The Infamous Rogue (23 page)

He dismissed the thought from his mind, the peace he had found in her arms that year. He thought instead about the
Bonny Meg.
Drake Hawkins had died three years after giving James command of the vessel. The ship belonged to all of his siblings now, even Belle. But James had always considered the mighty schooner as his possession, his home. She was a loyal and steadfast companion. If he lost her, too…
“We’ve talked about this, James.” William said slowly, “We’ve made a decision.”
James stalked across the room and stopped beside the fireplace, encased in sturdy oak wood. He placed his hands against the protruding mantel and lowered his weight. “What decision?”
But it was Quincy who responded with “We want to seek a pardon. We want to be privateers.”
James gripped the mantel until his knuckles turned white. He stared at the low-burning fire, listened to the hissing flames. The light reflected off his polished boots, laughing at him.
“We’re not merchant sailors.” Quincy sounded wistful. “We’re pirates. It can never be like it was, we can never return to piracy. But we can be privateers. We can still know the taste of the hunt, the thrill of a battle.”
James gasped for breath. He struggled to keep the demons caged in his head. He had sacrificed his blood. He had sacrificed
years
of his life to protect them, the wretched savages! But they were bored with being merchant sailors. And for that they were going to betray him?
“We’ll have freedom, James,” offered Edmund. “The threat of the noose won’t hang over our heads anymore.”
“Traitors,” James hissed.
The chair legs scraped across the planked flooring as the last two brothers lifted to their feet.
“We are not traitors,” the men said in unison.
Would they thrash him for the slight? It was more than he could bear. He had reared them, the ungrateful bastards! He had guided them through perilous waters, and wiped their arses when there had been no one else to care for them. And
this
was how they expressed their respect? By casting him aside like soiled laundry and stealing the
Bonny Meg
—his soul!—right out from under him?
“You’re betraying Father’s memory,” James said quietly, darkly. The ruthless deserters might not give a damn about him anymore, but what about their father? “Drake would never have let the
Bonny Meg
sail under the navy’s thumb.” He had turned pirate, offering his own children freedom from servitude with the
Bonny Meg
. For what? So that in the end his sons could join and serve his former tormentors? “And what about Mother? The ship’s named after her. It was a testament to the years she had suffered alone, while Father was held captive—tortured! How can you even
think
about joining the navy?” James smashed his fists against the mantel. “You have no shame!”
“And would our parents want us to hang at the end of a noose?”
William sounded so bloody calm, like it was a trifle that he and the other two mutinous cutthroats had shredded the captain to pieces.
James had always admired the lieutenant’s unflappable, even dispassionate nature, for it had proved invaluable in the heat of battle. But now James wanted to piss on his brother’s cool composure, his cold heart. He would rather William strike him, stab him. Anything! He wanted his brother to show
some
feeling for the brutal usurpation.
“Some things are worth dying for,” James said through gnashed teeth.
“This isn’t one of them,” returned William. “The navy took away a part of Father’s life, but they won’t take anything away from us.”
“No, we’re going to give it to them,” he sneered.
James trembled with repressed rage. He had thought it incomprehensible that his trusted brethren should betray him and dishonor their parents’ memories. But he had been wrong. He had been wrong about a great many things. He had once believed Sophia incapable of the same treachery, the same deceit. But he had been wrong about her, too.
The flames from the fire singed his soul. James struggled for breath. He had suffered after his father had been pressed into service, too. He had endured the hardship and the hopelessness, the nights of endless toil alongside his mother. The Royal Navy had ruined his life. But it had not scarred his brothers as he had believed. William had not languished in dread with an older brother to look after him. And Edmund and Quincy had come along after their father had returned home, never having carried the crushing weight of responsibility—or the shame that had accompanied it when James had failed to save their mother from despair.
William grumbled, “I knew you’d hate the idea.”
Blood pounded in James’s skull. The darkness inside him threatened to shake him apart. How long had his brothers plotted the betrayal? Weeks? Months?
James should have suspected mutiny was afoot. A week ago, William had issued the order to set sail soon after the captain had boarded the
Bonny Meg.
He had usurped control even then, preparing for the day when he would head the
Bonny Meg
himself. But James had been too distracted by the island witch to detect the dangerous, telling signs.
“Get out,” said James darkly.
Quincy had enough modesty to scratch his head in chagrin. “James—”
“Get the fuck out! All of you!”
The brothers remained firm, exchanging glances. But soon William nodded and the three quietly filed out the door.
Chapter 22
D
ear Imogen
…
Sophia stared at the two words and wondered what she would write next as she tapped the feather quill against her temple.
Her thoughts in a tizzy, she struggled with the letter’s content. She wasn’t skittish about penning the note. She had considered Imogen’s fate for some time now. But Sophia had shied away from making the inquiries sooner, fearing her own precarious reputation would be tainted in some irreparable way if she contacted the “fallen woman.”
Don’t you see how they crush you, sweetheart? Take away your breath? Let me give you breath.
And so he had.
She closed her eyes and sighed at the warm memory of the man’s stirring, provoking, spirit-freeing touch.
We belong together, Sophia.
Her heart throbbed with vim at the hot, firm words. Had he changed his mind about marriage the other night? Had he, too, realized it was kismet, that they were meant to be together?
There was an ache deep inside her to trust the brigand again, to be with him again. She dreaded going back inside her cage. She dreaded conforming, cramming, twisting her soul to fit into a thin and uncomfortable social mold.
She relished the freedom from timidity. She wanted to learn her comrade’s lot in life. Sophia wasn’t sure if the letter would ever reach the girl, but she was determined to compose it. She had to try to make amends. She had not treated Imogen like a true friend. But now she had the fortitude to break the rules, as the duchess had expressed. Now Sophia had the desire to do what was right…and not necessarily what was proper.
“What are you doing?”
Sophia looked at Lady Lucas, startled. The old woman had recovered from her illness. Sophia was feeling much better, too. She suspected her own swift recovery had stemmed from the uplifting truth that she belonged with James…allowing her to breathe.
The matron’s glare was disquieting. Sophia’s fingers trembled a tad. However, she maintained a firm grip on the quill—in her left hand.
“I’m writing a letter,” she returned firmly.
Lady Lucas either ignored the faux pas or failed to see it, for she said nothing about the quill pen in her charge’s left hand. Instead: “I see that. It’s well after breakfast. Why are you still in your night rail? To whom are you writing?” She snatched the sheet and examined it. “
What
are you doing corresponding with Miss Rayne?”
Ghostly fingers circled Sophia’s throat. She sensed the breathlessness. The feeling overwhelmed her whenever she heard a reprimand or anticipated censure. She struggled against the crushing sentiment. It was such a contrast to the healing, liberating intimacy she had shared with James the other night. A part of her bristled in defiance of the matron’s reproach…while another part of her submitted to the older woman’s authority and wisdom.
Lady Lucas ripped the paper apart and tossed the pieces into the low-burning fire. “I might admire your loyalty if the situation was different, Miss Dawson. But as it stands, you are still unwed and vulnerable. You mustn’t do anything even remotely scandalous—especially now.”
Sophia sighed and dropped the quill. “Why now?”
“Because the earl and his sister are here!”
The fingers at Sophia’s throat tightened even more and her heart pounded in her breast. “What?”
“The siblings are below stairs with the duchess.” The matron skirted across the room and opened the wardrobe. She fished through the heaps of fabric. “We must get you dressed.”
Sophia gripped her temples, her mind a maelstrom of unsteady thoughts. “What is the earl doing here?”
“He’s come to propose, of course.”
“Here?”
“Lord Baine suspects he’s about to lose you to Captain Hawkins.” The older woman removed a simple white day dress from the wardrobe and eyed the flattering material. “Make haste, my dear!”
A few minutes later, Sophia and Lady Lucas were seated in the formal parlor with Maximilian Rex, the Earl of Baine; and his sister, Lady Rosamond.
The duchess engaged the earl’s company as Sophia quietly sipped her tea and tamped the roiling movements in her weak belly. She had not visited with the earl and his kin for more than a sennight. It seemed to her a year had passed, the siblings more like strangers than acquaintances.
“So you are friends with the duchess?” whispered Rosamond in a peevish manner. Sophia suspected the girl disliked socializing with a woman of such high rank. It placed her own position of lady in a dimmer, and thus less attractive, light. “She is very civilized…unlike her brother.”
Sophia cringed. “You dislike Captain Hawkins, don’t you, Lady Rosamond?”
“I should think that was obvious, Miss Dawson.”
It was, wretchedly so. Sophia glanced at the earl. He smiled. She returned the polite gesture, her lips trembling.
“Why do you dislike him?” Sophia asked in a hushed voice.
The girl pinched her brows together. “He treated me in a wicked manner at Max’s ball.”
Sophia remembered the night of the ball. She remembered meeting the dashing pirate lord after so many years apart. He had shattered her composure in an instant that night. He had beckoned every wild desire and dangerous passion to light once more. He had disturbed
her
in a wicked manner, not Rosamond.
“I don’t understand, Lady Rosamond.”
“Really, Miss Dawson.” She huffed. “Don’t you remember? He asked you to dance.”
Sophia frowned. She remembered being put out by the brigand’s request, nay, demand. But why would it have upset Rosamond?
“So?” said Sophia.
“He asked
you
to dance while
I
was standing beside you.” Venom passed between the girl’s lips. The poison was palpable. “
I
was the ranking eligible female. And
I
was the host’s sister. He should have asked
me
to dance before you.”
“And you wanted to dance with him?”
“Goodness, no! I intended to refuse him, of course. But he breached protocol.”
“And protocol is everything?”
The chit sniffed. “That’s right.”
Sophia pondered that evening’s circumstances. Was the girl really miffed because the captain had breached protocol? Or was she feeling slighted because James had not demonstrated an interest in her, the ranking—and supposedly more desirable—female?
“And you cannot forgive him his transgression?” Sophia sipped her tea, blanketing the distaste in her mouth. “Even after he saved you from falling?”
“Saved me?” She snorted softly. “I think not, Miss Dawson.”
“You mean you fainted on purpose?”
“Yes.”
Sophia glowered. Lady Lucas noted the scowl and quickly rubbed her own forehead, instructing her charge to smooth her wrinkled features. It was unladylike to frown.
Sophia glowered even more. “But why did you fake the vertigo?”
“To teach the captain a lesson, of course.”
It struck Sophia soundly, the devious girl’s true intentions. After she had feigned faintness, she had issued an invitation to the captain in “gratitude.” She had wanted James to come to the country house party so she could humiliate him publicly—as he had “humiliated” her.
Sophia breathed through her nose in a steady manner, her heart thudding, her skull throbbing.
“The grounds here are so lovely, Your Grace,” the earl blandished. “Might I have the pleasure of taking a turn through the garden?”
“Yes, Lord Baine,” returned the duchess. “I’ll summon the head gardener to give you a tour.”
“That isn’t necessary, Your Grace…Perhaps Miss Dawson would be so kind as to accompany me? We are both avid horticulturists.”
The earl simpered.
Sophia frowned.
The duchess offered Sophia an uneasy look. “Miss Dawson is recovering from a chill, my lord.”
“But you look so well, Miss Dawson.” Rosamond chirped, “And the air will do you good.”
Lady Lucas nodded brusquely in encouragement.
“Besides,” the chit whispered, “my brother is far better company than the barbarian.”
Sophia gripped the porcelain cup and murmured, “He’s not a barbarian.”

James parted the white curtains. He glared at the two distant figures, festooned in lavish attire. The couple entered the grand barouche before the vehicle set off across the pebbled path.
The earl had come to propose.
James observed the cloud of dust as the peer and his wretched sister departed the castle grounds.
And James knew Sophia’s answer.
He turned away from the window. He took the empty bottle beside the bed and caressed the spout with his thumb, moving his finger over the slick surface, circling the glass until his own head was spinning.
He pitched the bottle across the room.
The glass shattered.
“I see you’re still in a foul mood.”
Slowly James lifted his burning eyes and trained his weary gaze on William. The lieutenant was positioned beside the door, arms folded across his chest.
James slumped against the wall and gnashed his teeth. The darkness in his soul crippled him. Everything was gone. His brothers…Sophia.
“We’re not taking anything away from you, James.”
The sage lieutenant had guessed the captain’s gloomy thoughts. The man sounded so bloody calm, even blasé, and that infuriated James even more. He looked daggers at his brother.
“Stop thinking with your heart, James. If Father wasn’t pressed into service, would you still think joining the Royal Navy a poor idea?”
“It’s called loyalty,” he growled.
“To whom?”
“To Father.”
“Father’s dead.”
James scoffed. “Yes, he is. And his memory is worth shit, I see.”
“You son of a bitch.” William stepped deeper inside the bedroom. “Do you think you’re the only one who loved him? He was my father, too. But Quincy and Edmund are still fledglings, and I’m not going to see them swing from a noose. Not when I can save them.” He gritted, “Father wouldn’t want it to end that way.”
James turned away from his brother, listless. “I’m going to find the impostors.”
“Fine. We’ll search for Hagley and his crew first, but then—”
“No.” James looked back at his kin, glowering. “After I find the impostors, I’m going to keep the
Bonny Meg
. You and Eddie and Quincy can rot alongside the Royal Navy.”
William rubbed his lips, his chin. “You can’t do this, James.”
“I can. And I will.” He rasped, “The tars are loyal to
me
. You’ll never get your hands on the ship so long as I live.”
William crossed the room and slammed his fist into James’s cheek. “I don’t
want
to take the ship from you!”
James didn’t budge. Blood filled his mouth. He tasted the thick, warm fluid. It filled him, soothed him. At last the stoic lieutenant showed real feeling. And that was enough to pacify the demons raging inside James’s skull.
“I want us
all
to be privateers,” he blasted. “I want us
all
to sail aboard the
Bonny Meg!
”
James wiped the blood from his swollen lips. “Get your own damn ship.”
William stepped away from the captain, combing his shaky fingers through his well-groomed hair. “You would cut us off?”
“I’m not the one cutting you off.”
It was like a cutlass carving his innards, the betrayal.
He
was not the one who had walked away from the brotherhood and the
Bonny Meg
…and the plantation house.
“You’re the one who’s walking away,” said James darkly. “You and Eddie and Quincy and Sophia.”
William frowned. “Are you
still
pining after Dawson’s daughter?”
He fingered his sore lips. “I’m not pining after her.”
“You’re still in love with Sophia, admit it.”
James slammed his fists against the wall behind him. “I’m
not
in love with that witch!”
“Then what do you want from her?”
“Revenge.”
William regarded him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I want her to know pain.” James gasped for breath. “I want her to feel the same fucking despair that I had to feel when
she
walked away from me.”
But she would never know such bereavement. She would marry the earl, he thought bitterly. She would be a countess. And he would rot in everlasting hell.
“I didn’t think you so small, James.”
There it was again, that cold and passionless point of view. William might be levelheaded, but he was also aloof and indifferent. He suffered nothing, for he felt nothing. It was easy for him to walk away from the
Bonny Meg
. But it was not so easy for James to forget about the past.
“You have no soul, Will. You can’t bleed. You don’t even know love.”
“Nor do you, it seems,” he said quietly, glowering, before he walked out of the room.
James grabbed his head, still woozy with drink. He dismissed his brother’s cavil as tedious gibberish and thought about Sophia instead. The witch was victorious. She had won their battle of wills. He appreciated her ruthlessness; it deserved applause. And so he would offer it. He wasn’t small, as William had suggested. He would congratulate her on the triumph.
James vacated the bedchamber. He moved blindly through the passageways. He suspected she was in her room, crowing over her achievement, and so he instinctively traveled toward her quarters.
He opened the door without rapping on the wood first.
The blade sliced through the air and pierced the wall beside his head.
Slowly James looked at the hard steel. His bloodred eyes reflected in the luminous metal. He then glared at Sophia. “You missed, sweetheart.”
She was wearing a simple white day dress. It was clean and crisp. No hideous jewelry marred her bust or ears. Even her hair was free of restraint and ornamentation, the long, thick locks flowing across her back in luxurious, cocoa brown waves.
The muscles in his midriff stiffened. She looked so damn lovely, yet she was so cold and unsightly inside.
“Damn you to hell, Black Hawk.”
He smirked at her incisive insult. He entered the bedroom and closed the door. “I’ll knock next time.”
She was glowering, flushed. Had he ruined her private celebration by being there? He remained rooted to the spot. He wouldn’t depart from the bedchamber. He wasn’t feeling so magnanimous.
“Congratulations…Countess.”
Her lips firmed. She skirted across the room and rummaged through the box of precious stones sitting on the vanity.
“What are you looking for?” he wondered sluggishly.
“Another knife,” she said, words clipped.
He chuckled and rubbed his burning eyes. “You give no mercy, woman.”
She sobbed in frustration before she scooped up the small chest and hurled it across the room.
The wood cracked against the wall; the shimmering jewels rained like falling stars.
He stared at the garish baubles. “Are you mad?”
“I’m not going to be a countess.”
James looked at her, bewildered. He eyed her breasts, heaving. She bunched her fingers into fists and licked her lips in an almost frantic gesture.
“Don’t lie,” he said curtly. “The earl proposed, admit it.”
“Yes, he did.” Dark brown eyes filled with tears; the glossy pools reflected the firelight in the hearth and the bright sunshine coming in through the unmasked windows. “But I refused him.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m a fool.”
He listened to the quick and shaky timbre in her voice. He listened to the woman’s words, so perplexing. She had desired the earl’s title, coveted the worthless name for months. Hell,
years
! She had deserted him for the blasted opportunity to gain a footing in posh society. And now that she had a chance to step into the aristocratic shithole she’d so earnestly longed for, she rebuffed it?
“I am such an idiot!” she shrieked, eyes wild. “Have you come to gloat?”
Was she daft? He had lost everything dear to him.
What
was there to gloat about? He said through gritted teeth, mouth bruised and tender, “I’m not here to gloat.”
Fat tears soaked her cheeks. “No?”
James studied the woman’s erratic mannerisms. He watched her as she scrubbed the briny moisture from her skin. She looked more and more savage as blood filled her features, so inflamed and irritated.
“What the devil is wrong with you?” he wondered gruffly, each pearled tear piercing his gut and making him feel uncomfortable. The woman was strong, unbreakable. Or so he had thought. He wasn’t used to seeing her in such distress.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? Well, here it is. Take it!”
“Take what?” he barked. “What are you talking about?”
“
Despair!
”
James took in a sharp breath. “You were eavesdropping?”
She had a nasty tendency to do that. She had listened to his conversation with William aboard the
Bonny Meg
before she had stowed away. And she had listened to it again at the castle…
James bristled. So she was privy to his desire for revenge? He had already cut out his heart for her once before. There was nothing left for her to maim.
“I heard every word.” She trembled. She said weakly, “Was it all a lie?”
He looked at the bed, the sheets neat. He remembered the mussed bedding, stained with sweat. He remembered every sweet kiss and intimate embrace.
James stalked across the room, more memories filling his skull. He remembered every spirited laugh on the island. Every soft smile and wicked wink.
“Yes,” he hissed. He looked deep into her watery eyes. “It was all a lie.”
Every playful flirtation and beloved caress and cherished whisper. A lie! A sinful, ugly lie!
“Ugh!” she cried. “I said no. No! He asked me to be his wife and I said no. I waited for him to leave before I rushed upstairs to tell you. I am such a fool! You want pain?” She knocked him in the cheek with her knuckles. “Here’s your despair!”
James was numb, stoic. He didn’t feel the woman’s assault at all. One pressing thought gripped him. “Why did you refuse him?”
“Because I wanted you!”
The cold and listless ice that had caged him slowly chipped away. A fire burned deep in his belly. A light. She had wanted him. Him! She had forsaken her desires and lofty ambitions to be with him. It was what he had struggled for: revenge. It was the perfect moment to walk away from her, to leave her in despair the way she had abandoned him.
And yet every dark and twisted desire to crush her had flitted away from his blood and bones. He stared at her swollen lips and puffy eyes. He listened to the aching sobs buried deep within her bosom. Perhaps he had never truly believed he would have his revenge. Perhaps he had always believed her too cold to feel angst. But confronted with her shattered dreams, he had no desire to devastate her even more.
She had a heart.
The truth stirred the hurt in his breast, making him gasp for breath. “Why? Why did you leave me all those years ago?”
He had believed her cruel, a witch. But she possessed feeling…so
why
had she deserted him?
“You refused to marry me,” she said with scorn.
James sensed the blood in his brain humming. “You deserted me over a game?”
“Not the game. I only challenged you to the game to win the forfeit. I wanted to marry you!”
James rubbed the back of his throbbing head in slow and methodic strokes. “Why?”
“Because I was a stupid chit.” She rucked her brow, lips quivering. “I wanted to be a proper wife.”
“But you loathed convention.” Free. Wild. Unabashed.
That
was Sophia. It was one of the reasons he had desired her so greatly. “You snubbed social mores.”
“And so you assumed I’d never want to wed?”
“Yes!” He flared his nostrils. “I would’ve stayed with you—forever. There was no reason to get married. I would
not
have abandoned you.”
She scoffed. “Yes, I know. I’d be your everlasting island whore.”
James cringed. “What?”
“I was your island whore! I endured the ridicule and the cold snubs from the rest of the islanders. I was Black Hawk’s mistress. And I was treated like it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, pulse thumping loud and strong in his head.
“I asked you to marry me,” she returned fiercely. “That would have silenced the islanders. But you refused; you reneged on the forfeit.” She fisted her fingers. “I was nothing but a warm wench to you. I was the daughter of a pirate, a prostitute. I wasn’t good enough to be your wife.”
James grabbed her arms. He dragged her against his hard muscles. He inhaled the rich, citrus scent of her soapy flesh, and curled his fingers through her wild tresses. “You wretched witch.” He hugged her tight. “I loved you more than breath. There was no woman in the world I wanted more.”
“Liar.”
He pressed his thumb against her cursed lips. “Damn you, Sophia.”
“You didn’t even want me to meet your sister,” she said, words wobbling. “You were ashamed of me. You are still ashamed of me.”
“Never.” He delved deep into her lucid and bewitching eyes. “I was never ashamed of you, Sophia. Hell,
I’m
the son of a pirate. Do you think me such a hypocrite? But a man doesn’t talk about such things with his sister, especially his innocent sister. And she
was
innocent then.”
She struggled in his arms. “Then
why
didn’t you marry me?”
“I didn’t want you to depend on me.”
She stilled. “What?”
James closed his eyes. The woman’s warm breath bathed his features, quieted the haunting reflections that always hounded him.
He had headed the family since boyhood, but his mother had suffered great hardship during the twelve years his father was away. Drake’s return had allowed James a respite from constant duty and obligation, but soon thereafter his mother had died, and once more James was thrust into the position of parent and guardian.
He had always fulfilled the role of either mother or father. And he had failed at both. Mother had toiled in wretched poverty for years without surcease or comfort from him, for he had burdened her with his basic needs for food and shelter and attention. And he had failed to inspire his own brothers with a sense of loyalty and respect, for the men had deserted him, too.
“I didn’t want another family to look after.” He opened his eyes and twisted his fingers deeper into her hair. “I didn’t want you to depend on me for all your needs…and be disappointed.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“I know.” He snorted. “Why do you think I was so attracted to you? You didn’t need me. If I’d died in a fiery raid at sea, you would’ve been fine. You were strong. You had nursed your father. You had wits and will. Money. There was nothing more I could give you.”
“Except yourself.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “Except that.”
“And yet you didn’t give me that, James.” She pushed him away. “That was the one thing in the world I wanted from you…and you didn’t share it with me.” She chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes cold. “I had a chance to become a respectable wife, a countess. No one would’ve ridiculed me ever again. And I gave it all away for you…for nothing.”