Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
Revenge of the Corsairs
by
Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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The Lost Lords Series by Chasity Bowlin
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By Elizabeth Ellen Carter
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Revenge of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series
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Enchanted
Midnight Meetings Series by Gina Conkle
Meet a Rogue at Midnight, book 4
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Second Chance Marquess
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Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
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The Wicked Baron
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My Reckless Love
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Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin
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Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt
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Garden of Light
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Garden of Destiny
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Dedication
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my darling husband Duncan who is always ready to discuss the finer plot points and who encourages me. My gratitude to Scott, the best editor in the business who makes every story better, as well as to the Kathryn and the Dragonblade Publishing team.
Prologue
Villagrazia, outside Palermo, Sicily
June 1817
The solid drop of black paint sat in the middle of the shallow tin tray, impervious to the water around it. The pigment held its perfect globular form for a moment then the artist dabbed her brush. Tendrils of black broke away, coloring the water a deep grey.
The artist applied broad strokes from that same brush, running it again and again on the thick woven watercolor paper, turning the pristine, white linen stock a soft slate. She stopped, then looked up and examined the scene beyond her easel.
She painted what she saw – dark and thick voluminous clouds in a lowering sky. So many shades of black and grey built layer upon layer. This was no ordinary storm. Even the most casual observer would feel its electrical charge.
The ocean rose up to meet it, the horizon obscured by hues of purple, emerald and indigo; the artist skillfully adding depth to the sea and the rising swell. She shivered and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
Could she stay here much longer? Perhaps she should seek shelter – but where? The storm would be here soon and nowhere was safe. Helplessness battered her like the rising gusts of wind.
Laura Cappleman breathed deep, trying to find her courage. She could do it, she could do it. Tears pricked the insides of her eyelids.
The maelstrom seemed unending,
and she was helpless to do anything but allow it to vent its full fury around her.
Slam!
“There you are!”
Laura jumped and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop an involuntary scream.
She raised a hand to her eyes to shade them from the glare now streaming through the open pavilion door.
“Sophia,” Laura answered, her voice rough from not speaking. “You’re back…”
She was only marginally aware of her cousin’s hug and mimicked the greeting hesitantly, as though it were a foreign custom.
“A new painting?” Sophia inquired. “Oh, it’s too dark for me to see, let me open those shutters. Besides, it’s such a beautiful day.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
But it was too late; the little cottage filled with sunlight.
“Oh my!” Sophia exclaimed, seemingly enraptured by the view. “This is a perfect studio! You can see right down to the valley into the harbor. And the light! With the shutters open you could follow the sun and paint all day. I’m so pleased you accepted Elias’ offer to stay here at his estate.”
Laura forced a smile onto her face should her cousin turn around to see her. They shared family, not that one could tell from looks alone. Their fathers had been cousins, but Sophia’s mother had been Spanish and she carried her exotic looks – black hair, brown eyes, and olive skin.
Laura imagined the sight she presented in contrast – skin pale despite the Mediterranean sun, fair hair haphazardly knotted at the nape of her neck, loose strands everywhere. She was a mess, her apron over an old day dress stained with ink.
Why didn’t Elias tell her they were having guests?
Oh, that’s right, he had. And she had forgotten.
She never used to be so absentminded, but lately nothing she ever did was right. She would lose things, only for them to turn up later exactly where they were supposed to be. Other things would be discovered in the wrong place. And worse, where once she saw affection – even love – in Elias’ eyes, all she saw now was concern and pity.
Little wonder she shut herself up here in the dim light and let storms brew and rage in her head.
Laura dropped a hand to her now flat stomach. These days, she didn’t even trust herself with her own child.
After closing her eyes once more, she opened them to find Sophia regarding her kindly.
“Let’s go to the house; lunch should be ready,” her cousin said. “Morwena and Jonathan have brought a parcel for you from England; it came in just a couple of days ago. And Kit and I arrived this morning.”
Laura shook herself loose from the bleakest of her thoughts, lest Sophia discover the truth of them. She forced brightness into her voice.
“Oh, of course, I should ask. How does everyone fare on Catallus?”
Her cousin’s eyes lit with pride. “You should see the work done on the vineyard. Kit returned from his last voyage with some large oak barrels. The men have restored a second barn and a second reservoir just to serve the winery. They’re hopeful for their first vintage.”
Sophia continued talking about people she had met and of her own work excavating more of the mosaic floor from the ruins of the old Roman villa that once dominated the little island owned by her husband.
Laura listened politely and forced a smile on her face, waiting for the moment to interject when there was a lull in the conversation. “You go on ahead, I need to freshen up.”
Sophia hesitated, regarding her a moment, then nodded. “Take all the time you need.”
Take all the time you need.
Laura hid a grimace as Sophia turned away. It was a refrain she’d heard over many, many months and now hated it. Those well-meaning platitudes, those kind remarks, the looks of pity cast her way. It had been like that ever since the rescue all those months ago from the casbah of Al-Min on the Tunisian coast.
Through the door of her little studio, a summer house set apart from Elias’ villa, Laura watched Sophia make her way along the path up to the main building.
It wasn’t fair that she suffered still while Sophia did not. They had both been concubines in Selim Omar’s harem. But Sophia seemed to have been able to shake off her experience.
Then again, Sophia hadn’t fallen pregnant.
Laura took her time, cleaning her brushes and tidying away her paint set, fully conscious of the fact she was putting off the inevitable.
Ee, stop yer mitherin’, lassie.
The broad Yorkshire accent of her grandfather came to her. He never put up with Laura feeling sorry for herself.
She put her unfinished painting and easel in a corner, out of the way. Grandpa had been a gruff, old bear – particularly to her brother, Samuel – but she used to be able to wrap him around her little finger. She smiled softly at the memory.
She poured water from a nearby ewer into a washbowl, picked up jasmine-scented soap and sniffed it. It seemed like such an indulgence to use it. Once she had cared about such things – fine dresses, pretty jewels, grand parties. She’d purchased The Lady’s Journal on the very morning of each new edition. One inch of ankle exposed here, the latest trim of ribbon there… few had applied themselves as diligently to latest mode of the bon ton as she.
Laura drew a breath and opened the old cupboard. She picked out a day dress in soft violet. Hopelessly out of fashion, most likely. It had been nearly three years since she was last in England. It seemed a lifetime ago.
A knock on the door pulled her from her musings.
“Miss Laura? Mister Elias sent me to help you dress.”
She bade the girl enter. Gina was younger than she but wore confidence like a mantle.
Laura dressed herself as stiffly as an automaton while she watched Gina move about the room as though she owned it. Back home, the girl would be described as “healthy” with her glossy, dark hair and curvaceous figure which she relished in showing off, particularly those ample breasts barely confined in the bodice of her dress. Laura fleetingly wondered whether Gina was still breastfeeding the child.
My child.
It was something she could have done herself, should have done; now it had been months since she had felt the heavy weight of milk in her breasts. The birth had been difficult and it had taken weeks before she could even bring herself to look at the boy. It was another month after that before she could think of him by name – Benjamin. Even now, the bonds between them were new and fragile.
Oh, how she had wanted to forget. If he remained the child, it could not be her child, and she could not be its mother. Then she could forget how the misbegotten creature came into being.
Gina, smiling, brushed out Laura’s hair and rolled it into a simple chignon. She was surprised at the girl’s cheerful attitude toward her. Just a couple of weeks ago, she accused Gina of going through her possessions and demanded her dismissal. And since nothing was missing, Elias had refused. Oh, how she’d grown angry. Laura had yelled at him, even as he remained calm and logical.
“You will wear some jewelry, yes?” Gina asked.
Laura was about to shake her head, as she always did at the question, but what better way now to convince Sophia and their friends that she was fully recovered – physically, emotionally, spiritually – than by taking care of her appearance?
If clothes maketh the man, perhaps they would maketh the woman as well – at least just long enough to survive the ordeal of a house full of people for the whole weekend.
And no one would know she was dying inside just a little more each day.
Chapter One
Eleven months earlier
The palace at Al-Min, Tunisia
August 1816
The black abaya thrown over her flimsy harem garb was still warm from its previous wearer.
A scent – bergamot, rosemary and musk – lingered on it that Laura recognized belonged to that person, Elias Nash, one of the two men before her. She breathed in to steady her stomach churning with a mixture of pregnancy sickness and fear.
/> We’re going to leave! She and Sophia were finally going to be free of this hellish nightmare!
“Selim Omar has just been killed,” Sophia announced.
Laura watched the shocked reactions of the two men, Nash and Captain Kit Hardacre. Her stomach rebelled even more, and she fought hard to remain on her feet.
Strange. She thought she would feel something – joy, triumph – that the man who had abused her for two years was now dead. She had wanted to kill him herself, even dreamed of it. But another had actually done it and Yasmeen had paid with her life.
“We should split up from here,” Nash announced. “Two people will be less conspicuous than four together.” He looked at her as he continued. “Laura and I will leave first.”
She started at the sound of her name and couldn’t help but stare back at him and the captain. It had been so long since she had seen these men. They were supposed to be dead.
Selim Omar had taken great pleasure in cruelly telling Sophia her husband, Kit, had been killed. Yet the captain was here, alive and with the promise of freedom.
Laura had wanted this so much. Perhaps they were ghosts. Perhaps she was dreaming. No. The bile rising up her throat was all too real.
Captain Hardacre watched her, too. He turned to his first officer.
“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.”
Laura reached for Sophia’s hand and squeezed it. The two women huddled close while Hardacre and Nash peered around the door into the courtyard beyond the infirmary. The two men before her were of similar height and age but different appearance. Nash had light brown hair and was of a muscular build, while Hardacre had blond hair and was lithe with a feline grace.
At the sound of running footsteps outside the room, Laura held her breath and only started breathing again when the echo faded.
“Go! Go!” Hardacre urged.
Sophia pushed her forward. Nash held her by the wrist and took off at a sprint. Laura was helpless to do anything more than to follow along behind, running as fast as she could.
Miracle of miracles, they made it outside the palace walls without challenge. The late afternoon summer sunshine started to thaw a piece of her frozen spirit, but they soon left the warmth for the darkened shadows of a small alleyway a block away from the palace.
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