The Infamous Rogue (14 page)

Or was it an illicit affair? Imogen had insisted her beau was a respectable gentleman. Had she been deceived? Or was it true? Was he a respectable gentleman? Had the couple shared an innocent kiss? Was that the “compromising situation” everyone was talking about? And was it enough to ruin her forever?
“You’re right, Miss Dawson. It’s not Miss Rayne’s fault. She is sweet and impressionable. I blame the Jew who tempted her into the affair.
He
led her astray.”
Sophia’s heart was heavy. The pressure squeezed her breast, taking her breath away. The gossip had spread so quickly. It had surprised even Imogen, it seemed. The woman had come to the opera with nary a thought about the spiteful words circling Town about her. Where was her chaperone? Had she vanished in a panic when the whispers had started?
The snipes and glares bounced off Imogen. Sophia flinched with each cutting remark and harsh eye that passed through the room. Jeers filled her head.
“A pity such a charming young lady is now ruined and not fit for good society,” commiserated Maximilian.
A great pity.
Sophia trembled. What would happen to the girl now? What would society do with a “charming young lady” not fit for respectable company? Banish her to the country? Ship her to the continent?
Sophia gnashed her teeth. She wanted to reach out to the spooked young woman. But she pressed her fists at her sides instead. If she reached out to Imogen, she, too, would be sucked into the black vortex that was ignominy. And as distasteful as it was to admit the truth, Sophia wasn’t prepared to suffer Imogen’s fate—not again.
Imogen’s wide eyes filled with tears. She was rooted to the spot. So was Sophia. It was easy to lose one’s sense of balance, even poise in such a situation. Sophia remembered the garish laughter, the disgusting hoots and gestures on the island. She remembered feeling overwhelmed. Powerless. Desperate.
Their eyes met.
Help me, Sophia!
Sophia listened to the cries in her head…but she did not budge from the sturdy stone steps. The hard rock maintained her weight, her composure. It sheltered her from the wild and bloody storm that swirled around Imogen.
Sophia gasped for breath. Imogen was alone. Hurting. She was a woman of grace and compassion. She filled an awkward void in a conversation. She offered an arm in support or a smile in encouragement.
But no one offered her such assistance.
“Scandalous!”
“Barbarous!”
“Shameful!”
The ruthless mob emitted such vulgar judgment, Sophia’s head smarted. She yearned for Imogen’s well-being. She—
She wanted to shout with joy.
He cut through the rabble with quick, hard strides. He paused for no one. He allowed no one to step aside. Jump or be trampled. And he offered no apology if he treaded across a hem or a booted toe.
He was big and barbarous as charged. And the room pulsed with energy as soon as he entered it. Sophia pulsed with energy as soon as he entered it, too.
James took Imogen by the hand.
She collapsed against him.
Sophia wanted to collapse, too. The tautness in her muscles eased as soon as he took charge of the girl and sheltered her.
The mob swarmed them.
Sophia twisted her throat, searching. But the couple had vanished. A gong resounded. Last call. The opera was about to begin.
“Come, Miss Dawson.” The earl offered an arm. “Let us join the other ladies.”
Sophia placed her clammy palm on the cuff of the earl’s well-tailored coat. She mounted the steps, bemused. Her heart swelled. The pirate lord had saved Imogen. He had whisked her away from all the dreadful reproach.
Sophia’s heart knocked. It rattled and raged against her breastbone. Fire welled in her belly, her bust. A dangerous fire…for him.
“I respect Captain Hawkins.” Maximilian placed his fingers over her hand. “I would have escorted poor Miss Rayne from the theater myself if it wasn’t for my sister. I must protect Mondie’s reputation. I cannot associate with a woman of ill repute. You understand, don’t you, Miss Dawson?”
“Yes, my lord.”
She understood very well indeed. She understood she had to guard her scandalous past as the state guarded the crown jewels—or she would face Imogen’s dreadful fate.
The earl steered her through the dark passageways: a labyrinth of tunnels and lush curtains protecting the lofty spectators within.
“Here we are,” he said. “After you, Miss Dawson.”
Sophia entered the private box. She was still in a daze, weak. She had a wicked headache. The disgust chained in her belly roiled. She wanted to let it out. She tamped the nausea instead. She had to maintain her composure. She had to keep her features cool.
“What happened?” demanded Rosamond. “Tell me!”
“Sit down, Mondie,” ordered Maximilian. “Can’t you see Miss Dawson is ill with grief?”
“Such a pity,” said Lady Lucas. “A tragedy, really…Here, my dear. For the performance.”
Sophia stared at the delicate opera glasses. She took them from the matron before she settled into the plush seat next to Lady Rosamond. So weak. Sophia was so weak. Restless, too.
“Where’s Imogen?” the chit wondered. “Was she chased out of the theater?”
“Mondie!” The earl tsked. “I’m disappointed in you.”
The girl pouted. “Why?”
“You have an unhealthy fascination with salacious tittle-tattle.”
“Miss Rayne was my friend,” she said defiantly. “What’s become of her? I want to know!”
“I’m afraid nothing will ever become of her now,” returned Lady Lucas in an authoritative manner.
Sophia’s heart ached at the words. So true. So dreadfully true. She clutched the opera lenses in her hand, knuckles white.
The earl took the empty seat beside the matron. “Captain Hawkins escorted Miss Rayne out of the theater.”
Rosamond gasped. “He did?”
“Yes,” said Maximilian succinctly. “And we’ll hear no more about the matter.”
“But where is the captain?”
“I don’t think he’ll be joining us this evening, Mondie.”
“But—”
“Mondie,” the man said with warning.
The girl huffed. She glanced at Sophia and whispered, “What else happened, Miss Dawson?”
“Mondie!” from the earl.
“Ohh.”
The girl sulked.
Applause resounded as the limelight dimmed and the main stage curtain parted. Sophia dismissed the lavish production from her mind. The dark theater offered her an opportunity to rest her stiff features, to let loose the anguish brimming inside her.
A maelstrom of feeling ravaged her breast. She gasped for breath to quell the misery filling her veins…the self-loathing.
She had forsaken a good woman, a friend. She had treated her with the same disdain and rejection others had once treated her with on the island.
Sophia’s belly ached. She placed her hand over the stirring movements to stifle the nausea.
So cruel. Society was so cruel. But Sophia didn’t want to change society. She just wanted to be a part of it. She
yearned
to be a part of it. It was so ignoble to be an outcast, to endure shame and aloneness. She wouldn’t be a pariah anymore. It would devastate her.
The air was thick. She was going to be sick. She set aside the opera lenses and quietly excused herself from the private box.
The matron quickly followed her into the passageway. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Sophia circled a small spot. “I need fresh air, is all. Might I have a private moment?”
The matron eyed her warily. “Call if you need me.”
“I will.”
The older woman reluctantly returned to the private box. The murmurs started right away. Sophia listened to the hushed inquires:
“Is she all right, Lady Lucas?” from Rosamond.
“The poor dear is distressed,” returned the matron.
“Yes, Miss Rayne’s disgrace is distressing to us all,” said the earl.
Sophia twisted her fingers together. She kneaded her palm with the pad of her thumb, pressing against the muscles, the veins.
She strutted away from the private box. She moved against the shadows in the passageway, searching for light.
There was an alcove. She spotted the lamp inside. She slipped between the walls. There was a bench and she settled against the cushioned pillows.
She breathed deep and hard to soothe the thrumming pulses that afflicted her senses. The islanders’ jeers and lewd comments still resounded in her head. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her head to quiet the vulgar tongues, the crude laughter.
“You really are like one of them.”
She gasped. Something ugly, something vile churned in her belly at the cutting words. Slowly she opened her eyes and confronted the brigand’s towering figure. She flinched under the man’s scorching glare.
“How is Imogen?” she whispered.
He rumbled, “Do you care?”
“Damn you, Black Hawk.” She stood and confronted him. “You don’t understand!”
He was a man. If he bedded a hundred women,
still
society would invite him to parties and balls. But she was a woman. She was chained. And she refused to discard the manacles that ensnared her. She wouldn’t let them laugh and sneer at her again—as they had laughed and sneered at Imogen.
“I understand, sweetheart.”
He approached her. She shuddered as he placed the pad of his thumb against her warm cheek. The tender strokes soothed her wild heartbeat like no other touch or word or balm.
“I understand you once had a heart…but now you’re a cold bitch like the rest of them.”
She slapped him.
His head veered to one side.
Slowly he looked at her again. “A little harder, sweetheart. You know I like it rough.”
She slapped him again. Hard. Her fingers pulsed with pain.
The edge of his teeth cut across the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. He wiped the red drops from his mouth. “Was it worth it?”
She was shaking, sweating. The fire in her belly bounced and burned with renewed energy, the fleeting tranquillity quashed by his vicious taunt. “Striking you?”
He snorted softly. “You don’t hurt me, Sophia.” There was an icy sparkle in his deep blue eyes. “Not anymore.”
She fisted her palms. She ached for his tender touch again. But he was a black-hearted devil. He stirred pain in her breast; he always would.
“Leaving the island?” he said coldly. “Was it worth it?”
And leaving me? Was it worth it?
She heard the words in her head.
He glowered at her. “Are you happy here? With
them
?”
“Yes,” she hissed, the word quivering.
He offered her a dark look. It crushed her soul. “I have a ship to catch.”
Slowly he walked away from her.
Sophia waited for the man’s robust figure to round the corner before she crumpled against the bench seat, weak and alone.
Chapter 13
S
he was beautiful. Her wide belly rested in the still waters. Moonlight pierced her white sails, unfurled and heaving.
James longed to set foot on the sturdy deck. He headed for the three-masted schooner like a lover in need, wending through the bustling port. He ignored the rabble and thick movement of bodies. He dismissed the dockside wenches and sidestepped the grimy rats.
He fixed his eyes firmly on her: the
Bonny Meg,
mistress of the sea. She was everything right in the world. She was home.
Unlike Sophia.
He hardened. The spectacle at the opera house circled in his head. He listened to the derisive laughter and haughty snorts. He envisioned the poor girl trapped between so many cruel smirks, weak and defenseless.
It burned in his breast, the venomous treatment. It disgusted him, the abuse. But it dismayed him even more to know
she
was like one of the ruthless members of the peerage. She had warned him she had changed. He had not believed she had changed so much.
James crossed the pier and climbed the scaffolding. He boarded the vessel. Boots hit wood. He was filled with renewed energy. There was harmony in his soul once more. Every muscle and bone shuddered with delight.
“Ahoy, Captain!”
He moved with the ship. In sync. In balance. He crossed the deck, saluted the tars in return. He approached the poop and mounted it. There the sea stretched before him. There the black and endless waves welcomed him.
Water lapped against the hull. It slapped and caressed the ship’s belly. And James sensed every playful movement. He heard it, too. That seductive call, a siren’s song.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep. He inhaled the rich and briny air. It was brimming with life, the gusting sea breeze. It filled his empty lungs and chased away the dark and stirring sentiments choking him.
“You’re late.”
William ascended the poop, too.
“I know.” James stripped the noose, the coat from his body. “I was at the opera.”
He frowned. “What were you doing at the opera?”
“Watching a tragedy.”
William humphed. “We have to wait in queue.”
“How long?”
“An hour maybe.”
“Fine,” returned James.
“Do you want to change?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
The very idea sounded absurd. He was the captain. He commanded the vessel. She sailed under his word, bared her guns at his order. The
Bonny Meg
was more than a home, she was a part of him.
“You look like you’re dressed for a funeral in that black suit,” said William. “It makes the crew uneasy.”
James snorted. “I’ll be back in an hour then.”
“Aye, Captain.”
James swaggered off the poop and headed belowdecks. He yanked the shirt up over his head, eager to be rid of the confining apparel.
“Easy there, Captain.” Quincy strolled through the corridor, chuckling. “Anxious to get your breeches doused?”
James paused and glared after the kid. Was Quincy drunk? He’d clock the pup’s head against the mast if he was. He knew damn well he wasn’t supposed to tip the bottle before a mission.
James snarled and opened the cabin door. He stepped inside the refuge and tossed the disgusting garments aside before he reached for the buttons of his trousers.
He paused at the sound of tsking.
“Willy was right; you are in need of a good bedding.”
James glanced up. Moonlight entered the cabin through the small window. There was enough light to make out the shadows in the room…and the sultry figure resting on the bed.
He sighed. “Cora.”
The buxom wench slipped off the covers and approached him, hips swinging. She had painted eyes, so dark and seductive. Red lips, too. Even in the dimness he eyed the woman’s plump and rosy mouth. The color matched the bright, scarlet locks that coiled across her ample breasts, thrust high in a tight, low-cut corset.
“You don’t sound too happy to see me, Capt’n.”
No, he wasn’t. Not when the blood in his veins still screamed for an island witch. Even now the mark on his cheek pulsed with the imprint from her hand. His whole body pulsed, in truth.
Curse William! He had orchestrated the whole blasted affair, thinking a good fuck would put the captain’s head to right…maybe it would.