The Infamous Rogue (18 page)

“I’m here to live with you,” said Sophia.
He rolled over and opened his eyes. “Like bleedin’ hell you are!”
“My mother sent me.”
“Aye? And who’s your mother?”
“Alvera—”
“You jezebel!” He staggered to his clumsy feet and slapped her. “Off with you, Alvera!”
Sophia grabbed her pulsing cheek. She munched on her bottom lip to fend off the tears. “I’m Sophia! So-phi-a! You need a bath. Are you hungry? I can cook.”
She stepped around the haggard man and entered the hut. She set aside the bundle in her arms—all the belongings she had in the world—and looked at her new home. The house was a mess. But she would make it better. She would make him want her, too.
Sophia returned Lady Lucas’s embrace. She yearned for the affectionate gesture: a gesture she had seldom known from her mother. Or her father.
Patrick Dawson had eventually accepted her as his daughter and caretaker, even though half the time he had called her Sophia, and half the time he had called her by her mother’s name, Alvera. He had always railed at her for something, but she had learned to ignore his demented outbursts.
The man had loved her in his own way. Her mother had been wrong about that; he had cared. Her mother had been wrong about a great many things, including that pirates didn’t bury their treasure. Dawson had. He had buried so much treasure, he couldn’t remember where he had put most of it.
But over time, Sophia had gathered all the gold into one secret spot. And on the eve of his death, Dawson had asked her to take the wealth. He had stunned her with the reasonable request, for she had believed the man crazy enough to demand to be buried with his precious treasure—not that she would have honored the balmy request and interred him with the gold. But he had been lucid at the end of his life. And he had wanted her to be happy, to have the money. He had never once said, “I love you” in all their years together. But he had cared for her, she was sure.
“Why are you crying, my dear?” Lady Lucas wiped Sophia’s cheeks. “Are you hurt? What happened at the opera? Where did you go? I thought you had been kidnapped, but then there was no ransom note. Oh, there’s been such buzz!”
Sophia’s head was buzzing, too. She had been gone for four days. Had she really believed no one would notice her disappearance? That there would be no “buzz”?
The jeers and slights resounded in her head, the
ton
’s sharp laughter and biting snubs. She saw the contorted faces, so cold: the faces from the opera house. She saw them laughing at her.
Whore!
The thought made her cringe. Her fingers trembled, the nerves numb. She had caged her natural desires, evaded her dishonorable past. For naught. She was disgraced, her dreams shattered. And she had disgraced herself with her own reckless behavior. She had fretted over Black Hawk so much, she had failed to keep control of her own wild impulses.
She swallowed the heavy knob of tears in her throat. The mockery and searing looks resided in her head. She had been spared public disgrace…unlike poor Imogen. Perhaps Sophia deserved the ignominy? She had let a good friend fall. And the scandal she had unleashed with her own thoughtless conduct was fate’s vengeance, she supposed.
At least Lady Lucas was still kind to her. She was not alone. The old woman’s tender touch assuaged some of the grief that quashed Sophia’s spirit. But she wouldn’t admit she had been aboard the pirate lord’s ship. She wouldn’t let the old woman think ill of her even more. Instead, she confessed:
“I was so upset about Imogen. I wasn’t thinking clearly and I—”
“I knew it!” The matron took her by the hand and dragged her across the room. “Sit, my dear.”
Sophia sighed as she rested against the plush and embroidered cushions.
“You looked so pale and distraught at the opera house.” The old woman settled beside her on the divan and squeezed her hand. “I suspected you had gone off to mourn your friend in private.”
Sophia shuddered at the word. She had mourned the loss of her father. Was Imogen’s shame akin to a physical death? If so…Sophia was dead, too.
“I’m sorry, Lady Lucas. I’ve ruined everything.”
“You very
nearly
ruined everything, my dear.”
Sophia was fagged. Her heart had folded and ballooned so many times, she was weary. She had assumed she was ruined. She had resigned herself to ignominy. But the word “nearly” poked her listless heart to life, filling it with vibrant energy.
“B-but the buzz, Lady Lucas?”
“The buzz isn’t about your disappearance, my dear.”
Sophia’s head throbbed, her soul pulsed with renewed strength. “Then what—”
“You must never run off like that again!”
Lady Lucas huffed. Sophia offered the faint woman an opportunity to gather her breath. She had endured great distress. She had struggled for four days to keep her charge’s disappearance a secret. The outburst was cathartic, Sophia suspected. And she allowed Lady Lucas a few moments to regain her composure, while she wallowed in remorse for having put the sage woman through the terrible ordeal.
“I know you’ve lived in the jungle, my dear.”
Jamaica,
Sophia thought.
“But young ladies—even wealthy and independent young ladies—
don’t
run away when they’re upset. They lock themselves in a room and cry, as is proper.”
“Yes, Lady Lucas.” Sophia grabbed her chest, it ached so much. “I’m sorry. But the buzz?”
“Yes. Yes. The buzz about you and the duchess.”
The duchess? “What duchess?”
“The Duchess of Wembury!”
Sophia jumped to her feet, the soft cushions more like hot bricks against her backside. “Oh no!”
“Yes, the captain’s sister! She put an immediate end to the twitter.”
Sophia whirled around. “There was twitter?”
“At first, but the duchess put a stop to it.”
“How?”
Why?
“Her Grace announced you had
not
disappeared, that you were visiting with her at Castle Wembury.”
There was pressure on Sophia’s breast. It was hard to breathe. She had never met James’s sister. She doubted very much James had ever mentioned her name to the woman. So how had the duchess learned about her? And why would she do such a thing? Save her brother’s mistress from the chomping lips of the gossipmongers? Had James put her up to it?
“After you’d vanished, I announced you were ill,” said the old woman. “The earl suspected your ‘illness’ a front for grief, that you were mourning the loss of Imogen’s friendship in private. I let him believe it, too. But after two days ‘shut in your room,’ he wondered if you really
were
ill or even injured. Then the twitter started. And that’s when the letter arrived.”
“The letter?”
“From the Duchess of Wembury, requesting your presence at the castle. Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with Her Grace?” Lady Lucas bustled across the room and foraged through the papers neatly stacked on the writing desk. “Here.” She handed the missive to Sophia. “A footman arrived in person to deliver the invitation.”
Sophia moved closer to the fire and perused the swirling penmanship:
My dear Miss Dawson,
The Duke and I would like to invite you and your chaperone to Castle Wembury. I long to see you, Miss Dawson. Please accept our hospitality.

Yours sincerely

Belle

Sophia stared at the note, confounded. What did the duchess want from her? Was it a trick? Was the woman acting under her devious brother’s instruction?
Lady Lucas was on her toes, peeking over Sophia’s shoulder. “Look at how she signed her name: Belle. How informal. Oh, my dear! You must be such good friends.
Why
didn’t you tell me you were acquainted with Her Grace? And when did you befriend her?”
Sophia’s thoughts swirled liked the penmanship. Friends with the duchess? Hardly. And yet the woman had saved her reputation. And that meant James had been right, Sophia could have saved Imogen’s, too…if she had tried.
Sophia gasped for breath. Ghostly fingers circled her throat—and squeezed. She had forsaken Imogen. She had forsaken herself, for she was like Imogen. She, too, concealed dark secrets. She deserved to share in her comrade’s fate. And yet she had been spared the misfortune. Bitter tears welled in her eyes.
“I, um…”
“Never mind,” said the old woman. “I informed Her Grace you had gone off to mourn the loss of your friend in seclusion. I didn’t know how long I could maintain your ‘illness.’ And the duchess was your intimate, so I assumed I could trust her…”
The matron faltered. Sophia sensed her misgiving, her dread that she had erred in some way and aggrieved her charge.
“You did the right thing, Lady Lucas.”
But Sophia sounded much more assured than she really was. She only wanted to put the matron’s fear to rest, to disabuse her of the thought that she would abandon her, disgusted with her incompetence, and leave her penniless—again. Sophia respected the woman far too much to ever abandon her.
Lady Lucas gathered her features and bounded for the door. “Hurry! We have to pack.”
Sophia pinched her brows. “Where are we going?”
“To the castle, of course.” She paused beside the door. “The duchess let word slip that you are both friends. The
ton
thinks you are staying with Her Grace, so you
must
be there.”
Sophia was in a precarious position. If she wanted to protect her character, she had to accept the duchess’s invitation…But what awaited her at Castle Wembury?
It was that enigmatic question that chilled her, set her heart pounding.

Sophia stared at the imposing wood doors with polished brass knockers. She peered into the reflective metal and watched her face metamorphose in the twisted alloy. The distortion made her shudder. She looked away. Slowly she lifted her eyes heavenward, but the castle’s looming towers disappeared in the dazzling sunlight. She lowered her gaze. Bright spots bounced before her eyes, making her dizzy.
“Achoo!”
Sophia glanced at Lady Lucas. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She dabbed a frilly kerchief under her nose and sniffed. “It’s the dust off the road.”
The sound of grinding iron soon filled Sophia’s ears. One thick and heavy door rolled on its hinges. The ancient wood released a spurt of cool air from inside the castle that swirled around her in greeting. A stoic gentleman also appeared. The butler, Sophia assumed.
The matron tucked the kerchief into her sleeve before she handed the butler a calling card. “Lady Lucas and Miss Dawson to see the Duchess of Wembury.”
The old man bowed. “Welcome, ladies.”
Sophia entered the castle’s dark belly; it swallowed her whole. She suspected the ancient blocks of stone might crumble and crush her, and she took an inadvertent step back. But she had to be there or she risked her reputation being sullied. There was still the chance she might secure the earl’s favor and become the next Countess Baine…unless James had employed his sister in some wily scheme to thwart her plans?
“Please follow me, ladies.”
Sophia treaded after Lady Lucas and the butler as two liveried footmen attended to the luggage, while another scuttled off to fetch the duchess.
Sophia lifted her eyes to better examine the tall corridor. The stones gave way to wood panels that covered the walls and the ceiling in a grid pattern. She passed through three sets of ornate doorframes designed to keep in the cool air in the summer and let the warm air circulate in the winter.
At the fourth and last set of doors, she was greeted by a lavish lintel with gold filigree. She dropped her gaze and skimmed her fingers along the carved wood. It reminded her of home on the island…of James.
Sophia dismissed the black devil from her mind. He might still be the reason she’d been summoned to the castle. But if he
was
the nefarious culprit behind the invitation, if he intended to out her publicly with his sister’s support as an act of revenge for rejecting him aboard the
Bonny Meg,
he would suffer for the betrayal. She would crush him, too, expose him as Black Hawk.
The butler opened the door. Sophia gathered her composure. But as soon as she entered the warm parlor, her heart fluttered. There was a row of tall windows along the west wall, the glass arced at the tips. The archaic style suited the ancient fortress. Each pane was flanked by white and translucent drapes, allowing the brilliant, late-afternoon sunshine to fill the room. Shades of blue, green, and yellow colored glass trimmed the windows, the floral patterns splayed across the floor and furnishings in a vibrant array.
It was unearthly, soothing. The walls were papered in the softest blue. The elegant furniture curved at each corner, giving the space the illusion of waves…the sea.
There was a large portrait above the whitewashed fireplace. A lovely young woman of about five-and-twenty. Eyes a deep amber, locks a tawny gold. She had a warm smile. She looked mischievous, too, almost seductive. She slanted her lashes and shifted her gaze to one side, as if flirting with someone just beyond the canvas’s frame.
“Please have a seat,” said the butler. “The duchess will be with you shortly.”
Sophia followed Lady Lucas to the divan upholstered in eggshell white linen. A parlor maid soon bustled inside the room with a silver tray.
“Tea?” offered the butler.
“Thank you,” returned Lady Lucas. She settled in the seat and murmured, “Very respectable.” As the staff prepared the refreshments, the matron whispered in Sophia’s ear, “I’m surprised the duchess is feeling well enough to greet us.”
Sophia was still bewitched by the comforting surroundings. She looked away from the curious portrait and returned quietly, “Why wouldn’t she be well?”
“I understand there was a complication with the birth of her last child, a son. That was two months ago. She very nearly died.”
Sophia frowned. James had mentioned his sister was nursing a new babe, but he hadn’t expounded on the traumatic birth. He had suffered sorely if he had refrained from talking about the matter, for he wasn’t the sort to confess to weakness, to feelings like pain…or love.
Sophia mulled over the pirate lord’s dogged claim that he had to protect his sister’s reputation from his sinful past. He adored his sister, Mirabelle. All four of her brothers had spoken warmly of her on the island. If James had conspired with the duchess to lure Sophia to the castle, it wasn’t to betray her. The man would never risk his sister’s good name or threaten her happiness. And both would be dashed to bits if Sophia outed him as Black Hawk in retribution. So
why
had she been invited to the castle?
The door opened.
Lady Lucas quickly lifted to her feet. Sophia mimicked. She folded her hands together and twisted her fingers to quell the slight vibration skirting along her spine. She peered over the matron’s shoulder and looked at…the woman from the portrait.
Mirabelle stepped inside the room. She was handsome in a brown linen day dress with ruffled sleeves and full skirt. A matching shawl trimmed with lace was loosely draped over her wrists and sagging below her waistline. The castle air was cool, but Sophia suspected another reason for the woman’s warm attire. The duchess was ashen. It was the fashion to maintain a sallow complexion; however, the woman lacked a certain bright glow in her cheeks that the artist had captured in her portrait. Her faint skin was no vogue: the duchess was recovering from near death.
Mirabelle crossed the wool rug striped with a blue and white harlequin pattern. She was almost as tall as Sophia at about five feet, seven inches. She paused—and smiled. “Miss Dawson, I’m so delighted to see you.”
Sophia prepared to curtsy…but she was swallowed by a lace-trimmed mantle as the duchess hugged her.
Sophia glanced at Lady Lucas, unprepared for the informal greeting. She had been trained to respond to the peerage with strict decorum. What was she supposed to do now? But Lady Lucas looked pleased at the casual salutation. She believed her charge and the duchess friends, after all.
The duchess stepped away, simpering. She looked at Sophia, glanced over her with her golden eyes. The examination wasn’t judgmental, though. Sophia had endured a lot of scrutiny since her arrival in England. She knew when she was being critiqued. The woman was…admiring her?
The duchess glanced at the matron next. “You must be Lady Lucas?”
The old woman bobbed. “Your Grace.”
“Please have a seat, ladies.”
Sophia and Lady Lucas returned to the divan as the duchess filled an opposite seat. She looked over her shoulder. “I will serve our guests, Jenkins.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The butler and maid quietly quit the room.
Sophia stared at her counterpart. She was everything Sophia was not: a respectable wife without a sordid past. Oh, she was a pirate’s daughter, too. But her kin protected her from the scandalous secret. Sophia had no one to guard her from her own past transgressions. She had to protect herself. And that meant she had to resolve the mystery of her invitation. Why was the duchess so pleased to meet her brother’s former mistress?
“Thank you for inviting us to the castle,” said Lady Lucas. “We are honored.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
The duchess looked at Sophia again, giddy.
Sophia shifted.
“How was your journey?” said Mirabelle. “Are you tired? I’ve prepared two of our best rooms. Would you like to rest? Refresh?”
Lady Lucas smiled. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”
The door burst opened.
A four-year-old child with twirling gold locks bounced inside the room, waving a bonnet with green ribbon. “Look what I found, Mama!” She placed the frilly cap on her head, but it was too large for her. The headpiece slumped over her brow, covering her big blue eyes.
Lady Lucas frowned. “That’s my bonnet.”
“Oh no,” Mirabelle groaned. “Alice!”
The sprite peeked at her mother from under the cap before she kicked up her feet and dashed from the parlor. Both the duchess and Lady Lucas chased after the girl, leaving Sophia alone in the room, staring blankly and listening to the ruckus as it unfolded in the passageway.
A few minutes later, the duchess returned—alone. She closed the door and shut her eyes. “That child will be the end of me.”
Sophia pinched her lips. She would never know the headache of a household of noisy brats. She was glad about that.
The duchess sighed and moved away from the door. She headed for the serving dishes and poured two cups of steaming tea. “I’m afraid Lady Lucas is indisposed.” She circled the furniture, petticoats swishing, and offered Sophia the light refreshment. “Alice got her fingers into the luggage. Lady Lucas is with the maids, tending to the mess.”
Poor Lady Lucas.
But Sophia was in a similar bind. She now had to confront the duchess alone. The woman was soft-spoken and courteous when Lady Lucas was in the room, but now…
Sophia set the tea aside, feeling insecure about holding the dainty set of dishes. “Congratulations on the birth of your son.”
“Thank you. Henry’s a joy. He sleeps most of the time.” A clatter resounded from the passageway. “He’s quiet as a mouse.”
Sophia looked at her hands. After a few silent moments, she wondered, “About the invitation…”
“Yes, I’m glad I have you alone, Sophia. May I call you Sophia?”
She nodded.
“You and I have always lived an ocean apart.” Mirabelle smiled. “I’m glad we meet at last.”
Why
was
she smiling?
“Are you well, Sophia? Oh, listen to me…I’m sorry about the loss of your friend. Lady Lucas informed me about the tragedy. How did the girl die?”
“She, um…”
“Forgive me. You don’t want to talk about the ordeal, I understand. You’re still feeling ill.” She set her teacup aside and lifted to her feet before she took Sophia by the hand. “Come. I’ll escort you to your room.”
Sophia snatched her hand away.
Mirabelle frowned. “Is something the matter?”
“Forgive me, Your Grace.”
She smiled and settled beside her on the divan. “Belle, please.”
The sweet scent of citrus soap filled Sophia’s nose. She took in a deep breath, for the tangy fragrance reminded her of the tasty fruits on the tropical island, and the thought of home always put her uneasy mind to rest.
“Why did you invite me to the castle, Belle?”
“You are Dawson’s daughter.”
Sophia looked at her, confounded. “What?”
“I love your father.” She slipped her hand through Sophia’s arm. “And so I love you, too. You are a part of him.”
Her father was so fearsome. Mad. It was the first time someone had ever treated her
well
for being the man’s offspring…That wasn’t true. James had treated her well for being Dawson’s daughter, too.
Sophia’s thoughts swirled. “My father is dead.”
“I know,” said the duchess, her voice a soft inflec tion. “Word reached me through my brothers. I regret I never had the opportunity to tell him thank you in person. He saved my father from slavery. He allowed my father to return home. I can’t express my gratitude to him anymore, but I can express it to you.”
Sophia sighed. For a decade, Drake Hawkins had remained captive aboard a naval vessel, pressed into service. It was her father who had attacked the ship and offered the weary sailors an opportunity to join his pirate crew. Drake Hawkins had turned traitor. He had lived a brutal existence under a sadistic naval captain for far too long. He had no feeling of loyalty left for the crown, which had snatched him away from his home and kin. And so he had joined Dawson’s crew, touring the Caribbean for another two years in servitude to her father.
It was the way of the sea: allegiance and duty. But soon Drake had befriended her father—she suspected it was Drake who’d befriended him, for her father wasn’t the affable sort—and he was eventually set free with his fair share of the booty. Drake had returned home to his family after a twelve-year hiatus. And he’d captained his own pirate vessel then, the
Bonny Meg
. The Hawkins family had flourished. Mirabelle and her two younger brothers had come along. And it was all “thanks” to Sophia’s father.
The duchess was simpering again.
Sophia’s heart slowly shriveled. The duchess wanted to pamper her in place of her savior father. James had had nothing to do with the invitation to the castle. The woman didn’t even know Sophia was her brother’s former whore. She wouldn’t be so kind to her then. She would be like all the others, dismayed and repulsed.
Sophia almost wished the woman
was
privy to the truth, then Sophia wouldn’t have to maintain the pretense. Now she had to conform to an image of Dawson’s saintly daughter. And she had to keep her affair with Black Hawk an even firmer secret.
“As soon as I heard you were in the country, I wanted to meet you. I feel like we are sisters, you and I. Both pirates’ daughters. Look!”
There was a thin gold chain at her bust and a ring. It looked familiar. Sophia examined it more closely. The emblem was a winged hourglass. It was a pirate symbol, sometimes a part of the pirate flag, warning ships—prey—that time was running out for them, that they were about to be attacked.
“It belonged to your father.” Mirabelle stroked the bauble. “He gifted it to my father before the two parted ways. My father always loved the ring. It reminded him that time was precious. He presented it to me for my twentieth year…just before he died.”
Sophia eyed the other woman thoughtfully. The ring linked them in kinship, she supposed. But being part of a family was a wistful sentiment, for Sophia had not enjoyed the succor of familial rapport since her time on the island with her father…and the Hawkins brothers. And that time was long since dead.
“Why didn’t you write to tell me you were coming to England, Sophia? I would have sponsored your come-out.”
She said stiffly, “We’ve never even met.”
“We have now.” Mirabelle cupped her hand. “If you need anything from me, you need only ask. My home is your home.”
It was a thoughtful but misguided sentiment. Sophia didn’t belong inside the castle. Not with the duchess: James’s beloved sister. She dishonored the woman with her presence. James would think so. Sophia belonged with the earl. Then she would be on equal footing with the duchess.