair, gilded mirror, and lamp stand — she’d contributed from other rooms in the house. “I suppose.”

“Continue to busy yourself around the townhouse. Busy work is good for the soul.”

Carriage wheels clattered on the cobblestones. A door opened and closed. Constance’s hopes alighted. She rushed to the window, thinking Percy had returned, and peeled back the heavy damask curtain to peer down at the stoop. There, in place of her husband, dressed in a gloomy portent of doom was the portly and disagreeable Lord Burton. Like a puppet led by strings, he raised his eyes and met her gaze. Hastily, she stepped away from the sill and backed into the room, nearly knocking Mrs. Mortimer over in her haste.

“What is it? Has Lord Stanton arrived? Why are you shaking?” Morty sauntered to the window, concern knitting her brows. “Why are you hiding? There’s no shame in letting your husband see you await his — Oh!” she snapped. “There’s the end to it.”

“What is he doing here?”

Morty sank back into the room, her face pale, eyes wide. She put a hand to her mouth. “Why do you suspect he’s come?”

Stunned, Constance grabbed onto Morty’s forearms and waited for what seemed like an eternity before footsteps sounded in the hallway and stopped outside the door.

A knock sounded and then Jeffers’ deep baritone called, “Lord Montgomery Burton has come to pay his respects, my lady. Are you accepting callers?”

Mrs. Mortimer rushed past her to the door. She yanked it open and quickly declared her to be indisposed.

Jeffers added, “The gentleman suggests it’s a matter of life and death.”

Constance moved as gracefully as her leaden feet allowed, crossing the room and gently pushing Morty out of the way. Jeffers disapproved of Burton. But what had the man meant by, “a matter of life and death”? Was her father in danger?

“In that case, I see no reason why I shouldn’t receive Lord Burton. Show the gentleman into the parlor. I shall join him momentarily.”

Jeffers bowed his head, and Constance closed the door.

Morty immediately admonished her. “It isn’t seemly for a newly wedded bride to receive gentlemen without the presence of her husband and, might I add, in so short a time. Allow me to go downstairs and tell the gentleman you are indisposed.”

Was her father’s life in danger? Was Percy in danger? The only way to find out what Burton meant by life and death was to speak to him, as much as the thought detested her.

“I assure you, there will be no danger,” she said. “What can Burton do to me here? I’m under Percy’s protection.”

“What can he do? He threatened to harm you if you accepted another proposal! It is too dangerous to toy with the man now.”

“That is where you’re wrong,” she insisted. “Burton is no simpleton. He wouldn’t have come here if he knew Percy was in residence. I don’t know how or why, but he obviously knows Percy is gone,” she said, reaching her hand out to Morty. “What if Father is hurt? I cannot tell him to leave until my curiosity is satisfied.”

“He’s up to nothing but mischief, I’m sure!” Morty exclaimed.

Constance went to her wardrobe and pulled out a pale blue dress with lavender buttons and ribbons. She waved Mrs. Mortimer to the bedside. “Help me dress — quickly.”

Several moments later, Constance gazed into the full length mirror and pinched her cheeks, hoping to hide the fact that she’d had another sleepless night. She’d been drowning again, this time unable to reach a basket with something hidden inside. The frequency of her dreams had escalated since Percy had been gone. Suddenly, she realized a sleepless night could very well work to her advantage. It might make Burton believe Percy had not abandoned her. She tugged gently at the corners of her eyes for effect.

“If he thinks to belittle my husband or gloat while he is here, I will convince him otherwise by appearing a vision of sated contentment.”

“You will only end up getting yourself into more trouble,” Morty goaded.

“Nonsense!” she said, determined to find out what game Burton played. “Percy came to my defense, when I needed help most, and I will not allow Burton to begrudge him happiness.”

Pushing her way past her weary cohort, Constance opened the door and managed a dignified, studied walk toward the staircase. The foyer was silent as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs. Settling her gaze on the parlor entrance and the etched doors with their artistry and flourish, she instantly caught sight of a cane tapping an unmistakably familiar and distinctly irritating rhythm. The owner preened in front of reflective glass in the liquor case. Constance hoped to catch him off guard, but to no avail. With the hearing of a skittish rodent, the dour man whirled, a whitened mask veiling judicious eyes that singed her with unrelenting force.

Maintaining civility, he bowed. “Lady Constance. Thank you for tearing yourself away from your — husband,” he coughed, “to see an old friend.”

“It’s Lady Stanton now,” she reminded him.

“Ah, so it is. My apologies,” he said, wrinkling his nose as if the effort cost him dearly.

“Is it not customary to refrain from visiting a newly married couple until after their first outing?” she asked, taking a seat on the opposite settee.

His bushy brow perked high. “One could say the same for you, madam. Shouldn’t you have refused an audience with me?”

She was caught. She nodded. “You’re—”

“Quite right,” he admitted, taking his seat. “Yet here you are, making me curious as to the nature of your relationship with the marquess.”

“You did mention it was a matter of life and death. You can hardly blame my curiosity.” She struggled to maintain civility. “As to my marriage, it is none of your concern. I seek only to know the true reason for your visit. As we have not been on the best of terms, pleasantries need not be exchanged.”

He tilted his head, his impertinent tongue wetting his large, bulbous lips. “Do you doubt me? My affections?”

“I think you made them abundantly clear the night of the ball.”

His cane hit the ground with a thump, making her jump. She rose and moved behind the settee, using it as a barrier between them. He stood and then stepped toward her, his eyes riveted upon her bosom.

“As a means of making amends for my behavior, I came here today to merely seek if you were well and settled.”

“I am,” she confided. In truth, she was. Percy had saved her from this man. She knew now that was enough. One month of marriage to Burton would have found her in a freshly dug grave.

Burton’s beady eyes squinted. His velvet tone was edged with steel. “Does Percy suit? It galls me to think that even now you are filled with his seed.”

“Good God! I have tried to be civil, but you are insufferable. I shall have Jeffers see you out.” She turned to leave.

He moved closer and cut off her exit.

“Control yourself, Lord Burton,” she ordered. “This is my husband’s home.”

“I lost control of myself when I lost you.” A strange spark lit his eyes as he reached out to grab her.

She side-stepped him and headed for the bell pull to ring for Jeffers.

Burton grabbed her hand and turned her back around, capturing her within his meaty arms. He shot her a twisted smile. “If you scream, you’ll never find out why I came.”

“Why did you come?” she asked, her thoughts sprinting from one possibility to another. Tears welled in her eyes as he pinched her skin.

“All in good time.”

“Please. Tell me,” she begged him. “Has something happened to my father?” Though her father no longer needed Burton’s money, it had been her worst fear that Burton would retaliate against him.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he said roughly. “Now, are you quite content with your choice? Do you moan like a cat in heat in Stanton’s arms? Do you sate his appetites the way I’ve dreamed of happily planting my seed in your womb?”

Shivering, Constance sucked in a steadying breath. “You’re disgusting.”

He jerked her back to the sofa and forced her to sit. “I applaud your little charade.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you should be mine!” The force of his seething words took her off guard. “Do not expect me to recede into the shadows without a fight.”

“After the lies you told my father, you cannot believe that I would ever consent to anything you have to offer.”

Burton was a madman! He believed he could control her, which was simply preposterous. Even when she’d been promised to him, she had never approved of her father’s agreement. It took little effort to recall the terror that had made her flee home in the middle of the night, putting her life at risk aboard the Octavia. But she’d been a different woman then. She hadn’t known Thomas then. A sly smile turned up the corners of her lips, the irony of it all plain. In some way, she owed Burton a debt of gratitude for steering her toward Thomas — and Percy.

Burton glowered at her. “Were it not that it would be too quick, I would strangle the life out of you now.” He gazed down at her with an evil glint in his eyes. “I will never stop wanting you. Accept that fact. And when I want something, I have ways of getting it.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

Constance trembled. She knew he held his anger in check by sheer force of will. Her saving grace was he couldn’t hurt her, not there, not in Percy’s home, especially when Jeffers and Mrs. Mortimer knew of his presence. She grasped onto that fact, however small, however short-lived.

Burton’s menacing laughter promised that no matter what happened, there would be no reprieve. She stared into her accuser’s alabaster face, realizing with certainty she would never be rid of him.

“You mentioned life and death. What did you mean?” she asked.

“If you don’t want your father to spend a day in debtor’s prison, you will find a way to get me into Stanton’s good graces.”

“You cannot be serious. I barely know my husband. And he would surely not believe a kind word about you after your performance at the ball.”

“You mean the ball where our engagement should have been announced?” His nod was self-serving. “Oh! But I am serious. It would be easy to arrange for certain papers to pass through legal ranks, papers that will most assuredly point to your father’s involvement with a local smuggling ring in a feeble attempt to replenish his dwindling funds.”

“That would be illegal!”

“Wouldn’t it?” he asked.

She bristled.

“I could arrange to prove it to you.”

“No! Please—”

Burton grinned. “Exactly the word I came to hear.” With a grand tap of his cane, he whirled through the door without a backward glance, leaving her to sag into the cushions, her fist against her mouth.