The Infamous Rogue

by The Infamous Rogue (lit)

  “She’s still belowdecks.”

  “The devil she is; I saw her skirt off.”

  “Not Cora.”

  “Then who?”

  James hissed, “Sophia.”

  William also lowered his voice. “What is she doing here?”

  “Never mind,” he growled. “Head back for port.”

  “No.”

  James bristled. “What?”

  “We’re on a mission, Captain. If we come and go from port all night, the impostors will think something is amiss and won’t follow us.”

  “She can’t stay here!”

  “You should have thought of that before you sneaked her onboard.”

  The muscle in his cheek twitched. “She sneaked onboard.”

  “Then keep her quiet and locked in your cabin.”

  James imagined Sophia locked in his cabin, naked in his bed. He imagined the ship undulating as he rocked between her thighs in harmony.

  “Are you crazy?” James charged.

  “Me? You have your mistress stored aboard ship. You’re the one who’s crazy.”

  “She is not my mistress.”

  “Then what is she?”

  She was a witch. She haunted him. She tortured him. She made his life even more miserable than it already was, for the memory of their past, and heated, affair was always at the forefront of his mind.

  “Don’t tell the crew the woman’s here. The men will think it bad luck.” William was firm: “But we’re not turning back.”

  “I am the captain.”

  “You’re not acting like one.”

  James saw red. “I can put you in the brig for that insubordination.”

  “Go ahead. Put me in chains. Return to port. What will the crew think? The impostors?”

  “I don’t give a damn what anybody thinks!”

  “That’s your problem; that’s always been your problem. A little conciliation can make your life a lot easier, James.”

  He hardened. “What did you call me?”

  “I mean Captain. Damn it, we have a mission—”

  “I know! But she’s a woman. It’s too dangerous for her to be here.”

  “She’s familiar with a gun battle at sea. She once sailed aboard her father’s pirate ship, remember? She’ll be fine.”

  Blood pounded in James’s skull. He wanted to crush something…like his brother’s head.

  James grabbed the wheel to prevent William from keeping control. “If you ever give an order without my approval again, I’ll drop you into the brig with the rats and let you rot. Is that clear?”

  “Aye, Captain,” he said stiffly.

  Chapter 14

  Sophia sat on the bed.

  Two days at sea. Two miserable days at sea. She wasn’t nauseous from the swelling waters, but sick at heart. What was she going to do? How was she going to make things right back in England?

  She pressed her legs against her breasts, set her chin on her knees. She was trapped aboard the Bonny Meg, secured in the captain’s cabin. How long would the mission last? A fortnight? A month?

  She should never have followed the black devil back to his ship. Curse him for riling her senses so! She wouldn’t be in this mess then.

  She sighed. Lady Lucas would have an apoplexy. Perhaps the matron had already had one. Had she summoned the authorities to search for her missing charge? Had she asked the earl for assistance?

  The earl. What would he think to learn his intended bride was lost? That she was off gallivanting with a bloody cutthroat?

  “Arrgh!”

  Sophia slammed her fists against the bedding. She was restless. Bored. She wanted to swim back to England, to make things right with the earl and Lady Lucas.

  Sophia was determined to keep her misadventure a secret. No one would ever know what had transpired between her and Black Hawk. But what would they think about her disappearance?

  Perhaps she was fretting too much. Lady Lucas was a savvy woman. She might tell the earl her charge was “ill” and recuperating, that she wasn’t seeing visitors or attending parties. And surely the matron wouldn’t summon the authorities, creating a stir? She would set about a clandestine search for her charge, wouldn’t she?

  The damage to Sophia’s reputation might not be so great. A missing young woman was always cause for speculation. However, if Lady Lucas remained calm and didn’t voice her worries in public, Sophia might come out of this mishap without social scars.

  She curled her arms around her knees. There was only one real way to determine the damage to her reputation: she had to return to England and confront the ton.

  She shuddered. Thoughts of Imogen filled her head. Gruesome thoughts. The memory of the woman’s suffering, her cruel fate still swirled in her skull.

  You could have saved her!

  Unwelcome tears welled in her eyes and she blinked to keep them back. Could she have saved Imogen as the boorish captain had charged? She would never know. Fear had crippled her. And her own deep desire to be a countess had prevented her from even trying to offer the girl a saving hand.

  And that haunted her.

  The cabin door opened.

  Black Hawk entered the space. He filled the room with his robust presence. He was dressed in a white shirt, the fabric at his collar parted. The laces dangled, revealing the tufts of dark hair smattered across his strapping chest.

  She licked her lips. He had the shirt tucked into his black trousers. Tight trousers. The material hugged his thick legs, his hips…

  The swelling muscle between his legs made her heart quiver with longing. She tamped the wild passion into the pit of her soul. He still bewitched her mind. He still stirred her blood. She hated him for it. She hated herself even more for having the feelings a’tall.

  He paused to look at her. Blue eyes, so riveting, fixed firmly on her, making her hot and needful—of him.

  Could he hear her thoughts? See into her heart? He looked at her as though he could. She felt exposed. She wasn’t naked. She was dressed in a shift. She had removed the formal frock, the jewelry to keep the articles from being wrinkled or broken. But even the flimsy white shift seemed too heavy, too rough against her skin. She wanted to take off the chafing garment. She squirmed as she imagined the pirate lord’s warm, wet body pressed against her sweaty flesh.

  She closed her eyes and shuddered. The damnable rogue! She needed to cut out his eyes. The haunting blue pools always put her wits in disorder.

  James closed the door and headed for the small table in the corner of the room. The top was slanted, the papers and charts pinned to the surface. He flipped through a few sheets; she heard the rustling.

  She humphed. That was the other reason she wasn’t wearing stiff and proper attire; she was alone. Why be uncomfortable? She didn’t associate with the crew or the pirate lord. She spent most of her time milling around the captain’s quarters. The blackguard ignored her. He stayed out of the cabin during the daylight hours. In the evening he returned to the room to sleep in the hammock while she stayed in the bed. He said not a word to her. He didn’t touch her, either…He only looked at her with those seductive eyes.

  “What did you do with Sophia?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  The man’s voice was like a low boom in the small space. It made her shiver. “Sophia. The snake. I thought she didn’t like to sleep alone. Did you give her to your sister?”

  James snorted and looked back at the papers. “No. She sleeps with the butler when we’re all at sea. Sometimes I even take her with me. She takes care of the rats aboard ship.”

  Sophia made a moue. She hated that damn snake. She wished it, too, would drown. But the snake could swim, she suspected. Curse it!

  “Why are you crying?”

  Was she crying? Sophia wiped her cheeks. There was a single tear there, a lone drop of moisture she had failed to stave off. She rubbed and rubbed until her skin ached. She wasn’t the maudlin sort.

  “I don’t want t
o talk about it,” she said.

  He was quiet for a short while, mulling over papers. Then: “I didn’t give the order to set sail with you onboard.”

  She humphed. “Aren’t you the captain?”

  He gripped the edge of the table. “I didn’t give the order.”

  She looked at him. He was so big. He had so much energy. He had so much strength. The blood moving through his veins pulsed with life. A life she sensed. A life she had once craved on the island.

  Once upon a time, she had longed for the man every night he was away at sea. She had rejoiced every time the Bonny Meg had moored—and he had come for her. It had been more than pleasure, their affair. It had been more than lust…for her. But he had only wanted an island mistress.

  Whore.

  She wasn’t fit to be his wife then. Now he wanted to let her know he had not devastated her? That he had not set sail with her onboard to ruin her reputation? That he cared?

  She snorted inwardly.

  He stiffened.

  He had sensed her cynicism. Lush lips thinned as he stared at her. Eyes slanted. The beautiful blue pools darkened—and burned.

  He approached the bed.

  She bristled.

  A warmth seeped into her belly: a familiar heat. That look in his eyes! She remembered that look.

  Hunger.

  He was always so hungry after a long voyage at sea…hungry for her.

  It’s good to see you, sweetheart.

  She shivered.

  But the wily cutthroat paused next to the sturdy sea chest instead. He flipped the lid, the roof landing on the bed with a thump, and rummaged.

  She glared at him, pinched her lips together. He had rattled her senses, tossed her wits about with that scorching look.

  For naught.

  He had wanted to upset her, was all.

  Slowly she slipped her foot across the bedding and reached for the lid with her toes. It wasn’t a very heavy sea chest. It was constructed from wicker with canvas stretched across the frame. Still it was cumbersome. She angled her toes just under the clasp—before she flicked her foot and sent the roof crashing.

  “Blimey!”

  James curled his fingers together, the appendages red and swelling.

  He glared at her.

  “Oops.” She smiled. “Sorry about that…my foot slipped.”

  She started to retract her leg. He grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her roughly toward him.

  Sophia gasped as her arse scraped across the linen. The friction warmed her buttocks. She stopped at the edge of the bed, heart pounding. Skirt rucked up to her belly, bottom hanging precariously, she was vulnerable and exposed.

  The way he liked it.

  The way she liked it.

  “You bloody witch.”

  James pressed his knee against the sea chest and curled his heavy body over her like a storm cloud. She was captivated by the man’s thunderous expression. It stirred her blood to see the heat in his eyes—for her.

  He took her leg and wrapped it around his hip, pressing more and more of his weight against her quim as he settled between her legs.

  Sophia gasped again. Blood thumped through her veins. She took in a deep breath. Then another. Quick and hard.

  “Are you sure you want to break my fingers?” He slowly licked her lips with the tip of his tongue. “Are you sure you want to cripple me, so I can never touch you again?”

  Sophia moaned.

  He cupped her breast. It filled his large palm. She was hungry for breath as he kneaded the sensitive mound. The strength, the heat in his hand was pure torture. He moved his fingers in harmony with the waves. It was a lazy caress. But, oh, what a caress! It dazzled her senses.

  “Have you missed my touch?” he whispered hoarsely.

  He ripped the shift. She stiffened, pulse pounding. She grabbed his wrist. But he still slipped his stalwart fingers into her bodice and plumped her breast.

  Sophia whimpered. Cool air rushed over her nipple, taut and peeking through the hole. He darted his warm thumb across the hard nub and rubbed.

  Yes! Like that!

  She chewed her bottom lip as he stroked the nipple. It lengthened under his masterful touch. It ached. She ached. For him. So deep. So strong.

  Sophia closed her eyes. She reached for him with her hands. She reached for him with her lips…

  He pulled away from her.

  Not again!

  He was breathing hard. So was she. He was fighting…what? Her? He had a voracious sexual appetite. She remembered the wench prostrated at his feet. Sophia had interrupted him with his paramour. He was still unsatisfied. How much longer would he suffer? How much longer would he make her suffer?

  James opened the chest again.

  She seriously contemplated slamming the lid on his fingers once more.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said brusquely.

  She almost choked. She scooted back across the bed, pulled her skirt over her knees and covered her breast. “And what the devil is so important—”

  He yanked the Jolly Roger from the chest.

  Sophia stared at the skull and crossbones, the hourglass warning prey that time was running out for them.

  She blinked. “I thought you’d retired from piracy?”

  “I have.”

  “Then what are you doing with the flag?”

  He looked at her sharply. “There’s a ship tailing us. We’re about to be attacked.”

  Sophia wasn’t alarmed. The man had a lusty appetite for sex—and a good fight. Perhaps he wanted the other ship to attack? Perhaps he wanted another thrilling raid at sea? Cravats and coattails didn’t suit him.

  “Is it a navy vessel?” she wondered. “Is she here to apprehend you?”

  “No,” he said succinctly.

  “Are you going to rob her then?”

  “I’m going to sink her.”

  “Why?”

  He said darkly, “She’s my enemy.”

  Sophia shivered. She was his enemy, too. Would he sink her one day?

  “Why is she your enemy?” she said, breathless.

  “Do you remember the account in the paper about the pirates?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s been posing as the Bonny Meg, attacking other ships in my name. I can’t let her do that anymore.”

  Sophia’s eyes rounded. “You’re not really delivering cargo to America, are you? This was all a trap to lure the impostors out to sea.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So that’s your mission?” Sophia stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles. She folded her arms across her chest, too. She had tasted the smoke and blood of a sea battle before. She had endured the cannon’s wrath on her father’s pirate ship. She wasn’t worried about the skirmish, and with Black Hawk at the helm, she’d bet her fortune he’d come out the victor. So…“Why are you letting her chase you?”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. He then gathered his features, hard and inscrutable. “I don’t want to frighten her off. I want her to come closer before I hoist the flag and attack her. I want her to know the real Black Hawk destroyed her.”

  That was the coldhearted devil she remembered from the island. That was the vengeful brute she had encountered at the earl’s picnic—the very barbarian who might destroy her one day, too.

  He headed for the door. “Stay here, Sophia.”

  “I hope she sinks you first!”

  He paused, muscles stiff. “If anything happens to me, William knows you’re here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll take you home.”

  James left the cabin without sparing her another glance.

  Sophia humphed. She hoped the blackguard drowned. She hoped a cannonball smacked him straight in the belly; he deserved it.

  She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She napped…a minute later she jumped from the bed and started to pace.

  The cannons blasted. Footfalls pounded overhead. Men shouted for gunpowder. Smoke and sulfur se
eped into the hull, drifting through the ship and into the cabin space.

  Sophia sneezed. Water filled her eyes. She wasn’t crying, but the sting from the sulfur pinched her eyes and afflicted her vision.

  She had to squint to see the lock. She angled the blade through the keyhole, digging. “Open!”

  The door obeyed.

  The lock snapped.

  Sophia blinked. But she quickly smothered her wonder and slipped the knife back between her breasts before she scrambled to her feet.

  Slowly she opened the door and peeked into the corridor. Empty. Good. She didn’t want another pirate to see her, to know she was onboard. If her reputation wasn’t already ruined, one word uttered by a foxed tar in port would see to it that it was.

  Sophia sneaked through the passageway, her belly in a knot. She wasn’t seasick. She had sturdy sea legs. However, the muscles in her midriff ached. Ached with dread.

  She braced her hand against the wall for support as the ship lolled perilously. There was a ringing sound in her ears. Crackling drumbeats. The blasts resounded. One after another. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Sophia reached the stairs. In the violent upheavals, she grabbed the steps and ascended them like a ladder to keep her balance.

  She popped her head through the hatchway.

  Topside, dark clouds of ash and soot rolled across the deck. She choked back the fumes. The smoke was thick. It was hard to breathe—and see.

  Where is he?

  She was positioned astern, the length of the Bonny Meg stretching before her. She searched the deck. She searched for him.

  “Rake her!”

  Sophia’s heart thundered. She shifted her eyes to starboard. He was alive! So alive! Pinched nerves eased. Warmth rushed through her veins. She trembled. She was so weak. She had wasted so much energy fretting. It had been for naught. He was alive. He was still alive.

  James moved across the deck in harmony with the thrashing waves. He was one with the ship. Chaos stormed around him, but he ignored it. He cut through the smoke. He moved with confidence, avoiding hazards even with a wall of soot obstructing his view.

  The Bonny Meg belonged to him. Sophia sensed he’d move across the vessel with the same assured gait if he was blindfolded. He knew the ship so well. He was comfortable with her, too. If she dipped, he arched his body in the opposite direction to compensate. He maintained his balance. He never lost his footing. He was strong and in control. He was in his element. And Sophia was captivated.