But Sophia had returned, he thought, for she was again a part of his life. And soon she would know the wretched fires, too. Soon he would walk away from her—and have his revenge.
There was a rap at the door.
James ignored it. He was still recovering from his encounter with Sophia. Her scent and sweet juices still bathed his skin. He wanted to be alone in the shadowy room. He wanted to think about her—and machinate.
William entered the bedchamber. He wasn’t aboard the Bonny Meg anymore, and so there was no reason for him to respect the captain’s privacy.
James glared at his brother as he crossed the space in cool strides. William paused and knocked against the snake’s glass prison, rousing the reptile before he filled the empty seat across from the captain, chasing off the phantom image of Sophia.
William stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “We’ve returned.”
“I see that,” he growled.
“Adam sends his regards.”
“Horseshit.” James scowled. “Well? What did you learn from him?”
He might as well hear what had transpired between the men, for his brother seemed determined to report the day’s events. James suspected he wasn’t going to get any quiet until the matter of the impostors was addressed.
The door opened once more, and Quincy and Edmund sauntered inside the room.
“Egypt?” Edmund frowned. “Why Egypt?”
“Because that’s where all the mummies are—and she wanted to get a new one.”
Edmund snorted.
William smiled.
“But James put a stop to it,” said Quincy as he straddled a chair. “He ordered Squirt to make amends to her mother.” He glanced at the captain. “And she did, you know?”
“Did what?” asked James.
“Apologize.”
“Of course she did.” James folded his arms across his chest. “I told her to do it.”
The young bucks exchanged knowing glances.
“He gave her The Look, didn’t he?” Edmund settled in the last of the four seats positioned around the small, round table. “I remember The Look.”
Quincy grimaced. “I still get The Look.”
James eyed the pup. “And yet it doesn’t seem to have the same effect on you that it once had.”
Quincy looked aghast. “I should hope not.”
“Perhaps you should offer Belle some child-rearing advice?” William glanced at the captain. “It sounds like she needs it.”
“Like hell. She’s doing fine. I’m not going to play mother hen.” Again! “Let’s return to business, shall we? What happened with Adam?”
“Well, we discovered a few things,” William said in a business-like manner. “It looks as though the bootleggers and impostors are one and the same. Their leader is a man named Hagley.”
“It’s just like we suspected.” Edmund scratched his chin. “The men heard we were ‘dead’ and assumed our identities, testing the pirate waters first with bootlegging and then moving on to more dangerous pursuits, like raiding passenger vessels.”
“So where is this Hagley and the rest of his cohorts?”
William shrugged. “We don’t know.”
James glowered. “So what was the purpose of the trip?”
“We discovered important information.” The lieutenant counted off his fingers. “The leader’s name. That we’re chasing after one band of charlatans, not two.”
Edmund nodded in accord with his brother. “It narrows our search.”
“We can start making inquires about Hagley in port.” William rested his forearms on the table. “Surely someone knows him by his real name.”
“Like a scorned lover who’d like to see him hang,” said Edmund, snickering.
“I volunteer for that mission.” Quincy grinned in a rakish manner. “A scorned lover is always ripe for a bedding.”
Edmund snorted. “I’m surprised you don’t have the pox.”
“You’re just jealous, Eddie.”
“Of you?”
“I’m charming, so I get all the ladies.”
Edmund frowned. “I’m charming.”
Edmund was a sour devil, thought James. Moody since boyhood. But James had never figured out the reason behind his younger brother’s ill temperament. He supposed it was just his nature.
“You’re both charming,” said James, irritable. “Now what the hell are we going to do about the impostors if we don’t find a scorned wench in port?”
“I suggest we set another trap.”
“It won’t work, Quincy.” James was firm. “The impostors won’t be duped a second time into chasing after the Bonny Meg.”
“What if we offer them a harmless proposition?”
James stared at the pup. “What sort of proposition?”
“Well, we can spread word that Captain Hawkins is looking for a shipping partner, that he’s interested in a joint business venture with Hagley because he’s heard good things about the man. We won’t mention the word ‘pirate.’ We won’t spook him.”
James scowled. He loathed waiting for the impos tors to come to him—at sea or on land. It was so passive, so unlike him. He’d rather hunt the miscreants. However, Quincy had a point. If James reached out his hand in amity, Hagley was much more likely to shake it. Otherwise, James risked frightening the impostors into deep hiding.
“Hagley might consent to the meet if only to hear the proposition, to see if it’s worth his while,” from William.
Edmund smirked. “And then he’ll be ours.”
“Fine.” James sighed in reluctant agreement. “But what will we do if Hagley doesn’t consent to the meet?”
The men quieted.
William looked at the captain. “There is one other option.”
“What is it?”
“You still haven’t told him, Will?” cried Quincy.
James glared at the lieutenant. “Told me what?”
William rubbed his jaw. “If we don’t find Hagley and put an end to his piracy…we can always confess our true identities.”
James glared at his brother. Was Sophia’s cold already seeping into his brain, making him woozy? One of them wasn’t making any sense.
“Are you drunk, Will?”
“Listen, James. There’s always the threat of discovery hanging over our heads. Even if we find Hagley, there’s no stopping another impostor from taking his place.”
James stroked the bridge of his nose hard. The spot between his brows pulsed. “So you suggest we hang ourselves and get it over with?”
“No,” William drawled. “I suggest we seek a pardon.”
James scoffed. “The king will not grant us a pardon, even if we are the duke’s brothers-in-law.”
“But he might grant us the pardon if we…join the Royal Navy.”
James hardened. The blood in his head throbbed like he was deep under water and his skull was about to implode from the pressure. “What?”
“The Royal Navy’s African Squadron is undermanned and is searching for privateers to help hunt and capture slave ships.” Edmund broached the matter carefully, his inflection steady. “If we enlist the Bonny Meg—”
“No.”
James looked daggers at his brothers. A dark energy welled inside him, choking him. The old loathing for the Royal Navy burned his innards and scorched his throat.
“Listen, James,” said William.
“No.”
William sighed. “I know you hate the navy for pressing Father into service—we all do—but be reasonable. We have to protect ourselves. We have to protect Belle.”
Curse his brother for using her against him! It was still raw in his belly, the grief James had suffered two months ago, believing his sister about to perish. He would do anything to keep her safe. William knew it, too. But James would find the impostors and crush them. He would not join the Royal Navy even if the devil himself offered him a pardon.
“We’ll still have command of the Bonny Meg,�
� William said in a sensible manner. “But we won’t haul cargo across the Atlantic. We’ll hunt slave ships instead.”
James gritted, “I would sooner burn the Bonny Meg than see her serve the Royal Navy.”
“James, think about it—”
He slammed his fist against the table, shaking the furniture. “I will not let the fucking navy have my ship!”
James jumped to his feet, the bile churning in his belly, the disgust filling his heart and head, making him sick with vertigo.
“Your ship?” William stood and grabbed the table’s edge. “The Bonny Meg belongs to all of us.”
Drake Hawkins had served as captain of the Bonny Meg for more than fifteen years before illness had weakened him. Chronic headaches and bleeding gums had sapped his burly strength, his robust energy. So as not to appear feeble in front of the crew, he had transferred command of the vessel to James in 1817…the same year James had met Sophia.
He dismissed the thought from his mind, the peace he had found in her arms that year. He thought instead about the Bonny Meg. Drake Hawkins had died three years after giving James command of the vessel. The ship belonged to all of his siblings now, even Belle. But James had always considered the mighty schooner as his possession, his home. She was a loyal and steadfast companion. If he lost her, too…
“We’ve talked about this, James.” William said slowly, “We’ve made a decision.”
James stalked across the room and stopped beside the fireplace, encased in sturdy oak wood. He placed his hands against the protruding mantel and lowered his weight. “What decision?”
But it was Quincy who responded with “We want to seek a pardon. We want to be privateers.”
James gripped the mantel until his knuckles turned white. He stared at the low-burning fire, listened to the hissing flames. The light reflected off his polished boots, laughing at him.
“We’re not merchant sailors.” Quincy sounded wistful. “We’re pirates. It can never be like it was, we can never return to piracy. But we can be privateers. We can still know the taste of the hunt, the thrill of a battle.”
James gasped for breath. He struggled to keep the demons caged in his head. He had sacrificed his blood. He had sacrificed years of his life to protect them, the wretched savages! But they were bored with being merchant sailors. And for that they were going to betray him?
“We’ll have freedom, James,” offered Edmund. “The threat of the noose won’t hang over our heads anymore.”
“Traitors,” James hissed.
The chair legs scraped across the planked flooring as the last two brothers lifted to their feet.
“We are not traitors,” the men said in unison.
Would they thrash him for the slight? It was more than he could bear. He had reared them, the ungrateful bastards! He had guided them through perilous waters, and wiped their arses when there had been no one else to care for them. And this was how they expressed their respect? By casting him aside like soiled laundry and stealing the Bonny Meg—his soul!—right out from under him?
“You’re betraying Father’s memory,” James said quietly, darkly. The ruthless deserters might not give a damn about him anymore, but what about their father? “Drake would never have let the Bonny Meg sail under the navy’s thumb.” He had turned pirate, offering his own children freedom from servitude with the Bonny Meg. For what? So that in the end his sons could join and serve his former tormentors? “And what about Mother? The ship’s named after her. It was a testament to the years she had suffered alone, while Father was held captive—tortured! How can you even think about joining the navy?” James smashed his fists against the mantel. “You have no shame!”
“And would our parents want us to hang at the end of a noose?”
William sounded so bloody calm, like it was a trifle that he and the other two mutinous cutthroats had shredded the captain to pieces.
James had always admired the lieutenant’s unflappable, even dispassionate nature, for it had proved invaluable in the heat of battle. But now James wanted to piss on his brother’s cool composure, his cold heart. He would rather William strike him, stab him. Anything! He wanted his brother to show some feeling for the brutal usurpation.
“Some things are worth dying for,” James said through gnashed teeth.
“This isn’t one of them,” returned William. “The navy took away a part of Father’s life, but they won’t take anything away from us.”
“No, we’re going to give it to them,” he sneered.
James trembled with repressed rage. He had thought it incomprehensible that his trusted brethren should betray him and dishonor their parents’ memories. But he had been wrong. He had been wrong about a great many things. He had once believed Sophia incapable of the same treachery, the same deceit. But he had been wrong about her, too.
The flames from the fire singed his soul. James struggled for breath. He had suffered after his father had been pressed into service, too. He had endured the hardship and the hopelessness, the nights of endless toil alongside his mother. The Royal Navy had ruined his life. But it had not scarred his brothers as he had believed. William had not languished in dread with an older brother to look after him. And Edmund and Quincy had come along after their father had returned home, never having carried the crushing weight of responsibility—or the shame that had accompanied it when James had failed to save their mother from despair.
William grumbled, “I knew you’d hate the idea.”
Blood pounded in James’s skull. The darkness inside him threatened to shake him apart. How long had his brothers plotted the betrayal? Weeks? Months?
James should have suspected mutiny was afoot. A week ago, William had issued the order to set sail soon after the captain had boarded the Bonny Meg. He had usurped control even then, preparing for the day when he would head the Bonny Meg himself. But James had been too distracted by the island witch to detect the dangerous, telling signs.
“Get out,” said James darkly.
Quincy had enough modesty to scratch his head in chagrin. “James—”
“Get the fuck out! All of you!”
The brothers remained firm, exchanging glances. But soon William nodded and the three quietly filed out the door.
Chapter 22
Dear Imogen…
Sophia stared at the two words and wondered what she would write next as she tapped the feather quill against her temple.
Her thoughts in a tizzy, she struggled with the letter’s content. She wasn’t skittish about penning the note. She had considered Imogen’s fate for some time now. But Sophia had shied away from making the inquiries sooner, fearing her own precarious reputation would be tainted in some irreparable way if she contacted the “fallen woman.”
Don’t you see how they crush you, sweetheart? Take away your breath? Let me give you breath.
And so he had.
She closed her eyes and sighed at the warm memory of the man’s stirring, provoking, spirit-freeing touch.
We belong together, Sophia.
Her heart throbbed with vim at the hot, firm words. Had he changed his mind about marriage the other night? Had he, too, realized it was kismet, that they were meant to be together?
There was an ache deep inside her to trust the brigand again, to be with him again. She dreaded going back inside her cage. She dreaded conforming, cramming, twisting her soul to fit into a thin and uncomfortable social mold.
She relished the freedom from timidity. She wanted to learn her comrade’s lot in life. Sophia wasn’t sure if the letter would ever reach the girl, but she was determined to compose it. She had to try to make amends. She had not treated Imogen like a true friend. But now she had the fortitude to break the rules, as the duchess had expressed. Now Sophia had the desire to do what was right…and not necessarily what was proper.
“What are you doing?”
Sophia looked at Lady Lucas, startled. The old woman had recovered from her illness. Sophia was feeling much better,
too. She suspected her own swift recovery had stemmed from the uplifting truth that she belonged with James…allowing her to breathe.
The matron’s glare was disquieting. Sophia’s fingers trembled a tad. However, she maintained a firm grip on the quill—in her left hand.
“I’m writing a letter,” she returned firmly.
Lady Lucas either ignored the faux pas or failed to see it, for she said nothing about the quill pen in her charge’s left hand. Instead: “I see that. It’s well after breakfast. Why are you still in your night rail? To whom are you writing?” She snatched the sheet and examined it. “What are you doing corresponding with Miss Rayne?”
Ghostly fingers circled Sophia’s throat. She sensed the breathlessness. The feeling overwhelmed her whenever she heard a reprimand or anticipated censure. She struggled against the crushing sentiment. It was such a contrast to the healing, liberating intimacy she had shared with James the other night. A part of her bristled in defiance of the matron’s reproach…while another part of her submitted to the older woman’s authority and wisdom.
Lady Lucas ripped the paper apart and tossed the pieces into the low-burning fire. “I might admire your loyalty if the situation was different, Miss Dawson. But as it stands, you are still unwed and vulnerable. You mustn’t do anything even remotely scandalous—especially now.”
Sophia sighed and dropped the quill. “Why now?”
“Because the earl and his sister are here!”
The fingers at Sophia’s throat tightened even more and her heart pounded in her breast. “What?”
“The siblings are below stairs with the duchess.” The matron skirted across the room and opened the wardrobe. She fished through the heaps of fabric. “We must get you dressed.”
Sophia gripped her temples, her mind a maelstrom of unsteady thoughts. “What is the earl doing here?”
“He’s come to propose, of course.”
“Here?”
“Lord Baine suspects he’s about to lose you to Captain Hawkins.” The older woman removed a simple white day dress from the wardrobe and eyed the flattering material. “Make haste, my dear!”
The Infamous Rogue Page 25