Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Scarlett Scott

  “Good. Be sure you’re both there by the time they call the Salat al-Asr in the late afternoon.”

  She felt Kit’s hands slide down her arms. He picked up her hands and brought them to his lips. The touch ignited warmth, awakening sensations she thought long dead. The darkness of night turned to grey. Hope, long caged in her breast, was now free, ready to sing like the arrival of the dawn chorus.

  Kit drew a hand across her cheek, then withdrew it. In the emerging half-light of this new morning, she could see his eyes, and a year fell away in an instant.

  “Kit.”

  The single word on Elias’ lips broke the spell. She saw the Calliope’s first mate slip out of the shadows, his figure silhouetted in the brightening sky for a moment, then disappear from view as he shimmied down the pillar. The expression on Kit’s face changed and he became a stranger, breaking her heart once more. He followed Elias and, for a moment, Sophia stood in the silence and wondered whether she had dreamed the whole thing.

  She peered as far as she dared out of the opening. She saw nothing. Just as she had decided she was ill and hallucinating, she tracked two shadowy figures in the courtyard below. They scaled a wall and disappeared over it just as the first cries of the morning prayers echoed.

  Laura returned with the arrival of breakfast, but while others ate, she ignored the food, returned to her easel, and picked up a tin of paints.

  Sophia approached. Her cousin continued with her painting without acknowledgement.

  “Today is the day we leave this place.”

  The paintbrush shook and Sophia knew she had Laura’s full attention. “I’m afraid to ask how.”

  “Then don’t. Just listen to me. We have to be in the women’s infirmary by afternoon prayers. You will need to pretend to be unwell. Can you do that?”

  Laura nodded.

  “Good.”

  This morning, in the absence of Yasmeen or, indeed, any further instruction, the girls wallowed in idleness. Laura returned to her watercolors and Sophia wished she had the same ability to concentrate. For the fourth time this morning, she gravitated to the window affording the best view of the harbor – and yes, the Calliope was there.

  She turned to the sounds of squeals. Yasmeen had returned. Sophia caught Laura’s eye. Her cousin was as surprised as she was. The woman had always carried herself with poise, but her walk was stiff-legged and her generously full lips were drawn thin.

  She’s in pain.

  Sophia started forward then stopped. They never spoke of what was done to them by Selim Omar or by anyone else. To ask now would invite suspicion. A few moments later, Malik led a procession of servants with platters of food for their midday repast. Deep lines cut across his brow. He snarled uncharacteristically at one of the girls who nearly tripped. More than that, he made Yasmeen the center of his regard, orbiting her as the moon does the earth.

  He’s in love with her.

  Sophia took a deep breath and quelled her tears of sympathy. She brought a small plate over to Laura who looked disapprovingly at Sophia’s own lack of appetite.

  “You encourage me to eat and don’t take your own advice.”

  “Perhaps I’m not feeling well.”

  That earned her a sharp look in response. To encourage Laura to eat, she picked up a date and nibbled at it. Yasmeen ate nothing. But when the platters were removed, Sophia noticed one of the knives missing. Yasmeen walked about the room and spoke to the girls where they had gathered in clusters to play games or gossip. Only just visible beneath her robe was the shape of the knife against her thigh. Eventually, the young woman made her way to where Sophia and Laura sat.

  “It is the time for farewells.” The warm alto of her voice carried softly.

  “Oh, Yasmeen, I don’t know what to say.” Laura’s voice was no more than a whisper, hoarse in her battle to fight back tears.

  “Then say nothing, friend. To know you care for me means more than words can express.”

  “You have been so good to us. We owe you a great debt.” Laura stepped away from them, looking for something to wipe the tears.

  Sophia took Yasmeen’s hands and squeezed them, then stepped closer to prevent being overheard. “Are you set on your course of action, knowing it will only end in your death?”

  She had expected to see surprise, not the unmasked resolve in the woman’s features. “You were always the most observant woman here. You do not need your eyeglasses to see what other people do not.”

  “Would you reconsider?” Sophia hesitated a moment. “If there was a way to get out of here, to be free?”

  Sophia felt the other woman study her.

  “I do not believe I am the only person who will risk much this day.” Yasmeen glanced at Malik who had taken his customary position as guard to the main entrance of the harem. “Thank you, Sophia. If it were for me alone, I might impose on your good fortune, but alas…”

  She hugged the woman. “I only wish–”

  “There is no place here for regrets. Just survival and, if not survival, an honorable death.”

  Laura returned to embrace their friend as well. “God bless you.”

  Yasmeen backed away, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye.

  “Malik!” Yasmeen called and the big man stood to attention. “It is only right that I bid farewell to Sheik Selim Omar before I go.”

  With all the dignity of a queen, Yasmeen swept from the room. Two slaves followed behind carrying a wicker basket that contained the sum total of Yasmeen’s possessions.

  Sophia turned to Laura. “We still have a few hours to wait. Let’s rest now. There will be much to do this afternoon.”

  *

  “Marco’s ready at the warehouse by the dock.”

  Kit slapped Giorgio on the shoulder. “Good, get back to the ship. Now we wait.”

  The man nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving only Kit and Elias in the semi-darkened space of the disused room. Located on an outer wall of the casbah, it provided a hiding space in which to wait for the afternoon.

  Kit settled himself into a corner and squeezed the hilt of his knife to reassure himself of its presence before closing his eyes. He listened to Elias pace the room for a few minutes.

  “Save all that nervous energy for this afternoon. You’ll need it,” he said without opening his eyes. The pacing stopped. “And stop worrying about Laura, there’s nothing you can do.”

  He heard Elias sigh and the rustle of fabric as the man lowered himself to sit on the floor as Kit himself did.

  “I keep thinking about her ordeal and the possibility she might be with child…”

  “Does it make a difference to how you feel about her?”

  “No. But it does complicate things.”

  Kit admired his friend’s steadfastness and honesty. There would be much to overcome if Elias had his heart set on making a life with Laura. She might want to return to England, to her own family. And there were the Labors of Hercules to endure before that was even possible.

  “What of you and Sophia? Do you not fear…” His words trailed away. Kit reflected that perhaps Elias remembered what Kit, of all of them, had suffered. He squeezed his eyes tight, pushing those memories away. He had allowed himself only a momentary celebration in finding Sophia. She was alive and that was sufficient for now. There would be time to further reflect on his good fortune when he put a good deal of sea between them and the Tunisian coast.

  “I’ll worry about it tomorrow,” he answered.

  Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

  He heard Elias settle himself to rest, and stretched his right leg, forcing the cramp out. It hurt. In fact, the leg always hurt but less than it had six months ago when he’d first been able to put his full weight on it without screaming. Now he knew how young Marco had felt. He massaged the aching limb. Kaddouri may be gone, but he wouldn’t be forgotten.

  One day at a time. One job at a time. Bringing Sophia home was his priority. If he could find that snak
e Sharrouf and slip a knife between his ribs, as well, that would be a nice bonus.

  *

  Sophia was pulled from a nightmare of snakes, swords, blood, and death by the sound of screams. She gained her feet and dragged Laura up with her.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophia answered, “but we’ve got to get away from here now.”

  She grabbed Laura’s hand. While the rest of the harem women surged forward toward the sound, the cousins circled to the back of the room towards the second, smaller entrance that would take them down towards the kitchen and to the women’s infirmary.

  Two eunuchs with scimitars drawn barely spared them a glance as they rushed past into the harem, wails of grief and mourning tailing behind them.

  “Someone’s died,” Laura whispered.

  Two have died, Sophia thought, though she didn’t venture her opinion out loud. There would be time enough for that when they escaped. If they escaped.

  *

  Dressed in abayas to hide their identity as well as their sex, Kit and Elias entered the women’s infirmary. Beneath the voluminous robes, he and Elias dressed as the local men did, wide, loose trousers and long-sleeved tunic tops, and added fabric scarves around their necks which they used to hide their lower faces.

  At Elias’ insistence, they were here early. The risk of discovery in this place deemed a small price to pay for channeling the man’s energy into something useful. To his surprise, the infirmary was deserted.

  “A bit of luck?” asked Elias.

  “I don’t like that kind of luck. Something’s happened.”

  Elias and Kit separated and circled the room. Kit paused near the entrance to the women’s quarters and listened. Elias peered through a screen to an inner courtyard.

  “There’s no one out here, but I think I can hear sounds of wailing from the rooms beyond.”

  Kit nodded through his black head covering.

  Running footsteps!

  Kit hissed to attract his first officer’s attention. He reached into his robes to ready the knife in his hand and saw Elias do the same as the footfalls became louder.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Kit couldn’t help an audible sigh of relief as he recognized Sophia and Laura. But after witnessing their agitation, he drew attention to himself cautiously. Laura cowered behind Sophia whose dark eyes were wide. The shock in them softened as she recognized his face beneath the women’s garment. He guided them away from the door.

  He and Elias removed their black outer robes. “Quickly, wear these,” Kit ordered. There was no time for greetings.

  “Selim Omar has just been killed,” Sophia whispered.

  There was no time for good news either.

  Shit. That complicated matters. The palace would be sealed as tight as a drum soon and guards would be on the street. Selim Omar’s death couldn’t have come at a worse time. Kit took a breath, giving himself a moment to process the news. Three faces stared at him expectantly. He looked to Elias first of all.

  “We’ll take Sophia and Laura to the rendezvous point and signal the Calliope to tell Jonathan we’re going to start the fireworks early. I’ll get to Marco, help him light the fuse and run.”

  Elias nodded his agreement. “We should split up from here. Two people will be less conspicuous than four together. Laura and I will leave first.”

  “Laura needs to get to the Calliope without delay.”

  Kit acknowledged Sophia’s demand with a nod. He could see for himself the girl’s face was still deathly pale. In fact, she looked close to vomiting. He turned to Elias.

  “Then don’t wait for us. Get to the rendezvous, signal the Calliope and get on board as quickly as you can. Sophia, Marco and I will follow.”

  *

  The women’s infirmary was on the ground floor of the palace. There was one door to the outside. The only women who passed through it usually did so covered in a death shroud, carried across a garden courtyard to a small gate in the palace walls twenty yards beyond.

  Elias and Kit peered around the door. Kit held up his free hand, a signal to stay. Sophia squeezed Laura’s hand and held her breath. She could hear someone approaching. They walked past.

  “Go! Go!”

  At Kit’s harsh whisper, Sophia let go of her cousin’s hand and pushed her forward. Elias snatched Laura’s wrist and they ran.

  Sophia heard the sound of their running across the courtyard and looked to Kit. He waved her over to his side. The footsteps faded and, through the decorative latticework on the door, she could see the garden and external gate beyond slightly ajar.

  Her heart fell when she saw the flash of red of the eunuch’s uniform cross her line of sight. Kit saw it, too. He handed her his knife.

  “Use it if you have to,” he whispered, “and if I tell you to run, do it and don’t look back.”

  She accepted the weapon and watched him pull a second blade from his boot. They cautiously opened the door a little wider. Kit eased her towards a large rosemary bush, tall enough to hide them both. The way before them was clear now.

  Kit sprinted and she followed. They nearly made it to the external gate when a large man stepped in front of them. Kit pulled up short, the knife in his hand a puny defense against the two scimitars now wielded by the giant advancing toward him.

  “Malik!” The man stopped, startled. Sophia swept back her head covering so he could see her. The wicked blades in each hand lowered. Sophia moved forward to stand by Kit’s side. Anguish was writ large on Malik’s face, the expression of torment she’d witnessed in the harem having only increased. She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward and resting a hand on his arm.

  “I’m so sorry about Yasmeen. I know how much you loved her and I know how much she loved you. My cousin and I owe her a great debt. I only wish I knew how to repay her kindness. But we cannot stay.”

  The eunuch’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He sheathed his blades. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see tension leaving Kit’s shoulders. Malik turned to Kit and said the first words she had ever heard him utter.

  “Are you the man who records the stories of the tormented?”

  Kit stood to attention. Malik held out his hand and, after a moment, the men clasped forearms. Sophia was conscious of the size difference between them. Malik could squeeze the life out of Kit if he so chose.

  “I am.”

  “Do not let her name be forgotten.”

  “You have my vow. You will both be remembered.”

  Malik turned his back to them then without a further word and walked towards the palace building. Kit wasted no time in pulling Sophia through the external gate. And as they went through, she heard Malik’s loud cry of anguish. Tears streamed down her own face.

  *

  The door squealed on its hinges and echoed loudly when it closed. Much of the cavernous space was in darkness. The only things disturbed were rats, which she heard scurry and squeak somewhere off in the distance. Salt-crusted skylights let in a meager amount of grey sunlight and, as they walked further in, he could see the warehouse had a mezzanine level.

  Marco waited within, tasked with the job of setting an explosion to provide a distraction to draw attention from the Calliope’s hurried departure.

  Kit whistled five notes. He held Sophia’s hand as they skirted the inside wall. There were plenty of places to hide amongst the crates and barrels.

  A moment later, the same five notes were repeated back to him. Kit allowed himself a little sigh of relief. Marco!

  They headed towards the sound.

  Kit whistled the notes once more and waited. The returning call was above him. The mezzanine. Clever lad, the explosion would be the more devastating set at that level. He headed for the twelve foot tall ladder and climbed, Sophia following behind. The mezzanine floor extended half the length of the warehouse again and it, too, seemed deserted. In fact, it seemed there was no one in the building at all. He chanced a harsh whis
per.

  “Marco?”

  From the middle of the space, he heard their code of five notes in response. Kit shook his head. He appreciated the lad’s caution, but this was ridiculous.

  “Where are you?”

  Silhouetted in the light from the high windows, Kit saw a figure rise from behind stacked crates. He headed towards him.

  “Change of plans,” he called. “We’re detonating early. Take Sophia to the ship. Prepare to set sail.”

  Sophia screamed. Then he saw. A figure, prone on the floor; life’s blood staining the timber beneath it.

  Marco!

  He must have said the name aloud because the boy, still alive, raised his head weakly.

  “Sophia! Run!”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Not this time, my friend.”

  Kit raised his eyes to the man in the shadow and heard the rustling of clothing as other men in hiding rose from their positions.

  Ahmed Sharrouf emerged from the shadows. “You!” he heard Sophia yell. Sharrouf grinned in her direction and offered a slight bow.

  “Your male guardian was most distressed by your disappearance, little one, and I’m led to believe he’s found much comfort in the bottom of a bottle. But I see your ordeal has not quenched your spirit. There are few things so satisfying as taming a feisty mare. Don’t you think so, Hardacre?”

  Kit launched himself at Sharrouf but was restrained by three men. The arm around his neck was loose enough for him to turn to see Sophia standing unresistingly between two others, her hands clasped in front, hiding her knife. He glanced once more at Marco. The boy caught his eye and snaked his arm out from under his body. Kit nodded once.

  He ceased his own struggle and looked at Sharrouf. The double-dealing bastard! A few more choice epithets rattled through his head but calm needed to serve him now.

  Not one lost. He staked his reputation on making sure every man who served him returned. He wouldn’t fail now.

  “What happened to wanting to be a simple farmer?” he asked matter-of-factly. Believing the fight had gone out of their captive, the two men holding his arms loosened their grip. The third who had held him in a headlock removed his hold altogether, but stood close enough behind to make his presence felt. Sharrouf nodded his approval.