The Infamous Rogue (20 page)

ton,
that his kin ostracized or tormented a welcome guest. Sophia was putting herself through hell with her own distorted thoughts and twisted perceptions.
Let her.
Mirabelle glanced around the room. “And Lady Lucas?”
Sophia folded her hands together and placed them in her lap. She lowered her eyes, too. Was she hiding from the scrutiny?
He willed her to fight. If she thought she was being judged, he wanted her to confront her accusers with defiance, not bleed into the patterned paper and furnishings like a wallflower.
“I’m afraid Lady Lucas isn’t feeling well and will not be joining us this evening,” said Sophia.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mirabelle frowned. “Would you like me to summon a physician?”
“It isn’t necessary.” Sophia returned, “It’s just a chill.”
“Very well, then.” The duchess looked at the butler. “Jenkins, please prepare a meal for Lady Lucas and send it to her room.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The butler then signaled for the cuisine to be served. As a host of servants transferred the steaming platters and salvers from the buffet to the table, James resumed his vigil of Sophia. He observed her as she unfurled a pristine napkin and set it across her knees. She smoothed the material over her skirt with methodical strokes before she lifted her eyes—and glared at him.
The rich brown pools burrowed into him, and he was filled with the intense warmth of her bile. Now
that
was Sophia.
He smiled.
She looked away from him.
Soon each plate was stuffed with roasted fare, and the glasses filled with wine. The staff then vacated the hall, shutting the grand doors in customary fashion.
Sophia peeked at the secured doors, looking caged. She was likely accustomed to the servants remaining inside the room during the course of the meal, to offer assistance if needed. It ensured civil conversation, for one didn’t discuss matters of an inappropriate nature during supper; the staff might overhear and gossip about it later.
But James’s family didn’t abide by social convention at home. They endured enough suffocating rules and customs in society. Supper at the castle was always an informal affair.
Sophia looked meek. Did she think they were going to hound her now? Rip her to pieces? As
they
had ripped him apart at the earl’s dry and fastidious country house party?
He snorted softly. She was thinking like one of
them
already. She had condemned Imogen for her sins, and now she awaited the same fate to befall her. But no one would scorn her. Not here. His brothers liked her—Quincy liked her too much, he thought sourly—and Mirabelle adored her for being Dawson’s daughter. The duke was wont to scandal himself, and so offered no moral judgment on others. In truth, she was seated at the table with equals. Every heart that pulsed in the room concealed a dark family secret. And if Sophia just shrugged off the unnatural manacles that caged her, she’d see it, too. She’d see she had no one to fear…except him.
Quincy dropped his fork as soon as the servants had departed from the hall. “I thought they’d never leave.”
Mirabelle glared at him.
“You’re not serious, Belle.” Quincy gesticulated. “Lady Lucas isn’t even here. We’re all family!”
But Mirabelle was unmoved by her brother’s reasonable cries. She glared at him until her cheeks flushed. A surly Quincy was forced to resume the proper supper accoutrements or risk being shot.
Mirabelle sighed in exasperation—and a whisper of mortification. But the pretension wasn’t necessary for Sophia’s sake, James thought. She was a pirate’s daugh ter, too. She had witnessed far more scandalous behavior than a man eating with his fingers.
However, James remained quiet about the matter. He didn’t want to upset his sister and ruffle her weak disposition even more. He still believed Mirabelle belonged in bed, resting. But she was too headstrong to heed the suggestion, he suspected.
“Edmund and I will set out tomorrow to take care of some business,” said William as he sliced the roasted game.
James glanced at the lieutenant. Their “business” was to contact the duke’s brother and gather whatever information they could about the bootleggers and potential impostors. James wasn’t sure what sort of assistance the duke’s brother would offer the retired pirates, though. There might still be buried resentment between the two families. But the hunt for the impostors had stalled, and it was worth the effort to make fresh inquiries into their whereabouts.
Quincy swallowed a mouthful of pheasant. “I’m staying here to visit with Squirt and Henry.”
The table quieted as everyone reflected upon the same conclusion, that James was also staying behind to “visit” with Sophia. That wasn’t true, not entirely. He and Quincy had resolved to remain at the castle, for years ago they had both robbed the duke’s brother during a raid at sea. The men had agreed it was wiser for William and Edmund to make the seaside journey instead. James had intended to visit with his niece and nephew, too…however, now he had another houseguest to engage his interest.
James looked across the table at Sophia’s profile. She pinkened. She had sensed the table’s thoughts, too. He eyed the rosy pigment bleed through her cheek and jaw and even singe her earlobe. She never used to blush, he reflected. Very little had embarrassed her in the past. The only time he had ever seen her flush with color was after a vigorous bedding. But now the slightest indiscretion mortified her. She really had changed.
“The weather is cooling,” said the duke. He filled the vacuous silence with his booming voice. “There was even dew on the ground this morning.”
The table murmured in agreement.
“I can’t wait for autumn,” said Mirabelle. “I love it when the leaves change shade. Oh, Sophia! Have you ever seen the woods change color?”
“No,” she said quietly.
“Then you’ve never seen snow, I imagine.” The duke pressed onward: “Are you prepared for the winter, Miss Dawson?”
Sophia flicked her fingers behind her ear. Her thick tresses were knotted in a fashionable swirl. Every lock was neatly in place, and yet she still fidgeted with phantom loose curls. “Lady Lucas will prepare me for the winter, I’m sure.”
“You should go ice-skating,” suggested William.
Edmund smacked his lips at the tasty fare before he groused, “You should stay home beside the fire.”
Quincy quipped, “There are other ways to keep warm.”
The pup choked. Someone had kicked him under the table as punishment for the double entendre. James suspected it was his sister.
“She can purchase fur.” Quincy made a moue. He reached under the table to rub his leg. “There’s no reason for her to be trapped indoors.”
The table quieted once more. James stirred the food on his plate, thinking about Sophia and the coming winter. The duke was right; she had never seen snow. A profound longing welled inside James to be with her when she eyed the icy flakes for the first time or touched the frosty ground in wonder. The longing stripped him of the firm darkness holding his heart. For a moment, he yearned to forget about the past and his quest for revenge. For a moment, he yearned to be with Sophia again, to show her the wonders of his world as she had showed him the wonders of hers.
“I remember the first time Alice saw snow.” Mirabelle smiled. “She tried to catch the puffs to take a closer look at them. She was so miffed when the flakes disappeared in her hand.”
The duke and duchess exchanged fond glances. James was disturbed by the growing ache in his belly. He had to finally admit that the roguish bastard cared for his sister. Even worse, their affectionate exchange had made him ache for the same solidarity with Sophia.
But only for a moment.
He crushed the weak sentiment inside him. Sophia had deserted him. The tenderness they had shared on the island had been a manifestation in his head, a farce on her part. She had used him for her own erotic desires and then discarded him for loftier ambitions.
He was such an ass.

Sophia sensed the heat stemming from the pirate captain’s torrid gaze. She fastened her eyes to the dishes on the table in a bid to ignore him, but she eventually surrendered to the treacherous impulse and eyed the black devil.
What was
he
looking so peeved about? She was the one trapped between his loyal kinfolk. She should be the one glowering at him.
She cut him a fierce stare before she returned to her meal, the fare cooling on her plate. She had lost her appetite even before she had entered the dining hall. The desire for food had deserted her the moment she had realized she would be sharing the castle with James.
She shuddered. She had shared the earl’s country house with James, too. But the pirate lord was still a memory to her then: a memory of lost passion. After their intimate encounter aboard the
Bonny Meg,
the memory of lost passion was alive again, so vivid and palpable. So, too, was the hurt. It thrived in her breast and choked her breath at times.
“The season is over.” Mirabelle glanced at her youngest brother. “I understand you attended a ball a few weeks ago. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Always,” said Quincy.
Edmund snorted.
Mirabelle frowned. She glared at Edmund for making the indelicate sound at the supper table, but he was too engrossed with the succulent fare to regard his sister’s baleful expression.
Sophia, on the other hand, listened and observed every detail that transpired between the family, wretchedly aware that she was the outsider intruding upon their informal gathering. She waited for James to elaborate upon the earl’s ball, where she and the pirate lord had reunited after seven years, but the brigand remained tactfully silent. He didn’t even mention the end of the season or the dreadful truth that she was still unattached to the earl. She should probably be grateful for his quiet manner. She was not, however. The man’s calm tended to unnerve her more than his blustering temper. He was honest when he fulminated. There was something insidious about his temperate nature.
Slowly the duchess returned her attention to Quincy. “And I trust you met many eligible ladies at the ball. Did you court any of them?”
“Many,” the pup quipped, his mouth full of pheasant.
The woman’s frown darkened. She whispered, “Don’t be a pig.”
Quincy looked at her askance. He then brandished the cutlery. “I’m not.”
The duchess blushed.
Sophia glanced at her own plate again and mustered the will to partake in the fare before her hosts perceived something was amiss.
The table was quiet for a moment. But then Quincy said in a slapdash manner, “James’s been having the most fun, though.”
Sophia coughed.
Mirabelle twitched.
Quincy yelped. He reached under the table and massaged his leg. “Who keeps doing that?” He scowled. “I mean, James was at the ball
and
he went to a house party.”
“He also attended the opera,” William offered dryly.
“You’ve been busy, Captain Hawkins.” The duke was blasé. “Whenever did you find the time to pirate a passenger vessel, too?”
Sophia looked across the table at James, who was glowering at William and his brother-in-law. But both the duke and the lieutenant were unmoved by the captain’s ominous glare. Perhaps they were well acquainted with the black devil’s hostility, for neither seemed perturbed by it.
“Yes, about the raid at sea.” The duchess stared at her husband. “You read that report in the paper, didn’t you?”
“I did,” he returned primly.
She huffed. “Well, why didn’t
you
mention it to me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“But the account was about my brothers.”
He smiled. “Exactly.”
The table quickly erupted in protest, the Hawkins brothers incensed at the insinuation that they aggrieved their sister with their scandalous ways.
Sophia sighed and quietly moved the food across her plate with her fork, thinking about the first time she had dined with the brigands and her father.
Quincy grimaced as he stared at his plate. “What is that?”
“It’s Stinking Toes,” returned Sophia. “It’s an island delicacy.”
Edmund slurped the sweet pulp from the fruit without protest.
James glared at the fastidious pup. “Eat it, Quincy.”
“But—”
“Sophia prepared it,” from William. “Eat it, Quincy.”
“Aye, but—”
Patrick Dawson picked up the pistol beside his plate and aimed it at Quincy’s head. “Eat it.”
Sophia smiled at the warm memory. She had always enjoyed supper on the island with her father and the Hawkins brothers. Informal, even droll, at times, it had always been one of her favorite activities, for she had liked cooking for them and then sharing the meal with them. She missed the camaraderie, the familial rapport.
The table was still embroiled in a heated discussion. Sophia lifted her eyes and glanced at the pirate captain, who was watching her thoughtfully.
Her smile fell. She had let down her guard for a moment. After reflecting upon the past, she had relaxed about her present predicament. It was clear to her now that the duke and duchess, the Hawkins brothers had no desire to torment her or even make her feel uncomfortable. The family was irreverent, even cheeky. It was in their nature. She had nothing to worry about…except for James.
She had to protect her heart from the ruthless devil, for he was still out to make her suffer, she was sure.
Chapter 19
S
ophia strolled along the pebbled walkway. It was a brisk morning. The sweltering heat of summer was slowly fading away. She wasn’t accustomed to the cooling temperatures. She was wearing a spencer. The black velvet material protected her bust from the chill in the air, but the breeze still nipped at her nose.
Sophia explored the immaculate grounds. She searched for tranquillity in the manicured garden with its rows of trimmed hedges and late-blooming roses. The trilling birds offered sweet music as she perused the landscape, thinking about her encounter with the Hawkins brothers, the duke and duchess the other night.
After a few uncomfortable moments had passed, she had come to relax and enjoy the evening. The brothers had treated her well. Quincy had flirted with her. The duke had been kind, as had the duchess. If it wasn’t for Black Hawk’s company, she would have had a thoroughly gay time.
What’s the matter, sweetheart? Aren’t you hungry?…I know I am.
She shuddered. Throughout supper James had watched her, and whenever he had set his deep blue, hungry eyes on her, she had stilled. Every time he had looked at her, he had roused her blood and attracted her senses.
He had made her hungry, too.
Sophia dismissed the black devil from her mind. She heard a voice, a soft humming. She followed the faint sound to an ornate stone fountain in the center of the garden, where the duchess was resting with an infant in her arms.
Mirabelle patted the babe, wrapped in a white blanket. The small creature was perched on her shoulder, sound asleep.
Sophia admired the quiet couple for a moment. The duchess seemed so content, she thought. So at peace. She and Mirabelle shared a similar past, a common upbringing, and yet their present situations were so vastly singular.
Sophia didn’t want to disturb the mother and child, and so she retreated; however, the duchess had spied her loitering.
“Good morning, Sophia.” She smiled. “We missed you at breakfast.”
Sophia returned the greeting and approached the woman. She settled beside her on the fountain’s edge and peeked at the tiny, slumbering features poking through the warm woolly wrapper. The babe was handsome, she thought.
“I’m just taking Henry out for some fresh air while the weather’s still warm.”
Warm? thought Sophia. So what was the weather like when it was cold?
“How is Lady Lucas?” wondered Mirabelle.
Sophia wove her fingers together. “She’s doing well.”
“Good.” She looked at her askance. “And you?”
Sophia burrowed her booted toes into the pebbled walkway. “I’m fine.”
“You seem distracted. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” she parried.
It was a centuries-old game: polite intrusion. The duchess was fishing for answers to questions about Sophia’s affair with her brother. It was obvious to them both they were thinking about the same thing, but neither was being forthright about it.
“I know you’re still grieving over the loss of your friend—”
“She’s not dead.”
“What?” The duchess pinched her brows. “But I thought…Lady Lucas mentioned in her letter you were in mourning.”
“Yes, I suppose I am…I can’t see her anymore.”
“Why?”
“She’s ruined.”
“Oh, I see.”
The duchess fell quiet.
Sophia shifted, the stone fountain uncomfortable even with the layers of fabric under her posterior. “So you see, I am in mourning. She’s dead.”
“She’s not dead.”
Sophia shrugged. “It’s the same thing.” She moved her foot across the rough pebbles, swirling her toes. “The rules of etiquette are strict.”
“I understand the rules of etiquette are strict.”
Sophia glanced at her sidelong. “But…?”
“But I don’t really like following the rules.”
Sophia flicked her fingers across the lambent water behind her, the ripples shimmering. There was a time when she had not cared for the rules, either. She had flouted them, in truth. But she had paid for her folly. At times she wanted to defy convention again—to see Imogen, for instance—but always the memory of noisy heckles surfaced to haunt her and keep her in line.
Mirabelle rocked the babe. “Is my brother treating you well?”
What were the odds she was inquiring about her brother Quincy? Slim, Sophia reckoned. But Sophia dreaded talking about the past. It exposed her, made her vulnerable. Still, she decided to stop prevaricating. The duchess was already privy to her former relationship with James. If the woman was going to make a fuss about it, she would have done so already.
“You know who I am, don’t you, Belle? Who I was to your brother, I mean?”
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Quincy told me.”
“Quincy?”
“He doesn’t have a feather on his tongue.” She sighed. “He says whatever’s on his mind, I’m afraid.”
So it wasn’t James who had betrayed their past? Sophia should have considered one of the other brothers as the culprit. But James was such a ruthless devil, it was so easy to blame him for the treachery. And yet he had already lost the chess game. He had already vowed to keep their island affair a secret. Besides, he would never have talked about her—his mistress—with his beloved sister. Sophia should have known that.
The babe started to fuss. Mirabelle shushed him with a few whispered words. “James doesn’t talk much—about anything. I’m his sister, and yet I know so little about him.”
Sophia was at a similar disadvantage. She had lived with James for a year before their affair had ended. She had developed a passionate attachment, an intimate bond with the man. She had come to know him. Or so she had thought. The pirate lord’s true character was a mystery to her, as well. But she suspected the duchess still wanted to know more about the affair.
“What would you like to know, Belle?”
“Well…I’ve come to believe my brothers will remain bachelors forever, especially James. He’s so stubborn sometimes.” She grimaced. “All right, he’s stubborn all the time. But now I learn there was a period in his life when he was happy with a woman. What happened?”
“I wanted to be married.” She shrugged. “He did not.”
“I see.” Mirabelle was pensive. “I’m not sure if I should be surprised or not by that answer. I don’t know my brother’s heart very well, a’tall.”
He had a small heart, thought Sophia. A black heart. There was room inside the gnarled muscle for his brothers and his sister. But no more. There was no space for her. There had never been any space for her.
Sophia rubbed her hands in her skirt, drying them. “I didn’t think I would ever see him again.”
“I suppose that’s my fault. It was I who dragged him and the rest of my brothers into society. But I don’t think James appreciates it. I don’t think he’s fitting into society.”
Sophia snorted inwardly. How was a barbarian supposed to fit into society without polished manners, grace, or charm?
“But you seem to be doing well, Belle.”
Mirabelle chuckled. “I am. At last!”
The duchess was also a pirate’s daughter. She, too, had a scandalous past. And yet she was wed and respected. Sophia admired her for the accomplishment. She intended to achieve the same feat herself one day. And there was no reason to suspect she wouldn’t be just as content as the duchess.
What will you do when you’re hungry, Sophia? What will you do when you’re married and your bones throb in the dead of night? Who will you turn to?
Sophia shut her eyes tight and willed away the blackguard’s taunts. She would endure the passionless marriage bed, the cordial bond with her husband. It was easier to bear than the ostracism and ridicule she was sure to confront as a fallen woman.
“And you are content, aren’t you, Belle?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you happy being a duchess?”
Mirabelle snorted.
“What’s the matter, Belle? Is the duke a poor husband?”
“Not a’tall!” Mirabelle sounded aghast. “He’s the best man I know, truly. And I love him dearly…I only wish sometimes he wasn’t a duke.”
Sophia was bewildered. “What?”
“It’s such a bother, the pomp and presentation.” She sighed. “I’d much rather live in a small and comfortable home, settled near my family and friends.”
“And you can’t have both?”
“No,” she repined. “The demands placed upon me as duchess keep me busy and distracted. I spend very little time with my friends, and even less time with my brothers, who are often at sea. Although to hear my husband complain, you’d think my kin was at the castle
all
the time.” She transferred the slumbering babe from one shoulder to the next. “It’s just that after my mother died in childbirth to Quincy, and my siblings took to the sea, I lost a sense of family. I prefer an intimate, more homely upbringing for my own children.”
That the duchess
had
a title and respectability—and didn’t really want it—disarmed Sophia. She had struggled for so long to achieve her goal, she had never thought to wonder: Would she be happy elsewhere in the world? With someone other than the earl?…Like James?
Sophia mulled over the thought. But the memory of her affair with James on the tropical island tormented her. She had tried to live apart from social mores. The sensual and dreamy encounters she had shared with the pirate captain had lasted for only a year. It was impossible to evade the pressures from society, she had learned. Even the rebellious Black Hawk obeyed some social convention, for he had refused to marry his mistress.