James grabbed his head and stifled the roaring curse he was sure would do him in if he dared to voice it aloud.
“Did you see this morning’s paper?”
Quincy flapped the newsprint, making James dizzy. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore his brethren, but the youngest fledgling refused to be rebuffed.
Quincy smacked the captain across the bare feet with the paper. “Wake up, James. We’re famous—again!”
William quickly moved across the room and examined the paper. He sighed loudly. “Take a look at this, James.”
The newsprint shoved in his face, James eyed the bold headline. But the letters only twirled together in quick fashion. “Why don’t you just read it to me.”
It was Quincy who snatched the paper from William and cleared his throat to impart: “The notorious pirate Black Hawk strikes again!”
James almost didn’t give a damn, he was so bloody fagged…almost. “Read on, Quincy.”
“The sea is once more plagued by the dreaded pirate Black Hawk and his wicked crew. After almost four years of unmolested travel, defenseless ships, like the Lorianne, are again in peril. Last sennight, the passenger vessel was raided by the marauding rogues and stripped of cargo and personal possessions. The gentlemen aboard remained stoic and brave, the ladies terribly frightened and clinging to their sides.” The pages rustled as Quincy theatrically performed: “When will the Royal Navy bring an end to the infamous bandits’ reign of terror? When will we have safe passage at sea? I call on you, faithful reader, to demand the pirate leader’s head. Only then will justice triumph and the seas be secure.” Quincy beamed. “I’ve missed being in the paper.”
William ignored the quip and said, “That’s two reports in two months, James. First there was a group of miscreants bootlegging whiskey and rum in our names, and now there’s another band attacking passenger vessels.”
“They might be one and same,” suggested Edmund.
“That’s right,” chimed Quincy. “Do you remember the duke’s brother, Adam Westmore?”
James had coincidentally robbed the man as Black Hawk a few years ago—and Adam Westmore had maintained a grudge. He had hunted the Bonny Meg and its pirate crew for years, seeking vengeance. But once the two families had united in marriage, the lust for blood had ended and a tentative trust had formed.
Quincy scratched his chin. “Adam had stumbled upon a band of bootleggers while looking for us. Their leader was posing as you, James. ”
“Rumor of our ‘deaths’ might have inspired the bold cutthroats to adopt our personas and take all the credit,” said William.
“You mean blame,” groused Edmund. He settled in a chair and stretched out his long legs, looking much too comfortable, giving James the distinct impression he wasn’t going to get much peace that morning. “It hardly seems fair. Someone else gets all the spoils, yet we get all the fault.”
William said grimly, “What are we going to do about the impostors, James?”
“Ignore them.”
“We can’t ignore them,” returned William. “We’re the ones being accused of the raid.”
“So what?”
William frowned. “I know you’re still drunk, James, but can’t you see the pressing danger?”
James rubbed his aching temples. “I only see one pressing danger: three gutless brothers. Now get the hell out of my room. All of you.”
Only Quincy budged—to straddle a chair.
James growled. The buzzing voices, the snapping thoughts of Sophia danced in his head, making him more and more irascible.
“What if the authorities go looking for Black Hawk?” wondered William.
“Then they’re going to find the miscreant and hang him.” James inhaled a sharp breath to soothe the spiking pressure in his head. He said with less bite, “I still don’t see the bloody problem.”
Cool even under the captain’s fierce glare, William said in a reasonable manner, “The authorities might stumble upon the real Black Hawk and crew if they search for the impostors.”
“That’s not going to happen,” avowed James.
“Are you sure?” William folded his arms. “There are those who know our true identity and might betray us in the wake of the recent report.”
“Who? The duke?” James snorted. “He might be a bastard, but he loves Belle. He wouldn’t betray us, if only for her sake.”
Damian Westmore, the Duke of Wembury, was an infamous villain, dubbed the “Duke of Rogues” by his peers. James was still dumbfounded by his sister’s choice of a mate. She might as well have married the devil.
Women made such odd selections in partners, he thought, disgruntled. His sister had wedded a rogue. Sophia wanted to attach herself to a simpering fop. It defied logic, their choices in husbands.
It was better for a father to pair his daughter with the right man. Drake Hawkins would never have agreed to let Belle marry a scoundrel, James was sure. And Patrick Dawson would have disemboweled the irritating dandy Sophia had picked. A pity the two men were dead. They would have saved their senseless daughters from misfortune.
“I’m not talking about the duke,” said William. “I’m talking about Sophia.”
The dull pounding in James’s head surged. The hammering pulses blurred his dim vision even more.
Stay away from me, Black Hawk. If you try to foil my engagement with Maximilian, I’ll reveal your true identity; I’ll see you hang.
James gnashed his teeth at the foul memory.
“Sophia?” Quincy’s eyes rounded. “Dawson’s daughter is here in London?”
Even the grumpy Edmund appeared intrigued. “What is she doing in Town?”
“Husband hunting, of course.” William offered the captain a pointed look. “James and I met her last night at the ball. She wants to marry the Earl of Baine.”
“Who?” said Quincy.
“Our host last night, the Earl of Baine.”
Quincy shrugged.
So did Edmund. “Too many parties.”
“Never mind,” said William. “About Sophia?”
“Now that’s a bird.” The flirtatious Quincy grinned. “Exotic, fiery, playful. I was still a pup all those years ago in Jamaica, but if I had the chance to meet her now—”
“You’d…do…what?”
Quincy bit his tongue and wisely didn’t finish his lustful thought. Edmund smirked at his younger brother’s misstep, for James’s glower was murderous.
With the young upstart soundly muzzled, James fixed his eyes on William and said darkly, “What about Sophia?”
“Well, she didn’t seem very happy to see you last night.”
James stiffened. Blood hastened through his veins as he fingered the cut on his chin.
You belong in hell, Black Hawk.
“She might out us yet,” suggested William.
“She won’t.”
James was adamant. The brazen witch might threaten him and brandish her knife, but she wouldn’t betray his identity as Black Hawk. He sensed her heart was still loyal to her kind, even if she claimed otherwise.
There was a rap at the door.
The butler entered the bedroom without awaiting a proper invitation. He had learned long ago his four masters weren’t men of etiquette.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
The group hushed as the old man moved across the room, arm outstretched. He stopped in front of the aquarium, lifted the lid, and dropped the thrashing mouse inside the glass case before he secured the trapping again.
James eyed the frightened rodent as it circled the enclosure in a frantic bid to escape. Sophia remained curled in an idle sleep, though. She would soon stir and devour the hapless creature…but not before she had tortured its senses.
The snake was very much like her namesake, James reflected with a grim smile.
As soon as the butler had departed from the room, William pressed onward: “We should still do something about the scoundrels roaming the seas in our name.”
&n
bsp; “Fine,” snapped James. “We’ll hunt down the impostors and thrash ’em—but not today.”
“And not tomorrow, I assume,” said William dryly. “You’re going to a house party.”
Edmund looked at his older brother. “You’re going to a house party?”
The captain growled. “I am.”
Quincy screwed up his lips. “Why?”
“Sophia will be at the house party,” returned William.
“Oh,” from both Quincy and Edmund.
James offered the lieutenant a look of murder. “I trust you three can take care of the matter while I’m gone? Start making inquiries about the impostors.”
That seemed to mollify the lieutenant. The two bucks perked up at the news, as well. The restless fledglings had had the most difficult time giving up piracy. He and William had enjoyed the spoils of the sea for more than two decades, but Edmund and Quincy had only just tasted the pleasures of piracy before they’d had to “retire” as brigands to protect their sister’s reputation. That had been four years ago. And ever since that time, the two young men were always first to volunteer for any adventure.
Perhaps William had had a point, that he was not the only one struggling with their newfound positions as merchant sailors and society outcasts. Not that he was in any condition to acknowledge the point.
“Now get out,” said James, his head ready to burst from the gnawing pressure.
William was already on his feet, and so headed for the door. Edmund and Quincy trailed behind him.
“Oh, Will, did you ask James about—”
Once again, Quincy faltered mid-thought. But this time William had curtailed him. He squeezed the back of the pup’s neck and shoved him out the door. “No, I didn’t, Quincy. Next time.”
James was too disoriented to listen to the baffling exchange. He was only grateful for the quiet that followed the men’s belated departures.
As soon as the door closed softly, James shut his eyes and breathed deep. He tried to hush the mesh of voices and sharp memories that crowded in his skull, but the damnable thoughts kept coming, hounding him…one thought more pressing than the rest.
How could Sophia do this to herself? To be a countess would crush her spirit. The restrictions imposed on a lady’s conduct were brutal. He had only to attend a tiresome soirée to find dozens of timid maidens ruled by convention. According to his pestering brother, even Belle had struggled with being a duchess. However, she was in love with her bloody husband. What excuse did Sophia have for entering such a cold and passionless world? She wanted to be a countess, true. But was that all she wanted, the title? Was that why she had deserted him seven years ago? Because he didn’t have a blasted rank? What did she want with it?
James furled his fingers into fists. Sophia wouldn’t survive the wedding tour as a countess. Her spirit would wither under the merciless scrutiny…so what did he care? If she wanted to sell her soul, let her. He shouldn’t give a damn. She had startled him with her unexpected presence at the ball. He had recovered now. He wouldn’t let the witch twist his guts and warp his thoughts anymore. He wouldn’t let her claim his mind and chain him to her like a slave. He had already made that mistake once.
His limbs pulsed with the memory of the empty plantation house, the wretched timepiece. She had walked away from him without even a niggardly thought…but she still desired him.
The blood in his veins roared with need. The fiery witch espoused her distaste for him, flourished her blade at him. But he had tasted the sweet desire on her lips last night. He had caressed her spine and sensed the tremors rolling along her quietly shuddering limbs. She had failed to hide her true self from him. She had failed to stomp out her burning passions.
She wanted to be one of them: a noble lady. But she didn’t have it in her to conform to the strict rules of the ton. She was an outcast, like him. And he would prove it to her.
A dark thought sparked. He wanted to strip away her false mannerisms, her prudish ideas. He wanted her to accept her true, spirited nature, to admit she would never be happy with the tractable earl. He wanted her to end her courtship with the fop—and come to him.
James let the thought settle; he draped his arm over his eyes. He imagined the lush feel of her thick hair wrapped in his hands. He imagined the salty taste of her moist flesh, her wanton cries in bed. He wanted one more night with her. He wanted one final—and proper—good-bye, to bring her to her knees in helpless desire before he walked away from her—as she had once walked away from him.
Chapter 4
Sophia skulked through the shadows of the St. James’s district. A hired hackney coach had dropped her off a short distance away. She intended to make the remainder of the trip on foot.
She was confident she would not be recognized. It was late. The darkness masked her features. She was wearing a deep hooded mantle, too.
Lady Lucas would have her head if she ever discovered her midnight gallivanting. The bachelor quarters of London were no place for a lady, and Sophia was determined to obey convention. However, she first had to convince the damnable pirate captain it was in both their interests to be cordial and silent about the past. She couldn’t risk another disastrous quarrel with the man, especially during the country house party. He might ruin her courtship with the earl…which might very well be the black devil’s insidious plan.
She moved through the darkness, a small wooden box tucked under her arm. She eventually made her way to the address she had acquired through a few casual inquiries.
She descended the steps at the front of the prestigious townhouse, leading to the service entrance. She intended to slip in through the lower level, undetected. The staff was surely asleep at such a late hour.
She crouched and set the box on the ground before she removed the small blade from between her breasts. She squinted to better examine the lock. It was difficult to see in the dimness. The moon offered little guidance to an intruder in a sooty city like London.
Drawing on her late father’s tutelage, she set to work on the door. All the while she mulled over the thought: Was her plan sound?
She had considered penning James a note, but she had quickly dismissed the idea. What if he didn’t burn the letter after reading it? The incriminating missive might surface and ruin her. No. She needed to speak with him privately, to get him to agree to the truce in the only way she knew how…either that or she would have to slice out his tongue to keep him quiet.
She maneuvered the blade, blindly seeking the precise mechanism…when an iron key slipped between her eyes.
“Here,” said the shadow in a low and teasing drawl. “Try this.”
Sophia bristled. The blood in her veins quickened, the pulses in her head throbbed. She was parched, her tongue and lips like harvest oats.
Slowly she lifted off her haunches—and cradled the blade in her grip. She was prepared to strike at the figure to protect her identity. However, the flirty sound of his voice was faintly familiar, and she peeked at him instead.
“Quincy?”
She detected the white line of teeth as he grinned. “Hullo, Sophia.”
The stiff muscles in her back eased, and she sighed. Quincy might be a pirate; he might share the same blood as his disreputable older brother, but he was no snitch. She suspected the young man would keep the secret of her midnight rendezvous from the rest of the ton.
As the pressure in her skull returned to a more steady beat, she tucked the short blade back into her bodice. “I’m here to see the captain.”
“Are you sure?” The cheeky kid’s grin broadened. “I’m much more charming than my older brother.”
She was in no mood to banter with the scamp. But he had an easy manner about him that put her nerves to rest. She noticed he had blossomed into quite a presentable rogue. It was too dark to see his features, but he was tall and strapping, with fashionable short, wavy locks. He had always possessed an attractive charm. And with even more maturity, he was bound to become a distinguished ra
ke…but right now he was still a pup.
Unlike James.
She dismissed the unwelcome thought with a quiet shudder, and stepped aside to allow Quincy to open the door. She sniffed the air as he moved beside her, the distinct fumes recognizable. He was doused in the smoke.
“Why are you sneaking into the house through the service entranceway?” she wondered.
He unlocked the door. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I want to avoid detection.”
“I want to avoid my older brother.”
Quincy stepped into the dark room first. She scooped up the small wooden box before she followed him inside the kitchen. Once more she squinted in the dimness as he closed the door behind her.
“What do you mean you want to avoid your brother?” She lowered her hood. “Don’t tell me the captain is so boorish he’d deny you a bit of fun?”
He chuckled softly. “James can be in a sour mood sometimes. I prefer to keep away from him.”
She understood the sentiment entirely. “He’s a brute, I know.”
“A miserable brute.”
She gathered her brow. “How’s that?”
“James hates to be in society. I think it comforts him to make the rest of us miserable, too.”
Her heart trembled. She suspected James wanted to make her miserable: a punishment for deserting him. At the troubling thought, she squeezed the box tight. It offered her redemption.
Sophia sensed the pup’s eyes on her, pert and mischievous. She put a quick end to his ogling with a curt “Take me to your brother, Quincy.”
He sighed. “This way.”
He took her by the wrist and maneuvered her through the room and around the furnishings with ease. He didn’t even need a candle. Clearly he had sneaked inside the house many times before and was now familiar with the design of the space.
As she trailed after the scamp toward the ground floor, she glanced around the slowly brightening passageway. The main part of the house was quiet, but candles still dotted the walls and tables, casting the dwelling in a smoldering glow.
The decor was deeply masculine. The wood furnishings were dark, the color palette was rich with shades of red and brown and touches of gold. She lifted a brow at the risqué paintings, the nude subject matters tasteful yet still shocking to a respectable lady’s constitution. Lady Lucas would faint dead away.
The Infamous Rogue Page 4