He shuddered and missed a step.
She recovered her footing and glowered at him. “Are you foxed?”
“I should be.”
He certainly intended to be before the night was over.
“Who does the earl think you are, Sophia?”
James caressed her warm spine. He desired to mop the moisture that had formed there, to slowly peel away the layers of satin suffocating her.
She quivered. “The earl thinks I’m an heiress, that my father once owned a sugar plantation in the Caribbean.”
He hardened. She had used the plantation house—their home—as the covert means to enter high society. It had never belonged to her father. It had always belonged to them: an intimate hideaway filled with sweet blossoms and tart fruit trees. No slaves or sugarcane crops. Only two souls had dwelled within the quiet walls, free…and joyful.
“So you’re supposed to be a rich and innocent maid from the colony?” he said stiffly, quashing the maudlin sentiment deep within his belly.
“That’s right.”
He snorted. “I must congratulate Lady Lucas. The Paragon of Virtue is worthy of praise. She convinced the besotted earl you’re a charming prize.”
“My money did that,” she gritted, eyes alight. “Lady Lucas is a respectable widow. She accompanies me into society.”
“To guard you against barbarians like myself?”
“Of course.”
The muscles in his back firmed. “And I suppose she instructs you in the ways of etiquette, too? For a price?”
“Naturally.”
He dropped his voice. “You might want to ask her to return your money. I can still see who you are, Sophia. You cannot hide behind layers of satin and fool me.”
She cut him again—with her eyes.
“What do you want, Black Hawk?”
He bristled. Why did you leave me? But he would sooner saw off his tongue than beg for an answer. Besides, it was clear to him now: she had no heart.
“Where have you been these last seven years?” he said darkly.
Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, a bewitching shade of rich toffee brown. “In Jamaica. Where else?”
“Liar.”
She stiffened.
“I stayed on the island for months after our affair ended.” He would not confess he had spent the months searching the island for her—or that he had dreamed about her for the last seven bloody years. He whispered, “I would have spotted you.”
She shivered; the tremors pulsed against his fingertips. “I was living with my father. You know he was the unreasonably suspicious sort. We moved away from his home in the mountains and went into hiding. I remained with him until his death before I sailed to England.”
The stiffness in his jaw softened. “Your father was a good man.”
“Only you and I would think so.”
True. A black-hearted devil, Patrick Dawson wasn’t the kind of bloke to make friends easily…but he had befriended Drake Hawkins, James’s father—and saved him from a life of slavery. And for that James would be forever grateful to the man.
Sophia steadied her voice. It almost sounded cordial. “I propose a truce.”
He about snorted with laughter. She had threatened him with betrayal, sliced his chin, and now she wanted to be friends? Horseshit! She only wanted him to keep her dark secrets. Her attempt to intimidate him with violence had failed. Now she hoped to persuade him to keep his distance with an offer of peace.
“You and I should not be enemies,” she said in a measured tone. “We are both in society for the same reason.”
He gritted, “I’m not searching for a wife.”
“But you are searching for acceptance, aren’t you? To protect your sister?”
She was a cunning witch. With grace she had paired them both as kindred folk, making their way through society to achieve similar goals. Whereas he needed to safeguard his sister’s reputation, Sophia needed the approval from the superficial ton to become a countess.
But he was not so easily duped.
“In honor of our late fathers’ friendship,” she said, “surely we can forget about the past?”
Forget about the past?
Not in everlasting hell.
Chapter 3
“How dare he!” Lady Lucas crossed the fine patterned rug—and crossed it again. She twisted the lacy kerchief around her finger, and pinched her brows. “The…the beast.”
It was a gloomy morning. A slow drizzle streaked the windows, dampening Sophia’s mood even more. She missed the sun, missed feeling the warm rays touch her cheeks and lighten her heart. If only the shower would end and the clouds disband. She was convinced her disposition would then improve. The tedious pattern of raindrops slowly stripped her spirit, her sharpness of mind even. She wanted to slip back into her room, snuggle under the covers, and dream…about James.
She shut her eyes tight, willing away the vivifying image of him in her mind. She thought instead about the man’s boorish behavior last night, his scandalous remarks. Quickly the heat in her belly weakened, replaced by a darker sentiment.
I can still see who you are, Sophia. You cannot hide behind layers of satin and fool me.
She opened her eyes and fisted the fabric of her leafy green day dress. He might destroy her. One word from his sensual lips, one whisper of impropriety, and her dream of respectability would be dashed.
Damn him to hell!
Lady Lucas touched her brow in a frantic gesture. “He’ll ruin everything!”
Yes, James would ruin everything, she thought. He would stomp and maim all her hopes for a better future. The blackguard had a hard heart. He wasn’t one to forgive a past transgression.
Would you like me to confess my sins, Sophia? Would you like me to reveal my transgressions…with you?
Sophia balled her fists. What did the devil want from her? To humiliate her publicly? Did he loathe her so much? Enough to put his own neck in a noose? For Sophia intended to keep her vow and see him hang if he ravaged all her hopes and dreams.
But if James outed her first, his neck in a noose would be poor comfort. She needed to convince the man to keep quiet before the murmur of scandal rounded the society pages. But how? He had rebuffed her proposal for a truce last night. Not in words, for he’d remained reticent about the idea. But she had recognized that “over my dead body” gleam in his eyes. He was such a stubborn, vengeful brute. Any other man might consider her proposal beneficial, even honorable…but not the pirate captain. She had to convince James some other way to keep her secret.
“We must spur the earl’s affection for you.” Lady Lucas collapsed in a nearby chair, her dark brow fixed in meditation. “He must propose to you at the house party.”
A sound plan. Sophia didn’t voice her sentiment aloud, though. She permitted the matron of nine-and-forty years to scheme in peace. She depended upon the counsel of Lady Lucas. Without her guidance, she was lost. The strict rules of etiquette baffled her, repulsed her at times.
But Sophia had learned to stifle her inappropriate impulses. She was not on the island anymore. The freedom to do as she pleased was a thing of the past. She didn’t mind, though. Her reckless desires had only brought her misery. She was keen to be rid of them, to repress her natural tendencies. She intended to trade her wild whims for the respectability of a wife: a countess. It was a simple swap in her mind, well worth the effort and funds she had already devoted to the aspiration.
“We mustn’t let the earl think another man is courting you.” Lady Lucas stamped her fist on her knee. “Lord Baine is a gentleman. He might step aside if he believes the captain is interested in you…or he might search elsewhere for a bride if he thinks you are attached to the captain.” She sighed loudly. “If only the barbarian had not asked you to dance!”
Sophia remained mum about her former, illicit affair with said barbarian. Lady Lucas would have an apoplexy if she ever discovered her ward’s sinful past.
“If only the ba
rbarian wasn’t coming to the house party!”
Blood pulsed to Sophia’s temples. Her fingers tingled. She imagined the scorn, the cold snubs if lurid word ever reached the ears of the ton. The vibrant sounds and flashes of color beset her mind, making her sweat.
“Don’t fret about the earl, my dear.” Lady Lucas softened her voice and composed her features. “I can repair any damage, I assure you.”
Sophia had faith in the widow’s matchmaking skills. She was a highly regarded member of the gentry, albeit a poor one. After the death of her husband, Lady Lucas had slipped into the dreaded sin of poverty. Even her lofty name was not able to save her from the depths of ostracism and ignominy. But Sophia had offered the woman a considerable fortune to introduce her to society, to find her a respectable husband. Now each woman was dependent on the other for her happiness.
“You must write to Lady Rosamond.” The matron slipped from the chair and took her by the wrist. She quickly escorted Sophia across the room to the writing desk. “You must tell the young woman you enjoyed His Lordship’s ball. With each word of praise and adoration, she will suspect your attachment to her brother.” Lady Lucas removed the quill from the inkstand and handed it to her. “I will dictate.”
But Sophia only stared at the long, white feather, an uncomfortable shiver pressing on her spine. She could not write the letter. She was literate, however she possessed a disability. And if the matron ever discovered what it was…
“I think it better if you write the letter, Lady Lucas.”
“Nonsense, my dear. Lady Rosamond thinks highly of your character. We will be far more productive if you write to her as a friend.”
Sophia frowned. “I must insist, Lady Lucas. It might seem pretentious if I admit my feelings about her brother, even in a subtle manner.”
“You will banter with her. Gossip. A young lady loves to share on-dit with a trusted acquaintance.”
“Even so, she might take offense. She might con sider the subject matter too delicate. However, she would not rebuff the compliments of a lady of your distinction.”
Lady Lucas appeared to mull over the argument before she bobbed her head in brisk accord. “Your good sense does you credit, Miss Dawson. You should not risk upsetting the cordial bond between you and Lady Rosamond. I will write the letter.”
As soon as the matron took a seat and flicked her wrist in a sweeping gesture, Sophia sighed. She had averted one disaster by refusing to write the letter. She was confident Lady Lucas would avert another by writing a fastidiously worded letter…now Sophia need only silence Black Hawk.
“Good morning, Sophia.” James stroked the long curve of her spine with the tips of his fingers. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?”
There was a sharp rap at the door.
James grimaced. The rapping resounded in his head, tender after last night’s drinking binge. He growled, “Go away.”
The door opened.
William sauntered inside the bedroom, looking cross.
“Get out, Will.”
“We’re not aboard the Bonny Meg, James. I don’t take orders here.”
James glowered. Aboard ship the captain had privacy. No one dared to enter the cabin uninvited. And no one dared to disobey an order. But here at the house in London, James was forced to associate with family, not crew. Here in St. James’s, his sober and obedient lieutenant routinely transformed into an impudent and scolding sibling.
William slowly approached him. “You vowed not to cause a stir at the ball.”
“I didn’t cause a stir,” he said in a sluggardly manner.
“So why are people whispering?”
James ignored his brother and continued to rub Sophia’s back.
William rounded the table and paused in front of the window. He wasn’t as big as James, but he was still wide enough to obstruct the weak, silvery light creeping in through the drapery. “Will you take your eyes off that damn creature and answer me?”
It was already a misty morning. William’s shadow cooled the room even more, casting Sophia in darkness.
Gently James returned the iron lid over the glass case, securing the cold-blooded snake in her aquarium. “What the hell do you want from me, Will?”
“An oath.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It appears Dawson’s daughter is set to stay in society, so I want you to promise me you won’t make an ass of yourself every time she appears in the room.”
James bristled. The pounding impulse to strike his brother soundly in the teeth gripped him. He shrugged off the savage desire. Instead he moved toward the washstand.
James dipped his hands into the shallow basin, and slapped the cold water over his warm features. He rubbed his face, listless with fatigue and too much drink. But the memory of his stormy encounter with Sophia last night still burned in his head. Had he really made an ass of himself?
“I know you’re angry with Sophia for leaving you—”
“You don’t know shit.”
“—but you have to keep a cap on your temper. You can’t disgrace Belle.”
James rubbed his throbbing brow before he snatched a towel. “Didn’t we have this blasted conversation last night?”
“Fat lot of good it did. Gossip says you’re smitten with ‘Miss Dawson.’”
James wiped his face and gritted, “I’m not smitten with the witch.”
“Then why are you going to the earl’s country house party? You hate being in society.”
“Go to hell.”
James dropped the towel and stalked across the room. He was dressed in only a pair of trousers, and with the linens still rumpled, the bed looked very inviting.
He stretched across the messy feather tick with a loud sigh, and crossed his ankles. He closed his eyes, too.
“What are you going to do at the house party?” said William.
“Eat.”
“Eat who?”
James humphed. “If you’re suggesting I’m going to the house party to cause a scandal, I’m not.”
But William sounded unconvinced. “Why don’t you write to the earl and cancel the trip? Visit with Cora instead. Then you can get the frustration out of your blood and forget about Sophia.”
Forget about Sophia? Did the man really think a roll in the sheets with a whore was going to satisfy the dark fire burning in his belly?
He remembered the sultry look in Sophia’s fine eyes, the sharp arch in her brows. He remembered the thrilling feel of her round and seductive curves pressed firmly against him, and the smoldering texture to her sassy voice.
James girded himself against the arousal slowly burning in his blood. No. A tumble in bed with Cora wasn’t going to slake the lust in his belly…only Sophia could do that.
“No,” said James. “I’m going to the house party.”
William’s footsteps drummed in his ears. He heard the chair legs scrape across the hardwood flooring as William swiveled the seat and sat down.
“I know you’re having a wretched time attending parties, James. And Sophia’s return only makes matters worse. But we’ve all had to adjust to the tiresome antics of the ton since retiring from piracy.”
What did his brothers have to adjust to? They flirted and danced and charmed the society wenches with aplomb. The men even dined and gambled and snorted snuff with the rest of the peerage with considerable ease.
William suggested, “Look at Belle.”
“Look at Belle?” He opened one eye to glare at his brother. “We’re putting ourselves through this hell for her.”
“Yes, but she had to adapt to her new life, too.”
“How?”
“She had to start wearing a dress, for one.”
James snorted and closed his eye again. “She should have been wearing one from girlhood.”
“With four brothers, a father, and no mother for guidance?”
James stiffened at the mention of their mother. She had died in childbirth to Quincy, leaving a four-year- old Belle without a pro
per female example. But something more haunted him…
One thought about his mother was like losing his footing and slipping from a cliff. His thoughts tumbled backward with speed and he remembered the low sobs coming from her room when he was just a boy: sobs for his father, recently pressed into service by the navy.
Long before Mirabelle, Edmund, and Quincy had come along, Megan Hawkins had been alone with two small boys and no money or means of support.
You must help me, James. She had stroked his then four-year-old head with frantic regard. 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?
James dismissed the disturbing memory with a quiet shudder.
“Belle had to wear breeches,” said William. “There was no way to avoid it with so many men afoot. But now she’s more comfortable with her new position as duchess. And you’ll eventually grow accustomed to being brother-in-law to a duke.”
Why did that sound so ominous? James kneaded the pulsing spot at the crown of his nose. Trouble was, he didn’t want to grow accustomed to such a stiff existence. He didn’t want to pander to the nobs, to kneel before the pompous lords and ladies like a street urchin…but what choice did he have now that Belle was a duchess?
“Get out, Will. My head is throbbing.”
There was no sound of movement.
James opened his watery eyes to see his brother still seated in the chair. “What?” he snapped, and re gretted his clipped tone, for the pressure in his skull strengthened.
“There’s one other matter I need to discuss with you.”
James growled, wishing all his blasted relatives and their needs to damnation. “What is it?”
The door burst open.
Two strapping young bucks stomped into the bedroom, making all the furniture spin and dance.
The Infamous Rogue Page 3