The Infamous Rogue Part 29

The d.u.c.h.ess was simpering again.

Sophia's heart slowly shriveled. The d.u.c.h.ess wanted to pamper her in place of her savior father. James had had nothing to do with the invitation to the castle. The woman didn't even know Sophia was her brother's former wh.o.r.e. She wouldn't be so kind to her then. She would be like all the others, dismayed and repulsed.

Sophia almost wished the woman was privy to the truth, then Sophia wouldn't have to maintain the pretense. Now she had to conform to an image of Dawson's saintly daughter. And she had to keep her affair with Black Hawk an even firmer secret.

"As soon as I heard you were in the country, I wanted to meet you. I feel like we are sisters, you and I. Both pirates' daughters. Look!"

There was a thin gold chain at her bust and a ring. It looked familiar. Sophia examined it more closely. The emblem was a winged hourgla.s.s. It was a pirate symbol, sometimes a part of the pirate flag, warning ships-prey-that time was running out for them, that they were about to be attacked.

"It belonged to your father." Mirabelle stroked the bauble. "He gifted it to my father before the two parted ways. My father always loved the ring. It reminded him that time was precious. He presented it to me for my twentieth year...just before he died."

Sophia eyed the other woman thoughtfully. The ring linked them in kinship, she supposed. But being part of a family was a wistful sentiment, for Sophia had not enjoyed the succor of familial rapport since her time on the island with her father...and the Hawkins brothers. And that time was long since dead.

"Why didn't you write to tel me you were coming to England, Sophia? I would have sponsored your come-out."

She said stiffly, "We've never even met."

"We have now." Mirabelle cupped her hand. "If you need anything from me, you need only ask. My home is your home."

It was a thoughtful but misguided sentiment. Sophia didn't belong inside the castle. Not with the d.u.c.h.ess: James's beloved sister. She dishonored the woman with her presence.

James would think so. Sophia belonged with the earl. Then she would be on equal footing with the d.u.c.h.ess.

Again the door opened.

Sophia's heart swelled as the dark and towering figure sauntered into the room.

James!

He looked dashing in a close-fitted vest and double-breasted, tailed coat. Strapped in snug trousers and high leather boots, he was dressed in black. Formidable. Respectable.

Long locks fastened in a queue, there was a wayward tress that curled under his eye. That one imperfection shattered the visage. The loose and sooty hair testified to the wild beast that breathed beneath the thick apparel. He had just witnessed his mistress and his sister in the same room, holding hands.

He was angry.

Slowly Sophia lifted to her feet, pulse throbbing, and approached him. He had paused beside the door, bemused and furious. He now followed her every step with his deep blue eyes. He set her blood and skin on fire with that hard and hot-tempered glare. So smoldering. So profound. She itched to strike him. She stopped beside him instead.

His breathing was shallow. She heard the short and heavy drafts of air seep into his lungs. She felt the warmth of his breath, too. It smacked her cheeks.

Sophia's bones trembled as she struggled to keep the shame in her breast: the shame he compounded with his sinister regard.

"Go to h.e.l.l, sweetheart," she whispered before she brushed past him and bustled from the room.

Chapter 17.

T he woman's venomous words seeped into James's blood and weakened him, made him numb.

What was she doing here?

"Do you know who that is, James?"

The tart inquiry punctured the thick and murky cloud in his head, and he glanced at his sister. "Do you?"

Mirabelle placed her arms akimbo. "It's Dawson's daughter, so why are you glowering?"

Dawson's devious and cold-blooded daughter.

I belong with anyone else but you!

He let out a slow, deep breath. The words resounded in his head, making his skul throb and his blood burn. She had tricked him. She had once made him believe he belonged with her. She had once accepted him for who he was. She had desired him for it. And he had desired her. For her independence and her refusal to submit to social convention.

Free with her words, laughter, and body, she had concealed no pretenses. No false airs.

But now the woman was a fraud. She wanted to be a countess. But he wasn't an earl. And she would stop at nothing to claim that infernal t.i.tle, even threaten him...

James looked at his sister, so ashen. He imagined the blade pressed between Sophia's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He imagined it pressed under his sister's throat and he thundered across the room. "Are you all right, Bel e? Did Sophia hurt you?"

Mirabelle lifted a slender blond brow. "Are you daft, James?"

"What is Sophia doing here?" he demanded.

Was the witch looking for some way to snag the earl? Was she ruined and desperate and seeking support from his sister to reestablish her standing in society? She had put her treasured reputation in jeopardy by spending four days aboard the Bonny Meg with him.

She would do anything to reclaim her cherished status, even brandish her knife. His sister wasn't privy to the woman's true, wicked nature. But he was; he still had the scar on his chin to prove it.

Mirabelle frowned. "I heard Sophia was in Town, so I invited her to the castle."

"Why?"

"In honor of Dawson, of course."

James swallowed the dread that had welled in his breast. Sophia had not come to the castle to seek favor from the d.u.c.h.ess. She had come at the behest of his sister. She had come in lieu of her father: the man who'd curtailed the misery James had endured as a child.

You must help me, James. You must help me now that Papa is gone. I need you, James.

I can't take care of you and William by myself. You wil help Mama, won't you, James?

He shuddered at the haunting reflection. He had looked after his brother. He had labored for food. But he had not helped his mother. She had sobbed in loneliness every night for years. She had toiled every day as a milkmaid, apple seller, or scavenger to feed him and his kin. And as he and William had matured, so had their needs: the need for more clothing, more food. However much he'd worked to compensate for the burden, it had never been enough. She had depended on him for help and he had failed her.

"What are you doing here, James?"

He stared at his sister. She looked so much like their mother. She had the same golden curls and eyes as Megan Hawkins, while he and his brothers distinctly mirrored their father with their dark features and blue eyes.

Mirabelle was weary, her flesh fair, after the difficult birth of her son. And now that she was a mother, too, he wondered if she suffered under the same burden.

He bussed her pale brow. He wasn't the mawkish sort; the sentiment repulsed him. He had only ever kissed his sister once before...right before her near death. But the desire had welled inside him again, and he hadn't quashed it.

"Can't I visit with you, Bel e?"

She quirked her brows. "Of course you can. But that's not why you're here, is it?"

The room soon filled with the rest of the Hawkins brood as his brothers entered the parlor and circled Mirabelle in greeting.

William hugged her. "It's good to see you again, Belle."

Edmund frowned. "Are you well? You don't look well."

"Aye, she's well." Quincy kissed her cheek. He brooked no argument that she was still ill. He refused to even contemplate the thought of losing her. "Where are the children?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Mirabelle welcomed each sibling in turn before she said, "Henry is asleep in the nursery, but I'm afraid Alice is terrorizing the household."

Quincy beamed as he dropped into the nearest seat and propped his boots on the furniture. "Stil at odds with Squirt?"

"Yes!" She paled even more. "I need a governess."

"Sit, Bel e," ordered James. "Rest."

What was she doing out of bed? Two months had pa.s.sed since the birth of her son, but she still looked weak.

James remembered that wretched night. He remembered standing in the pa.s.sageway just outside the birthing room, listening to her desperate wails. She had not delivered the afterbirth in a timely manner and they had all feared she would perish from the fever...

but she had lived.

James suppressed the chil gripping his bones. He shrugged the icy fingers away and eyed his sister closely.

"I'm fine, really." She was naturally mulish. However, she heeded his advice this once and filled an empty seat. "What are all of you doing here?"

"We need to speak with your husband," said Wil iam.

She groaned. "I thought we agreed Damian is family. You can't kill him."

As soon as he was sure she was all right, James headed for a window and stopped beside the speckled pane of gla.s.s. The former "Duke of Rogues" wasn't worthy of his sister's hand. James would like nothing better than to see her widowed. But she adored the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and that was cause enough for James to keep his fists at his sides.

"We don't want to hurt him, Belle," returned William.

Edmund snorted.

"We won't hurt him," the lieutenant clarified.

"Then what do you want with him?" she demanded.

Quincy crossed his ankles. "We need to speak with his brother, Adam Westmore."

"Why?"

William sighed. "We're in a bit of trouble, Belle."

She pinched her brows together. "What sort of trouble."

"Don't fret," said Quincy.

She raised her voice a notch. "About what?"

William folded his hands behind his back. "Have you read the paper in recent days?"

"No." She frowned. "Damian won't let me near any dreadful news or scandal. He hides the paper from me. Why? What did you do?"

"We didn't do anything," insisted Edmund.

Quincy quipped, "I like how you trust us, Belle."

She humphed. "Then what's in the paper?"

"News about a band of impostors," said William.

She made a moue. "Impostors?"

William hesitated. "Sailors posing as...us."

Mirabelle's eyes widened. "I was afraid this might happen one day!"

"Don't worry, Belle," he quickly a.s.sured her. "We'll find the impostors before word leaks out about our true ident.i.ties and you're ruined."

"I'm not worried about that, but your necks."

"Do you need a drink?" wondered Edmund.

"I'm not an invalid," she snapped. "I won't faint." She huffed. The brothers quieted as she stewed for a few moments. "What do you want with my brother-in-law, Adam?"

James fingered the stained gla.s.s. He let the vibrant shades play across his hand. "Adam might know more about the impostors."

"He once hunted us in revenge, remember?" William rubbed his chin. "After the robbery at sea, Adam searched for us, but stumbled upon a band of bootleggers posing as pirates instead. We need to speak to him about the bootleggers. The men and our impostors might be one and the same."

She appeared thoughtful. "You don't have a very good rapport with the man. Do you think Adam will help you?"

"We're family now." Quincy grinned. "Of course he'll help us."

James wasn't so sure, though. Some sour feelings might still linger between the two clans. However, James had agreed to come to the castle, to try to gather more information about the impostors. William had staunchly promoted the idea, too, believing the excursion would get the captain's mind off Sophia. But nothing short of revenge would get the woman out of James's head, disentangle her icy fingers from his heart. And now he had another opportunity to obtain his revenge.

He slowly reached into his pocket and caressed the shattered timepiece.