Chapter 25
James stretched his booted toes toward the coal-burning fireplace and folded his hands across his midriff. He looked at the oil painting that Quincy had purchased, above the mantel and trimmed in an elaborate, baroque-style frame. The artwork illustrated a siren, clutching a rock plastered with algae and coral as the foamy sea battered her scaled fins.
He glowered at the piece.
A soft breeze whisked through the room as someone opened the study door.
James remained rooted in the wing chair. He listened to the clip-clop of footfalls behind him and recognized the familiar gait.
“What do you want, Quincy?”
The pup settled in the twin seat beside him, looking grave. “Will’s pestering me about my latest pursuit, so I’ve come seeking refuge.” He followed the captain’s gaze to the canvas. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“I hate that picture.”
“You have no appreciation for art, James.”
Quincy rubbed his sluggish eyes, pupils constricted. “How are you feeling?”
James regarded the pup thoughtfully before he stroked his chin, rife with stubble and bruises. “I’m fine.”
James was back inside his town house. The charges against him had been dismissed. The Duke of Wembury had presented testimony in court that James was not the notorious pirate leader Black Hawk. The court was unwilling to hang a man so intimately connected with such a prestigious family. The accusation was deemed a misidentification—and James’s escape from the gaol was overlooked.
“Will’s also searching for his own ship to captain…but it won’t be the same at sea without the Bonny Meg—or you, James.”
He hardened. “Then don’t join the navy.”
Quincy sighed. “I wish it was that simple.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t, James.” He stretched his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. “We need to be privateers.”
The muscles in his jaw firmed. “We’ll find the impostors. We don’t need to seek a pardon.”
That dastardly knave Hagley and his crew were still on the loose, but James intended to track the conniving bastards to hell. He intended to quash the impostors and put an end to his own infernal namesake once and for all.
“It’s not just the impostors pushing us into a corner, James.”
“Aye, you’re bored,” he said succinctly. “I know.”
“Think about it, James. It’s not easy going against one’s true nature, even instinct. Being a privateer will give us the freedom we need to be ourselves.”
James had once echoed similar claims…to Sophia.
Don’t you see how they crush you, sweetheart? Take away your breath? Let me give you breath.
He closed his eyes. He was breathless, too. He had once commanded respect as the infamous pirate captain Black Hawk…now he was a barbarian, parading in fancy robes, like a sideshow carnival chimp, for the ton’s amusement.
Muscles stiff, James demanded, “And do you think it’s easy for me to be a merchant sailor?”
Quincy snorted. “No, I’d wager the Bonny Meg you’re miserable about the whole ordeal, too. But unlike you, I intend to change my circumstances.”
“Well, I can’t.” James seethed. “The navy destroyed my life. You don’t understand.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I know you regret the past. And I’m sorry.”
James glanced at the pup, frowning. “For what?”
“For making your life so miserable.”
Long-ago memories surfaced in James’s head: Quincy’s childhood antics, his rebellious, teenage stage—which he had yet to grow out of—and yet James wouldn’t use the word “miserable” to describe the past twenty-one years he’d shared with the pup. It wasn’t Quincy who’d made him so miserable, but the hardship of caring for him—for all of them. Even with his father’s help in the latter years, much of the burden of parenthood had rested with James…perhaps a burden he had wittingly placed on his shoulders. He could have offered his siblings more freedom as they’d matured, but he had chosen not to.
James smelled the fumes stemming from Quincy’s clothes. “You’ve been chasing the dragon again, haven’t you?”
He shrugged. “It makes me forget.”
“Forget what?”
“That I killed Mother…that I ruined your life.”
James scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“If I hadn’t been born, Mother would still be alive and you wouldn’t have wasted your life playing nursemaid.”
There was a profound and biting sentiment in his belly as he imagined the past two decades without Quincy’s foolery and charm.
“I know you loathe the navy for taking Father away, James. Why don’t you loathe me for taking Mother away?…Or do you?”
“I don’t hate you, you ass.”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Damn it, Quincy!” He slammed his fist against the armrest. “It isn’t the same. The navy willfully kidnapped Father. You didn’t intend Mother harm.”
“Still—”
“Enough!”
Quiet settled between the brothers as the evening shadows skulked inside the room through the darkening windows.
“Sophia is sailing back to Jamaica tonight.”
James stifled the bleeding sore in his soul. “I know.”
“Aren’t you going to go after her?”
“No.”
“But you love her.”
James rubbed his thrumming brow, struggled against the cold darkness slowly filling his heart. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“She’s angry with you, but she loves you, too.”
He scoffed. “And how do you know that?”
“She saved your life.”
“She did that to protect Belle from humiliation and distress.”
Quincy tsked. “You might be old and wise, James, but really…”
Slowly James lifted a single brow.
“Sophia wouldn’t be so furious with you if she didn’t love you,” the pup said sagely. “She wouldn’t be in such pain.”
James looked away from his brother. He shut his eyes, his heart against the anguish stirring in his own mind and soul. “I’m not going after her.”
“You’ll regret it.”
“Blast it, Quincy! Don’t you have a wench to bed? Enlist in the navy?”
“Fine.” He lifted from the chair, lethargic. “But let me ask you this, James: If you’d had the chance to make it right seven years ago, would you have done so?”
A piercing image raided his head, captured his senses:
“There was nothing more I could give you.”
“Except yourself.”
“Yes. Except that.”
“And yet you didn’t give me that, James. That was the one thing in the world I wanted from you…and you didn’t share it with me.”
The words tormented him. James reflected upon the past, the empty plantation house, the dastardly fob watch. If he’d had the chance to make it right then…
Sophia had wits and will. She had infiltrated the notorious Newgate Gaol and liberated him with a dagger and a hairpin. The woman was savvy and independent. She didn’t need him…but if she desired him?
Quincy headed for the door. “Don’t let another seven years pass before you make it right with Sophia. You don’t need more regret.”
Sophia stood at the poop. The captain had granted her permission to scale the officers’ deck. She watched the frothing waves behind the Titan, the folds in the dark water as the mighty vessel cut through the tranquil sea.
He had not come for her.
Two days ago, she had departed from England. She had wished Lady Lucas a fond farewell, she had penned Imogen Rayne a conciliatory note, and she had expressed her sincere appreciation to the duke and duchess for their friendship and hospitality in another epistle. She had terminated all relationships…bar one.
He had not come for her.
Sophia had thought he might swoop into port. She had imagined the theatrical way she’d rebuff the black devil if he’d begged her to stay with him in England.
But he had not come for her.
And her revenge fantasy seemed trite and hollow now. She envisioned a far different outcome: a longing look…a word of contrition…a spirited kiss.
She sighed.
Loudly.
“Are you all right, Miss Dawson?”
Captain Higgins stepped beside her, thoughtful. At age sixty-six, he sported a white coif with fashionable curls and a studious countenance, befitting his rank and experience. She was under his protection during the two-month voyage home. He had proved a sage commander and an amiable supper companion.
“I’m fine, Captain.”
He looked out to sea. “It’s a lovely night.”
Sophia gazed at the full moon, low in the starry heavens. The ethereal white light was so pure and bright. “Brilliant.”
“Are you comfortable, Miss Dawson? Do you have everything that you need?”
No, not everything, she thought wistfully.
“I’m fond of my quarters. Thank you, Captain.”
He offered her his arm. “I’ve come to escort you to supper.”
She smiled and placed her hand on the white linen sleeve of his formal coat. “I’m famished.”
Later that night, Sophia trolled her private cabin, restless. The rich fare was still anchored in her belly, and her head was still filled with rambunctious thoughts, making it difficult for her to fall asleep.
He had not come for her.
The blackguard had deserted her in port, leaving her hampered with so many tempestuous words. She was never going to get any rest so long as the bothersome reflections occupied her thoughts.
Sophia quit stalking the small space and rummaged through the top crate stacked at the foot of her bed. She grabbed the neatly folded letter-writing desk and sat on the soft feather tick, curling her legs together. She opened the slanted box with green felt upholstery, positioned a piece of paper across the hard, woolly surface, and dipped the quill into the small copper inkwell.
She had lost the opportunity to confess to him the brewing feelings inside her, so she intended to record them instead. She might mail the letter to him once she reached Jamaica. Or perhaps she might keep it as a token of her thoughts about the man. But for now, she scratched goose feather against paper, emptying her mind.
A blast shattered the stillness.
Sophia smeared the ink all over the paper and her hand, her heart pumping in wild beats. She skirted across the cabin and peered through the scuttle, but there were only black, velvety waves and haunting moonlight. She moved into the passageway next. She was still dressed in her evening wear, and so mingled with the other passengers, who were all frightened and disoriented.
“What’s happened?” demanded Sophia.
A young gentleman hugged his panicked wife. “There was an explosion.”
“Are we sinking?” cried the other woman.
The myriad voices and cramped causeway offered Sophia little insight. She pushed through the throng of anxious passengers and scaled the steps, poking her head through the hatchway.
Smoke roiled across the wide deck.
Tars scattered in alarm.
Was there a mishap in the galley? Had the vessel rammed another ship at sea?
She coughed, the smoke stifling. Tears filled her eyes, the fumes biting…Sulfur. She sensed it now, the stinging stench.
She grabbed a desperate sailor. “Are we under attack?”
He bobbed his head. “Pirates!”
The impostors!
Sophia curled her fingers into fists. The bloody cutthroats! Quincy had mentioned the dastardly charlatans were still at large, that they had failed to apprehend them.
“Best get belowdecks, miss.”
But Sophia was miffed. She stalked across the deck instead. She wasn’t in any immediate danger. The impostors didn’t want to sink the vessel. The cannon blast had served as a warning to stand down, to prepare to be boarded. The brigands wanted treasure.
Sophia eyed the sinister three-masted silhouette. Moonlight kissed its sails. It was positioned broadside, its cannons aimed at the Titan.
She heard the distinct footfalls of heavy boots as the pirates boarded the ship.
“Stand your ground, men,” ordered Captain Higgins.
The crew stilled as the brigands slowly crossed the deck, hulking shadows cutting through the waft of smoke.
One thick figure moved through the fumes and headed for her. She reached for her dagger, prepared to cut the corsair’s gullet…but she gasped as a set of dark and commanding eyes fixed on her.
Black Hawk!
Sophia’s heart boomed. She was transfixed. What was he doing here? How was he even here? The man had forsaken piracy to protect his sister…and yet he looked like a pirate, so dark and dangerous, rough and wild. He had his hair in a queue, cheeks scratchy-looking with stubble, clothes coarse. No one aboard the vessel would recognize him as Captain Hawkins, the brother of a duchess. He was Black Hawk. And she pulsed with giddy energy at the wicked sight of him.
“Keep your wits, gentlemen.” Quincy brandished a pistol. “Black Hawk won’t harm you. He’s just here to take your most valuable cargo.” He grinned. “We understand there’s an heiress onboard: a Miss Dawson. We’ve been following her for some time now.”
All four brothers were on deck in disguise. Sophia recognized their voices and mannerisms…but it was the towering figure of James that mesmerized her the most, made her weak with vertigo.
James stopped in front in her, his thrumming strength so heady, she almost sighed with pleasure to see him again, to feel him so intimately.
He glanced at the dagger in her ink-stained hand and slowly lifted a brow…before he crouched and scooped her into his arms, dumping her over his wide shoulder.
Sophia didn’t protest the jostling, too staggered to breathe a word.
Captain Higgins stormed after the pirate lord. “Vile vermin!”
“Don’t start a fuss,” William said sternly, curtailing the commander’s heroics as he positioned his body between the man and his brother. “Consider the other passengers in your charge, Captain. Miss Dawson will remain unharmed, I assure you.”
Captain Higgins blustered, “Liar!”
Sophia was lowered down the rope ladder and into the waiting rowboat. She gathered her scattered senses and shouted, “Don’t fight them, Captain Higgins!”
She didn’t want the good captain or the innocent crew and passengers to end up in a scuffle with the pirates. She wasn’t in any real danger…she was sure.
“You heard the lady,” from Edmund.
The brigands quickly retreated after the pirate captain and his “cargo.”
“You’ll hang for this!” Captain Higgins grabbed the starboard rail and vehemently proclaimed, “I’ll see to it that the ransom is paid, Miss Dawson. Be brave!”
A few minutes later, Sophia found herself aboard the Bonny Meg…inside the captain’s quarters.
James effortlessly set her on the ground. She staggered backward, woozy, thoughts whirling. “Are you mad?” She grabbed her midriff, gasped for breath. “You belong in Bedlam, not Newgate.”
The rogue’s smoldering glare bewitched her, and she sensed the thrilling shivers that caressed her spine as her body warmed.
He closed the door before he approached her in deliberate strides, his robust figure so full of vim. He reached for her, twirled a lock of her mussed hair around his long finger. “You boarded the ship.”
The gentle touch disarmed her, summoning every wretched hurt and throbbing want to the forefront of her thoughts. She trembled with the burden of sensations.
“You didn’t stop me.” She was breathless. “You didn’t come for me.”
“Did you think I would?” The man’s eyes glowed as the milky light
from the full moon pierced the scuttle and bounced off the stormy pools. “Did you think I would beg you to stay with me?”
Sophia shuddered, her blood singing as he slowly dropped to his knees, keeping her ensnared with his commanding eyes the whole time. A strangled cry seeped from her lips as he circled his burly arms around her arse and buried his face into her belly, rousing every fine hair on her body to sensitive life.
He breathed deep.
Sophia’s muscles capered at the man’s hot sigh, sinking through her apparel and branding her taut skin. She fingered his dark tresses, wove her shaky fingers through the tight queue.
“Do you want me to beg, sweetheart?”
The pulsing rhythm in her breast now pounded in her ears. “No.”
She closed her eyes. She let the bounder’s crushing hold and sinful lips torment her senses. She had no desire to hear him beg, the way she had begged for him inside the very same cabin. As soon as he had dropped to his knees, he had begged her in silence. And that was enough.
“You should have told me.” He bussed her midriff. “You should have told me all those years ago you were unhappy on the island.”
Her lips quivered, her heart throbbed. “You’re right.” She squeezed his long tresses between her fingers. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have deserted you. I should have told you what was wrong. I’m sorry I hurt you…but you still want me to feel pain, despair.”
He stroked her backside in slow and tender regard, spreading his large fingers apart, warming her posterior, her innards with his powerful touch. “I was angry then. Vengeful. But I’m not anymore. Forgive me.”
Sophia swallowed a sob. There was something about those heartfelt words that cut through the thick and putrid layers of hate and hurt, making her rich with a pounding warmth. The sentiment stirred her blood and warmed her belly and eased the pressure in her aching head.
“Marry me, Sophia.”
The words. He had said the words she had longed to hear from a man for so long. But it was not the words that moved her anymore, but that the words had come from him.
She sniffed. “I’m going to make you miserable for the rest of your life, Black Hawk.”
The Infamous Rogue Page 29