The Infamous Rogue Part 8

She steadied her uneven breathing. She tried to quiet her thoughts, too. Silence her thrumming senses. But the wicked corsair wasn't lifting his eyes from her. She didn't turn around to greet him. She refused to acknowledge him.

He was admiring her neck, she could tel . A sharp sensation at the base of her head pulsed. Was he thinking of ways to throttle her?...Was he thinking about the plantation house, as she was?

She removed a kerchief from her reticule, dabbing at the moisture across her brow and chin. The balmy climate mixed with the bounder's sultry gaze made Sophia faint. She took in a few measured breaths to clear her woozy mind, but she wasn't accustomed to the tight corset or the layers of linen in the hot summer weather. In the tropics she would wear loose attire, and less of it. But in England she had to endure the proper manner of dress at all times.

Again the fine hairs behind her ears stirred; he beckoned her. She took one wary peek before she smothered her inhibition and looked over her shoulder.

He was leaning against a tree. He had his arms folded across his strapping chest. Ankles crossed, the ball of his foot was braced against the st.u.r.dy bark. He was dashing in a form-fitted ensemble: soft brown breeches and a bronze waistcoat. The gold b.u.t.tons across his chest neatly trimmed his well-manicured appearance. And with his unruly mane fastened in a queue, she could see every bit of his hard and masculine features.

He pushed away from the tree with his boot and slowly approached her. Her heart fluttered at the smoldering look in his deep blue eyes. The man's steady advance confused her senses. She wanted to dash back to the picnic grounds, to surround herself with the cold, strict rules of high society. The posh world wasn't a threat to her sensibilities. Yet another part of her was transfixed by the approaching pirate lord-and the wild cravings he stirred in the deepest part of her soul.

"You look warm, sweetheart." He settled beside her, thick legs raised, arms folded across his knees. "I think you're overdressed."

The stiffness in her muscles returned. The deep desire to strip away the layers of linen suffocating her was profound, alarmingly so. And the more James stared at her, the more the briny drops gathered and doused her burning flesh.

"I'm very comfortable," she said tersely. "What do you want, Black Hawk?"

"Do I disturb you?"

Her heart thumped with treacherous hunger. He was so close to her, she could feel the heat emitting from his torso. A deep desire to slip her hand under the man's tight coat and feed off his warm muscles gripped her.

"No, we have a truce...don't we?"

"I intend to honor our truce." The heat in his eyes was blistering. "I would never disgrace my father's name."

She had suspected as much. Regardless of his motives for being at the picnic, he would keep his word and guard her secret; he had vowed.

Sophia stretched the cords of her reticule and searched for the fan again. She snapped open the bone fingers and briskly swiped at the d.a.m.nable heat. It did little to cool her, though. Under the brigand's scorching stare, the fluttering silk was scarce more than a drop of water on a parched and starving tongue.

"Then what are you doing, lurking in the woods?" she demanded, hoa.r.s.e.

The thick fringe of his dark lashes lowered as he perused her form in an intimate manner. "I thought you wanted us to be friends? In memory of our fathers' friendship?"

The seductive look in his eyes sent her thoughts spinning. Her entire body pulsed with a wretched need, and she struggled to tamp the burning desire into the very bowel of her soul. "Can we be friends?"

"I don't see why not."

She snorted softly. She would rather have the bounder as her enemy. Friendship was too warm, too intimate.

Quiet stretched between them. If James moved a finger, hers jerked, too. If he shifted a leg, hers quivered, too.

"You're late," she said, eager to break the tense silence.

"I had to see to Sophia's needs. She doesn't like to sleep alone. I had to move her into William's room."

Sophia stroked the back of her neck, the muscles taut. He tended to that b.l.o.o.d.y snake with more tenderness and respect than he had ever tended to her.

"I was beginning to think you might not come at al ," she said stiffly.

"Do I disappoint you?"

"Of course not. I don't care what you do or where you go. I was only making conversation."

"Ah, the trademark of a proper lady: mindless chatter."

She bristled.

"I have to keep my commitments," he said in an indifferent manner. "Otherwise my behavior would reflect poorly upon my sister."

Sophia snapped her brows together. "How did she marry a duke?"

The man's features darkened. "A devious quirk of fate. Our father should have whipped her as a child. She would have had more sense as a woman, then."

Sophia ignored the grousing remark. The man adored his sister. She wondered instead, "You don't approve of her marrying?"

"I approve of her marrying...I don't approve of her husband."

The muscles in her belly tightened. She quickly scrambled away from the sh.o.r.eline and started to slip on her stockings.

"Is something the matter, Sophia?"

"Nothing a'tall," she said brusquely. "I think it's time I return to the picnic."

She wobbled, pulling on the silk legging.

He lifted to his feet, eyed her closely. "Do you need help?"

"Not from you."

"I've upset you."

She wrestled with the other stocking. "The devil you have."

"I'll take you back to the picnic."

"No!"

"You might get lost."

"I won't get lost," she insisted.

"I wouldn't be a proper gentleman if I let you wander the woods by yourself."

She dropped the stocking and glared at him. A surge of heat ballooned in her breast, making her heart throb. The ruthless devil! He stood there with cold propriety, espoused the manner of a proper gentleman...a man who approved of marriage.

She struggled to quell the burning shame in her belly. Was that why he had rejected her seven years ago? She had always suspected that he didn't approve of her. She was the daughter of a pirate and a wh.o.r.e. She was good enough to be his mistress, but not good enough to be his wife.

She fisted her palms, her hands shaking. One silk legging hugged her leg and she took a mismatched step forward. "A proper gentleman wouldn't be in the woods with a woman, unchaperoned."

"Is that what the earl would do? Summon a chaperone? I'm not the earl."

No, he was not the earl. The earl didn't shake her senses and burn her blood and rattle her thoughts. The earl wasn't a senseless brute. The earl didn't lie!

Sophia s.n.a.t.c.hed the other stocking again.

An echo of voices circled the air.

She paused. "It's the earl!" She recognized the man's sprightly laughter, followed by the natter of females. She looked at the pirate captain with alarm. "Hide!"

"Why?"

"We can't be alone together." She brandished the loose stocking. "I'm half dressed!"

"Then I suggest you hide."

She balked. "I thought you were a gentleman?"

"You just disabused me of that notion, remember?"

There was no time to quarrel; the voices approached.

Sophia cursed inwardly and cut James a dark glance before she picked up her shoes and moved deeper into the woods, squatting behind a bush.

"I can still see you," he said with a measure of snide humor.

Sophia gnashed her teeth and crouched even lower.

"Don't you feel ridiculous, sweetheart?"

She shushed him.

The voices more noisy, she also heard the sound of footsteps and swooshing skirts.

"Captain Hawkins!"

Sophia quietly struggled with the last stocking. She loathed the black devil for putting her in such a humiliating position. If only he would drown...no, she wished him shipwrecked, marooned on an island-inhabited by cannibals.

"Good day, Lord Baine," said James. "I apologize for being so late."

"Not a'tal , Captain. Let me see you settled."

"Thank you, but a footman already took my bags."

"Well then...You remember Lady Lucas?"

"How could I forget?" James bowed. "My lady."

"Captain Hawkins," the matron returned stiffly.

"And these are..."

The earl introduced the other chaperones as Sophia slipped on her shoes. But in such a cramped position with branches poking her body and leaves brushing her face, she wasn't minding her surroundings and- A twig snapped.

The earl looked into the woods. "What was that?"

Sophia swallowed a groan and removed her foot from the cursed stick.

"A skittish creature, I suspect," said James. "The woods are full of mischievous nymphs."

The earl chuckled. "Fancy a game of archery, Captain?"

James eyed the target.

In the summer heat, the red center pulsed. He focused on the bright spot until it slowly morphed into a beating heart.

He released the arrow.

It struck dead middle.

"Good shot, Captain."

James lowered the bow, the earl's praise hollow. He never missed a mark. "Thank you, my lord."

As the earl nocked an arrow to the bowstring, James waited. A short distance away was a twisted oak with sagging branches-and a gaggle of females cooling in the shade. So stiff and formal and grotesque, the party seemed to guard their land, their house, their blood like stone gargoyles. They glared at James with warning, threatening him to keep clear of their closed circle of friendship.

The very thought that he wanted any part of their cold and foul cabal was repulsive, and he breathed deep through his nose to keep his fingers from crushing the bow in his hand.

James dismissed their snooty glances, maintained a taut posture, and fixed his eyes firmly on the ringed target.

The earl aimed. There was a soft whistle of air before the arrow struck the target one section below James's win. It earned the earl only eight points instead of ten...yet a crescendo of applause from the ladies on the picnic blanket rumbled.

"Bravo, Lord Baine!" they cheered.

Maximilian appeared sheepish under the pulsing ovation. He offered his hand in respect. "I concede defeat, Captain Hawkins. Well played."

James grasped his hand. "You are a worthy opponent, my lord."

There was a small equipment table positioned nearby. Maximilian returned the bow to the table before he confronted the captain again. "Shal we join the ladies for some refreshment?"

James's mood blackened even more. He would sooner the earl shoot him with an arrow through the chest. He smiled stiffly instead.

"Perhaps the captain would be so gracious as to play a game with me?" said Sophia.

Slowly James looked over his shoulder, the stiffness in his muscles weakening as he spotted his fellow pariah.

Sophia pegged him with her stormy eyes. It was the first thing he had noticed about her upon her return, that livid expression. He had yet to determine what had set her off in the woods, but he supposed it didn't really matter when so much about her set him off in return. The woman's gait, for instance. She was approaching in a prim manner. She never used to walk like there was a carrot pinched between her b.u.t.tocks. She used to strut with a sensual grace that reflected her pa.s.sionate spirit.

So much of the old Sophia was buried under layers of ghastly stoicism and confining apparel and reserved mannerisms. And a deep-rooted darkness stirred in his breast, waiting for each right moment to come along so he could strip away one putrid, suffocating layer.