The Infamous Rogue

by The Infamous Rogue (lit)

  Slowly the duchess returned her attention to Quincy. “And I trust you met many eligible ladies at the ball. Did you court any of them?”

  “Many,” the pup quipped, his mouth full of pheasant.

  The woman’s frown darkened. She whispered, “Don’t be a pig.”

  Quincy looked at her askance. He then brandished the cutlery. “I’m not.”

  The duchess blushed.

  Sophia glanced at her own plate again and mustered the will to partake in the fare before her hosts perceived something was amiss.

  The table was quiet for a moment. But then Quincy said in a slapdash manner, “James’s been having the most fun, though.”

  Sophia coughed.

  Mirabelle twitched.

  Quincy yelped. He reached under the table and massaged his leg. “Who keeps doing that?” He scowled. “I mean, James was at the ball and he went to a house party.”

  “He also attended the opera,” William offered dryly.

  “You’ve been busy, Captain Hawkins.” The duke was blasé. “Whenever did you find the time to pirate a passenger vessel, too?”

  Sophia looked across the table at James, who was glowering at William and his brother-in-law. But both the duke and the lieutenant were unmoved by the captain’s ominous glare. Perhaps they were well acquainted with the black devil’s hostility, for neither seemed perturbed by it.

  “Yes, about the raid at sea.” The duchess stared at her husband. “You read that report in the paper, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” he returned primly.

  She huffed. “Well, why didn’t you mention it to me?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “But the account was about my brothers.”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  The table quickly erupted in protest, the Hawkins brothers incensed at the insinuation that they aggrieved their sister with their scandalous ways.

  Sophia sighed and quietly moved the food across her plate with her fork, thinking about the first time she had dined with the brigands and her father.

  Quincy grimaced as he stared at his plate. “What is that?”

  “It’s Stinking Toes,” returned Sophia. “It’s an island delicacy.”

  Edmund slurped the sweet pulp from the fruit without protest.

  James glared at the fastidious pup. “Eat it, Quincy.”

  “But—”

  “Sophia prepared it,” from William. “Eat it, Quincy.”

  “Aye, but—”

  Patrick Dawson picked up the pistol beside his plate and aimed it at Quincy’s head. “Eat it.”

  Sophia smiled at the warm memory. She had always enjoyed supper on the island with her father and the Hawkins brothers. Informal, even droll, at times, it had always been one of her favorite activities, for she had liked cooking for them and then sharing the meal with them. She missed the camaraderie, the familial rapport.

  The table was still embroiled in a heated discussion. Sophia lifted her eyes and glanced at the pirate captain, who was watching her thoughtfully.

  Her smile fell. She had let down her guard for a moment. After reflecting upon the past, she had relaxed about her present predicament. It was clear to her now that the duke and duchess, the Hawkins brothers had no desire to torment her or even make her feel uncomfortable. The family was irreverent, even cheeky. It was in their nature. She had nothing to worry about…except for James.

  She had to protect her heart from the ruthless devil, for he was still out to make her suffer, she was sure.

  Chapter 19

  Sophia strolled along the pebbled walkway. It was a brisk morning. The sweltering heat of summer was slowly fading away. She wasn’t accustomed to the cooling temperatures. She was wearing a spencer. The black velvet material protected her bust from the chill in the air, but the breeze still nipped at her nose.

  Sophia explored the immaculate grounds. She searched for tranquillity in the manicured garden with its rows of trimmed hedges and late-blooming roses. The trilling birds offered sweet music as she perused the landscape, thinking about her encounter with the Hawkins brothers, the duke and duchess the other night.

  After a few uncomfortable moments had passed, she had come to relax and enjoy the evening. The brothers had treated her well. Quincy had flirted with her. The duke had been kind, as had the duchess. If it wasn’t for Black Hawk’s company, she would have had a thoroughly gay time.

  What’s the matter, sweetheart? Aren’t you hungry?…I know I am.

  She shuddered. Throughout supper James had watched her, and whenever he had set his deep blue, hungry eyes on her, she had stilled. Every time he had looked at her, he had roused her blood and attracted her senses.

  He had made her hungry, too.

  Sophia dismissed the black devil from her mind. She heard a voice, a soft humming. She followed the faint sound to an ornate stone fountain in the center of the garden, where the duchess was resting with an infant in her arms.

  Mirabelle patted the babe, wrapped in a white blanket. The small creature was perched on her shoulder, sound asleep.

  Sophia admired the quiet couple for a moment. The duchess seemed so content, she thought. So at peace. She and Mirabelle shared a similar past, a common upbringing, and yet their present situations were so vastly singular.

  Sophia didn’t want to disturb the mother and child, and so she retreated; however, the duchess had spied her loitering.

  “Good morning, Sophia.” She smiled. “We missed you at breakfast.”

  Sophia returned the greeting and approached the woman. She settled beside her on the fountain’s edge and peeked at the tiny, slumbering features poking through the warm woolly wrapper. The babe was handsome, she thought.

  “I’m just taking Henry out for some fresh air while the weather’s still warm.”

  Warm? thought Sophia. So what was the weather like when it was cold?

  “How is Lady Lucas?” wondered Mirabelle.

  Sophia wove her fingers together. “She’s doing well.”

  “Good.” She looked at her askance. “And you?”

  Sophia burrowed her booted toes into the pebbled walkway. “I’m fine.”

  “You seem distracted. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine,” she parried.

  It was a centuries-old game: polite intrusion. The duchess was fishing for answers to questions about Sophia’s affair with her brother. It was obvious to them both they were thinking about the same thing, but neither was being forthright about it.

  “I know you’re still grieving over the loss of your friend—”

  “She’s not dead.”

  “What?” The duchess pinched her brows. “But I thought…Lady Lucas mentioned in her letter you were in mourning.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am…I can’t see her anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s ruined.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  The duchess fell quiet.

  Sophia shifted, the stone fountain uncomfortable even with the layers of fabric under her posterior. “So you see, I am in mourning. She’s dead.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  Sophia shrugged. “It’s the same thing.” She moved her foot across the rough pebbles, swirling her toes. “The rules of etiquette are strict.”

  “I understand the rules of etiquette are strict.”

  Sophia glanced at her sidelong. “But…?”

  “But I don’t really like following the rules.”

  Sophia flicked her fingers across the lambent water behind her, the ripples shimmering. There was a time when she had not cared for the rules, either. She had flouted them, in truth. But she had paid for her folly. At times she wanted to defy convention again—to see Imogen, for instance—but always the memory of noisy heckles surfaced to haunt her and keep her in line.

  Mirabelle rocked the babe. “Is my brother treating you well?”

  What were the odds she was inquiring about her brother Quinc
y? Slim, Sophia reckoned. But Sophia dreaded talking about the past. It exposed her, made her vulnerable. Still, she decided to stop prevaricating. The duchess was already privy to her former relationship with James. If the woman was going to make a fuss about it, she would have done so already.

  “You know who I am, don’t you, Belle? Who I was to your brother, I mean?”

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Quincy told me.”

  “Quincy?”

  “He doesn’t have a feather on his tongue.” She sighed. “He says whatever’s on his mind, I’m afraid.”

  So it wasn’t James who had betrayed their past? Sophia should have considered one of the other brothers as the culprit. But James was such a ruthless devil, it was so easy to blame him for the treachery. And yet he had already lost the chess game. He had already vowed to keep their island affair a secret. Besides, he would never have talked about her—his mistress—with his beloved sister. Sophia should have known that.

  The babe started to fuss. Mirabelle shushed him with a few whispered words. “James doesn’t talk much—about anything. I’m his sister, and yet I know so little about him.”

  Sophia was at a similar disadvantage. She had lived with James for a year before their affair had ended. She had developed a passionate attachment, an intimate bond with the man. She had come to know him. Or so she had thought. The pirate lord’s true character was a mystery to her, as well. But she suspected the duchess still wanted to know more about the affair.

  “What would you like to know, Belle?”

  “Well…I’ve come to believe my brothers will remain bachelors forever, especially James. He’s so stubborn sometimes.” She grimaced. “All right, he’s stubborn all the time. But now I learn there was a period in his life when he was happy with a woman. What happened?”

  “I wanted to be married.” She shrugged. “He did not.”

  “I see.” Mirabelle was pensive. “I’m not sure if I should be surprised or not by that answer. I don’t know my brother’s heart very well, a’tall.”

  He had a small heart, thought Sophia. A black heart. There was room inside the gnarled muscle for his brothers and his sister. But no more. There was no space for her. There had never been any space for her.

  Sophia rubbed her hands in her skirt, drying them. “I didn’t think I would ever see him again.”

  “I suppose that’s my fault. It was I who dragged him and the rest of my brothers into society. But I don’t think James appreciates it. I don’t think he’s fitting into society.”

  Sophia snorted inwardly. How was a barbarian supposed to fit into society without polished manners, grace, or charm?

  “But you seem to be doing well, Belle.”

  Mirabelle chuckled. “I am. At last!”

  The duchess was also a pirate’s daughter. She, too, had a scandalous past. And yet she was wed and respected. Sophia admired her for the accomplishment. She intended to achieve the same feat herself one day. And there was no reason to suspect she wouldn’t be just as content as the duchess.

  What will you do when you’re hungry, Sophia? What will you do when you’re married and your bones throb in the dead of night? Who will you turn to?

  Sophia shut her eyes tight and willed away the blackguard’s taunts. She would endure the passionless marriage bed, the cordial bond with her husband. It was easier to bear than the ostracism and ridicule she was sure to confront as a fallen woman.

  “And you are content, aren’t you, Belle?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you happy being a duchess?”

  Mirabelle snorted.

  “What’s the matter, Belle? Is the duke a poor husband?”

  “Not a’tall!” Mirabelle sounded aghast. “He’s the best man I know, truly. And I love him dearly…I only wish sometimes he wasn’t a duke.”

  Sophia was bewildered. “What?”

  “It’s such a bother, the pomp and presentation.” She sighed. “I’d much rather live in a small and comfortable home, settled near my family and friends.”

  “And you can’t have both?”

  “No,” she repined. “The demands placed upon me as duchess keep me busy and distracted. I spend very little time with my friends, and even less time with my brothers, who are often at sea. Although to hear my husband complain, you’d think my kin was at the castle all the time.” She transferred the slumbering babe from one shoulder to the next. “It’s just that after my mother died in childbirth to Quincy, and my siblings took to the sea, I lost a sense of family. I prefer an intimate, more homely upbringing for my own children.”

  That the duchess had a title and respectability—and didn’t really want it—disarmed Sophia. She had struggled for so long to achieve her goal, she had never thought to wonder: Would she be happy elsewhere in the world? With someone other than the earl?…Like James?

  Sophia mulled over the thought. But the memory of her affair with James on the tropical island tormented her. She had tried to live apart from social mores. The sensual and dreamy encounters she had shared with the pirate captain had lasted for only a year. It was impossible to evade the pressures from society, she had learned. Even the rebellious Black Hawk obeyed some social convention, for he had refused to marry his mistress.

  “And James was most adamant I not become a duchess.”

  Sophia dismissed the longing in her breast, the longing to recapture and change the past, to inquire: “So he didn’t want you to marry?” The brigand had made the opposite claim during the earl’s country house party. Sophia remembered the words: I approve of her marrying. It was hard to forget the words, for they rankled her even now. “Ever?”

  “Oh, James wanted me to wed. I was the biggest thorn in his side for years because I refused to marry and have babies and be a proper woman.”

  Sophia’s heart pulsed with vigor. Was that what the barbarian considered proper for a woman: marriage and babies? He had denounced both on the island, the wretched, lying devil!

  “But James loathed the duke, considered him an irredeemable rogue. I was determined to marry Damian, though. Title and all. I entered his world to be with him. And I dragged my brothers—and their enemies—into it, as well.”

  Sophia stilled her whirling thoughts. “Enemies? Like the impostors?”

  Mirabelle lifted a brow. “You know about them?”

  “Yes, James told me about the rogues raiding ships in his name.”

  “He trusted you well enough to tell you, did he?”

  The woman sounded…pleased?

  Sophia pressed onward: “Black Hawk is dead.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what James said.”

  “Oh. Yes. Metaphorically.”

  “And now there are a lot of smaller men out there, looking to claim the notorious title.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And they’re keeping Black Hawk’s name alive.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Mirabelle sighed in exasperation. “That’s why James and the rest of my brothers are here. They’ve come to make inquiries into the identities of the impostors.”

  Sophia gathered her breath, temper still rankled. But she had learned one pressing piece of information: James wasn’t staying at the castle to thwart her plans to marry the earl. He was staying at the castle because he was hunting the impostors. She didn’t like the situation. However, she understood it better. And just as soon as Lady Lucas was recovered, she and Sophia would depart from the keep and resume her quest for a husband. A few days with the duchess was enough time to quiet any gossip about her and her “disappear ance,” she was sure. And then she would be rid of the barbarian for good.

  A breathless figure approached, sprinting. “Your Grace!”

  Mirabelle quickly lifted to her feet.

  Sophia followed.

  “What is it, Fanny?” The woman’s words were clipped.

  The maid kicked up the pebbles as she skidded to a stop, wheezing. “There’s…a…snake.”
>
  “Where?” Mirabelle snapped. “In the nursery?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Oh, Fanny.”

  Mirabelle sighed. The babe started to make mewling sounds, and the duchess bounced him on her shoulder.

  “The garden snakes are everywhere this time of year,” she said in a chastising voice. “They’re looking for somewhere warm to hide for the winter. If one’s slipped inside the kitchen, don’t panic. The creature’s harmless.”

  “No, Your Grace.” The maid gasped for breath. “It’s a big snake.”

  “Hell’s fire.” Mirabelle glanced at Sophia, frowning. “It’d slipped my mind. James brought a snake to the castle. He’s had it for years. It’s some sort of pet.”

  Sophia!

  The babe was wailing. Mirabelle said in a raised voice, “It must have escaped its cage.”

  Sophia’s heart throbbed. The loathing welled inside her until she tasted the bile in her throat. She looked at the maid. “Take me to the snake. I’ll take care of it.”

  The maid balked.

  Mirabelle looked confused.

  “Don’t worry, Belle.” She winked. “I lived on a tropical island, remember? I know how to deal with snakes.”

  Sophia started for the castle.

  The maid quickly scurried beside her. “Follow me, miss.”

  Sophia and Fanny moved briskly through the garden and approached the castle. Inside, Sophia centered her thoughts on the wicked reptile, her cursed namesake. She hated that bloody snake. She hated that James cared for it so much.

  She curled her fingers into her palms, her fingertips numb as she traversed the stairs and entered the dark labyrinth in the keep’s belly.

  The kitchen was murky, but the window wells and lamps brightened most shadowy spots. Sophia scanned the main room. The great hearth was filled with steaming iron pots. There were long wood tables for food preparation, cupboards for dishes. So many places to look. So many places for a wily snake to hide.