The Rogue's Prize: Nelson's Tea Series, #3

License and Copyright Notes

The Rogue’s Prize

Copyright © 2018 by Katherine Bone

EPUB Edition

Seas the Day Publishing

Cover Design by For the Muse Designs

Editing by Double Vision Editorial

ISBN: 978-0-9982074-4-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

For more information: katherine@katherinebone.com

www.katherinebone.com

Also Available

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The Pirate’s Debt, Book #2

The Pirate’s Duty, Book #3

The Nelson’s Tea Series

My Lord Rogue, Book #1

Duke by Day, Rogue by Night, Book #2

The Rogue’s Prize, Book #3

The Heart of a Hero Series

The Mercenary Pirate, Book #10

Dedication

Only a life lived for others is worth living. –Albert Einstein

This book is dedicated to my children, Beau, Lierin, Jeremie, and Juliana. Your love and support has shown me the true prize.

One

Off the coast of Cornwall, August 2, 1805

Shackled like a worthless animal, Lady Adele Seaton scanned the crowded cell, wincing as the iron manacles chafed the tender flesh on her wrists and ankles. Her plan to confiscate a Royal Navy ship so she could rescue her eldest brother, Garrick—more fondly known as Captain Blade, a pirate arrested for spying in San Sebastian, Spain—had gone awry. She might be locked in the cage with the surviving members of her crew in the belly of a British warship, but she wasn’t beaten yet. Her senses were attuned to every sound, and her body hummed with anticipation. She had a plan in place for every eventuality and, therefore, wasn’t fazed by this turn of bad luck. It was only a matter of time before she and the captain of HMS Dragon exchanged places. The guards had warned her that he was a formidable opponent, clever, in fact, but no one could outwit a Seaton.

She glanced up at the deckhead and smiled, confident they would gain the upper hand. She and her men held the element of surprise: her captors were completely unaware that they had a woman on board, let alone a woman who would do anything to save her brother’s life. And should they find out, superstition ensured her chances of success. Sailors, much like the highbrow gentlemen of the ton, had old-fashioned ideas about a woman’s place in Society, a position that did not sit well with her.

Adele glanced down at her apparel and grinned. Since she’d come of age, Papa had warned her not to forget she was a woman, not to ride astride, or climb rigging like a nimble forest creature if she wanted to catch a husband, and yet, she did all those things and excelled at them. She was a free-spirited adventurer, just like her brothers. They’d encouraged her antics because she loved the sea as much as they did. She had actually spent most of her twenty-two years aboard ships, rebelling against everything taboo, proving her worth to herself and her brothers, and dispelling the myth that a woman was bad luck aboard a ship. Or so she’d been told far too many times to count.

Around her, several men groaned loudly, increasing her discomfort. Some had sustained injuries during the skirmish that followed their stealthy assault of HMS Dragon in a daring, strategic attack out of a fog bank. Others tested their restraints, and Adele was instantly conscious of her own mortality should they fail to obtain their freedom.

His Majesty’s ships patrolled the Cornish coast searching for the enemy and smugglers with or without a bounty on their heads. One of the hazards of piracy was coming into contact with these ships and suffering penalty of death by hangman’s noose at Tilbury Point.

She shivered, listening to the ship’s internal clock as it cut through the English Channel. Were they already en route to London to meet that particular fate? If so, what would happen to Garrick?

Her plan to rescue her brother had been met with skepticism by her father, Filbert, Earl Pendrim, as well as her five other brothers; Max, Rigby, William, James, and Keane. As a consequence, she’d taken one of her father’s prized ships, the Black Belle—her brother Keane’s finest handiwork, a sleek design profiting Abbydon Cove and its inhabitants—and set off in search of a Royal Navy ship.

The Seatons came from a long line of pirates, dabbling in trade along the Cornish Coast from Calais to Saint-Malo, San Sebastian, and the Barbary Coast. They were descendants of Zephaniah Job, the greatest and most successful smuggler that ever lived in Cornwall. To compound matters, rumors abounded that her father had ties to the Crown, a connection protecting their family’s fleet and an association she would use if her life or the lives of her men depended on it.

Adele grimaced. She’d attacked one of His Majesty’s vessels as it had been scouring the coast for Napoleon and smugglers alike. This, and her poor brother’s life being in enemy hands, raised the stakes. She had to succeed. If news of her impetuous behavior reached the king, her father might never regain the Crown’s favor. Any ruling against them would seal her family’s fate. Papa would be stripped of his earldom, Garrick his viscountcy, and she and her brothers their honorable titles.

What did she care about those things?

Plenty.

Family meant everything to her. She leaned her head against the iron bars digging into her back and inhaled a deep breath. The impenetrable barrier reminded her that to fail meant more than risking her own future or that of her men. Failure to deliver the ransom demanded by Captain Franco Delgado via one of His Majesty’s ships meant Garrick would suffer at the end of a Spanish hangman’s noose. He’d been accused of being a spy, which was a ridiculous notion; her brother was a pirate. But with Napoleon on a quest to conquer the known world, the charge of espionage held more weight than being a smuggler in these dangerous times.

Adele lowered her chin and worried her bottom lip, feeling the burden of one other matter on her shoulders. Her father didn’t know she’d taken the Black Belle to capture the first navy ship that broke the horizon. Its crew had sworn to follow her plan. But at what cost? If she couldn’t defeat the one incorrigible adversary that stood in the way—Captain Henry Guffald, the commander of HMS Dragon—there would be no opportunity for Papa to flay her alive.

He’d warned her not to overreact about Garrick’s captivity, claiming, The Royal Navy would not allow a peer to be put to death, especially one with so much value to the Crown.

Adele closed her eyes, blocking out horrific images she’d conjured in her dreams of her brother being tortured, then hanged until he gasped his last breath . . .

Something popped nearby. Startled, she opened her eyes and swiped at a tear slipping down her cheek. She despised her momentary weakness. She would not allow Garrick to suffer such a fate if it was the last thing she ever did. Besides, half the battle had been won already. They were aboard a British ship. Now, all they needed to do was regain control of HMS Dragon, reverse course, and chart a voyage to the ransom exchange, Santa Clara Island in San Sebastian.

Almost tasting triumph, she fought to conceal the grin tugging at the corners of her lips when she felt a presence beside her, reminding her of the very real obstacles she faced. She turned to study Husam, the dark-skinned Moroccan who’d been her protector since her father had liberated him from a slave ship along the Barbary Coast. She’d been ten years old at the time and awed by Husam’s skin tone, massive size, and tremendous strength. He’d faced unreasonable hardships in his life, travails no human being should have to endure. Grateful to her father for his freedom, he’d vowed to repay his debt by keeping Papa’s only daughter safe. He’d also agreed to help her free Garrick from the same fate Husam himself had borne.

She smothered a grimace, fearing for her brother’s life as she fought to ignore the putrid, suffocating, stale air, and prayed they would reach her brother in time.

Husam was her first mate, a man with strange and uncanny ways of knowing what Adele thought before any reaction registered on her face. He leaned close. He is a madman, Belle.

Who? she asked, responding to the nickname Papa had given her and then bequeathed to the Black Belle. Stop chasing your brothers’ shadows, he frequently told her.

Captain Guffald. They’d learned the name of HMS Dragon’s commander from the guard posted outside their cell who’d eagerly passed along that Captain Guffald was a ruthless officer who gave the ungovernable no pardon. He’d taken a vow to serve the king and given orders to men who followed his lead. It went against military code to blur the boundaries of the law or trust the enemy. As a naval officer working for the Crown, he couldn’t possibly understand what motivated a Cornish woman. Seatons prided themselves in taking from those with plenty and providing for those struggling to survive in the harsh Cornish climate. She’d been raised to steal whatever she deemed fit from the enemy. She’d been taught how to survive should the occasion warrant it, which it did.

Another member of their crew leaned on Husam for support. He shrugged the man off then pointed and glared at the distracted young guard moving on the other side of the iron bars. And he’ll offer no quarter if he catches us.

I’ll ask for none. In fact, it was the opposite. She’d fight the Devil himself to save Garrick’s life. As the eldest and most adventurous among her brothers, Garrick did things no one dared. That habit was a particular source of frustration to her father, who longed for Garrick to settle down on the land his viscountcy was named for.

At this very moment, it wasn’t her own welfare that concerned her, but Garrick’s. She’d do whatever it took to command HMS Dragon, the captain be damned, to get to her brother in time. The ransom letter they had received was clear: no one could approach Santa Clara Island to broker her brother’s release unless flying banners from His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

I’ve seen men like him, Husam said. Know what they can do.

The guard shuffled his feet, trying to maintain his balance as the ship pitched larboard violently. One-eyed Douglas, the Belle’s purser, shifted his legs and whispered something to the man on his left, his chains alerting the guard to his movements. Husam looked sharply at Douglas.

Shh . . . Be quiet, ye halfwit, Perry, her boatswain, warned.

Tension mounted. Adele shook her head, feeling the eyes of the rest of the men piercing through her until, one by one, they slowly calmed down. Groaning timber reverberated around them. Creaking lanterns swayed back and forth on their hooks, mimicking the hazardous motion of the ship as it crested and dipped into another swell. The time to strike was drawing nigh, and a surge of excitement shot through her.

Storm is gift from Allah. Lantern light glinted like stars off Husam’s ebony eyes. Since he’d been part of their family, he had learned to speak tolerable English. His Moroccan bloodline, his superstitious nature, and spiritual beliefs had not been repressed, however. Nor should they be. Very good odds, he said cutting into a grin.

Adele shifted her posterior when her leg began to go numb. How can you be so sure?

A man does not have to see to believe.

I am not a man, she reminded him. Women are ruled by their hearts, not their eyes.

Husam’s allegiance to her family and his intuition were things she admired and respected about him. At the same time, she didn’t understand how he could be so certain the odds were in their favor. She still had to defeat HMS Dragon’s captain.

All will be well, he said.

Adele clung to Husam’s assurances, needing them as surely as a ship needed a helm. She rolled her shoulders to release her pent-up anxiety. If only I had your faith, dear friend.

You do. He gave her a sly wink. But not see it yet.

Hope stirred in her breast. She trusted Husam with her life and clung to his declaration. In her mind, there could be no other outcome, no other alternative. Then we couldn’t have asked for better odds, she said, smiling.

She inspected the thirty-two surviving members of her crew—a combination of Moroccan, Cornish, and Irish sailors, plus a few rowdy Scotsmen—as they sat shoulder to shoulder in the large iron cage. They were outnumbered more than two-to-one, but she had no doubt they could outfight, outwit, and outman anyone who stood in their way. It was what they’d been trained to do—not to mention the element of surprise was on their side.

Weather won’t hold, Husam’s deep baritone warned. Wrong time of year.

She nodded. Aye.

Would the weather turn against them? The fog had assisted them in approaching HMS Dragon without being seen by the maintop watch. The English Channel was unpredictable, oftentimes blindsiding a ship and making navigating coastal shoals perilous. Her family had learned to use these elements to their advantage, and that is why Adele and her men had purposefully allowed themselves to be taken prisoner.

Husam leaned toward her. Captain will not enjoy being bested by a woman.

What man does? she asked fighting back years of frustration.

Adele was the sixth born of the seven Seaton children. Growing up in a shipbuilding family and spending much of her time at the docks, she realized early on in life that most men viewed themselves as far superior to women. It was a hard-earned lesson, one that had sparked her desire to prove herself just as capable as her brothers.

Lantern light bathed the dark, abstract tattoos ornamenting Husam’s face. Teach him.

I shall, she vowed.

Today no different from another day.

He was right. In the cramped confines of the cell, she appreciated the reminder. She calculated the distance from her men to the bars, from the bars to the barrel of the guard’s pistol, and from the guard to the doorway of the hatch. The tar’s head lolled to one side as the ship listed to port, jerking him awake, drawing her attention back to him.

She held her breath as he started and then quickly searched the hold for any danger before closing his eyes once more.

Releasing her pent-up breath, she gave her men a nod. The time had come to begin the second phase of her plan: Draw the guard’s attention. Steal the keys to the cell. Silently take over HMS Dragon, man the Belle with a very minimal crew, sail it back to Abbydon Cove, and then set HMS Dragon on a course to Spain.

As they’d previously agreed, her men quickly surrounded her. She’d been overlooked by the guards thanks to her male attire and the protective shield her crew had formed around her during their capture. And she planned to use the guards’ ignorance to her advantage. Timing and strategy were everything. Water, liquor barrels, and crates of supplies filled the hold, which had forced the small prison to be erected close to the hatch, making escape more realistic.

She nodded again, and her crew bobbed their heads in agreement. Now the trick was to disarm the guard and get out of the cage.

Noise above deck awakened the guard and set him into motion. He jumped to his feet and stepped forward, jiggling the cage door as if to verify it was still locked.

Off the starboard bow! someone yelled.

The shouts grew louder, more triumphant.

Bolt Head! another voice announced.

Adele’s heartbeat quickened. She’d set out for Plymouth and Portsmouth, knowing she had a better chance of capturing a Royal Navy ship there. Bolt Head was a headland near the Salcombe Estuary in Devon, west of Dartmouth, with London farther east. If the shouts above offered any credibility, London was not their destination. So where was HMS Dragon taking them? There wasn’t time to find out. If the ship docked and they were marched off to gaol, any hope she had of rescuing her brother would be dashed upon the rocks, no matter where she was bound.

Husam’s whistle shrilled through the din. Her crew answered the signal, wasting no time as they rattled rusty chains and clanked metal pans against the prison bars.

Keep it down, ye blackguards, or ye’ll earn yerselves a flogging. The young tar ventured closer when the men didn’t immediately obey. Shut it!

Her crew congregated at the front of the cage. The ruckus they created escalating to deafening heights.

Sweat beaded on the guard’s upper lip, his eyes registering panic as he searched the faces of her men. Step back, I say.

His order was quickly obeyed, and the hold grew eerily quiet. All but one stepped back. Adele approached the bars, head pointed down. She’d concealed her lean form beneath a cloak and loose-fitting wool, her slow, bent-over gait unintimidating.

Ye’re a puny one. The guard snarled. Ignorant, too. Heed this: ye’ll get no mercy from me or anyone else after yer kind attacked our ship.

Adele hid a smile.

Victory comes to those who prepare for it, Garrick had once told her.

In the resulting quiet, she straightened her shoulders. Her plan would succeed. They’d overwhelm the guard and slip out of the hold, systematically taking over the ship one crewman at a time. But was she prepared to end this guard’s life, if necessary, in order to make that possible? She narrowed her eyes.

A thousand times yes.

The guard finally spoke again, ending his silent retrospection. If ye’ve come to beg, ye’ll get no mercy from me.

Who is being merciful to Garrick? she thought. Probably no one.

The gut-wrenching knot that tightened in her belly renewed her determination. With the changing of the guard hours away—and port yet to be breached—it would take more than this one man, this one ship, to quash her plans.

The Royal Navy offerin’ mercy? Potter, the Belle’s carpenter, startled them all as he grabbed the bars. His ironic comment made the tar jump nervously. Press gang sentenced me brother to death. Beaten, he was, by one of His Majesty’s cap’ns. Nay. There’ll be no mercy here. We’ll be hangin’ from a jib, dead and gone, ere long.

A collective grumble rose in the cage as her men exchanged wary glances.

There’ll be none o’ that, ye jackanapes! the young guard spat.

Unsettling the guard and stirring up her men worked in their favor. She bent over and plunged herself deeply into character, pretending to be sick behind her cloak and heaving believably.

Have ye got the ague? Step back, the guard said. She grabbed the bars in a pretense of steadying her legs, keeping the sentry in her peripheral vision. Wary, the tar raised his sword. Would he stab her through the bars to put her out of her misery? Give the boy some room.

She paused and held her breath, anticipating the tar’s next move.

Back away, I say! the guard spat, gesturing to her men. Adele’s heart skipped a beat as he slid his cutlass down one side of the bars, the contact creating an eerie shriek. It’ll save the hangman a noose if ye’ll just keel over and die.

So he didn’t intend to kill her. She half turned, stepped backward, and gave Husam a wink. Now!

What’s wrong with you? Husam grabbed her by the chin and angled it toward the light. Got flux? He grunted loudly. No! he growled. Not sick. Hiding! He angled her face for the entire crew to see then yanked the cloak off, tearing her shirt in his haste. He looked at the frayed fabric, eyes wide and filled with remorse, but still in character. What is this?

Get your hands off me! She lifted the corner of her shirt, which now hung low enough to reveal the strips of fabric that bound her breasts. The men gasped, feigning surprise. There was no question she was a woman now as Husam wiped his face and grinned broadly, revealing a row of white teeth stark against his dark skin.

A woman! the guard exclaimed, stepping closer to the locked gate.

We’re doomed, her navigator, Fyfe, lamented. He spat on his hands, turned in a circle, then wiped them on his discolored trousers. Bad luck!

Superstition. Nice touch.

Kill her quickly, else we’ll drown in the belly of this ship, Roddy, her quartermaster, told Husam.

She shook her head. No! She mustered up all the theatrical skill she’d gleaned from country plays she and her brothers had performed in the heart of winter. Don’t hurt me! Please! She moved to the bars and reached through, seeking the guard’s sympathy. Help me, I beg you, she pleaded.

Husam didn’t give the guard time to respond. He clasped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him as if he was going to take her to the back of the cage. Come, pretty.

She splayed her fingers out, grasping at the air. No!

Now, now. None of that, the guard ordered, bursting into action.

Husam stopped in his tracks, hiding her from the guard to force the man closer. He hadn’t been in favor of this part of her plan—attacking her—but he’d insisted on being the one to do it to prevent anyone else from causing her real harm. Forgive me, he whispered.

Shh, she said. We’ve got him.

Potter tried to pull her away. Who said ye get to keep her to yerself? He tilted his head back in order to face off against the big Moroccan, his throat bobbing with anticipation of what Husam planned to do to him.

I do, Husam declared, staring down at the man like the Lizard—Cornwall’s most southern point, unmovable jagged rocks poised to crush wayward wooden hulls. She is mine.

The crew gathered behind Potter.

Ours, they decreed.

Encouraged by the crew’s offer of support, Potter raised his fists. Well, if we’re goin’ to hang— he glanced at Adele and licked his lips —I want to go with a smile.

Husam grabbed Adele and produced a deep-bellied laugh, pretending he was going to hand her over. Deliberately, he let her go and snatched Potter instead, hurling the carpenter into the other men.

Adele dashed out of reach and rushed to the front of the cage. Please. She extended her hands through the bars, stretching out her fingers, clawing for mercy. Don’t let them hurt me! She glanced over her shoulder. Husam was surrounded by her men, making him appear outnumbered. Oh God. Hurry!

The guard inhaled swiftly as the shock began to wear off. I’ll be damned.

A rare urgency spawned inside her. Help me!

Husam charged her from behind. He hauled her backward, and the crew started counting off who would be next. She summoned tears as she raised her head and gazed into the young guard’s eyes. He didn’t look much older than she was, but she could still see innocence the Royal Navy hadn’t snuffed out yet.

Stand back, the lot o’ ye, the guard yelled as he advanced and clanged his sword against the bars. I’ll cut down the next man who manhandles her. He fumbled with the key strapped to his belt, oblivious to their proximity to the bars.

Adele held her breath. Patience. A few more seconds and . . .

Husam moved with lightning speed. He snatched the guard’s hand through the bars, pulling his arm through. He caught the man’s collar with his other arm and yanked the guard so hard his head collided with the iron cage, knocking him out cold. But not before Adele had grabbed the keys, of course.

It worked, Roddy said, disbelief registering in his voice.

Of course it worked. She angled her small hand through the bars, inserting one key after another into the lock until she found one that fit. She flashed Husam a smile and gave the key a twist, engaging the mechanism. The bolt clicked, and she inched the door open.

Come, she said, waving to her men. We haven’t much time.

She darted through the open door, Husam chuckling softly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "This isn’t the time to gloat. We haven’t got the Dragon yet.

Husam stopped at the hatch and surveyed the crew. You know what to do. Dismissing them with a turn of his head, he cut his gaze to Adele, determination etched on his face. Move quickly.

She licked her lips and smiled sweetly. I shall do everything in my power to speed things along.

Two

Captain Henry Guffald emerged from the companionway’s coaming and limped across HMS Dragon’s quarterdeck with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Sails thundered overhead, the rhythmic clapping a boon to his spirits. He and his men had successfully repelled a pirate attack, but the time taken to stave off the ill-timed assault had stalled their progress. Timing was everything for England, and for him, a man with no chances left at his disposal.

Weary, Henry stretched his neck, his tendons relishing the motion. Still, guilt weighted his shoulders. His good friend Garrick, Viscount Seaton, awaited rescue. Seaton had been captured in San Sebastian while executing the very errand Henry should have performed, and would have had it not been for an assassin’s bullet that forced him to convalesce for more than six months.

Now that Henry was back in action, it fell on him to obtain Seaton’s ransom from Filbert Seaton, the Earl of Pendrim—the viscount’s father—a man who secretly supported King George and Vice-Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson’s plans to thwart an invasion by Napoleon Bonaparte’s navy. The earl resided in Abbydon Cove, Talland Bay, and it was there that Henry would retrieve the ransom before sailing to the Bay of Biscay to handle his cartel—the exchange of prisoners—at Santa Clara Island.

But was his friend even still alive? He could only imagine what that bloody Spaniard Captain Franco Delgado was doing to the man. Lord Nelson and Lord Simon Danbury—the leaders of Nelson’s Tea, the clandestine organization that Henry served—believed Delgado could not risk the political ramifications that would follow harming an English lord, but Henry was not so sure. By all accounts, they hoped Seaton would be treated fairly. Would the consensus have been the same had he gone to Spain instead? He wasn’t a lord easily ransomed. He was a naval officer.

But that wasn’t the issue, and damned if he