“Well?”
Sophia ignored the question. She poured steaming water into the washbowl and set the ewer on the dressing table. She shimmied out of the arms of her cotton wrapper, letting it fall around the tie at her waist, picking up her soap and sponge to begin her wash.
When she looked up, the angry reflection in the mirror hadn’t softened.
“I hope you appreciate this is how I feel every time the groom comes back to the house to say he’s lost you,” Sophia offered.
Apparently, this was exactly the wrong thing to say because Laura’s face turned from pink to puce.
“How dare you make this about me!” Laura’s hands balled into fists. “‘Silly little Laura, can’t be trusted to make her own decisions; let’s not say anything to Laura because she won’t understand’. I am not a child and I am not a halfwit. You, on the other hand, are the most outrageous hypocrite who ever lived. You scold me for a small diversion within the safety of Hyde Park but you wander off in a foreign country without a word to me or anyone.”
Sophia continued her wash, taking the verbal lashing without comment. Laura was right, of course. It wasn’t wise, but nothing had happened, and they were all safe together back on the Calliope, so no harm done.
“You’re right. I’m sorry for making you worry. It won’t happen again.”
Laura had opened her mouth, ready to give her another piece of her mind, no doubt, but she closed it on Sophia’s apology.
“Where did you go?”
“I went to the church and a priest heard my confession. Then I went to the markets to collect my dresses.”
Sophia watched Laura consider her answer. “So you weren’t gone long.”
Sophia shook her head – “long” was a relative term, after all. By her estimation, she had been off ship for about three hours.
“Well, an hour isn’t too bad, I suppose, and I’m glad you weren’t foolish enough to go on your own at least. I’m glad you made up with Captain Hardacre and allowed him to be your escort. I like him, even if his manner is a bit odd.”
Sophia rested the sponge in the soapy water and allowed her eyes to skitter away from her cousin’s reflection. She had just been to confession and was doing penance. She could tell Laura the truth and lose all authority over directing Laura’s own behavior or she could lie, which would be a sin – so she chose a lesser one, that of omission, and said nothing.
*
Kit called “enter” in response to three firm knocks. He had just finished reviewing the ship’s logs and was adding his signature.
Tomorrow, they would be in the Mediterranean Sea, passing through the Straits of Gibraltar – all that separated Europe from the Barbary Coast. He felt the anticipation course through his veins. Six months of living like a respectable gentleman in England’s refined drawing rooms chafed.
He belonged out here, matching wits with Kaddouri. The Calliope might be outmanned and outgunned, but he never forgot the old Roman saying.
The elephant hates the mouse above all other creatures.
He would wager his men were the best disciplined on the sea. They lived and fought and celebrated together. And together, they would deal with Kaddouri for good, or die trying.
Father Bartholomew had written to dioceses in Portugal, Spain, Italy and even reached out to the Eastern Orthodox Church in Greece for dates, places, and names of those who had been abducted by the Barbary Coast pirates. Not all could be attributable to Kaddouri, of course – he was just one of hundreds of pirate raiders to kill, plunder, rape and enslave men, women and children. Yet he had come to represent them all to Kit.
He had only come face to face with Kaddouri once and it had nearly been his last. The pirate was older than Kit imagined – a big, hulking man at the end of his fourth decade. Kit respected him as an enemy. A man would be a fool – and swiftly dead – if he did not.
Their raid on the stronghold city of Bagrada had been successful. They rescued one hundred women and children that night and sailed them away in one of Kaddouri’s own ships while their vessel, the Terpsichore, acted as decoy for Kaddouri’s men to lob incendiary bombs at as well as cannon fire. The Terpsichore danced her last, burning down to the waterline, but not before all hands were safely accounted for.
The sale of the stolen ship was more than enough to fund the purchase and refit of the Calliope. Meanwhile, Kit’s personal share of the gold, spices and silks they had also “liberated” from the pirates over the years had been enough to buy a small fishing and farming island a day’s sailing from Sicily.
It was probably the fact he knew nothing about farming that appealed to him most. He was content for a tenant farming family to manage the estate for him. They would make it profitable, while he built a beautiful villa. When he was ready to settle down, he’d become a gentleman farmer with no more worries than whether there was enough water for the olives and grapes this year.
He forced himself back to concentrate on Elias’ words.
“Based on Father Bartholomew’s letters, I’ve managed to map out the slave raids over the past six months. Of the seventy-two recorded, eighteen have the hallmarks of Kaddouri’s enterprise,” said Elias.
When the weather was fair, as it often was during the late spring and summer months, the raids were frequent on coastal towns along the European coast or islands nearby. But from November, the time when the fog rolled in and the winter storms were ferocious, there might be months between raids. Those recorded were on the islands closer to the African coast and dates less precise. Under the best of conditions, these places might only see a ship every three months.
Elias picked up the mapping compass and drew a semicircle around the areas he had identified as Kaddouri’s work.
“That leaves the coastline between Hizir and Alavar as the most likely places for his new stronghold… And, there was something else that happened while you were out today.”
Kit gave his first officer a sidelong glance. “Miss Sophia left the ship without escort and without telling anyone this afternoon. Miss Laura was most concerned – especially when we prepared the ship ahead of this afternoon’s tide.”
Elias paused. “Was she with you?” His attempt to ask the question lightly, failed.
“I spent most of the afternoon with Bartholomew, you know that.”
Elias drew breath to say something else but halted. It was not like him to prevaricate. Kit gave the man his undivided attention.
“Spit it out. We’ve been friends more years than I care to count.”
Elias put down his mapping compass.
“I see the way you look at her. You can’t sport with her the way you do with other women. She’s not one of your doxies. She’s a lady of quality.”
“Are you afraid I’ll break her heart?” Kit was aware of the sarcasm in his question.
Elias shook his head gravely. “I’m afraid she’ll break yours.”
Chapter Nine
Dinner was exceedingly intimate and exceedingly awkward.
Kit looked down the length of his table to where his only dinner companion sat as though she were in the dock at the Old Bailey.
Jonathan and Elias were both on watch. Professor Fenton and Miss Laura both sent their apologies.
And since Marco, his cabin boy, had cleared away the table, nothing stood between him and Miss Bluestocking but a long expanse of timber and a claret jug.
What was there to talk about?
“How was your day, dear?”
“Oh, the same as usual – finding new and elaborate ways of getting myself and my crew into trouble. And you?”
“Well, I just ignored every rule of common sense and walked around a rough part of the city completely without escort.”
“So, a regular day for you, too, then.”
Kit was mildly diverted by the conversation running through his head.
Thank God she had made a better choice of her cousin’s cast-offs this time – powder green – but how much better she would
look in a gown of Prussian blue.
That might be a safe topic to discuss. He opened his mouth. She had been pretty angry at him at the markets. So, perhaps not. He closed it again.
Her spark of temper did something to him and he wasn’t afraid to admit it – Miss Sophia Green intrigued him. A man would underestimate her at his peril, for beneath those ill-fitting dresses, he suspected lay a woman to be reckoned with. And what was all the more intriguing was the notion that Miss Bluestocking herself had no idea what passion she could unleash.
Kit felt his body react to the memory of carrying her from the dinghy, the soft scent of lavender that reached him with their close quarters contact. In fact, he could smell it when she reached across for her wine glass.
Could she really break his heart as Elias had insisted? Well, that presupposed he had a heart to break – but he knew the organ had been crushed along with his soul after ten years of hell on Earth. Not even the ten afterwards were enough to make him whole again.
Besides, no woman knowing what he had been forced to do and what had been forced upon him would ever look at him with love. On that score, Elias was wrong. Miss Green could be nothing more than an amusing diversion for the duration of their voyage and no more.
A long note from a concertina, the beginning of a lively air, filtered through the open hatch.
“May I escort you topside, Miss Green? Perhaps you would like to dance?”
“Just a turn about the deck, if you would be so kind,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
There. A peace offering of sorts. Had she been truly mad at him, she would have excused herself immediately, but she hadn’t.
Kit rose and offered his arm. Tonight was still and the crew on duty hunted the breeze to keep the Calliope moving towards their destination. He and Sophia made a leisurely pace to the ship’s bow. Her head tilted towards the moon suspended above them. Her eyes were closed and dark, fan-shaped lashes rested on her cheeks. Then her eyes opened, those dark, fathomless eyes.
“I wanted to thank you for not saying anything to my cousin or Professor Fenton about my absence,” she said.
Kit rested his hip on the railing and shrugged. “By the time I was aware of the circumstances, it was a moot point. It would have been a different matter had I known. Searching for you would put my men at risk and cost us a full day if we missed the tide.”
Sophia swallowed and nodded her head, keeping her face from him.
“Then you’ve placed me further in your debt,” she whispered.
He kept his voice to the same level as hers. “And that’s not a place you like to be, is it?”
Sophia shook her head and coal-black strands flew loose from the chignon.
“‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be’, Captain Hardacre.”
“Kit,” he insisted. “With so much in common, surely we’re friends now.”
She gave him a closed-mouth smile, and her eyes closed, too, shuttering the windows of her soul. She was right to do so. He was little more than a pirate and a thief. He would steal what was behind those lids if he could.
“Kit.” His name on her breath was so faint he was lucky to catch it. “I don’t wish to be in your debt.”
He was unprepared for the surge of emotion when those rich brown eyes opened and looked up at him. Kit’s lips lowered to hers and he tasted surprise on them. He shifted his feet to hold her against him more firmly. Desire pumped through his veins as he felt her respond. The soft sigh as their lips parted sent a maelstrom of emotions crashing over him.
He lifted his head far enough to see her clearly. Her eyes were open and bright, perhaps with shock. Even in the pale moonlight, he could see her lips were full with color. Caused by him. He did that to her and it had only been a kiss – a bare touching of flesh.
Never before had he been so quick to arousal. The caress of professionals had never achieved that end so quickly.
Possibly, it had been a one-off, a fluke. He’d better make sure. Sophia was quicker and turned her head away.
“Don’t… please… I’m in love with someone else.”
The agony in her voice halted him. He pulled back and took another half-step for good measure.
Those bright eyes now shone with tears and, if he was not mistaken, confusion. A lump filled his throat. “Samuel Cappleman.”
“You know?” Her question came out hoarse.
Kit heard the mortification in it and felt ashamed of himself. What the hell was he doing? He’d made a woman cry for God’s sake.
Memory of Elias’ warning raised its inconvenient head. He cursed his first officer for being right. Kit cursed himself for a fool.
“I was there when you left the Pembrokes’ ball. I saw the way you looked at him as we departed London. What kind of man would let his intended and his sister travel alone without him?” he asked, more to himself than to Sophia.
“You don’t understand.”
“Well, you’re right on that score.” His bitter recrimination was directed inward, but Sophia was not to know that. She reacted to it by taking a step away – away from him.
“Does Samuel Cappleman share your devotion?”
Her eyes fell away from his. “It’s somewhat unspoken.”
“By him?”
She nodded, then raised her eyes once more. His reserved Miss Bluestocking was back and he was surprised how much that disappointed him.
“Please forgive me if you feel I misled you in any way. I can assure you that is purely unintentional on my part. Captain Hardacre – Kit… I quite understand if you wish to withdraw the offer of friendship, but my sincerest wish is that you do not.”
He accepted the gift with both hands, which he brought to his lips, kissing one, then the other.
“Friends,” he affirmed. “For the length of this voyage and beyond, if you wish.”
The smile she offered him was open and full; one of the most beautiful he had seen. She squeezed his hands once then let them go and started for the forward gangway when she paused.
“Good night, Kit.”
“Good night, Miss Bluestocking,” he said, with a brief nod of his head. The woman actually laughed at the joke before descending out of sight to the deck below.
Kit returned to the rail and the barest whisper of a breeze washed over his face. He touched a hand to the left side of his chest and rubbed. Something ached there, and he was afraid he knew what it was.
*
Sophia stumbled, mercifully unseen, below deck until she reached her cabin. The fact she had been able to walk away from Hardacre – Kit – on the shaking legs carrying her weight was a small source of encouragement.
He’d kissed her and she’d allowed it. More than that, she found the experience pleasurable, extremely so – and that was the danger. Hadn’t she warned Laura of just this very thing?
She opened the door gently and saw Laura’s slim form under the covers, fast asleep. Sophia closed the door behind her, undressing by the honey-golden light of a lamp turned low.
Did Laura feel like this when Havers kissed her? What was it like when his hand touched her leg? Did something awaken inside of her, too? Something reckless? Was this desire unleashed?
If Laura had been awake, she might have asked. She shook her head at the mirror. If Laura had been awake, she might guess the origin of her questions and that would lead to more awkward questions. No. Laura must never know.
Sophia slipped a nightrail over her head and quietly packed away her dress.
Oh, Samuel.
She slipped into her bed and extinguished the lamp before pulling the blankets up to her neck. She stared at the darkened ceiling. She needed to repent. She had been unfaithful to her beloved. How could she possibly face him when he arrived in Palermo?
She touched a finger to her lips and felt the heat and softness of them. Is that what they felt like to Kit? It wasn’t just the once; he would have kissed her again, had she allowed it. The memory of it tingled her lips and she felt an
answering call from somewhere within her depths.
Why had he done that? Now she was confused. Her love for Samuel had been so sure. Perhaps, the old saying wasn’t true – that absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder. Perhaps, absence made the heart forget.
Even as she attempted to justify her reasoning, she knew it was flawed, because it wasn’t just this night or even these past few days. If she were honest with herself, the pedestal on which she had placed Samuel Cappleman had crumbled, little by little, ever since the night of the Pembrokes’ ball when so many small things caused her to be less certain of him.
Sophia’s lids grew heavy, so she closed them. The very best thing to do was to throw herself into Uncle Jonas’ work. His notes from Lisbon had yet to be written up and there were sketches to reproduce, then there was examining prospective dig sites at Syracuse and also Taormina.
There was plenty to keep her mind occupied for the next few days. After which, they would disembark. Captain Kit Hardacre would do his raiding, smuggling or whatever it was she had overheard in the church. And she would never see him again.
Sophia put a hand to her left breast, conscious of an ache.
*
The sight before her was breathtaking. Sophia picked up a pencil and hastily sketched the remarkable view of the Rock of Gibraltar, abandoning the series of pen and ink sketches of Lisbon’s ruins that had occupied her morning.
Gibraltar, once called Mons Calpe – the hollow mountain – was one of the Pillars of Hercules. It had been fought over by empires – the Carthaginians, the Romans, the Moors, the Spanish. Now it was English.
Its sheer fall faced the Strait, contrasting with a steep slope on the other side and, around its base, curtain wall fortifications. Sophia dabbed a kerchief to her brow. They may have only gone a few degrees further south today, but the sun felt warmer here. The winds that blew up from Africa carried a hint of desert heat.
The sea lanes were crowded with ships of all shapes and sizes making their way either out into the New World or into the open arms of the cradle of civilization. Uncle Jonas was oblivious to the view, his attention fixed into mixing the right shade of terracotta red to best represent the color of the tiles he had seen in the Roman ruins.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 144
