The Infamous Rogue Part 20

"You should not speak of such things," Maximilian chastised. "It's indelicate."

"Yes, very indelicate." Lady Lucas cupped the girl's hand. "Come, my dear. Let me take you away from such unsavory company."

The chit made a noise of protest as she was ushered up the steps by the matron.

Sophia and the earl remained behind.

Sophia was in a dream. Nay, a nightmare. She stood vulnerable, naked. She gazed at herself in the mirror.

It was a wretched sight.

She whispered weakly, "How do you know she's a fal en woman?"

"I understand it happened this morning. Miss Rayne was spied in a compromising situation."

"And you believe the gossip?"

"I'm afraid I must, Miss Dawson. I must guard my sister's well-being."

So even the hint of scandal was enough to devastate a woman's position in the world?

Sophia shuddered.

"How could I have been so careless?" said the earl. "I never suspected Miss Rayne a deviant."

Sophia swallowed the sob in her throat. "It's not Miss Rayne's fault."

It was cruel. So very cruel. Imogen was in love. She wanted to pursue an honorable courtship. But her par ents-society at large-forbade it, forcing her into an illicit affair.

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 pa.s.sed 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 fil ed 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 st.u.r.dy stone steps. The hard rock maintained her weight, her composure. It sheltered her from the wild and b.l.o.o.d.y storm that swirled around Imogen.

Sophia gasped for breath. Imogen was alone. Hurting. She was a woman of grace and compa.s.sion. She fil ed an awkward void in a conversation. She offered an arm in support or a smile in encouragement.

But no one offered her such a.s.sistance.

"Scandalous!"

"Barbarous!"

"Shameful!"

The ruthless mob emitted such vulgar judgment, Sophia's head smarted. She yearned for Imogen's wel -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 cal . 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 a.s.sociate with a woman of il repute. You understand, don't you, Miss Dawson?"

"Yes, my lord."

She understood very wel 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 pa.s.sageways: 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 stil 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 gla.s.ses. 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 t.i.ttle-tattle."

"Miss Rayne was my friend," she said defiantly. "What's become of her? I want to know!"

"I'm afraid nothing wil 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 br.i.m.m.i.n.g 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 ign.o.ble 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 pa.s.sageway. "Are you al right, my dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Sophia circled a smal spot. "I need fresh air, is all. Might I have a private moment?"

The matron eyed her warily. "Call if you need me."

"I wil ."

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 pa.s.sageway, searching for light.

There was an alcove. She spotted the lamp inside. She slipped between the wal s. 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?"

"d.a.m.n 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 b.a.l.l.s. 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.