The Infamous Rogue (22 page)

She made a wry face that he had read her mind so easily before she set aside the spoon and lifted the bowl to her mouth.
She smacked her lips. “It’s good.”
“I’ll tell Cook.”
He was staring at her. It was hard to ignore such commanding eyes. What was he
really
doing here? He had cared for her in the past during bouts with illness. Once he had even boiled her a delicious stew. But the tenderness he was showing her now was suspect, and she eyed him warily as she sipped the potage.
He tapped the chess box on the table beside him. “Would you like to play a game?”
She choked. “A game?” She wiped the dribble from her lips. “What are we playing for?”
He shrugged. “Do we have to pay a forfeit? Can’t we play for fun?”
She frowned. “No.”
He chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose we can. You and I always have to be at odds about something, don’t we?”
She looked at him askance before she returned to the comforting meal.
“You can’t sleep,” he said with authority.
She glared at him and rebuked, “I can sleep just fine.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t sleep when you’re sick…I remember.”
A quiver kissed her spine. “Is that why you’re here? To…amuse me?”
He lifted a black brow. “Would you like me to ‘amuse’ you?”
She gasped. Not at the outrageous proposal…but at the pulsing want that so swiftly gripped her heart. “I’d like you to leave my room.”
“All right.”
“What? Wait!”
She wanted to bite her tongue as soon as she’d voiced the balmy command. He offered her a small yet wicked smile before he slowly slipped back into the seat.
Sophia set the bowl aside, the porcelain unsteady in her shaky grip. “I mean, you’re right. I can’t sleep. Let’s play a game.”
There was a devilish glimmer in his eyes. “What would you like to play for?”
She scowled. “I thought we didn’t have to pay a forfeit?”
“I was wrong, remember? You and I must always be at odds.”
She huffed. “Fine. We’ll play for…sport. Winner takes all the accolades.”
He snorted. “I was thinking about something a little more interesting.”
She flushed. “Like what?”
“If I win…you must kiss me.”
She took in a deep breath. The blackguard! He had already ensnared her senses with his sensual blue eyes and husky voice. What more did he want from her? Did he want to enslave her passions, too? Perhaps he was searching for a new mistress. She had chased off his last one, after all. Whatever the man’s scheme, she was determined not to let him win their strife. She would not become his mistress—ever again! And while there was room in his heart for a family…there was no room in his heart for her. She had no future prospect with the man.
“Very well,” she said tightly. “And if I win…you must give me Sophia.”
The man’s expression darkened.
Slowly she smiled, giddy at the thought that the vile snake might soon belong to her. She imagined all sorts of grisly deaths for the reptile, and her disposition greatly improved.
“Do we agree on the terms, Black Hawk?”
He glared at her. She thought he might rebuff the dangerous request; he loved that damn snake. Instead he quietly collected the chess box from the table and approached the bed.
The man’s considerable frame neared the furniture. She spied his stout physique. It moved toward her like a dark cloud, a storm. He was filled with power and zest. It tickled her senses, his robust form. Longing welled in her breast, and she squelched the deep desires stirring in her heart, distracting her.
She was determined to win the game.
James settled on the bed. The feather tick swagged. Blood rushed through her veins as she absorbed the weight, the strength he impressed.
He curled one thick leg across the coverlet and stretched forth the other, so one boot rested on the floor. He then opened the box that also converted into a chessboard, and meticulously arranged the jade and ivory players.
Sophia crossed her legs under the woolly blanket and watched him, transfixed. She watched the way his sturdy fingers nimbly assembled the pieces. She watched the lamplight shimmer across his polished black boots. She even watched the studious way he set his brow as he maneuvered the pawns and rooks.
“Ladies first,” he said gruffly.
She smacked her lips together. She then examined the board closely before she selected a player and made the first move.
He followed suit. “How many lovers have you had since we parted ways seven years ago?”
Slowly she lifted her eyes. Was he trying to unnerve her again? Make her falter and lose? She had more gumption than that. “Do you really want to know?”
The man’s expression hardened. “No.”
“Then don’t ask.”
His features soured. She smiled inwardly. He had thought to distract her with the scandalous repartee, but he’d failed, blackening his own mood instead. But there was no reason for him to be jealous, for while she had searched for physical comfort when the need had come upon her, she had never formed another bond with a man. Not like the bond she had formed with James. But he didn’t need to know that, of course. She preferred to keep him in high dudgeon. He was more likely to make an error and lose the game that way.
“I’m sorry, Black Hawk.”
He glowered at her. “For what?”
“For spoiling the affair with your mistress.”
The darkness in his eyes blackened even more. “Are you truly remorseful?”
“I didn’t mean to chase her off like that. I was really angry with you, you know?”
The man let out a slow, deep breath through his nose. “And you’re sure you chased her away? That she will not return to my bed?”
Sophia strangled the twinge of jealousy that had sprouted in her belly at the words “to my bed.” She smiled wryly instead. “I’m sure.”
He nabbed a pawn. “Why are you so sure?”
She frowned. “I’m a woman.”
She stared at the chessboard, strategizing. She was at a disadvantage, her head congested with a chill. She had to concentrate more on the game.
“Yes, I’ve noticed you’re a woman,” he said dryly.
She lifted a brow. “Well, as a woman, I can sense what another woman is thinking.”
He looked at her pointedly.
She shivered under the man’s piercing stare.
“And what was my mistress thinking?” he drawled.
“Your former mistress was thinking, ‘I don’t care how big his cock is, I ain’t gonna fight the shrew for it.’”
The man’s lips twitched.
Sophia suspected he’d smiled just before he’d smothered the impulse. A genuine smile. And for some absurd reason, she was pleased with the thought that she had made him cheerful.
He nabbed another player.
She scowled.
“No more talking,” she said firmly.
He acquiesced.
In less than an hour, he had cornered her king, ending the battle.
“You lose, sweetheart.”
Sophia gnashed her teeth. She had lost. But she was saddled with an illness, she thought, comforting herself. Had she possessed all her faculties, her wits, the game would have lasted much longer. She might even have been victorious.
James gathered the players and collapsed the chessboard. He set the box aside—and waited.
There was a sound throbbing in her head. Sweat gathered between her fingers as she fisted her palms. He looked so damn kissable. Curse him!
Slowly she crawled across the rumpled coverlet, heart booming in her breast. She was weak, shaky. He seemed so…hungry. She sensed the carnal thirst brewing within him. She was consumed by it herself. The man’s tempting lips waited patiently for her, so lush and erotic and powerful. She ached deep inside to taste him…and hated him for it.
“I hope
you
get sick, too,” she griped.
She closed her eyes…and pressed her mouth over his, flattened her lips. She imagined nothing. She stomped every stirring sentiment into the bowel of her soul as she ignored the steamy buss.
At last she pulled away.
He grabbed her by the back of the neck, wove his thick fingers through her mussed hair. “What the hell was that, woman?” He was holding her head tight. “I said
kiss
me.”
Her heart fluttered. “I did.”
“No,” he said curtly. “Kiss me…kiss me until I’m satisfied.”
She trembled. “I can’t.”
“You will.”
She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to! The very thought filled her with pulsing want. She yearned for a real kiss…she yearned for him.
He whispered, “Kiss me, Sophia.”
She groaned.
She kissed him.
She wrapped her arms around him and straddled him, choking him with a deep and hungry and soulful kiss. She moved her mouth over him in desperate thrusts. She heard him gasp for breath. She heard him groan so deep in his belly. And then she kissed him even harder. She was hungry. So hungry for him. She had fasted for far too long. She needed him. He offered her breath and life. And she took both until she was sated. Almost sated.
He grunted. “Better.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, swollen. She stroked his head, keeping back the whimper that welled in her throat.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He rubbed her spine. “Are you still hungry?”
She was breathless. “Yes.”
The lamplight burned low, the shadows danced. But even in the darkened room, a flame glowed in his eyes, a ravenous look.
He pushed her against the bed. She shuddered with delight as he settled between her splayed thighs and cupped her lips in another gluttonous kiss.
“Oh, James.” She searched for breath. She fumbled with his shirt, yanked the ends from his trousers. “Take off your clothes. I want to feel your skin.”
He obeyed. He slipped the garment over his head and tossed it aside. When the wall of muscle pressed against her breasts, she moaned and circled his ribs in an avid hold.
The man’s flesh was hot. It singed her fingertips. She opened her mouth and let him take her lips in insatiable want as she raked his fevered torso. She touched every muscle, every bone that throbbed beneath his skin. She marked him with her nails and sobbed in her soul to have him so intimately once more.
She reached for his waist and snagged her finger in his trousers. “Take everything off.”
He looked into her eyes, scorched her heart. “
You
lost the game, sweetheart.”
“Am I making too many demands?” She smiled. “
I
lost the game. And I intended to kiss you until you’re satisfied. Now take off your damn trousers.”
He shuddered. The vibrations tickled her skin, arousing her even more. He pushed away from her, muscles taut, breath ragged. She gasped for air, too, as she watched him, mesmerized. He settled at the edge of the bed and removed his boots.
She raked her toes against his firm, moist back. He glanced at her, his long, black hair falling loose from the queue and shielding parts of his smoky eyes.
He lifted to his feet and unfastened the buttons of his trousers before he stripped the garment and revealed his naked splendor, whetting her appetite for him even more.
“You’re beautiful,” she said reverently.
He firmed at her words, every muscle stiffened. She explored the great expanse of his chest, the dark tufts of hair that gathered between his sculpted pectorals and tapered to his narrow waist…and to the throbbing erection that stretched between his thick thighs. She was wet with need at the sultry thought of him inside her, and she beckoned him back to the bed with her eyes.
He settled between her legs. She groaned. She opened for him, spread her legs wide apart. She watched him intently as he grabbed her night rail with shaky fingers and pushed the fabric up her belly. She lifted her bottom, allowing him to drag the flimsy shift off her back and up over her head.
Sophia shuddered at the contrast between the cool castle air and the balmy sweat that covered her limbs. Heart pounding, she was tight and greedy and aching for more of his touch.
Touch me, James.
“I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”
He kissed her belly, dipped his tongue inside her navel, making her tight muscles bounce. She grabbed the leather cord still securing the last of his hair and yanked it through his locks.
“Everything.” She breathed hard. “I want everything off.”
The man’s hair spilled forward and caressed her ribs as he licked her navel over and over again, whipping her arousal. She splayed her fingers and skimmed them across his scalp, finding a good and solid grip, and keeping his luscious mouth against her taut and thrumming flesh.
“You taste so damn good,” he said hoarsely.
He moved across her midriff and bussed a hard nipple, making her shiver. The heat in her belly ballooned, the sweet pressure spiked between her warm legs as he parted his wicked lips and sucked her breast with both tenderness and force, drawing her deep into his mouth.
She hugged him, crushed him with a savage hold. “Lick me.”
He let his long and lustful tongue slip between his teeth and swirl across the sensitive nub of flesh. The lanky strokes filled her with precious memories of heady tropical nights, slow seductions, and thoughtful intimacies, for he had always served her desires. Even if she had submitted to him, he had never let her walk away from a sexual encounter without feeling blissful satisfaction. And she sensed it deep inside her again, the knowledge that he would give her everything she craved for. That he would give her pleasure before he searched for it himself, that he would fill her with life and strength and renew her like no other.
“James,” she cried, overwhelmed. “I want you inside me, so deep inside me.”
He raised his heavy frame and captured her swelling lips in his mouth before he slipped his long erection into her aching quim.
Sophia sobbed with joy.

The woman’s sob resounded in his head. James had waited so long to hear that lustful sound. The heady song confirmed Sophia’s delight, and nothing stirred his soul like the knowledge that he had made her happy.
I intended to kiss you until you’re satisfied.
The only satisfaction he received was in giving her joy—and she knew it.
He thrust deep inside her, filling her, stretching her. She quivered so greatly at the friction, he sensed her orgasm pinch the cusp of his erection.
“Don’t you dare,” he said roughly. “Don’t you dare come yet.”
She moaned as he rocked her. She grabbed his buttocks and pushed him deeper inside her body, ravenous.
James groaned as she burrowed her sharp nails into his arse, demanding more. He quickened the tempo, slaking her lust.
She let go of his arse and lifted her legs higher. She wrapped the limbs around his waist, crossing her ankles, holding him tight. So tight.
He searched for her lips again. He slipped his tongue into her hot mouth, penetrating her from the top and the bottom.
She circled his neck, pinched his airway. He gave her more. A deeper kiss. A deeper fuck. He wanted to give her everything she desired. He grabbed her hair and undulated against her tight, wet quim with quick, hard strokes.
She ensnared him, suffocated him. It was true passion. She needed him. And he needed to give her everything that he possessed, everything that he was. She wanted everything
off
. She wanted him. And him alone. No barriers. And he offered it to her. With every desperate breath and hard thrust, he gave her more and more of himself.
He was sweating. He tasted the salty sweat on her lips, too, the briny tears that had dropped from her lashes. She was so close to orgasm. She was so anxious to shed the suffocating guise and unnatural restrictions that had pressed her for so long.
“Don’t you see how they crush you, sweetheart?” he rasped. “Take away your breath? Let me give you breath.”
She sobbed even louder as he kissed her mouth. He moved within her with strong, firm thrusts, grinding his hips against hers.
“We belong together, Sophia.”
She cried out. He sensed the sweet juices flowing and her muscles constricting, pulsing even, as she achieved climax.
She gasped for breath and shuddered violently before the spasms weakened. She was quivering, faint. He rocked her for a few moments more before the pressure in his cock reached a zenith and he pumped his hot seed into her wet womb with a feral groan.
James buried his face in Sophia’s mussed hair. He hovered above her, still caged, for the woman had yet to relax her crossed limbs. But he was sated. He was at peace in her arms. He would endure eternity in her embrace.
“Achoo!”
He chuckled gruffly and kissed her cheek before he bumped her hips, shaking her loose. “And here I thought I’d cured you.”
He rolled over, rested against the soft feathers, and sighed.
She sniffed and snuggled in the groove between his arm and ribs. “I do feel better.”
“Good.” He crooked his elbow and cupped her head. “I expect
you
to nurse me if I wake up with a chill tomorrow.”
She smiled against him. He sensed the woman’s lips move across his skin. Every part of him was still so sensitive. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her heavy breathing. Slowly the rhythmic respiration mellowed into a steadier tempo.
James sensed the soft caress. He opened his eyes. Sophia was stroking the mark on his chin, the scar.
He grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry I cut you.”
He let go of her wrist.
She curled her arm across his chest and squeezed.
Pulses pounded in his head at her atonement. He remembered the night of the ball, the night she had sliced him. That she offered him words of contrition for such a paltry slight, and yet
no
words of repentance for what she had so cruelly done to him on the island, stirred his blood to boil.
James separated from the warm body pressed against him and slipped off the bed. He didn’t need the woman’s false tenderness. He would not let her hoodwink him into thinking she cared for him. She was grateful for the fuck, that was all. He would not let his heart get entangled with hers again. It would only distract him from his true purpose: revenge.
James walked around the furniture and picked up his scattered clothes.
“You’re leaving?” she said softly, hurt.
A darkness filled his heart. The cheerless thought that he had enjoyed so many nights with her in the past—yet he never would again.
“I can’t stay.” He fastened his trousers and slipped on his boots. “What if a maid—or the harridan—finds me in here in the morning?”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
She sounded genuinely forlorn that he wouldn’t be staying the evening with her. It compounded the pain in his breast. He looked at her. She was so lovely, tangled in the bed linens. Full breasts thrust in the air, hair mussed and scattered across the white sheets. She was wild. Free.
Sophia.
He crushed the maudlin sentiment. She had never really cared for him. He had to remember that. She had only ever cared for herself, for her own social desires and erotic pleasures.
He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head before he stalked toward the door. “Besides…Sophia doesn’t like to sleep alone, remember?”
She glared at him, toffee brown eyes sharp—and dangerous.
“Good night, sweetheart.”
He left the room and closed the door. Right away the knife, hurled through the air, struck the back of the door, the blade trapped in the wood.
He smiled.
Chapter 21
J
ames stared at the high-back chair on the other side of the small, round table. He stared at it until the candlelight blurred and Sophia’s ghostly figure appeared in the seat, clutching a fob watch. She dangled the timepiece, rocked it slowly back and forth, mesmerizing him.
May you rot in everlasting hell.
And so he rotted in hell, his innards twisted at the dark memory of her inscribed words, and the aloneness he had suffered the moment he had realized she had gone from the plantation house, never to return.
James shifted in the chair. He leaned his body to one side and made an L-shape with his thumb and forefinger, resting his chin in the groove.
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
un
like 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.