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

and cocked the trigger, widening her stance. No one enjoyed being backed into a corner, especially a spy. She’d shoot, if needed, with no regard as to who this man was. Too many lives depended on what she’d stored in her brain. If she wanted to make it to St. Mary’s in time to meet the vicar, she had to live.
    The door squeaked on the hinge, opening with agonizing slowness like an ominous fog sweeping over a riverbank.
    Que Dios le ayude. It was as if the invader wanted to increase her agony, making her anticipate the intrusion with paralyzing dread.
    Her nerve endings shrieked like struggling, cornered rats as the door widened and a man’s long muscular leg prepared to step across the threshold. She held the gun steady, biting her lip in anticipation. Her trespasser wasn’t like anyone she’d ever seen before. His tall black boots and black breeches matched a fine woven linen shirt, over which he wore a dark draping broad-shouldered maroon jacket with intricate gold embroidery at the shoulders and sleeves. His shoulder-length black hair accentuated the distinguished lines of his high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. A black patch prevented her from looking into a pair of earth-shattering blue eyes.
    Dios mio, he is formidably handsome. She was in true danger now. Her knees threatened to buckle. An impending swoon clouded her peripheral vision. She wasn’t afraid, per se, but paralyzed by an all-encompassing innate awareness that awakened her body. This had never happened before.
    She gasped.
    He cocked his brow oddly in response, skin tugging cruelly above the left side of his mouth.
    She immediately froze. Was the expression painful? Who had scarred the man?
    Alarms sounded in her head. Lethal calm resonated from him as his stare left her to search the room with an odd familiarity. Her heart twinged. Was this Capitán Blade, the notorious Lord Garrick Seaton? His comfortable stance, the way his gaze stroked the room like a loving caress, filled her with strange misgivings. It was as if he belonged here — not Eddie — not her.
    She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
    The devilish man moved his left hand across his chest and took a humble bow. “ Señorita .”
    Was his plan to woo her with good manners now? The audacity!
    She wouldn’t be misled by civility. Tyrants had tried to deceive her before and failed. She straightened the gun in her sweaty palms, aiming dangerously at the man’s heart, prepared to protect herself by whatever means necessary.
    Sweat beaded on her brow as the temperature in the cabin grew oppressively hot. The screened bulkhead tapered inward.
    Terror prickled Mercy’s spine. She wasn’t afraid for her own life, necessarily. The man would have already attacked her if that was his intention. His presence heralded something more shocking. In all her days as a spy, she’d learned to expect the unexpected. She’d dealt with men conceivably more dangerous than the demon standing before her. The horror? If this pirate was standing before her now, where was Eddie?
    Her gaze trailed the lines of the brigand’s handsome chiseled face to his closely cropped beard and the furry patch of hair just above his top lip. His full lips twitched slightly at the corners as if he enjoyed her slow perusal, making his mustache come to life.
    Her blood heated. What was the man waiting for? Had Lord Seaton returned to kill her because she hadn’t met him that treacherous day long ago? Did he blame her? Expect her to recognize him, to flush, faint consumed with the vapors? She was a Vasquez. A Vasquez didn’t land conveniently sprawled at any man’s feet, especially not her. Mercy wasn’t a mindless female, vulnerable to nightmares and nervous tremors.
    She hesitated, her finger poised on the trigger of the gun. Spy or no spy, she would shoot if needed. She couldn’t die… not yet. England had too much to lose.
    A distinctive humorous spark flashed in Seaton’s stare. His intriguing