The Infamous Rogue (19 page)

Again the door opened.
Sophia’s heart swelled as the dark and towering figure sauntered into the room.
James!
He looked dashing in a close-fitted vest and double-breasted, tailed coat. Strapped in snug trousers and high leather boots, he was dressed in black. Formidable. Respectable. Long locks fastened in a queue, there was a wayward tress that curled under his eye. That one imperfection shattered the visage. The loose and sooty hair testified to the wild beast that breathed beneath the thick apparel. He had just witnessed his mistress and his sister in the same room, holding hands.
He was angry.
Slowly Sophia lifted to her feet, pulse throbbing, and approached him. He had paused beside the door, bemused and furious. He now followed her every step with his deep blue eyes. He set her blood and skin on fire with that hard and hot-tempered glare. So smoldering. So profound. She itched to strike him. She stopped beside him instead.
His breathing was shallow. She heard the short and heavy drafts of air seep into his lungs. She felt the warmth of his breath, too. It smacked her cheeks.
Sophia’s bones trembled as she struggled to keep the shame in her breast: the shame he compounded with his sinister regard.
“Go to hell,
sweetheart
,” she whispered before she brushed past him and bustled from the room.
Chapter 17
T
he woman’s venomous words seeped into James’s blood and weakened him, made him numb.
What was
she
doing here?
“Do you know who that is, James?”
The tart inquiry punctured the thick and murky cloud in his head, and he glanced at his sister. “Do you?”
Mirabelle placed her arms akimbo. “It’s Dawson’s daughter, so why are you glowering?”
Dawson’s devious and cold-blooded daughter.
I belong with anyone else but you!
He let out a slow, deep breath. The words resounded in his head, making his skull throb and his blood burn. She had tricked him. She had once made him believe he belonged with her. She had once accepted him for who he was. She had desired him for it. And he had desired her. For her independence and her refusal to submit to social convention. Free with her words, laughter, and body, she had concealed no pretenses. No false airs. But now the woman was a fraud. She wanted to be a countess. But
he
wasn’t an earl. And she would stop at nothing to claim that infernal title, even threaten him…
James looked at his sister, so ashen. He imagined the blade pressed between Sophia’s breasts. He imagined it pressed under his sister’s throat and he thundered across the room. “Are you all right, Belle? Did Sophia hurt you?”
Mirabelle lifted a slender blond brow. “Are you daft, James?”
“What is Sophia doing here?” he demanded.
Was the witch looking for some way to snag the earl? Was she ruined and desperate and seeking support from his sister to reestablish her standing in society? She had put her treasured reputation in jeopardy by spending four days aboard the
Bonny Meg
with him. She would do anything to reclaim her cherished status, even brandish her knife. His sister wasn’t privy to the woman’s true, wicked nature. But he was; he still had the scar on his chin to prove it.
Mirabelle frowned. “I heard Sophia was in Town, so I invited her to the castle.”
“Why?”
“In honor of Dawson, of course.”
James swallowed the dread that had welled in his breast. Sophia had not come to the castle to seek favor from the duchess. She had come at the behest of his sister. She had come in lieu of her father: the man who’d curtailed the misery James had endured as a child.
You must help me, James. You must help me now that Papa is gone. I need you, James. I can’t take care of you and William by myself. You will help Mama, won’t you, James?
He shuddered at the haunting reflection. He had looked after his brother. He had labored for food. But he had not helped his mother. She had sobbed in loneliness every night for years. She had toiled every day as a milkmaid, apple seller, or scavenger to feed him and his kin. And as he and William had matured, so had their needs: the need for more clothing, more food. However much he’d worked to compensate for the burden, it had never been enough. She had depended on him for help and he had failed her.
“What are
you
doing here, James?”
He stared at his sister. She looked so much like their mother. She had the same golden curls and eyes as Megan Hawkins, while he and his brothers distinctly mirrored their father with their dark features and blue eyes.
Mirabelle was weary, her flesh fair, after the difficult birth of her son. And now that she was a mother, too, he wondered if she suffered under the same burden.
He bussed her pale brow. He wasn’t the mawkish sort; the sentiment repulsed him. He had only ever kissed his sister once before…right before her near death. But the desire had welled inside him again, and he hadn’t quashed it.
“Can’t I visit with you, Belle?”
She quirked her brows. “Of course you can. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”
The room soon filled with the rest of the Hawkins brood as his brothers entered the parlor and circled Mirabelle in greeting.
William hugged her. “It’s good to see you again, Belle.”
Edmund frowned. “Are you well? You don’t look well.”
“Aye, she’s well.” Quincy kissed her cheek. He brooked no argument that she was still ill. He refused to even contemplate the thought of losing her. “Where are the children?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Mirabelle welcomed each sibling in turn before she said, “Henry is asleep in the nursery, but I’m afraid Alice is terrorizing the household.”
Quincy beamed as he dropped into the nearest seat and propped his boots on the furniture. “Still at odds with Squirt?”
“Yes!” She paled even more. “I need a governess.”
“Sit, Belle,” ordered James. “Rest.”
What was she doing out of bed? Two months had passed since the birth of her son, but she still looked weak.
James remembered that wretched night. He remembered standing in the passageway just outside the birthing room, listening to her desperate wails. She had not delivered the afterbirth in a timely manner and they had all feared she would perish from the fever…but she had lived.
James suppressed the chill gripping his bones. He shrugged the icy fingers away and eyed his sister closely.
“I’m fine, really.” She was naturally mulish. However, she heeded his advice this once and filled an empty seat. “What are all of you doing here?”
“We need to speak with your husband,” said William.
She groaned. “I thought we agreed Damian is family. You can’t kill him.”
As soon as he was sure she was all right, James headed for a window and stopped beside the speckled pane of glass. The former “Duke of Rogues” wasn’t worthy of his sister’s hand. James would like nothing better than to see her widowed. But she adored the bastard, and that was cause enough for James to keep his fists at his sides.
“We don’t want to hurt him, Belle,” returned William.
Edmund snorted.
“We
won’t
hurt him,” the lieutenant clarified.
“Then what do you want with him?” she demanded.
Quincy crossed his ankles. “We need to speak with his brother, Adam Westmore.”
“Why?”
William sighed. “We’re in a bit of trouble, Belle.”
She pinched her brows together. “What sort of trouble.”
“Don’t fret,” said Quincy.
She raised her voice a notch. “About what?”
William folded his hands behind his back. “Have you read the paper in recent days?”
“No.” She frowned. “Damian won’t let me near any dreadful news or scandal. He hides the paper from me. Why? What did you do?”
“
We
didn’t do anything,” insisted Edmund.
Quincy quipped, “I like how you trust us, Belle.”
She humphed. “Then what’s in the paper?”
“News about a band of impostors,” said William.
She made a moue. “Impostors?”
William hesitated. “Sailors posing as…us.”
Mirabelle’s eyes widened. “I was afraid this might happen one day!”
“Don’t worry, Belle,” he quickly assured her. “We’ll find the impostors before word leaks out about our true identities and you’re ruined.”
“I’m not worried about
that
, but your necks.”
“Do you need a drink?” wondered Edmund.
“I’m not an invalid,” she snapped. “I won’t faint.” She huffed. The brothers quieted as she stewed for a few moments. “What do you want with my brother-in-law, Adam?”
James fingered the stained glass. He let the vibrant shades play across his hand. “Adam might know more about the impostors.”
“He once hunted us in revenge, remember?” William rubbed his chin. “After the robbery at sea, Adam searched for us, but stumbled upon a band of bootleggers posing as pirates instead. We need to speak to him about the bootleggers. The men and our impostors might be one and the same.”
She appeared thoughtful. “You don’t have a very good rapport with the man. Do you think Adam will help you?”
“We’re family now.” Quincy grinned. “Of course he’ll help us.”
James wasn’t so sure, though. Some sour feelings might still linger between the two clans. However, James had agreed to come to the castle, to try to gather more information about the impostors. William had staunchly promoted the idea, too, believing the excursion would get the captain’s mind off Sophia. But nothing short of revenge would get the woman out of James’s head, disentangle her icy fingers from his heart. And now he had another opportunity to obtain his revenge.
He slowly reached into his pocket and caressed the shattered timepiece.
May you rot in everlasting hell.
That biting inscription still hounded him, tortured him, strengthened his desire for revenge. Sophia had him in chains, the witch. She still enslaved him. But he would break the bonds keeping him shackled to the past.
He would break her.
“But we need to know where Adam lives,” expounded Quincy. “He’s hiding.”
“He’s not hiding.” Mirabelle frowned. “I get regular letters from him and his wife.”
“He lives in the wilderness, Belle.”
“Rot, Quincy! The couple lives near the sea.”
“There’s no address,” grumbled Edmund.
“Right.” She sighed. “Very well, I’ll have Damian note the directions to their home.”
“Thank you, Belle,” the brothers returned in unison.
“Hell’s fire,” she muttered. “You’ve all too many enemies.”
William consoled her with “We’ll have a few less as soon as we find the impostors.”
“I’ll have the staff prepare your usual rooms.” She lifted from her seat. “But you have to behave during your stay at the castle.”
Quincy grimaced. “Why?”
“I have company.”
He griped and removed his dusty boots from the furniture. “You mean, I have to
behave
?”
“Who is it?” said William.
“Dawson’s daughter.”
The men quieted.
Quincy quickly propped his feet back on the furniture. “Oh, well, in that case.”
Mirabelle looked at him sternly. “She might be a pirate’s daughter, too, but you still have to behave, Quincy.”
“Why? She’s—”
“Quincy,” James drawled in a low yet deadly voice. He didn’t want Mirabelle to know about his former re lationship with Dawson’s daughter. It wasn’t right for her to hear about such intimate things.
“She’s my guest,” returned Mirabelle sharply. “We all owe her father a great deal of gratitude. I want to offer her my hospitality and friendship, so be polite. No scandals!”
“Too late,” said Quincy. “She’s James’s mistress.”
James gnashed his teeth. “You miserable son of a—”
“She’s
what
?” Mirabelle glared at James and crossed the room. She smacked him in the arm. “How dare you!”
He glowered. “What was that for?”
“That poor girl is trying to make her way through society and she’s recently lost a dear friend. She’s vulnerable. How dare you seduce her!”
Quincy snorted. “He seduced her eight years ago.”
“
What
?”
“Shut up, Quincy!” James barked.
The Duke of Wembury strolled into the room, unruffled by all the customary familial noise. “Jenkins wants to know where to put the snake?”
Mirabelle blinked. “Snake?”

“Achoo!”
Sophia eyed the old woman in bed as she dabbed a cool compress across her wrinkled brow. “We should not have journeyed to the castle, Lady Lucas.”
The matron had suffered great stress over the past few days, keeping her charge’s disappearance a secret. The strain had weakened her, made her more susceptible to illness.
“Rubbish.” She sniffed. “I’ll be fine. All I need is Dr. Crombie to mesmerize me, then I’ll be cured of the chill.”
Sophia admired her grit and good cheer. She wasn’t one to forsake her duty, not even for a cold. She would see her charge safely at the castle and ensure all whisper of scandal quashed before she’d confess to any discomfort.
“Would you like me to summon a physician, Lady Lucas?”
“For the sniffles? No, my dear.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Lucas.” Sophia stroked the woman’s hand. “It’s my fault you’re sick.”
“What tripe.” The matron rubbed her nose with a kerchief. “It’s the weather, I’m sure. Autumn is approaching. There’s a chill in the air, I can feel it.” She sighed. “I won’t be with you for supper tonight, I’m afraid. But don’t fret, my dear. The duchess will be there. She is respectable. You won’t have to endure the barbarian’s company alone.”
Sophia set the compress aside, a thick darkness flowing through her veins and pumping into her heart. The shame still lingered in her breast. The black devil had made it clear she wasn’t worthy to be in his sister’s company. What would he do to her at supper? How else would he humiliate her? He had suffered scorn and ostracism at the earl’s country house party. But now he was surrounded by his kin. Now he was in his element and
she
was the outsider. And she suspected he would make her feel it keenly.
“I would much rather stay here and take care of you, Lady Lucas.”
“No, my dear. You must honor our host and hostess. Be strong. I know you dislike the captain’s company, but be brave.”
What
was
the pirate captain doing at the castle anyway? Had he followed her to the ancient keep? Had he come to punish her for rejecting him aboard the
Bonny Meg
?
“It will look like the barbarian is courting you.”
Sophia’s heart quivered. “What?”
“Forgive me, my dear. I was thinking aloud.” She meshed her pasty lips together. “The captain is visiting his sister, but it will look like the man is courting you once word reaches the
ton
that you are both at the castle. It’s such a vexation. He isn’t supposed to be here.”
Sophia quieted the myriad fretful thoughts that besieged her with a deep and measured breath. No, he wasn’t supposed to be at the castle. He wasn’t supposed to be back in her life at all. But Providence had thought it a splendid jest to pair them together again.
“Perhaps all is not lost,” said the matron, nose congested. “We might be able to use the situation to our advantage. The earl might still propose.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Oh yes. Do you remember our talk about jealousy? As soon as you and the captain boarded that boat—”
“What boat?!”
“The rowboat at the picnic, my dear.”
Sophia’s pulse softened. She was dizzy. For a moment she had believed the matron was privy to her sojourn aboard the
Bonny Meg
. Now
that
report would ruin her for sure.
“As soon as you and the captain had boarded the boat,” the old woman croaked, “the earl was positively green. What will he think to learn you are staying with the captain’s sister?”
What would he think, indeed? All Sophia could think about was the trouble she had had in that rowboat…as the damnable pirate lord had aroused her senses to wretched want before he’d abandoned her, unfulfilled.
“Our trip to the castle might stir the earl’s conviction to marry you,” said Lady Lucas. “The man is wary. Or mulish. He thinks he can take his time proposing, that you will always be waiting for him. Perhaps our visit with the duchess will convince him otherwise—and encourage him to act before he loses you.”
Sophia’s heart pinched. “He won’t lose me to the captain!”
The thought made her heart swell with gloomy memories. She had not been good enough for the captain seven years ago. And she still wasn’t good enough for him. Not now. Not when he had a duchess for a sister. If the man ever married, he would wed a woman with pure blue blood. Not one with a pirate for a father and a wench for a mother.
“Marry the barbarian? Outrageous, my dear! But we can let the earl
think
he is losing you to the captain.”
Sophia pressed her fingers against her breastbone and massaged the muscles, pulsing with vigor. “But the earl is an honorable man. You said so yourself, Lady Lucas. That he might step aside if he believes the captain is interested in me…or he might search elsewhere for a bride if he thinks I am attached to the captain.”
“That was
before
the country house party. Now the earl knows—and likes—you better. He might not be so honorable anymore. He might fight for you, Miss Dawson. Men do that, you know?”
“With swords?”
“How uncivilized! No, my dear. I mean he will not be such a gentleman. He will not just step aside and let the captain have you. He will court you enthusiastically instead. Perhaps even propose.”
Sophia was wary. The season was over and most of the peerage had settled in the country in preparation for the approaching winter. What if the earl resumed his courtship of her in the spring? Or not at all?
“You should go below, my dear.”
“Yes, Lady Lucas.”
Sophia left the woman’s bedside and approached the tall mirror. She perused her reflection, eyeing the golden satin and lace. She touched her locks in lambent strokes to ensure the thick tresses firmly in place before she sighed wearily.
“You look lovely, my dear.”
“Thank you, Lady Lucas.” She glanced at the matron, so pale. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“A bit of rest will do me good.” She fluttered her kerchief. “Now off with you.”
Sophia sighed again. She offered the old woman a weak smile before she quietly quit the room and traversed the lonely causeway, her innards twisted in dread.
The elegant wall sconces illuminated her path, guiding her to the dining hall. She stayed on the lighted trail, peeking into the other dark passages that branched away from the main one. She wondered if Black Hawk was staying in one of the rooms draped in shadows. She wondered if he was staying in one of the other wings, far away from her.
Not far enough.
He was never far from her thoughts. He lived inside her head, it seemed. He lived under her skin for sure, for she sensed his burning eyes on her even now.
Sophia reached the top of the steps and paused. She stared at the waiting sentry stationed at the lower level, and hardened.
He stood at the base of the stairwell, blocking the route with his robust form—and commanding eyes. That set of hard blue eyes willed her to remain still as he perused her figure in thorough detail.
“Do I meet with your approval?” she gritted.
Slowly he lifted his eyes from her toes and stabbed her with another piercing stare, making her bones rattle. “Take off the diamonds.”
Sophia touched the jewels at her throat. She fingered the cold stones as she descended the steps, gaze fixed firmly on the barbarian.
He was even bigger as she approached him, thick arms folded across his wide chest. The smell of the dust from the road, the vegetation from the wood still remained in his hair, lingered on his skin. She inhaled the heady and natural musk. She inhaled him. The man’s scent swirled through her senses, lighting her blood and making her heart pound. She was accustomed to the treacherous desire of her flesh and bones. She had learned to accept the stirring want within her whenever he was near. She had learned to stand her ground despite it.
She stilled a step above him, at level with him. She delved into the dark blue pools of his eyes and searched for truth. He hated to see her in the jewels. Why?
He sensed her probing stare, and his eyes blackened even more, as if to shield her from the truth, to keep her from delving too deep into his soul.
He had once let her inside his heart. He had once let her see and hear his every thought and feeling. But now he cast her out of his inner being. And the chill was biting.
“I like the diamonds,” she said tersely.
Slowly he inclined his head. She gasped as he set his lips so close to hers.
“The earl isn’t here, Sophia.” He brushed her lips with his warm mouth, ever so softly. “There is no one here to seduce.”
She shuddered. “Not even you?”
He stiffened. “If you want to seduce me, take off the diamonds.”
She was woozy. The black devil always played with her senses, manipulated her good thought. “I think I’ll keep them, then.”
The balmy look in his eyes singed her. He stepped away from the landing. She quickly skirted past him and headed through the unfamiliar causeway, searching for the dining hall.
He followed. “Where’s the harridan?”
The looming shadow at her heels was hard to ignore. Worse, the searing look from his eyes, pressing into her spine, made each step a struggle.
She returned in a prim manner, “Lady Lucas will not be joining us for supper this evening.”
“Oh?”
“She’s ill.”
“Pity.”
Sophia gnashed her teeth at his terse response.
“Turn left,” he said in a low timbre. “The dining hall is at the end of the passage.”
She slowed, overwhelmed by the realization that she was walking straight into a den of lions.
He bumped into her backside, the touch of his hard muscles sizzling.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Aren’t you hungry?” He dropped his lips beside her bejeweled ear and whispered, “I know I am.”
She shivered.
She closed her eyes and let the comforting heat from his torso warm her. She wasn’t prepared to confront his family yet. She wasn’t ready to be put on exhibit in front of
them
.
James was still behind her. He sensed her misgiving, but he didn’t snipe or touch her. He remained at her backside. He let her feed off his strength, his energy. And she did. She was rooted to the spot. She stayed there until the unease drifted away from her bones.
Sophia opened her eyes. At the end of the passageway was a set of tall and elaborate arched doors. The room was bright with candlelight, and warm with the sound of familial laughter.
She sensed she was even more out of place, but she now had the vigor to move onward, to greet her host and hostess and the rest of the Hawkins brothers.
Sophia approached the entrance. She paused between the well-polished doors and bristled as the babble hushed and the occupants inside the room stared at her.
They know.
It was there in their eyes. The pirate brothers had known for a long time she was the captain’s former mistress, but now the duke and duchess were privy to the truth about her scandalous past, too.
Sophia dropped her chin and whispered over her shoulder, “You told them, didn’t you?”
But she didn’t get a response. She didn’t need one. The barbarian wanted to humiliate her with the truth. He wanted to see her quail.
She wouldn’t give him
that
satisfaction.
Chapter 18
“Y
ou told them, didn’t you?”
She sounded betrayed.
James noted the way her breath shuddered. She quickly lost her voice, too. She only mouthed the last word, “you.”
He was disarmed by the discomfort in his breast, a squeezing pressure on his heart and lungs. He quashed the feeble sentiment. What the hell was he feeling sorry about? He wasn’t the one who had betrayed their past. That blame rested solely with his dim-witted brother, Quincy.
Sophia entered the room.
James admired her pluck. And yet he wasn’t surprised by it. She wasn’t a coward. Not at heart. She had let the posh and amoral ways of society pervert her spirit. The ridiculous taboos had stripped her of some mettle, molding her to be another mindless miss seeking preservation and status.
But she wasn’t robbed of all grit just yet. And he relished the confident way she strutted across the room. Every muscle in him pulsed with delight to see her behaving like the old Sophia again: the woman who had once wandered the plantation house in the buff without a thought to superficial mores.
James followed her inside the hall. He watched the candlelight shimmer and bounce off the sensuous fabric of her evening gown, a delicious honey brown. There was a short train that trailed behind her like a siren’s fin. He watched the supple material glide across the floor and round the furnishings as she approached the long dining table, festooned with burnished silverware.
“Good evening, Miss Dawson.” Damian Westmore, the Duke of Wembury, welcomed Sophia with a courteous bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
James glared at the former “Duke of Rogues.” The reprobate had a notorious disposition for a beautiful face. James was convinced the man made his sister a miserable husband, that he would never reform his philandering ways. But the duke was either a skilled thespian or he really cared for his wife, for the bastard was polite and maintained a thoughtful countenance. No licentious stares or wicked winks.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sophia returned in a cool yet cordial manner.
A footman escorted her to an empty seat beside William. The lieutenant lifted to his feet in deference. Edmund and Quincy followed suit.
Sophia gracefully took the chair, her skirt swirling around her ankles and the furniture’s legs.
The men resumed their seats, their expressions inscrutable. However, Quincy was simpering like a distasteful fop. James had a ruthless desire to grind his booted heel into the pup’s toes.
The duchess was seated at the head of the table. She smiled in greeting. “How do you like your room, Sophia?”
James was escorted by another footman to the other end of the long table. It was a corner seat between Edmund and the duke, who was positioned opposite his wife at the other head of the lengthy table. James suspected his sister had orchestrated the place settings to keep him away from her guest, the “poor girl.” But Mirabelle would be hard-pressed to quash his deep-rooted desire for revenge.
“I like my room very much,” said Sophia. “Thank you, Belle.”
Sophia was stiff in tone and posture. James noted the sheen across her brow. The moisture shimmered under the dappling candlelight, the roasting candlelight. The ball of fire was suspended above the table. The iron hands twisted together to form an intricate pattern of horns that carried dozens of white candles.
It was easy to assume the heat from the glowing aura warmed her features, but he sensed it was more than the flickering lights that made her skin glisten. She was uncomfortable. And he disliked seeing her ill-at-ease. He had no tender regard for the heartless woman; however, he resented the insinuation that his family was akin to the cold and brutal