The Infamous Rogue Part 18

He lifted his gaze to meet Sophia's.

She smiled.

Not with her lips...but with her eyes.

Wicked laughter danced in her eyes.

She c.o.c.ked her hip to better lift her foot. He noted the subtle movement...he sensed it, too.

James firmed his lips. The toe stroked his inner thigh in a soft and sweeping gesture, making the blood pound in his c.o.c.k.

He parted his legs even more.

Take what you want, sweetheart.

She stared at him-a hot and stabbing stare. She wanted to make him sweat. She wanted to seduce him, to make him beg.

Not in everlasting h.e.l.l.

James twitched.

She pressed her slippered foot between his legs-and rubbed. In a slow and teasing manner she tickled his sensitive cods, making him gnash his teeth to quell the pulsing need growing in his belly.

He was pinned between prim and pa.s.sionless matrons, stupid and spoiled chits. He was trapped-and the she-devil was tormenting him.

Let her.

He had endured far worse on the island. He had suffered even greater anguish then.

Heart hard, he welcomed the pain she unleashed within him. He embraced the agony pouring through his veins.

Let her see.

Let her see he was unbreakable. Let her know he was able to bear far worse, that he would not submit to her-before she submitted to him!

James slipped his left hand beneath the white linen tablecloth and grabbed her ankle.

She stiffened.

He sensed her warm blood pulsing against his palm. One tug at her foot and she would tumble and fal . She would be exposed for the wild creature she was...but he wasn't after the woman's public ruination. He l.u.s.ted after far more intimate revenge.

James stroked the bone at her ankle before he maneuvered her foot and pressed it against his c.o.c.k. He watched her quiet. He watched her breastbone expand as she took in a big breath of air.

She attempted to pul back her foot, but he maintained a steady hold of her ankle as he resumed his meal with his right hand.

He thickened.

Sophia quieted even more. She stopped struggling.

That's it, sweetheart. Grow hungry for me.

He moved her heel against the tip of his swelling p.r.i.c.k. She stared at her plate, the food untouched.

James was putting himself through h.e.l.l. But he was putting her through h.e.l.l, too. And he would suffer the torment. He would endure the pain if he made her sweat and ache and gasp for his touch, too.

Beg me.

"Is something the matter, Miss Dawson?" said Rosamond. "You haven't touched your food."

Sophia quickly picked up her fork. She stabbed at the roasted carrots on her plate and popped the vegetables into her mouth.

She chewed slowly. She still stared at her plate, but it was not the food she longed for in her mouth...it was he.

James sensed her arousal. It made him harder in return. He slipped a finger into her slim satin shoe, brushing the sensitive underside of her foot.

She shuddered. The quivers vibrated right down to her toes-and against his lengthening c.o.c.k.

She fluttered her lashes. A dreamy look entered her eyes. She was chewing on her bottom lip now. If she wasn't vigilant, she might betray the l.u.s.t ballooning in her belly with her wanton gestures.

A servant entered the room and approached the table with a silver tray. "A letter for Captain Hawkins."

James dropped Sophia's foot.

She gasped, stunned. Blood filled her cheeks. Quickly she glanced across the table.

Don't worry, sweetheart. I alone know what you were thinking...what you were feeling.

The servant rounded the table and served the tray.

James took the missive and shredded the seal. A snort from one of the haughty matrons cooled his fingers, and he opened the letter with more restraint. He scanned the epistle: Come home.

-W James glared at the tidy penmanship. Blood pounded in his head. He wanted to tear the blasted paper to pieces. He folded the succinct message and tucked it into his pocket instead.

He was stiff. Every bone and muscle throbbed inside him. He missed the warm touch of Sophia's foot against his cods. He missed the feel of her pulse pounding against his palm.

Curse William! James was so close to victory, so close to getting Sophia back into his bed-where she truly belonged. If he headed home now he would lose the pa.s.sion he had stirred within her.

But William wouldn't pen such a curt note unless it was a matter of dire business- pirate business. It was too dangerous to expound on the matter in ink, for the letter might fall into the wrong hands. The Hawkins brothers always handled "family affairs" in person.

James beat back the dark desire growing inside him, tamped it into submission. There was only one thing to do.

He looked at Sophia.

This isn't over, sweetheart.

With every eye watching him, James returned to the meal. He would head home tonight -after supper. If he got up from the table now, he would create a spec tacular stir...

although the image of fainting matrons was an agreeable thought.

"I trust all is wel , Captain?"

The nosy chit.

He responded to the vicious fire-eater coolly. "I'm afraid there is a matter of business that requires my attention, Lady Rosamond. I must return home after supper."

"Oh." The chit feigned a pout. "We are sorry to see you go, Captain."

She lied with such fierce spite; every fool in the room could tell she wasn't the least bit sorry...except for her brother.

"Yes, truly sorry," said the earl. He sounded genuinely aggrieved. "I've yet to extend my full hospitality."

"You've been most gracious, my lord," said James.

"Stil , I can't help-I know! You must accompany us to the opera on Wednesday. My sister and I are escorting Miss Dawson to the last production of the season. Will you attend?"

Rosamond made a garish noise; she mewled as if a mouse were gnawing on her toe.

"And you are welcome to come, Anastasia and Imogen."

"Yes, we will al go," said the earl. "We'll have a wonderful time."

"Oh, drat!" Anastasia frowned. "I can't attend. I'm leaving for the country."

Rosamond glanced at the other young woman with a pleading look in her eyes. "And you Imogen?"

"Thank you," the girl said quietly. "I have no other plans. I'd be honored to attend the opera."

Rosamond sighed. James ignored the malicious brat. He glanced at Sophia instead.

The witch was still blushing.

Good.

I wish you nothing but pain until we meet again, sweetheart.

"I would be delighted to attend the opera, too," said James.

"Wil iam!"

James kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot. It was shadowy inside the town house. A few oil lamps still burned throughout the s.p.a.ce, beacons to guide the fledglings throughout the apartments, for Edmund and Quincy often staggered home in the wee hours of the morning.

James s.n.a.t.c.hed one of the glowing gla.s.s...o...b.. as he moved through the dark pa.s.sageway, footfalls pounding.

He reached the study and entered the room. He slammed the door closed. It was stifling inside the small s.p.a.ce. He set the lamp aside and rent the noose from his neck.

James tossed the sc.r.a.p of fabric into the fireplace. There was no flame burning in the coal-fueled hearth; however, it pleased him to see the wretched cravat where it belonged -in h.e.l.l.

There was a table with bottles beside the bookcase. Lamplight bounced off the shiny crystal decanters.

James grabbed the first bottle in reach. He dropped the stopper on the table. The sharp noise resounded in the quiet room. He filled a gla.s.s with liquor.

At the sound of the soft whistle of iron hinges, James turned around and confronted his brother. "I'm home."

"I heard."

William stepped inside the room and shut the door. He was dressed in trousers, feet and torso bare. He had a dark brow, heavy with sleep. And a peeved expression crossed his tired features, making him look like a surly brigand.

"How was the house party?" William yawned. "Or wil I read all about it in the gossip papers?"

James bristled. Even his brother thought him a barbarian, incapable of keeping his temper and composure, wont to cause scandal wherever he went.

James dropped his head back and guzzled the fiery spirits, slaying the turmoil, the chil in his belly. "Why did you summon me home?"

William rubbed his eyes. "Are we going to do this now?"

"Why not?"

William looked at the timepiece on the mantle. "It's almost four o'clock in the morning."

James set the decanter aside and wiped his mouth. "I can't sleep."

He was restless. As soon as he had departed the earl's home, the blood in his veins had roiled in protest. Even now the stiffness in his joints was acute. He wanted Sophia. He wanted to be close to her. He had walked away from her in the middle of a heated battle of the senses. He had severed their intimate connection before either of them had had the satisfaction of a thorough bedding.

And now he was in pain, the separation from Sophia bleeding him. He had to wait two more days to see her again.

Wednesday.

At the opera.

Would she be engaged by then?

James reached for the spirits again. He tamped the nausea in his belly with another hearty swig.

What did it matter if she was affianced? He would still have his revenge. He would still have the woman in his bed. He would still hear her admit she needed him, she craved him. He would still have her disengage with the earl and come to him...before he walked away from her.

William's expression soured even more. "You can't sleep, so to h.e.l.l with the rest of us?"

"Something like that."

James stared at the painting on the wall: a sea witch. Quincy had brought the infernal artwork home one night. It was his favorite piece. But James loathed it.

William approached the desk and c.o.c.ked his hip against it. "Am I to a.s.sume the picnic didn't go so well?"

He turned away from the garish artwork. "Thanks to your interruption. Now what the devil is wrong?"

"What's wrong?" William folded his arms across his chest. "Our lives are in danger, that's what's wrong. And while you've been following the stirrings of your c.o.c.k, we've been hunting the impostors pirating in our names."

James slammed the bottle against the table. "I'm here! So drop the righteous horses.h.i.t and tell me what's the matter!"