The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) by Katherine Bone

carried guns and ordinary supplies on a constant basis easily discussed openly. What was so important Roche couldn’t call it by name?
    Prior to Trafalgar, Admiral Roche had been in San Sebastian inspecting troops Prime Minister Manuel de Godoy had stationed in the area as a staunch display of support for Napoleon by King Charles VI and Queen Maria Luisa. Opportunely for her, a cotillion had been given in his honor. There, Roche had loudly declared to several government dignitaries — Godoy included — that Eddie’s lack of expertise indicated he was unfit for Villeneuve’s fleet. He’d even gone so far as to suggest her brother shouldn’t be given command on the grounds that he wasn’t ready. What better way to insult a nobleman than to publicly break the man’s son.
    A Vasquez never forgets.
    That very public slight hastened her parents’ efforts to undermine the French at every turn. What was Roche’s intent? To ferret out traitors in their midst? Perhaps she would never know. Though she distinctly remembered finding Roche conversing with her father and Don Esteban in secret about Godoy’s hold over the royal family. Later, when she’d questioned her father as to whether or not he was in league with Roche, he’d explained he loathed the officer almost as much as she despised Don Esteban, a suitor with indelicate demands.
    What was it Papá had said? Ah. “Roche pushed for legislation that would maintain French control over the bay, to include monthly stipends paid for the use of my warehouses.”
    Money!
    A startling thud sounded in the passageway outside the cabin door.
    Had Eddie returned?
    She glanced at the door then quickly rushed to the desk to replace his logbook where she’d found it. She readjusted the charts and prepared for her brother’s return, smoothing her skirts. A satisfied smile concluding her presentation, she clasped her hands in front of her then spied something lying on the floor.
    Dios mio, Roche’s missive!
    Mercy inhaled a frantic breath and scrambled to pick up the admiral’s letter. For several years, she’d relied on two indispensable tactics of espionage: remember what you see and hear, and leave things exactly as you find them.
    Releasing a calming breath, she restored Roche’s vellum to the journal’s open pages then arranged the maps back over the book, paying particular attention to how they’d originally been creased. She smoothed her skirts again and ran her fingers over her hair before losing patience and taking another quick look at France’s coastline. As her index finger grazed Lorient, Brest, Sainto Malo then Calais, distinct footsteps thundered in the passageway. She jumped. Someone larger and heavier-framed than Eddie stopped outside the cabin door.
    Her heartbeat broke out at a canter. Could she be mistaken? She’d never known Eddie to be so careless. His steps were calculated at best.
    No. Her instincts railed, clawing at her nerves with wild abandon, making her hair stand on end and her skin crawl. She inhaled a stabilizing breath, forcing herself not to lose control. If she was in jeopardy, her wits would be her greatest weapon.
    “I am not to be disturbed.” Whose was that voice, much deeper-toned than Eddie’s?
    Que Diablo?
    Mercy’s gaze narrowed on the screened doorway with nerve-wracking precision.
    The screen door handle jiggled slightly but stopped when it met grinding resistance. Muffled curses followed then a key grated in the lock.
    She smothered a moment’s panic as the lock disengaged.
    “Eddie?”
    No response.
    No. No. No, it isn’t him. Something is horribly wrong!
    Her instincts sprang to life, and her senses climbed to extraordinary heights. She quickly retrieved her reticule, reaching inside to grab the small pistol she carried there. When her fingers grasped the gun, she exhaled in relief, and then aimed the weapon’s barrel at the cabin door.
    Her heart thumped in her ears as the seconds dragged by.
    She straightened her spine