Free My Lady Rogue (A Nelson's Tea Novella Book 2) by Katherine Bone

your grace?” He began to pace nervously.
    “If I was…” Percy nodded and let Holt fill in the blanks.
    “Gentlemen,” Simon said, leveling his palms in the air. “Percy is right on one account.” He trusted Percy’s intuition. Was Holt sick? Crazed? What was he thinking to take Percy on? “Fighting amongst ourselves will not do us any good. In fact, it’s what the enemy counted on when Nelson was cut down in his prime.”
    Melville’s feathered quill flashed in an errant beam of sunlight as he absently twirled the writing instrument between his thumb and forefinger. “How will we ever begin to assess the damage Nelson’s death caused if we cannot get along?”
    Before anyone could answer, Douglas whispered in Melville’s ear. Melville narrowed his eyes and looked away from Simon to jot down several notations in his ledger.
    Holt wiped perspiration from his brow and paced more rigorously than before. He brushed past Milford, knocking the other man’s hand as he poured himself another drink.
    “Control yourself, vicar,” Milford snapped as he and Douglas scrambled to wipe up the liquid leeching toward Melville’s account books.
    Holt ignored the chaos, plunging on in contrary fashion. “Nelson was more than a figurehead to us. Tell me how we can continue enacting his plan if we mere mortals cannot operate without his legendary tactics?”
    Percy launched a counterattack. “As one who has been in constant communication with the admiral since Nelson’s Tea first formed, I can assure you, Simon’s strategies and authority are on par with the good admiral’s.”
    Holt’s peculiar laughter jolted Simon.
    “Which comes as no surprise,” Holt countered. “Enlighten us, your grace. Exactly how intimate is your relationship with Lord Danbury?”
    “What are you implying?” Chapman, erstwhile newspaperman, spared a glance at Simon.
    Did Holt have a death wish?
    Simon held up his hand, motioning Chapman to stand down, and gave Percy a nod. The duke was a man of many faces — nobleman, pirate, dandy, spy. People seldom knew what they were going to get at any given time. But as Percy took several steps toward Holt, the room quieted as the very air they breathed ignited. Simon hid a satisfied smirk, having every confidence Percy would put an end to Holt’s disturbing behavior.
    Face to face, Percy flipped Holt’s cravat with his quizzing glass. He cocked his brow and glared at the reverend as though he was daft. “Why, my good man, we are related by marriage, of course.”
    Several men guffawed.
    Holt’s unhealthy pallor matched the bland color of his wrinkled priestly collar. “Which brings me to another point,” he continued without restraint. “If you hadn’t been treacherously set on finding your sister’s killers, we wouldn’t have lost Collins!”
    Horrified gasps filled the room. Hilarity died on Percy’s face. Garrick rose so quickly his chair fell backward.
    Simon couldn’t believe his ears. Holt wasn’t increasing his chances at survival. He was limiting them. Why had he brought up a man Percy despised? Did he want to die? At Percy’s wink, he allowed Holt to continue digging his own grave. But how far would the vicar go?
    Percy cocked his hip then narrowed his gaze on Holt, who stood several inches shy of Percy’s six-foot height. The obvious tell Holt was in danger? The way Percy’s knuckles whitened around his gold-rimmed oval monocle, where he stored poison in the revolving handle. “Do tell, vicar. Are you actually rankled that Baron Burton and his minion no longer pose a threat? Or would you have preferred ladies in your parish to succumb to his putrid appetites?”
    “I’d have done the same, runt,” Garrick grumbled.
    Daggers shot from Percy’s eyes as he slanted a glance at Garrick.
    Simon clenched his teeth so hard he thought they would break. Would Percy and Garrick come to blows? Garrick had been a wild card ever since his captivity in Spain.
    Henry shifted slightly