Quincy escorted her to a waiting room. “Stay here. I’ll go and fetch James.”
“Thank you.”
He winked. “Make yourself at home.”
As soon as he had left the room, Sophia glanced around the formal parlor and spotted the model schooner perched on a long table. She approached the well-crafted structure and examined the fine detail. It was an exact replica of the Bonny Meg. She peered into one of the tiny windows astern—the captain’s quarters.
Images quickly filled her mind: erotic memories of her nights aboard the moored ship with the black devil. She willed the dreams away and gathered her wits. She had more important matters to attend to, like keeping James from revealing their past.
She paced the room as the minutes ticked onward, her belly twisted in knots. There wasn’t time to waste, she thought. She still had to return to Lady Lucas.
So where was Black Hawk?
He was wittingly making her wait. She understood the bounder’s character well enough to suspect he enjoyed being in control of the situation. Well, she wasn’t going to spend the entire night circling the waiting room. She had to see the pirate captain. She had to settle the matter of their truce before the house party.
Sophia left the room and explored the passageway. She searched the main floor for the sound of the man’s voice, but the air was still…leaving her with only one other choice.
She didn’t want to do it; it might put her at a greater disadvantage. But she couldn’t shout the devil’s name and demand an audience with him. She didn’t want to rouse the servants or the rest of the Hawkins brothers. And yet she couldn’t dawdle anymore, either. She had to return to Lady Lucas before sunrise.
With determination, Sophia lifted the hem of her skirt and mounted the sturdy steps at the end of the corridor.
Quietly she ascended to the next level. Her pulse tapped briskly in her ears as she stealthily made her way through the long passageway, searching for James’s room. She didn’t know which door belonged to the pirate captain, though.
She could just hear Lady Lucas exclaim in horror: You’re ruined! She was ruined if she didn’t convince James to keep her secret. With the alarming thought in mind, she was prepared to open random doors in her desperate search. However, a set of ornate pocket doors snagged her attention.
The sturdy panels carved with intricate jungle motifs confirmed she had found the captain’s room at last. She skirted to the end of the corridor, convinced she had located the right room, for the doors were the most prestigious of the lot. She suspected only the high-ranking captain would get such a glorious bedchamber.
She stopped in front of the imposing doors. Her pulse rapped quickly. She steadied her breath and composed her features. He would not be pleased to see her in his bedroom uninvited. But she wasn’t going to let the scoundrel rule her senses anymore. It was intolerable to think he might reveal her true identity, her sordid past. She couldn’t stomach the twisting dread that he might oust her from polite society with one wicked word.
Sophia reached for the door latch, her hand shaky. She girded herself for a heated confrontation. She was disappointed to find the room empty.
Where was the devil?
She stepped inside the apartment. There were lit candles in the room. She examined her surroundings. Perhaps she was in the wrong space, after all?
But one look at the massive bed—and stylish, six-foot-high headboard—and she suspected she had the right room.
Softly she approached the bed. A disturbing longing gripped her heart at the sight of the rumpled bedsheets: an improper desire to tousle the linens even more, soak them with sweat.
She arched her spine, pressed her lips to one of the pillows—and breathed deep.
She closed her eyes. She was in James’s room, she was sure.
She rebuked herself for being so foolish, for feeling such trite emotions. Let the memory of his heady scent burn and rot—alongside him.
Sophia heard a soft rustle. She looked across the room and spotted the glass case. In the shadows she detected the slight movement, but otherwise failed to identify the creature.
In faint steps she advanced, and peered into the glass.
“I see you’ve met Sophia.”
She gasped quietly. She searched for him in the room with her eyes, but he was elusive. She then sensed his stare coming from the adjoining dressing room.
He was in shadow, but his figure was still easy to make out, so tall and robust.
Her heart beat swiftly. She had to curl her fingers more tightly around the box to prevent the rogue from seeing them tremble.
Slowly he approached her.
She quickly stifled the horde of unwelcome feelings that stormed her breast. The senses in her fingers, her spine, the tip of her tongue responded to the man’s steady advance with characteristic delight. She tried to stomp away the treacherous desire. She failed miserably.
Why did he have to be so sinfully handsome? Why did he have to appear so bloody tempting in the candlelight?
It was sorcery, the way he snagged her every wit, making her dizzy with desire. She had no other word to describe the enigmatic pull he had over her senses…Sophia?
She glanced at the glass case once more…inside was a Jamaican yellow boa.
The blood throbbed in her head. He had named the snake Sophia?
The dark thought quickly doused her burning passions. She glared at the pirate captain with venom. The yellow boa wasn’t poisonous—but she was.
James circled her before he paused and looked into the aquarium. “I found Sophia on the island seven years ago. She was wrapped around a branch outside our bedroom window.”
How charming!
The pulsing pressure in her head worsened the more he gazed at the caged creature with tender regard.
She pinched her lips. She was here to negotiate with the bounder, to bring an end to their war of wills. She wouldn’t let him tempt her into another doomed row.
“What are you doing here, Sophia?”
He looked away from the snake and set his eyes on her, his expression dark.
She shivered. “I need to speak with you.”
She gasped as he pushed her against the wall. Not too hard. But he caged her firmly with his body—and his sensual blue eyes.
Dark locks framed his seductive expression. Loose from the queue, the long tendrils touched his shoulders. He had a smattering of silver at his temples, but he was still as sexy and fit as she remembered. She wanted to curse him for that.
An ache brewed deep in her belly as she stared at the man’s lush lips, the memory of their heated kiss the other night filling her skull, making her other senses tremble in want.
She took in a deep breath to feel his long, thick fingers sink between her breasts. The hot strokes tickled, and she sighed inwardly as he rummaged through her bodice, searching.
At last she heard the soft hiss as the blade rubbed against the sheath. He removed the knife and pierced the wall high above her head.
“Now we can talk.”
She glanced up to see the embedded blade, out of reach. She was dazed. Now they could talk? When she was defenseless? The beast!
She gathered her wits and noted the cut on his chin, the slight swelling around the wound. She took great pleasure in the mark she had made. But she could not afford to be vindictive anymore. He would only resist her request for a truce even more.
He let her go and she swiftly skirted to a nearby chair. She was breathless. Her skin still burned with the echo of his touch.
The man had a fierce hold over her mind. On the island it had attracted her, the distracting energy he possessed. Excited her, even. But here in London it was a dangerous game to be influenced by the wicked pirate. One simple look or gesture indicating an inappropriate attachment to the man, and her dream of becoming a respectable wife would fizzle away.
She took a seat and mustered a dignified pose. Lady Lucas had instructed her to keep her back straight and h
er shoulders down and her hands in her lap.
He appeared annoyed to see her acting in such a proper, ladylike manner, though. She noted the way his nostrils flared: a sign he wasn’t pleased.
“Why did you come to my room, Sophia?”
He took a seat opposite her and stretched out his long legs. His bare toes came perilously close to touching her boots, and she tucked her footwear another inch under her seat.
“You left me waiting in the parlor,” she said in a slightly flustered voice.
“I was getting dressed.”
She withheld a snort. It had taken him a quarter of an hour to don a pair of trousers and a shirt? A shirt he had yet to button? A shirt that revealed his strapping muscles and dark chest hair?
“Well?” he said in a lazy manner. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
She glanced away from the man’s admirable physique, looked into his eyes with purpose. “We need to talk about the past.”
He lifted a dark brow. “Do we?”
She clasped her hands more firmly around the box, resisting the impulse to quarrel. “I want you to promise me you will not reveal our island affair.”
Slowly he laced his fingers together and rested them across his midriff. “And why should I do that?”
“So I don’t out you as Black Hawk.”
A small smile touched his lips. “You won’t betray me, Sophia.”
She ignored the sultry way he said her name. “Don’t be so sure of that. If you ruin my plan to marry the earl, I will seek revenge…I’ve changed, Black Hawk.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “You think to threaten me again? That did not work so well for you the other night.”
Would you like me to confess my sins, Sophia? Would you like me to reveal my transgressions…with you?
She shivered again at the memory. He was right. She was letting the conversation get away from her. If she threatened him with betrayal, he would only threaten her with it in return. And what point would that serve?
She took in a deep breath, then slowly skimmed her fingers around the edges of the box. “Shall we play a game?”
He lifted a sooty brow. “Are you sure you want to play with me, sweetheart? You might lose.”
She dismissed the tremors that rolled along her spine. She might lose, true. But what other choice did she have? It was the only way to settle their dispute. It was the only way they had ever settled a dispute in the past.
“I’m willing to take the chance,” she said. But her rampant heartbeats belied her steady voice.
He pointed toward the empty table beside the window.
Quietly she approached the piece of handsome furniture and set the elegant box in the center. She snapped the gold lock and lifted the lid, revealing the chessboard.
James took the seat opposite her and collected the players. He arranged the pieces in the proper starting positions. “Ladies first.”
She removed her mantle and flexed her shaky fingers under the table to hide her discomfort. She had not played the game in years, not since she had parted from James. And sitting across from the blackguard now was a giddy distraction.
But one thought about her future, dashed to bits if she failed, and her scattered wits gathered in order.
She moved the ivory pawn one square.
He remained quiet, his eyes hot and hard—and centered on her. At length he pushed a jade piece forward. “I never did thank you for the beautiful timepiece.” He lowered his gaze to the board and said in a blasé manner: “I still have the pieces somewhere.”
Slowly she raised her eyes and said with an equal air of indifference: “You’re welcome.”
She noticed the man’s chest muscles stiffen under his parted shirt. If he intended to intimidate her, she was prepared to stand her ground. She had no regrets in leaving him. Or even the manner in which she had deserted him. He had deserved the cold farewell, the biting inscription on the timepiece. Though she was sorry to hear it was damaged. It truly had been a beautiful watch.
“Does the earl know you’re not a virgin?” he said in a low voice.
Her heart missed a beat. “No.”
“Don’t you think it wicked to deceive the man?”
“No.”
He lifted his eyes and glared at her. “I think it very cruel of you, Sophia.”
She set the ivory knight on the board with a distinct thump. “What is very cruel of me?”
“Fooling the intended groom.” He moved another player. “Imagine the poor man’s dismay to discover his bride’s flower plucked by another man.”
She snorted at the euphemism. “Imagine your crew’s dismay to hear you refer to a woman’s quim as a flower.”
For the first time since their stormy reunion, he offered her a genuine smile—and it shook her to her bones.
“You’re a lady now, Sophia. I didn’t want to offend you with my crude language.”
“Then be a true gentleman and forfeit the chess game; promise me you will keep our past affair a secret.”
He captured a pawn. “I don’t think so.”
She curbed the impulse to slam her fist on the table. He’d nabbed a player already. She stared at the board. Her brain was starting to ache with dread.
“You’re skirting the issue, sweetheart.”
“Am I?” she said in a flippant manner. She eyed the opportunity and moved her knight. She captured his pawn with glee.
He didn’t seem too disturbed, for the match was still young. “The earl likes treasures, after all. You’ve seen the gold and jewels and garish artwork in his house.”
She shrugged. “He can have my money. That’s treasure enough.”
He chuckled softly. “Men like other things in life besides money.”
She eyed him sharply. “Like flowers?”
He touched the top of his lip with the tip of his tongue. “Hmm…sweet-smelling flowers.”
It was a faint gesture, but it captured her mind in a wicked hold. She stiffened, ached with the memory of his kisses, his tongue on her flesh…inside her flesh.
Her bones rattled with a hard quiver. “If it means so damn much, I’ll fake my virginity.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’ll have to do,” she huffed.
His expression darkened. “It’s the principle of the matter.”
Damn the blackguard and his distracting prattle about principles! She wasn’t a fool. Virginity in a woman was a prized commodity among the respectable members of society. Hence she intended to fake her squeamish cries, her maidenly airs.
However, she resented the deceit. She had no moral qualm with the treachery, but she believed the pretense unnecessary. Every day a woman exchanged her dowry for a man’s title. It was a practical, fair trade in her opinion. Insincere professions of poetic love? Virginal blood? It was all a nuisance…but she couldn’t admit the truth to anyone else but James. She had to keep quiet about her rebellious thoughts in polite society.
“You’re one to speak of principle,” she charged.
“I’ve retired my wicked ways.”
“Not according to this morning’s paper.”
“A misprint, I assure you.”
She humphed.
James moved another player. “What about an heir?”
Sophia frowned. “What about an heir?”
“I’m sure the earl will want one…and you’re barren.”
She twisted her lips, resisting the impulse to scratch out the black devil’s eyes. “And this displeases you? My being barren never bothered you on the island.”
He snorted. “I don’t want brats…but do you really think the earl will be pleased to discover his wife is unfruitful?”
She quieted the swift, hard beats of her heart with a few measured breaths. She was barren, that much was true. She had never conceived a babe during her affair with James. She wasn’t distraught at the thought of being childless. Far from it, in truth. She had no desire to be a mother. However, th
e pirate lord raised an exasperating—yet sound—point: What would the earl think to learn she was sterile?
“The earl has a sister,” she said with confidence, quashing the tremors in her belly. “Lady Rosamond will marry well and produce an heir. The earl’s estate will be secured.”
“I see.”
James nabbed her knight.
Damn him!
“Must you talk, Black Hawk?”
“Am I disturbing your concentration? My apologies. I won’t say another word.”
And the bloody cutthroat was true to his word. The remainder of the game was played out in silence. An hour later, exhausted, Sophia sensed her heart flutter as she spotted the weakness on the board.
Her brain throbbed. She scanned all the remaining pieces to make sure she wasn’t imagining their positions before she moved the queen forward to corner the jade king.
“Checkmate,” she whispered.
James frowned. He stared at the board for a few moments before he lifted his own somnolent eyes to meet hers. “You win, sweetheart…ask anything of me you wish.”
She bristled at the expression. She remembered the last time they had played chess, the last time she had heard him say those words:
Ask anything of me you wish.
Marry me, she had asked him—only to be rebuffed.
She dismissed the smarting pain in her breast. “Promise me you will not reveal our past to anyone.”
He looked at her for a good few seconds before he said, “I promise.”
Her breastbone shuddered with relief…but the joy was tempered by one haunting thought.
“You seem uncertain,” he said darkly. “Do you think the barbarian too dishonorable to respect a challenge loss?”
She looked at him pointedly. “You dishonored it once before.”
His lips twitched. “My word is not enough, then? You really have changed,” he said in a soft and chastising manner. “But so have I.”
She ignored the contempt in his voice. Let him huff at the “change” in her all he liked, she didn’t care. She had suffered enough hardship at the man’s hands to feel indifferent to his pompous scorn. All she wanted was his assurance, his real assurance he would keep quiet about the past.
The Infamous Rogue Page 5