The Infamous Rogue (6 page)

She snorted at the man’s whimsical gallantry, but she didn’t contest the point further. So long as he honored his word and maintained a sensible distance behind her, she would avoid scandal.
And just to be sure he honored his word, she strutted across the room and pushed a chair against the wall. She lifted her skirts and stepped onto the cushioned seat before she yanked the short blade from the wall and tucked it back into her bodice.
Chapter 5
I
t was a warm summer day for a picnic. The tart lemonade was a cool and welcome refreshment. Sophia sat on the large white blanket purled with golden thread, admiring the bucolic landscape. She eyed the great house on the hill flanked by dense woods. The structure was two floors high, with rows of symmetrical windows and a sandy stone façade. The bright green turf stretched for acres in front of the house, the lazy countryside interrupted by a steady stream that cut across the rolling lawn and reached deep into the forest.
The air was thick. Sophia was sheltered under an old and gnarled oak. The wide canopy of leaves offered shade, but the heat remained. She removed the delicate fan from her reticule and swatted at the humidity. But it wasn’t just the blistering weather making her uncomfortable.
There was a round of twitters.
Sophia was circled by pretty, spry debutantes fresh from finishing school. The Honorable Anastasia Bedford was the daughter of a baron. She boasted a fine pedigree that included foreign royalty. Miss Imogen Rayne wasn’t so well connected; however, the banker’s daughter was an accomplished singer, pianist, and multilinguist. Each lass possessed fine aristocratic traits, breeding and talent respectively. And both were Lady Rosamond’s dearest friends…making Sophia feel like the senescent matriarch in the group.
The giggling quieted as the girls sobered.
Rosamond glanced around the terrain, making sure they were all alone before she whispered earnestly, “We must talk about the ball, Miss Dawson.”
A spurt of alarm entered Sophia’s breast. “What about the ball?”
“You created a stir,” she said. “Even my brother is confounded.”
Sophia swallowed a groan. She eyed Lady Lucas. She and the other chaperones crossed a small wood bridge, following the earl on a tour of the grounds. It was too late to summon the woman to return, so Sophia fixed her thoughts firmly on the matron’s teachings and prepared to confront the dire matter herself.
“I don’t know what you mean, my lady.” The moisture between her fingers was uncomfortable, and Sophia flexed them in an effort to ease the discomfort. She had worked so hard to charm the earl, struggled to become a lady of manner and grace. Had one unfortunate waltz with the black devil ruined her courtship with Lord Baine? “How did I create a stir?”
“As the object of Captain Hawkins’s affection!”
Sophia was nauseous. She wasn’t accustomed to the wretched sensation. She had sailed aboard her father’s pirate ship on more than one occasion. She had sturdy sea legs. However, she wasn’t able to control the spinning images in her head, making her sick with vertigo.
“Are you all right, Miss Dawson?” Imogen pressed her palm to Sophia’s wrist. “You look unwell.”
“I’m fine.”
But Sophia wasn’t fine. She was breathing hard, moisture pooling between her breasts. She glanced at the circle of ladies. The looks!
Her head pulsed. The quiet chatter slowly evolved into a cacophony of laughter. The curious stares turned into cold and deliberate snubs.
“Well, we are all impressed with your charms, Miss Dawson,” said Rosamond.
Sophia beat the fan in quick strokes, overwhelmed by giddiness. Had James betrayed her? It seemed impossible. Surely he wouldn’t dishonor his beloved father’s name by breaking his vow. And yet…“My charms?”
Anastasia wrinkled her nose, as if to dispute Rosamond’s unanimous claim that they were
all
impressed with her charms.
“Oh yes.” Rosamond reached for a scone and smeared it with strawberry jam. “After four years in polite society, the surly captain has finally danced!”
Sophia was dumbfounded. “What?”
“You managed to capture the interest of the coldest, most intimidating bachelor in London.” Rosamond devoured the scone. “Brava!”
The blinding pressure in Sophia’s skull weakened. She wasn’t so sure she wanted the dubious distinction. Had the black devil really not danced a single dance since he’d entered society?
And then the throbbing pinch between her brows returned. It was just like the scoundrel to burden her with
that
distinction, bringing them both unwelcome attention.
We mustn’t let the earl think another man is courting you. Lord Baine is a gentleman. He might step aside if he believes the captain is interested in you…or he might search elsewhere for a bride if he thinks you are attached to the captain.
Sophia had a biting impulse to gut the ruthless brigand as soon as she saw him. Did the earl suspect her smitten with the marauding rogue? He might have sensed the friction between her and Black Hawk on the dance floor. Had he mistaken it for passion?
“And yet I pity you, Miss Dawson.” Anastasia sipped her fruit juice with poise. “To be the object of interest to such a barbarian? How you must suffer!”
“The captain is a beast,” Rosamond was quick to assent. “I don’t know why Max befriended him.”
Sophia glanced at the pert chit. She wasn’t accustomed to keeping her feelings, her ideas, even her impulses in check. But she didn’t want to make a social blunder. She had already wooed disaster when she had danced with the pirate captain at the ball. She didn’t want to make another faux pas. She didn’t want to side with the brigand and make it seem like she was smitten with the rogue.
Sophia suspected the snooty Anastasia would jump on that tidbit of gossip and ruin her prospects before sundown. And the captain
was
a barbarian. Sophia wholly endorsed the claim herself. However, his invitation to the house party was at the behest of Lady Rosamond. What had provoked the girl’s scorn? Sophia didn’t know. And she didn’t want to antagonize the earl’s sister by making unsolicited inquiries. She might need Rosamond’s support to win the earl’s hand. She didn’t want to make an enemy of the chit.
“Then it’s true?” said Anastasia. “The barbarian is coming to the picnic?”
“Yes,” returned Rosamond tersely. “And he’s going to stay with us for a few days.”
Anastasia made a moue before she shifted her cutting regard to Sophia again. “Why did you dance with the barbarian, Miss Dawson? I would have feigned an injury to my ankle.”
Imogen lowered her gaze and stared at the picnic blanket in discomfort.
Sophia took in a firm breath. “He is the earl’s friend, as Lady Rosamond remarked.” James was nothing of the sort, but if Rosamond wanted to perpetuate the fib for some obscure reason, Sophia was going to let her. “It would have been rude to refuse him.”
“That is just what I thought.” Rosamond smiled. “You are too kind, Miss Dawson.”
Anastasia sniffed. “Yes, very charitable.”
Imogen lifted the plate of pastries. “More scones, ladies?”
Sophia was breathless and needed a moment to compose herself. She lifted to her shaky feet. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I think I’ll go for a walk. The grounds here are so lovely.”
Rosamond beamed with pride.
“You shouldn’t spend so much time in the sun, Miss Dawson. You’re positively brown!” Anastasia offered her something frilly. “Here. Take my parasol.”
Sophia claimed the gift and mustered a courteous “You’re too kind, Miss Bedford.”
She quietly removed herself from the picnic. As she crossed the arched bridge and approached the woods, she resisted the impulse to toss the parasol into the bush. She jabbed the pristine tip into the dirt path instead, using it as a walking stick.
Sophia glanced down at her hands. She wasn’t brown. She wasn’t even tanned…She examined her fingers more closely. The skin looked a little dirty. She wiped her hand against her dress, but the soft glow was still there.
She grimaced. It might be the shade from the foliage making her flesh seem darker than it really was. But then she enjoyed the sun’s warm rays. And she had deep brown hair and eyes. She wasn’t fair like Rosamond and the other two ladies. Perhaps she wasn’t so very pale, after all?
She intended to talk to Lady Lucas about the matter. There might be a cream or a powder she could apply to soften her complexion and make it more attractive. She had even heard lemon juice mixed with brandy and milk created a bleach for the skin. She would have to experiment.
Sophia needed to cool her temper—and her toes. The inviting pitter of the water lured her to the stream’s intimate shores, and she paused beside the bank to enjoy the brisker air.
The glassy ripples looked so tempting; her sweaty toes twitched.
Sophia dropped the parasol. She crouched to peel away the laces before she slipped off her leather shoes. Mindful she was alone, she rolled down her white silk stockings and set them aside, too.
The cool grass between her toes was already a welcome treat, but she wanted a deeper soak. She lifted her skirts and tucked the fabric against her midriff to prevent the grass from smearing the soft, white fabric. With a hearty sigh, she settled beside the water and dipped her feet into the refreshing pool.
The water rushed over her ankles and calves, washing away the late summer heat, the irritation. For a quiet moment the world righted itself, and she flicked her toes, splashing spray.
The fine hairs on the back of her head slowly spiked. A shiver touched her spine as a pair of eyes summoned all her senses to obey.
Black Hawk!
Stay calm,
she thought.
Ignore the barbarian.
But she couldn’t dismiss James’s sharp stare piercing her spine. She had always been able to detect his eyes on her. She remembered tending to the orchids near their plantation house, and pausing because she had sensed him watching her. There had been nothing to indicate he had entered the garden: no sound or movement. And yet she had known he was there, silently observing her.
Sophia opened her watery eyes. She hadn’t even realized she had closed them at the haunting reflection. It took her a moment to remember she wasn’t in Jamaica anymore, but in England.
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 tell. 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 sturdy bark. He was dashing in a form-fitted ensemble: soft brown breeches and a bronze waistcoat. The gold buttons 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 damnable 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, hoarse.
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 bloody snake with more tenderness and respect than he had ever tended to her.
“I was beginning to think you might not come at all,” 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.”