James shifted his eyes to the timepiece, too, thinking about the fob watch Sophia had gifted him seven years ago.
“Concentrate,” said the doctor. “Look into the watch…fall deeply into the watch.”
James glared at the radiant timepiece in the firelight. He remembered the ticking sound coming from the watch Sophia had given him on the island. He remembered returning to the empty plantation house, the small box sitting on the windowsill. He remembered admiring the fine timepiece, the polished glass face, the sleek hands…and then reading the elegant inscription on the back of the watch: May you rot in everlasting hell.
“Close your eyes,” said the doctor.
James closed his eyes.
“Take a deep breath.”
James breathed in a slow and heavy breath.
“Concentrate on the pain.”
He gripped the cold gold between his fingers, knuckles white, blood pounding in his ears. He let out a robust cry before he smashed the watch against the wall.
“Think deeply about the pain. Let it fill your mind, your soul.”
He glared at the damaged timepiece on the ground, imagined grinding it into the floorboards. But he crouched beside it instead and started to pick up the pieces.
“Now I want you to stop thinking about the pain. Think about a pleasant memory instead.”
James watched the woman from afar. So lovely. More lovely than any of the delicate blooms in the garden. She was kneeling, her bare toes buried in the moist soil. She cared for the garden, for him with such passion. And it welled inside him, the profound and stirring sentiment…
I love you, Sophia.
“I want you to feel at peace…now open your eyes.”
James opened his eyes, bewildered.
“How do you feel?” said the doctor.
“Wonderful,” said Sophia. “My headache is gone.”
James thought the bones in his breast about to snap. Blood throbbed in his head under the crushing pressure of the haunting memory. He pressed his fingers to the desperate pounding at his temples, crushing the pulsing nerves into submission.
The pain was alive and deep and burning in his belly. The old wound bled without mercy, filling him, drowning him.
A crescendo of applause.
“Bravo, Dr. Crombie!” cheered Rosamond. “That was magnificent.”
“Yes, well done,” praised the earl.
The doctor beamed. “It was my pleasure to be of service.”
James swallowed the bitter bile that was churning in his belly, rising in his throat. What service? The blasted healer had ripped him apart. He was in greater agony now than he had been on the night of the earl’s ball—on the night he had reunited with Sophia.
James glared at the coterie swarming around the “cured” Miss Dawson, and he vowed the witch would not get the better of him—ever again.
Chapter 9
“Mesmerism is so fascinating…is your headache truly cured, my dear?”
Sophia eyed the steam rising from the bath in the adjoining room. She longed to slip under the balmy water and let the heat ease her stiff muscles and sore temperament. But Lady Lucas was filled with vivacious energy. Sophia suspected she might not reach the warm pool before it cooled.
“Yes, Lady Lucas.” She sighed. “I’m fine.”
Sophia was wearing a silk wrapper, her hair pinned. She was sitting on the bed as the matron strutted across the room in quick and lively steps. But Sophia wasn’t really fine. She wasn’t suffering from a headache…but a throbbing in her bones that refused to cease. A pity the physician’s performance hadn’t put her in a trance and cured her ailments. Perhaps the hot bath would fare better in that regard—if she ever reached it.
“The earl shows you great affection, my dear.”
Sophia’s heart swelled. “Do you really think so?”
“Oh yes. Do you see how he cares for your needs? He went to fetch the physician as soon as you injured your ankle. And tonight he even urged the doctor to heal your headache.” The woman eyed the bright patterned rug as she paced. “Mark my words, Miss Dawson. The earl is very much in love with you.”
Sophia had thought the same thing. It was a comfort to hear the matron express a similar conclusion. It proved she was not imagining the whole courtship…as the black devil had wanted her to believe.
The dark and striking image of Black Hawk filled Sophia’s head. She remembered him standing on the balcony, strapping arms folded. He had concealed his fingers from her. The fingers that had caused her so much anguish earlier in the day. The fingers that still disturbed her senses and tortured her mind.
She dismissed the man’s mesmerizing features from her thoughts. She reflected on the earl instead.
Sophia sensed the tingling sensation in her fingertips. There was a thickness in the air, making it hard to breathe, and she took in a deep breath to satisfy her greedy lungs. Soon she would be the next Countess Baine. The thought put her in a near tizzy, for she was so close to achieving her dream. She even tasted the air of respectability in the opulent setting surrounding her. The lavish drapery and fine furnishings and bright carpeting reflected the tastes of a proper lady: one she was very much determined to become.
“If only the barbarian wasn’t here,” griped the matron.
Sophia’s heart cramped. What about the barbarian? He was a wicked soul, irredeemable. Had he misbehaved? Had he said something foul to Lady Lucas?
“How dare he force his attention on you, Miss Dawson. And right in front of the earl!”
Sophia was alarmed. Had the earl witnessed her exchange with the captain on the terrace? Had he observed the ruthless brigand whisper into her ear?
“What do you mean?” she said, parched.
“He handled you like an ogre this morning.” The matron sniffed. “It was so distasteful. You must have suffered sorely, my dear.”
Sophia sighed. She had suffered, yes. She suffered still. It was seared in her memory, his adroit fingers working under her skirts, teasing her flesh until she trembled with need. But she would endure the discomfort, the restless energy teeming inside her. She would not risk betraying him as a rogue; the truth might expose her own infamous past.
“But I suppose we must be cordial with the captain,” said the matron. “The earl’s befriended the barbarian.”
An oddity, that. But Sophia supposed the earl was just being hospitable. The captain had saved his sister from a disgraceful fall, after all. It stood to reason the man would be so affable and courteous.
“Let us forget about the barbarian, Miss Dawson.”
A sound idea. She was fagged. The day had boasted both successes and setbacks. She was one step closer to becoming the next countess. However, each step proved more troublesome with Black Hawk at her heels. She wanted to rest in the warm and inviting water and forget about her grueling ordeal for a few blissful minutes.
“The earl will propose to you soon. I can sense it.”
But the matron’s assured words piqued Sophia’s interest once more. She put aside the thought of a bath and relished the humming joy swelling in her bosom. “He will?”
“Oh yes.”
“When?”
“Patience, my dear. The earl is a prudent man.” She muttered, “Perhaps too prudent.”
“How do you mean?”
“Prudence is a virtue…but it can lead to an indecisive nature. The earl might be struggling with the right thing to do: to marry you or not to marry you. We must plan our next move carefully. We must encourage the man to propose. What are our plans for tomorrow?”
“I think the party is going to the park for an afternoon of boating. The earl’s sister is organizing a waterside picnic, too.”
“Hmm.” The matron twisted her lips in thought. “We will all be at the picnic, so there isn’t much chance of him proposing to you there…but a boat ride sounds romantic. We must get you and the earl alone in a rowboat. He will surely ask for your hand then.”
There w
as a quiver of doubt in Sophia’s breast. “I was alone with the earl tonight. We were together on the terrace. He did not propose, however.”
“Drat!” But then the matron paused and eyed her charge. “You were alone with the earl tonight?”
“Briefly.” She was swift to impart, “He was a perfect gentleman.”
The older woman’s lips puckered. “I trust he was; the earl is not a rogue.”
Unlike Black Hawk. The pirate lord had come upon her shortly after the earl. And he was a rogue, with his sinful touch and wicked words. She was woozy just thinking about their encounter.
“You must never put yourself in a questionable position, Miss Dawson.”
Sophia’s sensual thoughts snapped. “Yes, Lady Lucas.”
“It is one thing to sail with the earl during the day and in full public view. However, you mustn’t be alone with him in the dark, even for a moment. It might ruin your reputation.”
Sophia’s heart started to thud. What then would being alone with Black Hawk do to her reputation? Smash it beyond recognition, she supposed. The very thought was chilling, and she shuddered.
“I understand, Lady Lucas.”
The matron nodded. “Lord Baine is an honorable man. Even if a scandal had resulted from the encounter, I suspect the man would’ve immediately proposed to save your good name. He is not the sort to take initiative, but if pushed…”
“What is it, Lady Lucas?”
“That’s it!”
Sophia pinched her brows. “What’s it?”
“We will push the earl.”
“Off the boat?”
The woman looked aghast. “No, my dear. We will push the earl to propose.”
“How?”
“We will use Captain Hawkins to make the earl jealous.”
Sophia’s heart dropped. She trembled at the thought of using the captain. She trembled at the thought of what he might do to her “good name” if he ever discovered the ploy. “But you said scandal will ruin—”
“Yes. Yes. Scandal will ruin a young lady’s reputation. But we will not cause a scandal, my dear.”
“Then what will we do?”
“It’s obvious the captain is smitten with you.”
Blood throbbed in her veins. “It is?”
“He admires you all the time.”
Sophia did her utmost to ignore the brigand in public. Did he really admire her “all the time”? Something stirred in her heart at the thought. Something suspiciously akin to sentimentality. She quickly stomped the feeling dead. The blackguard wasn’t smitten with her. He just wanted to make her miserable with his piercing stare, unnerve her.
“Do you remember what Lady Rosamond said the other night?”
Sophia’s head was unfortunately filled with thoughts about Black Hawk; there was room for little else. “No.”
“‘Let the barbarian admire you from afar,’ she had said. And so you will. The more the captain admires you, the more the earl will see you are worthy of admiration. Jealousy can be a powerful motivator.”
Sophia wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. She pressed her fingers to her breast to quiet the quick bangs of her heart.
“Come.” The matron took her by the hand and dragged her off the bed. “We must prepare the dress you will wear tomorrow. We should pick another sparkling jewel to match the outfit, too. Baubles capture a man’s interest.”
After another few minutes the matron had decided upon the proper attire, and Sophia had consented to the garb and jewels selected. At last she was alone in the bedchamber.
She rubbed her brow, thinking about tomorrow—and using Black Hawk to make the earl jealous. The matron was adamant the scheme would work. But she wasn’t privy to the past between her charge and the captain. The woman would balk if she ever discovered Sophia’s sinful affair with the pirate. She would do everything in her power to keep her and the brigand apart then. The matron might even dismiss Sophia from her sight entirely. But she would not suggest Sophia cross swords with the devil, that much was for sure.
Sophia closed her eyes. She really was getting a headache now.
She moved toward the adjoining room. The ceramic tiles were cold beneath her warm feet. A sharp memory returned: cool cedar planking under her bare toes.
Sophia shrugged off the reflection as she shrugged off the silk wrapper. The garment slipped silently to the floor.
She dipped her hand in the water, testing the temperature. It was warm, but not hot. She made a grimace. Still, she resigned herself to a tepid bath and stepped into the tub.
Quickly her bones sighed. Stiff muscles loosened, too. She watched the dreamy candlelight dance across the wall and lull her senses…but soon a distinct throbbing distracted her from the respite.
Sophia glanced at her leg. The water was still, and she looked at the marks on her outer thigh.
Her leg surfaced. She pressed her knee just under her chin to better examine the scratches.
The skin was flushed, the nail marks a deep red and glossy from the water. She eyed the wound, stinging. Her thoughts pounded in her head, her mind crowded with sensations and memories.
The tub quickly morphed into James; it cradled her as he had cradled her. The water kissed her skin in every place, embracing her.
Sophia skimmed her fingertips lightly across the scratches. Back and forth she stroked the swelling marks, thinking about James. Thinking about the man’s touch in the woods…on the terrace. Such small touches, so short in pleasure. But the impressions lingered afterward.
Sophia slipped her leg beneath the water’s pristine surface again. She rested her head against the tub, breathed deep to quash the heat stirring in her belly. But the pirate lord’s damnable caress still haunted her thoughts, her flesh. His fingers still moved over her body and tortured her senses.
Sophia pressed her hand against her belly. The muscles bounced. She was tight. Even the warm water failed to soothe her, to douse the fire in her blood.
Slowly she slipped her hand between her breasts. She rubbed the bone there. Softly at first. Then with more vigor.
She splayed her fingers…reached for her nipples. There she ached. There the nerves thrummed with need and begged for satisfaction.
Sophia brushed her nipple with the pad of her thumb. Her heart beat wild and sure under the ministrations. The sore nub puckered and stretched under her quick and hard strokes. She rubbed and rubbed, searching for release. The tip of her breast was so tender, painfully so.
She bit her bottom lip hard to quell the groan rising in her throat. She moved in the water, undulated her buttocks in the pool. Small waves appeared, lapped against her swelling breasts.
She gasped as the pressure and tenderness settled between her thighs. She cursed the brigand for putting her in such a raw and burning state. Cursed him to hell.
“Oh, James!”
James stood beside the window, transfixed.
He braced his hands against the frame, arms outstretched. The glass was open. The breeze whisked inside the room. Curtains quivered. Candlelight flickered.
But he remained still.
Perfectly still.
Across the courtyard was another window. Inside the candle flames danced. Something else danced, too.
Shadows.
James watched the shadows…he watched the naked woman inside the room making the shadows.
He had aroused her. And the satisfaction in his blood was keen. The pain was also intense. The pain he had for her. The ache.
She slipped her hand between her breasts. It was the only part of her he could see from his vantage point. But then…
The hungry growl in his belly slowly turned into a howl as he observed her hand dip below the water.
He imagined her as she tickled her quim. She gasped his name; he heard the begging words in his head.
James touched the scratches at the back of his neck. He spread his fingers apart to match the spacing and stroked the wounds, the marks she had made on him.
He breathed the name like a spell, a curse. She was a witch. She ensnared him with her need, called to him with her desire.
But he would not come to her. He would not give her the pleasure she craved. If she wanted his touch, she would have to come to him—and beg for it.
Chapter 10
Sophia strolled between the rows of great oak trees lining the thoroughfare. It was a quaint park, well manicured. The cooing birds, the soft patter of the water were idyllic. The sounds quieted the fierce storm in her breast.
She had searched for satisfaction last night, searched for pleasure. But her own fingers hadn’t smothered the passion in her blood. Not all of it. Embers of longing still burned in her belly.
“Isn’t it a lovely day, Miss Dawson?”
Sophia moved through the unnatural beauty of the landscape, so symmetrical and tame. She moved through it like a shadow in a dream.
“Yes, very lovely.”
She was exploring the grounds with Imogen. The earl and captain had yet to join the party. The men had gone horseback riding. And Sophia wasn’t prepared to endure the company of so many ladies alone. There was a harmony in the air when the gentlemen were present. The ladies tended to keep their sharp tongues somewhat dull.
“I’d like to think we’re friends, Imogen.”
The woman smiled. “So would I.”
“Then please call me Sophia.”
Imogen appeared sheepish. “I must admit, I don’t make friends easily.”
Sophia glanced at her. The young woman wasn’t like the other ladies. She didn’t have a quick tongue. How had she befriended such a posh brood?
“How long have you been friends with Lady Rosamond?” said Sophia.
“For three years.”
“And you met her at finishing school?”
“Oh no! I didn’t have the means to attend the best finishing school in Switzerland. I still don’t. Mondie and I met through our parents. My father offered the late earl financial advice.”
“I see.”
“Mondie befriended me.”
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