Romancing the Rogue (68 page)

Percy watched in horror.

“That’s what I love. A warm, unwilling woman,” Frink bragged, twisting Constance around in his arms until she was face to face with him, leaning sideways to overt the man’s mouth.

“Now, now,” Burton insisted. “Don’t manhandle our prize, Frink.”

“Who are you to be spouting orders? You want her for yourself. Don’t deny it. I know where I stand, and she does too. I’ll have my fun before ye spoil her like the others.”

Burton began to squirm and his rounded eyes beamed white. “Nonsense! Quit playing games.”

“Others?” Guffald asked.

Frink’s buoyant laughter filled the cabin. “Our lovely beauty won’t be pretty for long if Burton gets her.”

“What is he talking about?” Guffald shouted.

“Don’t listen to him, Captain,” Burton spat. “He’s only trying to ruin our well-laid plans.”

Percy’s attention was riveted on Constance. Their eyes met, locked, and clung as he silently urged her to stay strong, to trust him. She appeared ready to collapse and that made him fear for the baby. She’d grown pale, her face streaked with trailing tears. Even still, even now, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Percy’s throat constricted. He hated Frink, hated Burton, and wanted to kill them. Flexing his fists, he waited for a chance to make his move. The timing was critical. It had to be right. For Constance’s sake. For the baby’s sake.

“I remember a certain filly, young and primed to please a man when the occasion allowed,” Frink taunted. “I recollect she had auburn hair, eyes like a calm sea—”

Percy’s eyes widened and his heart missed a beat. He sucked in a breath.

“She welcomed the driving thrusts of a rutting man and begged for more like a starving harlot.” Frink cackled as he moved to stroke Constance’s breast. Had the man finally snapped?

Percy knew better. Every muscle in his body grew rigid. He flexed his fingers, hungry for the truth, hating himself for it, deliberately biding his time.

“What girl?” he asked. Constance’s mother?

“Burton,” Frink confessed, “is not a pirate. He doesn’t live by a code. I’m thinking you know what I’m talking about, Sexton. But not Burton. He has certain desires that cannot be quenched until he’s destroyed whatever treasure he’s found.”

“What girl?” Percy shouted.

“Enough!” Burton screeched. “You’re ruining everything!”

“I hold the cards now — or should I say treasure? I’ll decide when enough is enough.” Frink turned his bloodthirsty stare on Percy. “You infiltrated my ship, ate and slept with my crew, Sexton. Killed and murdered with the best of us. Worked your way into my trust. You’re a black-hearted wretch. This girl,” he said, eyeing Percy, notching her neck with his blade, “means something to you, and because of your attachment to her, I’m going to enjoy watching you watch her suffer.”

“This wasn’t part of our plan. You talk too much, Frink. Bring me the girl,” Burton said.

Guffald stepped slowly toward the captain, his face stern, voice even. “Give her to me, Frink.”

Frink’s eyes narrowed as the men approached him. His lips tightened until they resembled reptilian slits. “I’ve never seen a man scour the earth for answers the way you did, Sexton. Funny — the answers were never far from home.”

“Frink!” Burton howled, stamping his foot.

“Makes no difference now, does it, Burton? Sexton’s a dead man. As a matter of fact, we’re all dead,” he said, looking at every man standing in the room. “Burton will make sure of it.” Frink centered his attention on Percy.

“I wanted you to know that Burton’s the man you’ve been searching for. He had me kill Throckmorton’s wife to prime the duke for an alliance with the lady here. When he tired of waiting for her, he took your sister because he wanted her dowry. The only problem was, you stood in the way. When he couldn’t get past your father, he made certain the man was badly maimed for his trouble. Sly one, he is.”

Percy’s heart thumped wildly. Burton had orchestrated Lady Throckmorton’s death? His father’s accident? What kind of monster was he? His murderous eyes turned to Burton and he waited — waited for Frink to finish, waited for the final words that would unleash his white-hot rage. His gut clenched, every muscle in his extremities primed to kill.

Burton’s face reddened. His eyes took on a demonic fire. The bastard confessed, “No matter how much weight I tossed around or how many times I begged your father to grant me permission to court your sister, I was met with disdain. Your father’s dismissal was his final mistake.” He wrung his hands together, deep in thought, unable to stop his guilty purge. “Celeste was foolish. She believed my amorous advances and pledged her loyalty to me, above that of her family, above you, Blendingham.” His laugh held a haunting disquiet. “You cannot imagine how much I’ve coveted that knowledge. But you — oh! You were the perfect brother, always attentive, never at a loss to defend. I vowed to have her no matter the cost. We snuck away to Gretna Green. But midway, Celeste could talk of nothing but you, losing your regard, being disowned for her hasty decision. She practically begged me to take her back home. But once I had her, I wasn’t going to be left empty-handed.”

Constance’s eyes brimmed with tears. His gaze locked with hers, and the buttresses around his heart gave way. The organ thudded thickly, and a sense of urgency rose within him. Every move he made, every word he said meant the difference between life and death. It gutted him to relive Celeste’s pain — to make Constance relive the past. And yet, he had to know what had happened to his sister.

“I solicited an inn,” Burton continued, “and a private room where I took her again and again, hoping to vanquish the ache in my throbbing cock. Days later, after having my fill, I left her to fend for herself, thankful I never had to see the sobbing mass of fluff again.”

“How could you? You killed my mother! You’re not human,” Constance screeched then winced as Frink squeezed her back against his chest, choking off her breath with his square, meaty palm.

Percy’s eyes narrowed as Burton frowned and approached Constance. “Women need to be shown their place, you understand,” he said.

Constance’s fear was evident as Burton drew closer. Her frantic scream pierced the air. In her fright, she must have tried to get free or injure Frink, because the captain toppled backward, leaving Constance facing Burton alone. Burton pulled a pistol from behind his back and aimed.

Percy shifted to the tips of his toes, ready to pounce. He held his breath as Burton’s trigger finger flexed.

“Don’t move!” Burton yelled. “If I cannot have you, no one can.”

Constance’s frightened green eyes flicked to Percy. She held his gaze, blinked, then rested her hand protectively on her abdomen as she froze before the half-crazed baron.

Bloody hell! She was saying goodbye.

Percy fumed with disbelief. He hadn’t sacrificed years of his life for Celeste, for England and Nelson’s Tea, for his father and in search of his sister’s killers only to go through the worst kind of hell known to man — witnessing the death of a wife and child. No. This wasn’t a reprieve from hell. He’d fought back from the edge of oblivion and found the will to live again in the form of a young woman who’d faced her demons and trusted him to help her combat them — Burton and Frink. He couldn’t fail now!

Percy wrenched free from Frink’s henchman. No one was going to kill his wife and baby. He’d die before he allowed it. He eyed Burton with increasing annoyance and advanced on the baron, prepared to cut him down before Burton had the chance to fire the gun in his hand. But as he stepped forward with blood in mind, another one of Burton’s men attacked him.

Now he wouldn’t reach her in time. “Constance!” Percy yelled, balling his fists and beating the man senseless to get away.

A sinister smile tugged Burton’s lips. “This is one more thing I shall steal from you, Blendingham.”

Guffald bolted forward. The gun fired and sulphur filled the air.

A primal howl escaped Percy’s lips. Was Constance dead? Had Guffald reached her in time? Blood began to pool on the cabin floor at their feet. Driven mad, Percy flipped his attacker against the wall and leaped toward Burton, knocking the gun out of Burton’s hand. He forced the lord down onto the floor and began to pound the man’s stodgy face with his fists, hitting Burton again and again, animal instincts taking over as he exacted his revenge. He didn’t stop until he heard Burton’s neck snap. Men shuffled through the companionway, shouting Percy’s name. It was Ollie and Jacko with a team of reinforcements. Movement in the corner. A flash of red caught his eye. Captain Frink sought escape through the same hidden compartment Guffald and Constance had entered. Blinded by rage he couldn’t control, Percy gave chase, following Frink to the Stockton’s foredeck.

“Figure on ending what ye started, boy?” Frink goaded, whirling around to face him.

“Yes.” Percy grinned. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Ye’ve tried to kill me once and failed, but ye had something to live for then.”

“That was then,” he admitted, reaching for a dead man’s sword and swatting it through the air. Swish. Swish. Percy goaded Frink with a wave and a curling finger. Frink accepted his challenge. Blade met blade. Clanging steel ignited shards of light as parries snipped the air and metal nicked wood and shattered glass as the two men battled across the deck. “This is now.”

“A braggart, eh?”

“No,” Percy said. “A realist.”

“Perhaps you’d be interested in why I know so much about your sister,” Frink spat.

Taken aback, Percy lost his footing. The slight hesitation allowed Frink to knock Percy off his feet, forcing him to tumble down to the foc’sle. While Percy struggled to regain his balance, Frink wasted no time. His blade sliced Percy’s shoulder, nicking flesh. Frink seized the moment and threw all his weight into another lunge.

“He passed her off to us — one by one.”

The two men circled each other.

How long had his sister been tortured? How many had used her? Mind reeling, Percy couldn’t bear to hear any more.

“Damn you!” he cried.

“You served on the same ship as the men who defiled your sister. You’re the fool, Sexton! Just as much a fool as that whore of a sister you’ve sought to avenge.”

Heat vibrated in Percy’s veins. Beautiful Celeste. He’d failed her, just as he’d failed Constance and his unborn child. Trained not to lose control of his emotions, Percy hung perilously close the abyss, to making a deal with the devil to kill Frink and rid the world of his filth. Vengeance had staying power. If he played his cards right, he’d find an opening there…

With a deft circle of the leg, Percy kicked Frink’s feet out from under him, knocking him off balance. A desire to enact justice for his sixteen-year-old sister gave him newfound strength, as Percy thrust his sword home between Frink’s ribs. Frink cried out and lifted his hands weakly to prevent Percy from skewering him deeper. That would have been too easy. Instead, Percy spun around and lifted a double-edged knife, gutting Frink with an upward jab.

“Vengeance is mine saith the lord.”

Frink blinked disbelieving. Then his unseeing eyes bulged and he slumped over the protruding sword to the deck. Percy kicked the man to be certain he was dead. After all, the man had a penchant for resurrection. Once assured the man couldn’t outlive this death, Percy turned and hurried down the steps through the secret portal to the captain’s cabin. He located Burton’s body unmoving in the middle of the floor. One of Frink’s men, the one who’d held him in check during Burton’s rant, slunk against the wall of the cabin, his eyes peering blankly into space, a bullet to his forehead.

Jacko and Ollie stood guard. Percy’s heart stopped then began to beat anew as his gaze settled on his wife. Constance, alive and whole, knelt against the western side of the room, her ear pressed against Guffald’s heart, sobbing tearfully. Percy stepped forward slowly, so as not to alarm her, and scanned the length of Guffald’s body. The captain had saved her life. But he’d not done so unscathed. He bore a horrible wound to his thigh, one Percy had seen countless times. Without a doctor’s urgent care, Guffald faced certain amputation. For a moment, he entertained the idea of letting the scoundrel die but noticed a tourniquet the color of his wife’s gown had been wrapped around the captain’s leg.

Guffald spoke. Percy had to lean forward to hear. “Forgive me.” He gulped. “S-Simon knows the t-truth.”

“Don’t speak, Captain. No explanations are needed,” Constance said, her voice quivering.

Guffald gasped. “I d-didn’t know… I would n-never have—”

“Oh, Henry.” Constance cried, smoothing the now unconscious captain’s blond hair away from his pale face. Percy didn’t miss the fact that his wife had used Guffald’s given name. Sobbing, she pulled the man to her chest and held his head close to her lovely breast. Percy watched silently, jealousy surging through his veins.

He’d lost her. It was too late. He’d failed Constance. Failed to protect her, to win his wife when he had the chance. He’d lied to her. Tricked her. Suspected her of being part of Burton’s plan to rob him and his family of everything — including his heart. She’d suffered unconscionable horror and pain. And now she hated him. Even if he explained that he loved her, she believed him incapable of telling the truth. It made no difference now. Except she was alive. His child would survive. That was enough.