Kit felt it – the involuntary curl of his lip to form a sneer. Selim Omar was a predatory adder, only too happy to have two little birds hop near his fangs. But he was also a cautious one.
Two of the Calliope’s crew had posed as porters with Laura’s paintings yesterday, drawing as much attention to themselves as possible, while two more of his men had slipped inside to reconnoiter. Unfortunately, there had been little to report. The most private rooms of the house were too closely guarded to search.
His expression caught Sophia’s attention, and she rose from her place.
“Samuel? Captain Hardacre and I are going to take a stroll outside and finalize the details of the trip to Catallus so we can be ready to leave when Uncle Jonas returns from Bologna.”
Kit watched Cappleman look at Sophia as though she were an angel, and he felt nothing but contempt for the man. Insipid, pathetic… Kit determined the sooner he publicly claimed Sophia as his wife, the better.
He felt a touch on his arm, and Sophia’s liquid brown eyes looked up at him. He felt a stirring in his chest and hoped he didn’t look as pitiable as the cousin. Kit addressed Samuel.
“When I return with Miss Green, I’d like a moment of your time, Cappleman.”
Samuel gave a half-verbal assent and pressed his fingertips to his temples. Kit waited until they were clear of the pavilion to ask his question.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I suspect it was a combination of overindulgences last night.”
“And you?”
Her hesitation didn’t go unnoticed, so he paused in the shade of a spreading plane tree.
“It was a strange evening, and one I’m not in a hurry to repeat.”
He listened while she described the night. From Sophia’s description, the tobacco in the nargile was likely mixed with hashish. They had used it on him when he was first captured and he had seen it used subsequently to stupefy new slaves. Later, if they were resistant to its charms, the master would use opiates to ensure compliance from those marked for sexual slavery.
His flesh crawled at the memory, but he forced himself to concentrate on Sophia’s account. She paused. Worry creased her brow. She shook her head and took a breath.
“I’m sure we were being watched from upstairs when Rabia’s maids came back and danced for us. I could have sworn the carpet moved. In fact, I’m sure I saw a man’s hand.”
“Whose?”
“He never showed his face.”
Kit concentrated his anger and pushed it down. His fingers itched to find something to punch, a pistol to hold, a saber to grip. He stored the feeling, locked it in his mind, keeping it to unleash when he and his crew were on the chase for slavers. Yet, he could not disguise the terseness in his voice.
“Stay away from them.”
Sophia shrugged. “It’s easier said than done. Although Laura is disappointed the sheik is married, she still harbors hopes of him being her patron.”
“I mean it, Sophia. Selim Omar is not interested in Laura’s work; he’s interested in her body, and he’s just taken the next step by involving his consort.”
He watched her eyes widen, though whether in shock or surprise, he couldn’t begin to guess. He took Sophia by the elbow and drew her further into the gardens to find a private space to talk. He found an empty bench, which afforded him a view of anyone approaching.
“Omar’s religion allows him four wives of his faith. He is also permitted as many kafir concubines as he can afford to support. Those two girls who danced for you? You must have guessed they were no ladies’ maids. They were also likely instructed to service Samuel.”
He paused, watching color ebb and flow from Sophia’s cheeks as she processed his meaning.
“But Selim Omar is a sheik, a cousin to the Ottoman sultan,” she protested. “He’s a gentleman and, besides, what kind of wife would willingly participate in her husband’s pandering?” Sophia made her argument gamely, but he could tell by her tone of voice that her heart wasn’t in it.
“His connection to the sultan only makes him more powerful and dangerous,” he said. “Laura has to be kept away from him for a few more weeks – until mid-August at least. I’m hoping he’s pious enough to take himself and his entourage back home for Ramadan.”
Kit watched Sophia process the information. She threaded her fingers through his. “The best way to keep her safe is if I’m with her as we are now. That means we’ll have to wait until after Samuel’s wedding to announce our marriage.”
Damn! He didn’t think that through well, did he? Kit sighed and brought her hands up to his lips and kissed them.
“You’re not going to be rid of me that quickly.”
It wasn’t just in concern for her family that he gave his warning. If Selim Omar suspected Sophia was a threat, he would have no hesitation in taking her, too. That would sign the man’s death warrant and Bentinck really would have a diplomatic incident on his hands.
“Let’s get back. I want to make a few things clear to Cappleman before we go.”
Sophia said nothing as they walked back to the pavilion. He wondered if she was withholding something from him.
“How was Samuel when he came downstairs?”
“Drunk and disheveled,” she admitted. “He smelled of perfume as well as this hashish, you mentioned. Not at all like his normal self.
“He…” Sophia hesitated and Kit waited. “He probably remembers nothing of last night.”
Kit decided against pressing the matter – for now.
“Well, I can see Laura and Samuel up ahead waiting for us. You talk to Samuel while I head back to my dungeon at the university. I have to finish the final cataloguing and notes before Uncle Jonas returns.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“That’s not necessary; it’s only a block away.”
“I insist.”
“I can walk four hundred yards without an escort, Captain Hardacre.”
He winced at the censure in her voice. Perhaps he was overreacting. When it came to women, frankly, he was lost. He missed his navigator, Jonathan. He was the only married man he knew – even if it was only for all of two weeks – because the more he talked to Elias it became clear the man was a heart-sick romantic, and all he really knew about relationships was what he’d gleaned from books.
No, Kit was all on his own.
*
Sophia left Kit, along with Samuel and Laura, at the gates of the botanical gardens while she approached the porters’ entrance of the university. She walked up the street conscious of their eyes following her.
She watched the billowing dust kicked up by her shoes as she walked, her stride clipped.
Sophia frowned. Had she sounded ungrateful? She hadn’t meant to. After all, it was Laura who needed watching, not her. She kept her eyes to the ground as she walked, listening to the sound of the street vendors ahead, calling out their wares.
A few more yards and she would reach the corner of the alley that led to the entrance. She could lose herself for the day in the inanimate objects, which were so much easier to understand than people. The thought of holding an in-depth conversation with an amphora amused her.
A terrified scream jerked Sophia from her thoughts. A horse reared on its hind legs, so close she could see the whites of its frightened eyes. Sophia jumped back to avoid being trampled. Loose reins whipped around, the leather wrapping itself around her head momentarily. It was enough to pull her off balance. She staggered in pain, briefly blinded, her ears ringing.
Her vision cleared and the sight of hooves filled her view. Then the world tilted and fell still with a thud. For a moment, she lay still; winded. Air rushed back into her lungs but her hearing was muffled. She couldn’t understand why until she realized there was an arm over her head and it wasn’t hers.
“Sophia!” She felt her name spoken rather than heard it, and the voice roused her to action. She accepted the arms that hauled her to her feet and dragged her off the street.
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A trickle of moisture trickled down her cheek. She raised her hand and touched it. It came back red. Kit’s eyes were wide, reminding her of the horse that nearly trampled her.
Quite inanely, she noticed Kit’s clothes, normally so immaculate, were covered with dust. The horse had been recovered, and a man who had been trapped by the up-turned cart cried out in pain as his friends carried him from the street.
She shook her head, pleased to find the fog of pain lifted to reveal nothing more severe than the cut to her cheek and a few bruises. Her name was called again, a high-pitched squeal which belonged to Laura. Sophia winced.
“It’s just a small cut,” Kit told her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Gooseflesh crawled over her skin. “I just need to sit down.”
Sophia was swept into Kit’s arms. He carried her to her storeroom office in the museum and eased her onto a bench. Shock. That’s all it was, she told herself, but her stomach rebelled. Sophia fought a fainting spell. When she opened her eyes once again the worried faces of Samuel and Laura filled her view. There was no sign of Kit.
“You’ve given us such a fright,” Laura admonished, her eyes welling with tears.
“We should get you a doctor; you need a doctor, don’t you Sophia?” interjected Samuel.
Sophia took a deep breath.
“I need you to stop acting like mother hens. I’m fine.”
“Well, only if you’re sure…” Samuel looked doubtful.
Kit returned; his expression harsh. Marco was at his side looking equally grim-faced.
“Marco, find one of the porters and fetch water for Sophia.”
Samuel’s face reddened. He puffed his chest out like a cockerel. “See here, Hardacre, you have no business manhandling my cousin.”
“Sit down!”
Kit’s tone of voice brooked no argument.
“I’m telling you this out of courtesy and nothing more. Sophia and I are married.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“You jest, Sir, and it’s a damned poor one. Tell him, Sophia.”
She stared at Kit, stunned by his declaration. His mercurial hazel eyes had turned green and they bore into her soul. She had a choice. The same one she faced on their wedding day. She could deny him now and live life as she had always done – neglected and alone – or she could stand with the man who taught her life could be so much more if she had the courage.
For a moment, there was no one else in the room but Kit. With his eyes still on her, Sophia removed the chain from her neck and retrieved the ring he had given her and placed it on the third finger of her left hand. She stood.
“I thought you said we were going to do this properly,” she said, her voice stronger than it had been a few minutes ago. She ignored Samuel’s red face and allowed Kit to take her still shaking hand and draw her to his side.
“That changed the minute I learned the accident outside was deliberate.”
“What?” Sophia heard the question echoed and saw Samuel wear the same incredulous look as the one she imagined she wore.
“It’s true,” Elias answered as he entered the room. He addressed Kit. “I just spoke to the carter. Someone deliberately spooked the horse.”
Samuel openly scoffed. “Deliberately spooked? That’s a whole lot of melodrama. I expected more of you, Sophia. The sheik told me of Hardacre’s obsession with his people. The man’s unhinged.”
Kit sized him up. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I already take you for—”
“Kit, please,” Sophia warned under her breath. He seemed to take heed because he heaved in a large breath, and his next words were calm.
“If you have any brains, Cappleman, you will pack your bags this afternoon and book passage for yourself and your sister for the earliest possible departure. Selim Omar is not a man to be trifled with.”
“You expect me to take your word over that of royalty? My family and I are not going to be ordered about by a common sailor. Come along, Laura. Sophia. We’ve spent enough time with this madman.”
Sophia turned to an ashen-faced Laura who seemed near to tears. Sophia withdrew her hand from Kit and moved towards her cousins. A look of betrayal flared momentarily in Kit’s eyes and broke her heart. She reached out to him and, though she thought he flinched, she touched his cheek, and the heat of it warmed her to the core.
“I have to go now,” she whispered, “but come for me this afternoon.”
Sophia willed him to understand. She needed time to explain to her cousins. She owed them that. They had been so good to her, the only family she had ever known. When she left them today, she wanted to go with their blessing.
Kit took the hand from his cheek and kissed it, and gave a curt nod.
“This afternoon.”
It was a vow.
*
“You knew about this squalid affair and you didn’t bother to tell me?”
Laura burst into tears at her brother’s censure and fled into her suite at the Hotel de France, slamming the door behind her.
Samuel’s anger stoked Sophia’s. “There’s no need to yell at your sister. She knew nothing of this until yesterday and even then I hadn’t told her about—”
“Being married? Come on, Sophia, tell me that’s some kind of sick joke.”
Sophia heard the sound of footsteps down the corridor. “Shhh, Samuel, you’re making a scene.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere more private to talk.” Sophia found her wrist in Samuel’s grip.
He opened the door to his suite and pulled her through. Slamming doors was fast becoming a Cappleman trait. She’d never seen him act this way before, her mild-mannered cousin who showed passion for very little except for his engineering business. He strode to a table and poured himself a large measure of brandy which he swallowed in one gulp.
“You!” he said. “You of all people, to behave like a… a…”
A slattern, a slut, a whore, a wanton. The words were unsaid, but Sophia had known Samuel too well and for too long to not finish his thoughts. He shook his head as though to clear the taint of them and poured another drink.
“I entrust you with Laura’s well-being and this is how you repay me?”
She stepped forward. “That’s not fair. You readily agreed removing Laura from that scoundrel in London was for the best and, now, when you are given sound advice about another situation she’s gotten into, you react like I’ve done you an injury.”
“Haven’t you?” he sneered, “When were you going to reveal your marriage, or is this some little carte blanche arrangement you have with the captain, where he charms you into spreading—”
She slapped him across the cheek. Not as hard as he deserved but, still, her right hand stung from it. Samuel touched the brandy glass to his cheek, seeking to soothe it while he swept the hair that fell over his brow with the other.
“You have no right to reproach me. I am of age and not a dependent of yours. My only regret is you had to find out about Kit and me this way. I had planned to accompany you and Laura back to England for your wedding at least, and have you both pleased for me that…”
Her throat closed over, the sentence unfinished. The words she wanted to speak were raw. Her life had centered on Samuel for so long. Kit’s interest had caught her by surprise. He made her feel beautiful, desired. But more than that, he saw her. He never looked through her as Samuel so frequently did. Kit loved her. He loved her. And now, she could accept it, trust in it, fall into it, knowing he would be there to catch her.
Samuel drained his drink once more and poured another.
“This is a hell of a stunt to attract my attention. I know you love me.”
His words were calmly spoken and, for a moment, Sophia wondered if she had misheard. She steadied herself with a hand on the back of a chair.
“That’s a low act, Samuel.” Cold anger flooded through her. When she spoke her Spanish accent became more pronounced. “You… you… you play on my long-held affection for you
and, now, when I take a chance to pursue my own happiness, you think all you have to say is three little words and I’ll come to heel?”
“What do you want me to tell you, Sophia?” He thumped the brandy glass on the table with a thud, amber-colored liquid sloshed over the rim. Samuel flicked his wrist to rid it of the spilled liquor. “That I want you? That I need you in my life? I love you? Is that what it will take?”
“You never once gave me cause to hope. For years, I waited for you to notice me and all the things I did for you.” Sophia realized she was yelling. She took in a deep breath and lowered her voice. “You’re engaged to be married.”
“It doesn’t have to change things.”
She blinked rapidly. Samuel took advantage of her confusion. He snagged her arm and led her to a settee.
“Sophia, look at me.”
She did, and before her was the face she treasured in her dreams – handsome and sweet. A beloved fantasy. But now, the only emotion it aroused in her was fury. “You are my right hand. I acknowledge that, although I’ve done a poor job in showing my appreciation or thinking about your future.”
Sophia shook her head; words were beyond her. The room was becoming claustrophobic. She’d opened a window to disappointment. Even the breeze had abandoned her. Sophia kept her attention out on to the street.
“Lady Victoria will need help running the household.” Samuel’s voice was close. He stood just behind her. Sophia turned to him as he continued. “She’s young and has no experience. My plan was to ask you to live with us after Laura’s wedding.” Samuel picked up both her hands and held them. “Knowing now how you feel about me changes things, so, ah, would you consent to a different arrangement?”
Sophia frowned, recalling what he had said last night when he made a pass at her at the door.
“You want me to be your mistress?”
She started to pull her hands away, but Samuel held them fast. He leaned forward, pressing her against the wall and kissed her furiously on her lips, her face, her hair.
“Stop!” Sophia added urgency to the word with a swift kick to his shins. She used his surprise to shove him away. Sophia retreated a safe distance, close to the door and scrubbed her lips free of the taste of him. She warily watched Samuel pull himself together.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 158
