The Infamous Rogue (24 page)

She shuddered, breathless.
“Sophia—”
“Good-bye, James.”
Chapter 23
J
ames swigged the sweet rum.
Slowly he set the empty glass on the scuffed tabletop and signaled for a buxom barmaid to bring him another drink.
He was ensconced in a shadowy corner of the seaside pub. It afforded him an opportunity to observe the rowdy fishermen in an unobtrusive way as he awaited the pirate impostor, Hagley.
“Here ye are, sweetheart.”
James bristled at the familiar endearment as the cockney-tongued wench set another glass on the table and rubbed his hand. It was a flat and worthless invitation, leaving him feeling cold.
“Anythin’ else?”
He offered her a coin for the rum. “No.”
She shrugged and skirted off.
James was numb. Not from the spirits. The drink was just a ruse. He had to make it look like he belonged inside the pub, hence the second, and last, glass of rum. He needed to keep his faculties sharp, to take down the miscreants with a clear, quick mind. But he was insensible to the rest of the world, especially his brothers.
James glanced across the crowded, hazy, and boisterous room. The lieutenant was seated at another table with Edmund and Quincy. James had said very little to his brothers over the past few days, their rapport awkward. This would be their final mission together before they parted ways for good. It was a bitter moment, knowing he wouldn’t have his kin at his back anymore…or Sophia at his side.
James stared at the glass, stroking the cold, moist surface with his thumb. She had stormed from the castle for London, the harridan in tow, soon after their last heated exchange. He was still bemused, the woman’s revelations ringing in his head. Seven years ago, she had wanted to wed him to be a respectable wife. Three days ago, she had wanted to wed him to be…just a wife. His wife. She had wanted him. Him! He had thought her heartless. But she had cared. She had cared for him. And the truth of it washed away the years of former misery…and yet the deeper truth compounded the fresh despair. She
had
cared for him. He had lost her again.
“Captain Hawkins?”
James smothered the fiery wound in his heart, as he had so many times in the past. He glanced at the burly figure towering above the gloomy table. “Are you Hagley?”
“I am.”
James perused the dastardly knave in detail. He was fair, with a suave manner and a deep, rumbling voice, which James suspected was induced to make him sound more formidable. Bulky, but not as big as James, he had no other characteristics to suggest he was the notorious pirate leader Black Hawk. The impostor had unjustly seized his rightful title. And to make matters even more deplorable, he wasn’t doing the epithet justice.
James scowled. “Have a seat.” He then knocked the glass on the table. Once. Twice. The informal gesture signaled to his brothers, and a dozen other tars from the
Bonny Meg
’s crew, scattered throughout the pub, that the target had arrived.
Hagley stroked his curly brown locks. “I understand you’re interested in doing business.”
James still glared at the charlatan, who had caused him so much vexation, and restrained the whim to snap the blackguard’s neck in full public view.
“Yes, I’m looking for a partner.”
“Oh?” said the scoundrel.
“There’s trouble at sea. Perhaps you’ve read the account in the papers?”
“The account?”
James downed the rum and wiped his mouth before he slammed the empty glass against the wood surface. “About pirates.”
There was a flicker of trepidation in the scalawag’s eyes before he composed his features and returned coolly, “Pirates, you say?”
Hagley’s bravado was admirable, but James wasn’t at the pub to make friends with the devil—but to crush him.
“Yes, I was nearly robbed of cargo a fortnight ago. I’d like to take on a partner, divide shipments in the future.”
Hagley stroked his chin. “Ah, strength in numbers.”
“That’s right.” James glowered. “Shall we find a more quiet setting to discuss the matter further?”
“I don’t think so…Black Hawk.”
James hardened. “What did you call me?”
“I’m honored, truly. It’s a real pleasure to meet the notorious pirate captain. I thought you dead. Why did you give up piracy?”
The man’s bravado wasn’t bravado at all. James looked across the room. The patrons merrily drowned in ale and frolicked with wenches. He spotted his crew, still positioned at random tables throughout the pub, surrounding him. He had their support, but he sensed it inadequate. Hagley had far greater numbers skulking out of sight, he was sure.
“Well, I’ve enjoyed being you these last few months.” Hagley grinned. “Quarry is so much more accommodating with their jewels and other valuables after I announce my—er, your name.” He sighed. “I’ll miss the notoriety, the respect. But I suppose it’s time I step down from the title…and let the real Black Hawk have it back.”
James fisted his palms. “Black Hawk is dead.”
Hagley lifted from the chair and winked. “Aye, he very soon will be.”
The room suddenly swelled with brutes.
“You see, I suspected it might be you hounding me,” expounded the miscreant. “And I sent word to the authorities, informing them about the
real
Black Hawk’s whereabouts. I can’t have you—or them—on my tail forever.”
The brutes approached. James eyed his brothers, the men already on their feet and reaching for their concealed weapons, and with a plain, sharp look ordered them all to stand down and not engage the advancing Bow Street Runners. Right now it was only James the authorities targeted. If the rest of the men remained quiet, they would get out of the pub alive and unmo lested, for even the sorrow of their betrayal was not strong enough to erase James’s need to protect them. He didn’t want them to hang.
“You’re a lot brighter than I’d thought you’d be, Hagley.”
He chuckled. “Thank you, mate…and good luck to you.”

“Why are you packing?”
Sophia stilled. She glanced at the matron. The woman was wearing a white woolly wrapper and ruffled nightcap, features grave. She entered the bedroom and closed the door.
“I’m leaving for Jamaica in two days.” Sophia folded the dress and placed it inside the chest. “You know that, Lady Lucas.”
“No, I mean why are
you
packing?”
“Oh.” She reached for another garment, a deep shimmering bronze, the same dress she’d sported the night of the earl’s ball, the night she had reunited with James. She caressed the fabric softly, wistfully. “I dismissed the maid to bed. I’m restless. I need to occupy my fingers.”
Lady Lucas peeked inside the chest and wrinkled her nose at the creased attire. “Perhaps you should summon the maid to return to her duty?”
“It isn’t necessary.”
Sophia had no desire to preserve the outfits. What would she do with them in Jamaica? There’d be no formal suppers or prim picnics on the island. And she suspected the governor’s wife would not welcome her inside her stylish house even if she was wearing the refined material.
“I don’t like it, Miss Dawson. It’s improper.”
Sophia sighed. “I’ll iron the fabric when I get—”
“No, my dear.” She flicked her fingers. “I mean, it’s improper for you to be traveling to the island alone.”
“Don’t fret, Lady Lucas.” She tucked the dress inside the chest. “The captain will serve as chaperone. I will be under his protection throughout the voyage.”
“I see.” She twisted her bony fingers together. “I’m sorry, Miss Dawson.”
Sophia dusted the matching satin slippers before she interred them, too. “There’s no need to apologize, Lady Lucas. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’ve failed you.”
Sophia’s heart pinched. “No, I’ve failed
you
.”
She whisked across the room, her heart thudding. The matron had labored arduously on her behalf, priming her and guiding her through social norms and customs, grooming her to be a countess. And Sophia had snubbed the woman’s efforts with her willful refusal to wed the earl…and her foolish desire to wed the black devil instead.
Sophia collected the next batch of belongings scattered across the bed, seeking comfort from her troubled thoughts with her rushed movements.
“The barbarian bewitched you, didn’t he, Miss Dawson? That’s why you rejected the earl?”
Sophia set the items on the table beside the chest. She stuffed each corset, stocking, and petticoat inside the leather trunk, cramming the articles into the nooks and corners, working through her frustration.
“Yes, he bewitched me,” she said stiffly. “But that isn’t your fault.”
It’s mine.
She was the one who’d believed the man had changed his views about marriage, that there was finally a chance for them to share a future together.
“It is my fault, Miss Dawson. I failed to protect you.”
Sophia paused. She looked at the frail woman and frowned. “I will honor our agreement, Lady Lucas. I will not leave you destitute.”
“Thank you, my dear, but that’s not why I’m so aggrieved…I failed in my duty. I’ve never failed in my duty, Miss Dawson.”
Sophia delved into her chaperone’s weary gray eyes. “You haven’t failed, Lady Lucas…I just don’t belong here.”
Not in England. Not with James. She belonged on the island. It was home. She only wished she wasn’t retuning to the tropical paradise in disgrace…and despair.
“Good night, Miss Dawson.”
Sophia said quietly, “Good night, Lady Lucas.”
The matron departed from the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Sophia stared at the barrier, thinking about the old woman who had served as teacher and chaperone and even mother for the past few months.
She sighed. She would miss the matron’s companionship. Sophia would miss the friendship of others, as well. The duchess, for instance. Even the Hawkins brothers—well, three of the Hawkins brothers. She had learned that not every member of the peerage was a cutthroat…but that some cutthroats deserved the epithet. Some cutthroats truly carved the heart and sliced the soul.
She tamped down the bitterness that had welled in her breast. She resumed packing and reached for an other bundle of clothing…when a warm hand slipped over her mouth and a strong arm circled her belly.
Blood throbbed in her veins and she thrashed mightily, kicking her feet and swinging her arms.
“It’s me Sophia,” he hissed. “Be still!”
Sophia listened to the familiar low timbre and sighed through her nose, muscles loosening.
He removed his hand from her lips. “I’m sorry I frightened you, but I didn’t want you to scream and attract attention.”
She whirled around and glared at William. “What are you doing here?”
“We need your help, Sophia.”
She glanced at the other two brothers, unceremoniously rifling through her luggage. Quincy crooked his finger and lifted a silk stocking.
She snatched the legging. “What are you doing with that?”
“Where are you going?” the pup wondered.
“I’m leaving for Jamaica in two days.” She huffed and stuffed the material back inside the chest. “Now
what
are you doing here?”
“It’s about James,” said William.
She bristled. “What about the black devil?”
William frowned, looking haggard. “He was apprehended by the authorities tonight.”
Sophia took in a sharp breath. “The charge?”
“Piracy.”
“No,” she said succinctly.
Quincy balked. “What?”
“No, I won’t help you,” she returned tersely, and set about packing again, methodically moving through the room, gathering more property.
“But he’ll hang!” cried Quincy.
“Good.”
William touched her elbow. “I know you’re angry with him, Sophia.”
She shrugged and dumped the rest of her possessions into the chest without a thought to the wrinkles. “No, you don’t know or you wouldn’t be asking me to help you.”
The lieutenant said softly, “You still care for him.”
“Like hell I do!”
She slammed the cap over the brimming apparel and pinched her lips as she struggled with the gold clasps. Quincy sat on the lid, crushing the items inside, but sinking the closure, allowing her to snap the locks tight and fasten the belt buckles.
“Thank you, Quincy,” she said curtly.
William persisted, “And he cares for you.”
She glared at the lieutenant. “Liar.”
“It’s true.” Quincy moved away from the chest. “He’s a miserable brute, you know that, but the year he spent on the island with you was the one time in his life he was truly happy.”
Sophia shuddered. She was overwhelmed with joyful memories—and sick with wretched echoes.
I want her to know pain. I want her to feel the same fucking despair that I had to feel when she walked away from me.
“Well, he doesn’t care for me anymore.” The tightness in her breast was suffocating. “He wants me to feel despair.”
William looked at her thoughtfully. “He’s angry with you for deserting him.”
She cringed. The words stirred regret in her belly: an inkling of regret for walking away from the pirate captain in such a cruel fashion all those years ago.
I was never ashamed of you, Sophia.
She had believed the man deserved the cold farewell for the way he had treated her…but if he hadn’t treated her in an ill manner? If he hadn’t been ashamed of her, as he’d claimed? Then perhaps she had been wrong, deserting him without a word of good-bye?
“I know he’s furious,” she retorted. “I was eavesdropping.”
“Then you also know you broke his heart when you walked away from him seven years ago.”
She fisted her palms and gritted, “Well, now we’re even.”
The black devil had shattered her heart, too. What more did William want from her? Tears? Wails? It was over. Tit for tat. Let the blackguard rot!
“We have to save him, Sophia,” said Edmund. “He’s our brother.”
“So save him!” she snapped.
“We need your help.” Edmund, so temperamental, furrowed his brow. “Newgate is heavily guarded.”
Sophia imagined James paraded to the gibbet, the crowd heckling, before a coarse noose was fastened over his hooded head.
She scowled. The vision had failed to bring her the pleasure she’d hoped for, the retribution she’d craved.
“Surely he won’t hang tonight?” She placed her arms akimbo. “Before a trial?”
“No, a trial might even exonerate him.” William slipped his hands over his hips. “We’ve already sent word to the castle for the duke to come to London to bear witness to James’s character, to affirm his brother-in-law is
not
Black Hawk.”
She brandished her fingers. “There, you see.”
“And if the court rejects his testimony?” from Edmund.
“Why would they do such a thing?” She gathered her brows. “He’s a
duke
.”
“The authorities are desperate to hang someone for the crime,” said William. “They might think the duke’s testimony tainted because of his connection to our family.”
“And it would be, but that’s not the worst of it.” Edmund glowered. “The duke might not even testify, considering his strife with James. He might let our brother hang!”
“Or James might incriminate himself,” said Quincy.
Sophia balked. “What?”
“James ordered us not to save him.” Quincy scratched the back of his head in an uncomfortable manner. “We intended to capture the leader of the impostors tonight, but it was a trap. James sacrificed himself so we could escape the authorities…but I don’t think he cares whether he hangs or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he admitted in the Old Bailey courthouse to being Black Hawk.”
“Why would he do that?” she demanded.
Had the notorious rogue lost his mind?
Quincy looked sheepish. “We had a falling out.”
“What sort of a falling out?”
The pup glanced at the floor. “We want to join the navy as privateers…James isn’t too keen on the idea.”
Sophia lifted a brow. “I’m surprised you’re still alive, that he didn’t hang
you
.”
Quincy sighed. “He thinks he’s lost us…and you, too. I don’t know if he’s thinking with a clear head.”
Sophia balled her fingers into fists and gnashed her teeth. The black devil was going to hang. And
she
had to save him? Curse him!
William looked grave. “We have to get to him before word leaks that he’s been captured and the gaol is surrounded with spectators.”
Quincy nodded. “Last time a woman hanged, forty thousand gathered at Newgate to witness the execution.”
“Salacious criminals and infamous crimes draw spectators.” Edmund frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. “How many do you think will come to Newgate once word spreads that Black Hawk’s in the gaol? We’ll never get inside the fortress then. We have to do this tonight!”
“Think of Belle,” Quincy pleaded, eyes round and imploring in that charming—hoodwinking—fashion. “She almost died in childbirth two months ago. She’s still recovering from the ordeal. The stress of James’s execution might send her into regression.”
“All right.” Sophia lifted her hands in defeat. The pup had sensed her misgiving. He had offered her the one bit of sound reasoning she was willing to listen to: the duchess’s good health. “I’ll help you save James from the gallows for Belle’s sake. What do you want me to do?”
Chapter 24
T
he walls of Newgate stood thick and craggy with soot.
Sophia stared at Debtors’ Door: the ominous gateway that the condemned had to pass through on their short journey to the scaffolds. The hangman was already preparing the ropes for that morning’s executions scheduled to commence at eight o’clock sharp. Simple wood coffins lined the platform, ready to protect the corpses from the rowdy mob seeking macabre souveniers and preserve them for the anatomists.
Sophia shuddered. She had a hard belly. She had witnessed many executions on the island. But knowing James was inside the sturdy stone walls, that soon he might stand on the gallows and take his place inside a dark coffin, chilled her.
“Where are they?” grumbled Edmund. “They’re never late. It’s every morning at half past seven, right?”
Quincy gesticulated with his hand. “Here they come!”
Sophia eyed the troupe of hooded ladies, dutifully bobbing along Old Bailey Street. The females turned the corner onto Newgate Street and headed south toward the prison gates.
Quincy pressed the basket into her hands. “Remember your guise?”
“I’m part of the woman’s reform movement for the better treatment of convicts,” she repeated the mantra, while Edmund lifted her hood.
William then grabbed her by the arms and looked firmly into her eyes. “Find him. Signal us when it’s safe to enter. Don’t go after him yourself. If you’re captured aiding his escaping, you’ll hang alongside him.”
She nodded brusquely.
“We’ll have you home in time for breakfast.” He sighed. “Good luck, Sophia.”
She snorted. Luck? She didn’t believe in the rot. Sound wits, good instincts, and a flair with a dagger were all she needed.
Sophia stepped away from the protection of the shadows and scurried across the junction under the cover of dusk. She eyed the great dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, struck by the juxtaposition between eternal life and gruesome death, before she surreptitiously joined the line of females, pretending to be part of the charitable organization.
As she neared the gaol gates, she gripped the wicker handle with more vim. The looming structure was three stories high. There were two single doors at ground level, positioned under lintels, leading to the quarters for the turnkeys. The main entrance was raised and flanked by the lesser doors. Two sets of steps, one from the north, the other from the south, sloped at a steady elevation toward the center entranceway.
Sophia mounted the northern steps, gazing through the double arched windows as she waited in formation, for each woman had to present the contents of her basket before she was permitted entry into the formidable gaol.
Sophia licked her lips as she reached the main door. She flicked her wrist and removed the white kerchief, revealing the bread and cheese.
The burly sentry prodded the contents with a fixed frown before he bobbed his head, granting her passage.
Sophia swallowed the sigh that had welled in her throat. She skirted after the other philanthropists, moving through the keeper’s house and past the lodges for the turnkeys. The group cut through the chapel, located in the center of the gaol. William had offered her a printed map of the interior, and Sophia had memorized the layout of the prison.
She passed through the men’s quadrangle, a vast stone courtyard. Female felons were housed to the south and debtors to the north. She had only a few minutes to peruse the male convicts, housed in the east wing, and locate James before the humanitarians moved on to the other inmates.
Sophia quietly tailed the ambitious matrons as the party entered the poorly lit men’s ward. She quickly gasped as the putrid stench of sickness and unwashed bodies filled her lungs, making her choke, and she tamped the urge to vomit into the bowel of her belly. The floor was greasy, and the pitiful whimpers from the chained prisoners resounded throughout the tunnels.