The Infamous Rogue (13 page)

Don’t worry, sweetheart. I alone know what you were thinking…what you were feeling.
The servant rounded the table and served the tray.
James took the missive and shredded the seal. A snort from one of the haughty matrons cooled his fingers, and he opened the letter with more restraint. He scanned the epistle:
Come home.

—
W

James glared at the tidy penmanship. Blood pounded in his head. He wanted to tear the blasted paper to pieces. He folded the succinct message and tucked it into his pocket instead.
He was stiff. Every bone and muscle throbbed inside him. He missed the warm touch of Sophia’s foot against his cods. He missed the feel of her pulse pounding against his palm.
Curse William! James was so close to victory, so close to getting Sophia back into his bed—where she truly belonged. If he headed home now he would lose the passion he had stirred within her.
But William wouldn’t pen such a curt note unless it was a matter of dire business—pirate business. It was too dangerous to expound on the matter in ink, for the letter might fall into the wrong hands. The Hawkins brothers always handled “family affairs” in person.
James beat back the dark desire growing inside him, tamped it into submission. There was only one thing to do.
He looked at Sophia.
This isn’t over, sweetheart.
With every eye watching him, James returned to the meal. He would head home tonight—after supper. If he got up from the table now, he would create a spec tacular stir…although the image of fainting matrons was an agreeable thought.
“I trust all is well, Captain?”
The nosy chit.
He responded to the vicious fire-eater coolly. “I’m afraid there is a matter of business that requires my attention, Lady Rosamond. I must return home after supper.”
“Oh.” The chit feigned a pout. “We are sorry to see you go, Captain.”
She lied with such fierce spite; every fool in the room could tell she wasn’t the least bit sorry…except for her brother.
“Yes, truly sorry,” said the earl. He sounded genuinely aggrieved. “I’ve yet to extend my full hospitality.”
“You’ve been most gracious, my lord,” said James.
“Still, I can’t help—I know! You must accompany us to the opera on Wednesday. My sister and I are escorting Miss Dawson to the last production of the season. Will you attend?”
Rosamond made a garish noise; she mewled as if a mouse were gnawing on her toe. “And you are welcome to come, Anastasia and Imogen.”
“Yes, we will all go,” said the earl. “We’ll have a wonderful time.”
“Oh, drat!” Anastasia frowned. “I can’t attend. I’m leaving for the country.”
Rosamond glanced at the other young woman with a pleading look in her eyes. “And you Imogen?”
“Thank you,” the girl said quietly. “I have no other plans. I’d be honored to attend the opera.”
Rosamond sighed. James ignored the malicious brat. He glanced at Sophia instead.
The witch was still blushing.
Good.
I wish you nothing but pain until we meet again, sweetheart.
“I would be delighted to attend the opera, too,” said James.

“William!”
James kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot. It was shadowy inside the town house. A few oil lamps still burned throughout the space, beacons to guide the fledglings throughout the apartments, for Edmund and Quincy often staggered home in the wee hours of the morning.
James snatched one of the glowing glass orbs as he moved through the dark passageway, footfalls pounding.
He reached the study and entered the room. He slammed the door closed. It was stifling inside the small space. He set the lamp aside and rent the noose from his neck.
James tossed the scrap of fabric into the fireplace. There was no flame burning in the coal-fueled hearth; however, it pleased him to see the wretched cravat where it belonged—in hell.
There was a table with bottles beside the bookcase. Lamplight bounced off the shiny crystal decanters.
James grabbed the first bottle in reach. He dropped the stopper on the table. The sharp noise resounded in the quiet room. He filled a glass with liquor.
At the sound of the soft whistle of iron hinges, James turned around and confronted his brother. “I’m home.”
“I heard.”
William stepped inside the room and shut the door. He was dressed in trousers, feet and torso bare. He had a dark brow, heavy with sleep. And a peeved expression crossed his tired features, making him look like a surly brigand.
“How was the house party?” William yawned. “Or will I read all about it in the gossip papers?”
James bristled. Even his brother thought him a barbarian, incapable of keeping his temper and composure, wont to cause scandal wherever he went.
James dropped his head back and guzzled the fiery spirits, slaying the turmoil, the chill in his belly. “Why did you summon me home?”
William rubbed his eyes. “Are we going to do this now?”
“Why not?”
William looked at the timepiece on the mantle. “It’s almost four o’clock in the morning.”
James set the decanter aside and wiped his mouth. “I can’t sleep.”
He was restless. As soon as he had departed the earl’s home, the blood in his veins had roiled in protest. Even now the stiffness in his joints was acute. He wanted Sophia. He wanted to be close to her. He had walked away from her in the middle of a heated battle of the senses. He had severed their intimate connection before either of them had had the satisfaction of a thorough bedding.
And now he was in pain, the separation from Sophia bleeding him. He had to wait two more days to see her again.
Wednesday.
At the opera.
Would she be engaged by then?
James reached for the spirits again. He tamped the nausea in his belly with another hearty swig.
What did it matter if she was affianced? He would still have his revenge. He would still have the woman in his bed. He would still hear her admit she needed him, she
craved
him. He would still have her disengage with the earl and come to him…before he walked away from her.
William’s expression soured even more. “
You
can’t sleep, so to hell with the rest of us?”
“Something like that.”
James stared at the painting on the wall: a sea witch. Quincy had brought the infernal artwork home one night. It was his favorite piece. But James loathed it.
William approached the desk and cocked his hip against it. “Am I to assume the picnic didn’t go so well?”
He turned away from the garish artwork. “Thanks to your interruption. Now what the devil is wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” William folded his arms across his chest. “Our lives are in danger, that’s what’s wrong. And while you’ve been following the stirrings of your cock, we’ve been hunting the impostors pirating in our names.”
James slammed the bottle against the table. “I’m here! So drop the righteous horseshit and tell me what’s the matter!”
The door opened.
“Waz all the shouting about?”
Quincy entered the room, followed by Edmund’s long figure. The two bucks looked bedraggled. Words slurred. Shirts rumpled. Hair mussed.
William frowned. “Are you two
just
getting in?”
The fledglings settled into two winged chairs positioned beside the fireplace. Edmund closed his eyes, disinterested in the goings-on around him. Quincy grinned, however.
“You told us to make sure it looked like we were having a good time,” said the pup. He hiccupped. “So we did.”
Aye, they’d had a good time. James had only to glance at them to see they were foxed. He ignored the rubbish about it “looking” like they’d had a good time. He assumed it was besotted drivel. He focused instead on the “good time” and turned to William with pointed regard.
“Aren’t you going to preach to
them
about responsibility?”
“They were working,” returned William.
“You mean whoring?” said James.
“I mean working.” William set his eyes on Quincy again. “Well?”
Quincy flicked his fingers for dramatic emphasis. “We spread the news.”
“Word should reach them soon,” said Edmund, dozing.
There was a creeping chill that gripped James’s bones. He sensed he was back at the house party. Once again he was barred from the conversation, barred from entry. Foxed and drowsy, the men still had a better grip on the conversation than he had—and he was sober and alert with all his faculties in place.
James curled his fingers into his palms. “I’m going to shoot each of you if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on.”
“We’ve set a trap for the impostors,” said William.
James gathered his brow. “What sort of trap?”
William moved away from the desk and approached the liquor table. He poured himself a small amount of spirits.
“Here.” Quincy stretched out his hand. “Pass the rest o’ the bottle to me.”
William snorted. “You’ve had enough.”
Edmund was breathing deeply, sound asleep.
William looked at James again. “We tried hunting the charlatans, but they’re elusive. We figured we’d let them come to us instead.”
Quincy chimed in with, “Eddie and I spread the word about our precious ‘cargo’ in port tonight.”
“Is that why you’re piss drunk?” demanded James.
The kid shrugged. “It’s all Will’s fault. He told us to make it look like we were having a gay ol’ time before we let word slip about our valuable cargo. Less suspicious, you know?”
William clarified, “The impostors won’t think it a trap then.”
James glared at the lieutenant. “What cargo?”
But it was Quincy who blurted, “Diamonds.”
“Blimey!” James blustered, “We’re going to have
every
ship—pirate or not—hunting us now!”
Edmund started at the bellowed remark, blinked, then dropped back against the chair and closed his eyes.
“Quincy’s teasing,” William said in a calm manner.
James glared at the pup.
Quincy looked sheepish. “You’d think bedding a wench like Sophia would put you in a better mood.”
William downed the spirits. “I don’t think he bedded Sophia.”
The pup’s eyes rounded. “Oh, that’d put me in a foul temper, too.”
“Fuck off,” said James. “All of you.”
William set the empty glass aside and returned to the matter at hand. “We spread word we were hauling two hundred tons of sperm oil across the Atlantic. The booty will fetch a high price in America. It’s sure to entice the impostors out of hiding.”
“Aye.” Another hiccup. “Eddie and I were ‘foxed’ and let the word leak.”
“You are foxed,” James growled, “and you’re repeating yourself.”
The kid looked confused. “Am I?”
“We’re to set sail in two nights,” informed William.
Wednesday night.
James rubbed the back of his neck, so stiff. The trap coincided with the opera—and his revenge. But he refused to give up on Sophia. He refused to let the witch think she had chased him off with her wily ways, that she had won their battle of wills. He would attend the opera and still return in time to set sail with his brothers and crush the impostors.
“There’s a lot of work to be done over the next two days,” said William. “We need to prepare the ship and crew.”
The ship and crew were already prepared, thought James. The men might have retired from piracy, but the fight in their blood was still strong. And the
Bonny Meg
was always equipped for a brutal sea battle, her guns in ideal condition. However, there were other provisions to amass, like food and gunpowder, more canvas, and medical supplies. Two days was plenty of time to gather the needed materials.
James sensed the spasms in his neck, the twisting muscles. His brethren had done everything without him. They had prepared a trap and set it in motion without advice or leadership from him. They had never done that before.
James fisted his palms as if to keep the authority, the control from slipping between his fingers. “Fine. We weigh anchor in two nights.”
Quincy rambled, “And the
Bonny Meg
needs to be in good shape for our next venture, too.”
“What venture?” snapped James.
The inebriated Quincy glanced at William with only one eye open. “You still haven’t told him?”
James cut the lieutenant a sharp glance, too. “Told me what?”
William looked from one brother to the next, the room quiet except for Edmund’s sound and steady breathing.
“Let’s talk about it some other time, James. Get some sleep. We have a lot to do before we set sail.”
The lieutenant was right. James was fagged, the spirits he had swallowed earlier taking hold of his senses and making him drowsy. Whatever shipping venture his brother had planned, let him deal with it. He always did.
William headed for the door. “I’ll fetch Sophia and return her to your room.”
Yes, Sophia.
James still had that island witch to seduce, and he needed all his faculties intact to bring about her downfall.
Chapter 12
S
ophia searched the crowd. The opera was scheduled to begin in a quarter of an hour, so the theater was brimming with patrons. It was hard to see over so many heads.
Where are you?
She pinched her eyes closed. A longing stemmed from her toes. The appendages twitched at the memory of his touch, his heat.
She huffed. Curse the blackguard! He possessed her senses even now. He chained her thoughts, even her will. For two days she had suffered in silence. For two days she had languished without a touch or a word from him. Lifeless. Even the earl had cooled his pursuit of her. The black devil had pressed him to be more affectionate. Jealousy had goaded him to be more possessive. But as soon as the pirate lord had deserted the country house, the earl had returned to the aloof yet amiable gentleman that he was—sans proposal.
Sophia opened her eyes. She lifted them to the vaulted ceiling. Stone columns and arched doorways supported the grand structure. She was dizzy. She lowered her gaze to the wide steps, carpeted in rich red fabric. She placed her hand on the wood finial for support. Traffic ascended the mighty staircase. The upper levels housed the private boxes. There was so much noise, so much color and movement.
Once more she searched the throng of spectators. She stepped onto the red carpet, seeking height—and the proverbial black locks that heralded
him.
One look and she would be satisfied. She would ignore him the rest of the evening then…but the brigand had a way about him that disrupted her senses. Would a single look be enough to quiet her restless jitters?
“My dear, did you hear?”
Sophia grabbed the glossy banister, startled. “Hear what, Lady Lucas?”
The matron dabbed her brow with a kerchief. “It’s most shocking!”
Sophia had parted from the party, looking for breath and quiet…and him. She wasn’t privy to the goings-on that had transpired in her absence. But she had to wonder: What had happened in the past two minutes that was so shocking?
She eyed the woman closely. “What’s wrong, Lady Lucas?”
“Well—”
“It’s horrifying, Miss Dawson!”
Sophia glanced at Lady Rosamond, skirting toward her. The girl’s cheeks boasted rich pigment, even her lips looked bright and plump with blood. And her eyes! Her eyes glowed and sparkled and burned with energy.
“It’s all my fault.” The earl was more ashen. He followed his sister like a sentry. “It’s my duty to protect you, Mondie.”
Sophia quickly descended a step. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”
Rosamond gasped for breath. “I’ve been corrupted!”
“Nonsense, Mondie!” cried the earl.
“I was very
nearly
corrupted…and by an acquaintance I trusted, Miss Dawson.”
Lady Lucas was flushed, too.
Sophia’s head throbbed. She whispered, “Who?”
“There she is!” Rosamond squeaked. “What is she doing here?”
Sophia whirled around. The horde still moved and laughed and chatted. However, the whispers started, too. The pointed looks.
Sophia followed the bloody trail of gossiping voices and disdainful expressions to the wounded creature in the center of the room.
Imogen.
“You invited her to the opera, Mondie,” said the earl.
“Two days ago! I didn’t know who she truly was then.”
Sophia’s heart cramped. “And who is she?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you, my dear.” Lady Lucas whispered, “Miss Rayne is a fallen woman.”
It was a hammer to the heart, the words. So hard and biting. Sophia watched the lone figure fidget. She listened to the ghastly murmurs, so much louder in her own head. They were like savage blows, the voices and looks. Her bones ached under the pressure of the beating. She wasn’t even the unfortunate victim…but she sensed it. She sensed every brutal bash.
Sophia trembled. “Are you sure she’s a fallen woman?”
“Oh yes,” said Lady Lucas.
“It’s all over Town.” Rosamond hissed, “She lost her virtue to a Jew.”
“Mondie!”
The chit composed her features, brimming with vim. “It’s what I heard.”
“You should not speak of such things,” Maximilian chastised. “It’s indelicate.”
“Yes, very indelicate.” Lady Lucas cupped the girl’s hand. “Come, my dear. Let me take you away from such unsavory company.”
The chit made a noise of protest as she was ushered up the steps by the matron. Sophia and the earl remained behind.
Sophia was in a dream. Nay, a nightmare. She stood vulnerable, naked. She gazed at herself in the mirror.
It was a wretched sight.
She whispered weakly, “How do you know she’s a fallen woman?”
“I understand it happened this morning. Miss Rayne was spied in a compromising situation.”
“And you believe the gossip?”
“I’m afraid I must, Miss Dawson. I must guard my sister’s well-being.”
So even the
hint
of scandal was enough to devastate a woman’s position in the world?
Sophia shuddered.
“How could I have been so careless?” said the earl. “I never suspected Miss Rayne a deviant.”
Sophia swallowed the sob in her throat. “It’s not Miss Rayne’s fault.”
It was cruel. So very cruel. Imogen was in love. She wanted to pursue an honorable courtship. But her par ents—society at large—forbade it, forcing her into an illicit affair.