The Notorious Scoundrel (9 page)

Amy snorted. “I understand her sentiments. And
why
is the snake named after the woman?”

“Spite.” Edmund shrugged. “James and Sophia have a long history. She abandoned him once, and he was furious. He found the snake in Jamaica, where he and
Sophia—the real Sophia—had first met, and so he named the serpent after her.”

Amy twisted her lips into a grimace, clearly not appreciating the dark humor in the situation. “Have you been to the Caribbean?”

“I’ve sailed most of the world.” He danced with her with such gusto, he bumped his leg against a side table. The brief spurt of pain had him wondering curtly, “Are you practicing being a lady with me?”

Were all the questions about his family, his past, idle chitchat to pass the time and practice her mannerisms? Did she really care to know anything about him or his life?

“Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” she said suspiciously. “It is why you’ve brought me to St. James? To become a lady?”

He was quiet at that, staring at her intently, even irritably. He had brought her to St. James to protect her and see her settled in a new profession, aye. However, he had thought to know her better, too…to seduce her.

Well, kiss her, in truth. He wouldn’t tarnish her chances at a respectable profession with a scandalous affair. But he had yet to get past her deft right hook. And now that his memory had returned, he realized he hadn’t the delight of knowing the taste of her sweet lips. He intended to correct that injustice before they parted ways.

The woman’s eyes narrowed on him in turn, prompting a response from him.

“Yes, of course, that’s why I brought you here, Miss Peel.”

She glared at him, dubious. “I don’t understand you,
Mr
. Hawkins.”

He frowned. Mr. Hawkins, was he? That didn’t suit the intimate, passionate nature of his desire for the lass. “How so?”

“Quincy insists you never say a word, yet I know that isn’t true.” She looked deep into his eyes with scrutiny. “Why are you so reserved now that you’re at home?”

“Would you prefer to see me unreserved?”

She gritted, “I’m curious, is all.”

He shrugged again. “I’ve nothing much to say when I’m at home.”

What was there to say when he was with his brothers? Quincy was too outspoken, enough for the both of them, and James and William preferred to rule the roost. The two eldest siblings brooked no argument that they were in charge of
all
their lives. Edmund found no reason to contest their tyranny, and so refrained from speaking at home unless there was something particularly worthwhile to impart.

Amy scowled at his unforthcoming answer, he supposed. She looked over his shoulder as they danced and spotted something that clearly captured her interest.

“Is that your late father’s ship?” she said, and nudged her chin forward, gesturing toward the model schooner on the long side table.

“Aye, the
Bonny Meg
.”

A pirate ship.

Edmund wondered with wolfish delight what the diffident Miss Peel would think to know she was residing with a band of former pirates: the most infamous pirates to ever ravage the high seas.

He smiled at the scandalous thought.

“What is so amusing?” she demanded, words clipped.

“You have your secrets,” he said in a coy manner, “and I have mine.”

It was their father, Drake Hawkins, who had first pirated, and then, after a bout with an incurable illness, he had transferred command of the
Bonny Meg
to James. All four brothers had served aboard the schooner as buccaneers. Even their sister, Mirabelle, had at one time joined the crew—as a stowaway! But after she had married the Duke of Wembury, it was too dangerous for them to maintain their wicked pursuits. If word ever spread that the duchess was related to pirates, her reputation would be ruined, and they all loved her far too much to ever let that fate befall her. And so they’d “retired” from piracy, though not from the sea.

“What secrets?” Amy demanded, but at his prolonged silence, she huffed. “I think I’ve memorized the waltz.”

Edmund trimmed their twirling steps to a slower tempo before he brought their warm, slightly sweating bodies to a halt in the center of the room.

She quickly parted from him. “I think I’ll retire to my room and unpack the rest of my belongings.”

He and Quincy had retrieved the remainder of her
furnishings from St. Giles that morning, and had placed the articles in James’s former bedchamber.

The lass skirted off, flustered, hips swinging in a very pleasant manner. He watched her with keen interest as she departed from the room.

She wasn’t very unlike him, he thought, for they both had to conceal their secret lives in order to fit into high society.

I
t was breathtaking.

Amy’s eyes glazed over the wondrous assortment of brilliant flowers, shrubs, tart fruit trees, and vegetable gardens: thirty-three acres of carefully cultivated land, leased from the Duke of Devonshire. Tents exhibited the finest fruits imported from around the world, hothouses protected the most delicate blooms that had traveled from various foreign climates.

It was the Horticultural Society’s first-ever fete. The duke had even opened his own private gardens to the inquisitive public, who numbered in the thousands. Refreshment stands suffered under the demand for sweet juices as a series of army bands entertained the strolling guests.

It was dusk, the gardens brimming with candles in little glass orbs hanging from trees. Amy had walked the grounds all day, yet she wasn’t fatigued. She was amazed. She wanted to take in every lovely spectacle. She wasn’t accustomed to such natural splendor. She was accustomed to soiled streets and noisy thorough-
fares and putrid stenches. The estate, so vivid, captured her imagination in such a profound manner, she’d neglected the real reason she was there: to practice the art of being a proper lady.

He rubbed against her…unintentionally, she hoped. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted his towering figure at her backside. One look at the handsome scoundrel and the gardens seemed dull in comparison. Her heartbeat quickened. She looked away again before Edmund sensed her unladylike stare.

“Look, James,” said Sophia, an exotic-looking woman in her late twenties. She was dressed in a lily white frock with long sleeves. She had no jewelry or fancy headgear. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a charming swirl, a loose curl brushing her shoulder as she paused and examined a pristine white blossom with a burning red center. “Do you remember this orchid?”

The party was exploring a particular glass hothouse showcasing unique species of flora from the West Indies, where Sophia and her husband had first met.

James fingered the fragile petals with sensitivity, a faint smile touching his stern lips. “Aye, I remember. There was one just like it in the garden at the plantation house.”

Amy stilled at the scoundrel’s approach. His musk filled her lungs, making her woozy. The spicy scent mingled with the floral fragrances to create an intoxicating mixture for the senses.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?”

She shivered at the whispered words pressed warmly into her ear.

“Seeing James like that?”

He sounded just as flummoxed as she was about the captain’s easy manner.

“Happy, you mean?”

“Pleasant,” he said.

She smiled wryly.

“Look here, Amy.”

Sophia gestured with her hand, bidding her toward a magnificent tree with lavender-colored blossoms. The flagstone walkway was peppered with falling purple petals as pretty as fresh snow.

“The blossom of the
lignum vitae
is Jamaica’s national flower,” she said, caressing a low-hanging branch with tenderness.

The woman was a botanist at heart, according to Edmund, and Amy was keen to listen to her tales about faraway lands and foreign wonders, but a part of Amy was also guarded, for she distrusted the peculiar woman. She had married James, after all. There had to be something amiss about her character.

“I see my dress fits you well, Amy.”

Amy strolled alongside her chaperone as the gentlemen partnered behind them.

“Yes, it fits me very comfortably,” she said, smoothing the eggshell white skirt. “Thank you.”

The wardrobe Quincy had arranged for her had yet
to be delivered. She had been measured for the new attire, but it would take time for the clothing to be prepared.

Sophia slipped her hand through Amy’s arm. She detected the soft scent of bay rum shampoo in the older woman’s dark brown coiffure. It was an agreeable scent.

“How are you feeling, Amy?”

“A little overwhelmed,” she admitted unenthusiastically.

Sophia smiled. “I was, too, when I first arrived in England from the Caribbean.”

“You’ve adapted well. I mean, you’re a respectable member of society.”

She scoffed, startling Amy.

“Respectable? I’m wed to the city’s most infamous rogue.”

Amy paled at the ghastly remark, glancing at the other spectators who traversed the exhibit grounds, but most were too engrossed by the unique specimens to take notice of their party.

“Well, he’s not such a pariah anymore,” she said with a smoky chortle. “He saved me from a band of dastardly pirates, you know.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “He did?”

“Oh yes.” She smiled coyly. “I was kidnapped by the dreaded pirate Black Hawk. It was in all the papers.”

“I remember now.” Amy was a bit giddy. “There was a daring rescue at sea. It was much gossiped about.”

She nodded. “James saved me from a wretched fate and destroyed the notorious brigand’s ship, sending him and his scalawag crew to a watery grave.”

Amy heard the aforementioned hero snort at their backsides. She ignored the uncouth gesture, greatly intrigued by Sophia’s swashbuckling tale, for she wasn’t one to embark on an adventure herself; she was far too sensible to do that. She enjoyed hearing about scandalous exploits, though. And the strange couple’s pairing seemed so much more sensible to her now. Sophia had accepted her savior’s hand in marriage. It happened all the time, Amy was sure.

“And Edmund was a part of the brave crew,” said Sophia. “Did you know?”

Amy glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve hunted pirates?”

Edmund shrugged.

Not surprising, that.

“The
ton
was very gracious toward the valiant Captain James Hawkins and his crew after my rescue…though not everyone likes my husband, even now.”

“But you do?”

Amy blushed. She sensed the heat creeping into her cheeks, and bristled at the unsavory thought that the captain had heard her boorish remark. If he had, he politely refrained from commenting about it. Sophia, on the other hand, laughed. She didn’t seem slighted at Amy’s unintentional rudeness.

“I like him sometimes.” There was a wicked gleam in her deep brown eyes. “But most of the time, I just want to make him miserable.”

Amy sensed her chaperone was the sort of woman who, when piqued, was vindictive. She had no desire to make any further social blunders and arouse the woman’s wrath. She was also more understanding about James’s reason for naming the pet serpent after his wife.

The couples departed the hothouse and entered the crisp spring air. It was early May, the nights still fresh. They ambled the lush grounds at leisure, taking in the aromas, the quaint tunes, and the pruned gardens.

Amy wrapped the white fringed shawl more tightly around her shoulders as she traversed the well-manicured turf with Edmund.

“When will I be settled in my new position, do you think?”

“There’s still more to teach you about being a lady.”

“Your brother Quincy thinks I’m charming.”

“He thinks every female is charming…besides, he wasn’t here to hear your scandalous remark.”

Amy blushed.

He smiled. “I’m sure wives beat their husbands over the head with rolling pins in the rookeries, but here in society, wives don’t admit to disliking their husbands—even if they do.”

As her cheeks pinkened even more, she said tartly, “What
is
the plan to see me settled as a lady’s maid or companion?”

He nudged her, steered her along a torch-lit path between a colonnade of oak trees. “You’re very impatient.”

She peeked over her shoulder and spotted James and Sophia engaged in deep conversation, trailing after them.

“Are you afraid of my brother and sister-in-law?” he said in a low voice.

“No,” she insisted…though there was something dark about Sophia’s nature that reminded Amy of Madame Rafaramanjaka. And what about James? He seemed unperturbed by his wife’s wish to make him miserable.

“The couple are serving as chaperones, is all.”

“Aha.” He chuckled. “You’re guarding your virtue.” He murmured, “That’s very wise, Amy.”

She sensed the heat in her belly; it spread from her core and touched her fingertips and toes. He nettled her senses, making her more sentient of her surroundings: the crackling torchlight, the twinkling candlelight in the glass orbs. She was walking through a faerie-filled wood, it seemed…with a handsome scoundrel.

“I’m not impatient,” she insisted, keeping the conversation more respectable.

“You always need to be in control of the situation.” He brushed her elbow. “I remember.”

She shivered, the touch light yet so full of bubbling energy. “Well, I can’t run away at sea, looking for adventure,” she snapped. “I have to be in control of the situation; I have to confront my troubles.”

He was quiet.

Amy’s cheeks warmed again. What the devil was the matter with her? She hadn’t meant to be so churlish, but he had smothered her natural tendencies to mistrust with his easy manner and smooth words. If she wasn’t vigilant, he’d tease and twist her senses until he had manipulated her movements like a marionette master.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he said softly. “Running away? Seeking adventure?”

“Isn’t it?”

He kicked a pebble. “I’m looking for something at sea, but it’s not adventure—not anymore—though there
is
plenty of it.”

Am image entered her head: taut, naked skin with white lines. “The scars?”

He rubbed his belly. As his fingers ruffled his garment, the intimate gesture warmed her innards.

She flushed and bowed her head. “How did you get the scars?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know; there’ve been so many skirmishes.”

“Hunting pirates. Fighting slavers.” She peeked at him askance. “Are you sure you’re not looking for adventure at sea?”

He seemed thoughtful, his expression somber. “I remember the first time I boarded a slaver. I had trained and prepared for my duties, but…sometimes the unexpected happens, Amy.”

She studied his earnest profile, detected his muscles
as they stiffened. She wondered about the unexpected happenings at sea, but she refrained from commenting about them. He wasn’t prepared to share the ordeal with her, she suspected. He wasn’t a gossip like his younger brother.

“Don’t fret, Amy.” As he gathered his features, he offered her a small smile. “Once you’re better prepared, I’ll ask my sister to make inquiries in society about matrons or young ladies in need of a companion. I’m sure she will find you an acceptable post.”

“She’s very kind to do so, I’m sure.” At his silence, she frowned. “You haven’t told her about me, have you?”

He shrugged.

“Why?”

“She’s much to look after at home: a rogue for a husband, a disobedient daughter.”

“If she’s overwhelmed with domestic duties, what makes you think she’ll assist me: a stranger?”

“Because I’ll ask her for help,” he said with confidence.

Amy looked away, an unfamiliar smarting in her breast. She had no one in her life who’d offer her aid with such assurance, and she keenly felt the aloneness.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Rose!”

A child danced in the dirt path far ahead of Amy and Edmund, her small figure aglow in the torchlight like an angel.

“Come away from there, Rose! You’ll soil your new dress!”

The little girl was ushered away by the scolding matron. The scene triggered a flash of color, sound, and feeling in Amy’s breast. She stilled.

“Come away from there, Amy!”

A soft skirt brushed her cheek. A warm, gloved hand circled her fingers.

“It’s bedtime, Amy. Oh, look at your shoes.” She tsked. “I’ll have to change you now. Papa and I will be late for the party.”

Amy pouted. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

The tall figure sighed, petticoats swooshing. “I’m afraid I’ll have to punish you, young lady.”

Amy pinched her lips and squinted her eyes in anticipation of a sound reprimand…but the figure scooped her up into her arms and showered her with kisses instead.

“I shall torment you with kisses!”

Amy squealed with laughter.

“What’s the matter, Amy?”

Edmund’s strong voice penetrated her wistful memories, half shadows after so many years. She sniffed, confounded by the show of emotion that had unexpectedly overwhelmed her.

She took in a deep breath and shooed the hazy visions away. “It’s nothing, really. I just remembered my mother. She once scolded me like that, too.”

“You remember your mother?”

He seemed pensive, as if he had no memory of his own mother, and Amy’s heart cramped at the thought that they shared a common, tragic past.

“Not really,” she admitted sadly as she resumed her steps. “I mean, I have flashes of her: her voice, her scent, her touch. But I don’t remember her face. I don’t really remember her.”

“I was two years old when my mother passed away. How old were you when your parents died?”

She shrugged. “About six, I think.”

“How did they perish?”

The masked devils on horseback filled Amy’s head. She remembered the stomping hooves and sinister shouts and rough handling as she was dragged away from her comfortable haven, her home, in the dead of night. The images still twisted in her heart, snatched her breath away.

She stilled, disoriented. She examined her unusually quiet surroundings, another distressing thought taking root in her mind.

“Where are James and Sophia?”

The woods were deserted, the dirt trail illuminated with a few torches. There was still the distant hum of voices, but the physical isolation was far too disconcerting for Amy.

She grabbed one side of her long white skirt, prepared to dash through the greenery, when Edmund captured her wrist in his robust hand.

“Don’t worry, Amy.”

The low light caressed his rugged features, making him even more attractive—and making her heart beat even harder.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered.

She wasn’t so convinced of his gallantry. How had he maneuvered her into such a private nook? And without her being aware of it?