The Infamous Rogue Part 31

She was woozy. The black devil always played with her senses, manipulated her good thought. "I think I'll keep them, then."

The balmy look in his eyes singed her. He stepped away from the landing. She quickly skirted past him and headed through the unfamiliar causeway, searching for the dining hal .

He followed. "Where's the harridan?"

The looming shadow at her heels was hard to ignore. Worse, the searing look from his eyes, pressing into her spine, made each step a struggle.

She returned in a prim manner, "Lady Lucas will not be joining us for supper this evening."

"Oh?"

"She's ill."

"Pity."

Sophia gnashed her teeth at his terse response.

"Turn left," he said in a low timbre. "The dining hall is at the end of the pa.s.sage."

She slowed, overwhelmed by the realization that she was walking straight into a den of lions.

He b.u.mped into her backside, the touch of his hard muscles sizzling.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Aren't you hungry?" He dropped his lips beside her bejeweled ear and whispered, "I know I am."

She shivered.

She closed her eyes and let the comforting heat from his torso warm her. She wasn't prepared to confront his family yet. She wasn't ready to be put on exhibit in front of them.

James was still behind her. He sensed her misgiving, but he didn't snipe or touch her.

He remained at her backside. He let her feed off his strength, his energy. And she did.

She was rooted to the spot. She stayed there until the unease drifted away from her bones.

Sophia opened her eyes. At the end of the pa.s.sageway was a set of tall and elaborate arched doors. The room was bright with candlelight, and warm with the sound of familial laughter.

She sensed she was even more out of place, but she now had the vigor to move onward, to greet her host and hostess and the rest of the Hawkins brothers.

Sophia approached the entrance. She paused between the wel -polished doors and bristled as the babble hushed and the occupants inside the room stared at her.

They know.

It was there in their eyes. The pirate brothers had known for a long time she was the captain's former mistress, but now the duke and d.u.c.h.ess were privy to the truth about her scandalous past, too.

Sophia dropped her chin and whispered over her shoulder, "You told them, didn't you?"

But she didn't get a response. She didn't need one. The barbarian wanted to humiliate her with the truth. He wanted to see her quail.

She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Chapter 18.

"Y ou told them, didn't you?"

She sounded betrayed.

James noted the way her breath shuddered. She quickly lost her voice, too. She only mouthed the last word, "you."

He was disarmed by the discomfort in his breast, a squeezing pressure on his heart and lungs. He quashed the feeble sentiment. What the h.e.l.l was he feeling sorry about? He wasn't the one who had betrayed their past. That blame rested solely with his dim-witted brother, Quincy.

Sophia entered the room.

James admired her pluck. And yet he wasn't surprised by it. She wasn't a coward. Not at heart. She had let the posh and amoral ways of society pervert her spirit. The ridiculous taboos had stripped her of some mettle, molding her to be another mindless miss seeking preservation and status.

But she wasn't robbed of all grit just yet. And he relished the confident way she strutted across the room. Every muscle in him pulsed with delight to see her behaving like the old Sophia again: the woman who had once wandered the plantation house in the buff without a thought to superficial mores.

James followed her inside the hall. He watched the candlelight shimmer and bounce off the sensuous fabric of her evening gown, a delicious honey brown. There was a short train that trailed behind her like a siren's fin. He watched the supple material glide across the floor and round the furnishings as she approached the long dining table, festooned with burnished silverware.

"Good evening, Miss Dawson." Damian Westmore, the Duke of Wembury, welcomed Sophia with a courteous bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

James glared at the former "Duke of Rogues." The reprobate had a notorious disposition for a beautiful face. James was convinced the man made his sister a miserable husband, that he would never reform his philandering ways. But the duke was either a skil ed thespian or he really cared for his wife, for the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was polite and maintained a thoughtful countenance. No licentious stares or wicked winks.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sophia returned in a cool yet cordial manner.

A footman escorted her to an empty seat beside Wil iam. The lieutenant lifted to his feet in deference. Edmund and Quincy followed suit.

Sophia gracefully took the chair, her skirt swirling around her ankles and the furniture's legs.

The men resumed their seats, their expressions inscrutable. However, Quincy was simpering like a distasteful fop. James had a ruthless desire to grind his booted heel into the pup's toes.

The d.u.c.h.ess was seated at the head of the table. She smiled in greeting. "How do you like your room, Sophia?"

James was escorted by another footman to the other end of the long table. It was a corner seat between Edmund and the duke, who was positioned opposite his wife at the other head of the lengthy table. James suspected his sister had orchestrated the place settings to keep him away from her guest, the "poor girl." But Mirabelle would be hard-pressed to quash his deep-rooted desire for revenge.

"I like my room very much," said Sophia. "Thank you, Bel e."

Sophia was stiff in tone and posture. James noted the sheen across her brow. The moisture shimmered under the dappling candlelight, the roasting candlelight. The bal of fire was suspended above the table. The iron hands twisted together to form an intricate pattern of horns that carried dozens of white candles.

It was easy to a.s.sume the heat from the glowing aura warmed her features, but he sensed it was more than the flickering lights that made her skin glisten. She was uncomfortable. And he disliked seeing her ill-at-ease. He had no tender regard for the heartless woman; however, he resented the insinuation that his family was akin to the cold and brutal ton, that his kin ostracized or tormented a welcome guest. Sophia was putting herself through h.e.l.l with her own distorted thoughts and twisted perceptions.

Let her.

Mirabelle glanced around the room. "And Lady Lucas?"

Sophia folded her hands together and placed them in her lap. She lowered her eyes, too.

Was she hiding from the scrutiny?

He willed her to fight. If she thought she was being judged, he wanted her to confront her accusers with defiance, not bleed into the patterned paper and furnishings like a wallflower.

"I'm afraid Lady Lucas isn't feeling well and will not be joining us this evening," said Sophia.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mirabelle frowned. "Would you like me to summon a physician?"

"It isn't necessary." Sophia returned, "It's just a chill."

"Very wel , then." The d.u.c.h.ess looked at the butler. "Jenkins, please prepare a meal for Lady Lucas and send it to her room."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The butler then signaled for the cuisine to be served. As a host of servants transferred the steaming platters and salvers from the buffet to the table, James resumed his vigil of Sophia. He observed her as she unfurled a pristine napkin and set it across her knees. She smoothed the material over her skirt with methodical strokes before she lifted her eyes- and glared at him.

The rich brown pools burrowed into him, and he was filled with the intense warmth of her bile. Now that was Sophia.

He smiled.

She looked away from him.

Soon each plate was stuffed with roasted fare, and the gla.s.ses filled with wine. The staff then vacated the hal , shutting the grand doors in customary fashion.

Sophia peeked at the secured doors, looking caged. She was likely accustomed to the servants remaining inside the room during the course of the meal, to offer a.s.sistance if needed. It ensured civil conversation, for one didn't discuss matters of an inappropriate nature during supper; the staff might overhear and gossip about it later.

But James's family didn't abide by social convention at home. They endured enough suffocating rules and customs in society. Supper at the castle was always an informal affair.

Sophia looked meek. Did she think they were going to hound her now? Rip her to pieces? As they had ripped him apart at the earl's dry and fastidious country house party?

He snorted softly. She was thinking like one of them already. She had condemned Imogen for her sins, and now she awaited the same fate to befall her. But no one would scorn her. Not here. His brothers liked her-Quincy liked her too much, he thought sourly-and Mirabelle adored her for being Dawson's daughter. The duke was wont to scandal himself, and so offered no moral judgment on others. In truth, she was seated at the table with equals. Every heart that pulsed in the room concealed a dark family secret.

And if Sophia just shrugged off the unnatural manacles that caged her, she'd see it, too.

She'd see she had no one to fear...except him.

Quincy dropped his fork as soon as the servants had departed from the hall. "I thought they'd never leave."

Mirabelle glared at him.

"You're not serious, Belle." Quincy gesticulated. "Lady Lucas isn't even here. We're all family!"

But Mirabelle was unmoved by her brother's reasonable cries. She glared at him until her cheeks flushed. A surly Quincy was forced to resume the proper supper accoutrements or risk being shot.

Mirabelle sighed in exasperation-and a whisper of mortification. But the pretension wasn't necessary for Sophia's sake, James thought. She was a pirate's daugh ter, too. She had witnessed far more scandalous behavior than a man eating with his fingers.

However, James remained quiet about the matter. He didn't want to upset his sister and ruffle her weak disposition even more. He still believed Mirabelle belonged in bed, resting. But she was too headstrong to heed the suggestion, he suspected.

"Edmund and I wil set out tomorrow to take care of some business," said William as he sliced the roasted game.

James glanced at the lieutenant. Their "business" was to contact the duke's brother and gather whatever information they could about the bootleggers and potential impostors.

James wasn't sure what sort of a.s.sistance the duke's brother would offer the retired pirates, though. There might still be buried resentment between the two families. But the hunt for the impostors had stal ed, and it was worth the effort to make fresh inquiries into their whereabouts.

Quincy swallowed a mouthful of pheasant. "I'm staying here to visit with Squirt and Henry."

The table quieted as everyone reflected upon the same conclusion, that James was also staying behind to "visit" with Sophia. That wasn't true, not entirely. He and Quincy had resolved to remain at the castle, for years ago they had both robbed the duke's brother during a raid at sea. The men had agreed it was wiser for William and Edmund to make the seaside journey instead. James had intended to visit with his niece and nephew, too...

however, now he had another houseguest to engage his interest.

James looked across the table at Sophia's profile. She pinkened. She had sensed the table's thoughts, too. He eyed the rosy pigment bleed through her cheek and jaw and even singe her earlobe. She never used to blush, he reflected. Very little had embarra.s.sed her in the past. The only time he had ever seen her flush with color was after a vigorous bedding. But now the slightest indiscretion mortified her. She really had changed.

"The weather is cooling," said the duke. He filled the vacuous silence with his booming voice. "There was even dew on the ground this morning."

The table murmured in agreement.

"I can't wait for autumn," said Mirabelle. "I love it when the leaves change shade. Oh, Sophia! Have you ever seen the woods change color?"

"No," she said quietly.

"Then you've never seen snow, I imagine." The duke pressed onward: "Are you prepared for the winter, Miss Dawson?"

Sophia flicked her fingers behind her ear. Her thick tresses were knotted in a fashionable swirl. Every lock was neatly in place, and yet she stil fidgeted with phantom loose curls. "Lady Lucas will prepare me for the winter, I'm sure."

"You should go ice-skating," suggested Wil iam.

Edmund smacked his lips at the tasty fare before he groused, "You should stay home beside the fire."

Quincy quipped, "There are other ways to keep warm."

The pup choked. Someone had kicked him under the table as punishment for the double entendre. James suspected it was his sister.

"She can purchase fur." Quincy made a moue. He reached under the table to rub his leg. "There's no reason for her to be trapped indoors."

The table quieted once more. James stirred the food on his plate, thinking about Sophia and the coming winter. The duke was right; she had never seen snow. A profound longing wel ed inside James to be with her when she eyed the icy flakes for the first time or touched the frosty ground in wonder. The longing stripped him of the firm darkness holding his heart. For a moment, he yearned to forget about the past and his quest for revenge. For a moment, he yearned to be with Sophia again, to show her the wonders of his world as she had showed him the wonders of hers.

"I remember the first time Alice saw snow." Mirabelle smiled. "She tried to catch the puffs to take a closer look at them. She was so miffed when the flakes disappeared in her hand."

The duke and d.u.c.h.ess exchanged fond glances. James was disturbed by the growing ache in his belly. He had to finally admit that the roguish b.a.s.t.a.r.d cared for his sister. Even worse, their affectionate exchange had made him ache for the same solidarity with Sophia.

But only for a moment.

He crushed the weak sentiment inside him. Sophia had deserted him. The tenderness they had shared on the island had been a manifestation in his head, a farce on her part.