After a while, over the calls of wheeling falcons, Sophia heard someone moving through the shin-high grass. She listened to them get closer but ignored them.
“Kit’s asleep. His breathing has improved. Lyda has made up some fenugreek tea for when he awakens to help rid him of the water on his lungs.”
There was not a word of an apology from Elias’ lips. No acknowledgement of the horror she felt. She looked at him. There was no apology on his face either. The fact Kit still lived in no way lessened her anger.
“You’re supposed to be his friend, why didn’t you stop him?”
Elias bore the accusation without reaction.
“Have you ever tried to talk Kit out of something he’s determined to do?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “When Kit is in this mood, the only thing to do is be there in case something goes wrong.”
Sophia sat up and rested her back against the fallen column. Elias must have taken that as an invitation because he sat next to her, removing his hat and fiddling with the brim.
“You know what we do, and I won’t insult you by pretending it’s not dangerous. All I will promise – all Kit will promise – is we won’t take unnecessary risks.”
“Near drowning is an acceptable risk?” She allowed the disdain in her voice.
“Apparently, he deemed it so.” Elias let out a long sigh. “Look, if it is any consolation to you, Kit has said this will be our last mission. I know, more than anything in the world, he wants to come home to you. He loves you, and I’m not sure even he appreciates the depth of it.”
“Would he stop if I asked him to?”
“Would you want to? Even knowing what drives him to this?”
“I’m not sure I can go on like this,” she warned, her voice just a whisper.
After a moment in silence, he stood. “It’s not for me to advise you on your marriage; all I’ll tell you is if you’re not prepared to stand with him, then you might want to reconsider staying.”
Elias turned on his heel and walked away.
*
Their bedroom smelled of camphor and sweat. For two nights, he was aware Sophia sat with him, running a cool damp cloth across his body as he remained in the grip of a fever. After the third day, the body shaking coughs had noticeably subsided and his breathing became regular. Within days, watched over by Lyda while his wife slept, Kit had started spending his days in the courtyard as though the sun could dry him from the inside out.
By the end of the week, his strength had started to return but his wife still treated him like an invalid. And he was sick of it.
One evening, he grabbed her hand as she was about to leave their room.
“Where are you going?”
“You need some rest,” she said.
“I need you.”
She tugged her hand away and he let it go, but she remained seated on the edge of the bed. In the moonlight, his eyes wandered over the sheen of her dark hair, the line of her shoulders in her slate grey robe, and the way it hugged her waist, but she sat with her back to him, and the ache in his chest had nothing to do with his bruised lungs. He was losing her.
“Sophia…”
“I saw you on the table and I thought you had died,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“I’m here, bella.” He forced himself to sit up. It taxed him but he did it. He felt her stiffen as he put his arm around her. After a moment, she relaxed into his embrace. She turned to him and, in the half-shadows of the night, he watched her face, considering the expressions that crossed it. Fear and anger he could deal with – he would soothe, comfort, even charm her – but the look of resignation worried him, as though she had already come to a decision about a question he’d never been invited to answer.
“Come to bed,” he said, putting as much temptation as he could into those three words.
“You can’t…”
He ignored her protest and kissed that sensitive part where her neck and collarbone met.
“I can.”
“You’re still weak…”
He proved his strength by easing her down onto the bed alongside him.
“You need to rest.”
“I need my wife.”
He emphasized this with a kiss to her lips and was gratified to feel her respond to him. The more he touched her, the more he felt her return to him, not just in body but in spirit, too. He redoubled his efforts, pouring his desire, his need, his love into every kiss, every caress.
His chest pained him, but he fought past it and breathed deep to prevent Sophia from hearing how winded he had become. He maneuvered her until she straddled his hips, giving her tangible evidence of his wholeness.
“I love you, bella,” he whispered into her ear. “When I fear I’ve gone too far, it is the thought of you that brings me home.”
*
Sophia watched water glisten for a moment over a newly exposed section of ancient tiled flooring before it soaked into the grout. She touched its jewel-like colors, then added to her sketch.
“That looks dangerous to me.”
She continued to expose more of the mosaic, paying no attention to Uncle Jonas’ comment – he was forever muttering to himself. This was his final week on Catallus and he had been determined to make the most of it.
“Sophia, do you think Captain Hardacre should be doing that? It looks a long way down.”
He pointed to where Kit stood at the edge of the headland, the wind pressing the shirt against his back.
She kept her voice light. “It’s his island, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
Jonas quickly lost interest and returned to cleaning more of the ancient villa’s flooring. Every so often, Sophia would look Kit’s way, but he did not move. Was something wrong? Should she go to him?
In the two weeks since his near drowning, Kit’s mood had been withdrawn. He was cautious and measured around her, afraid, it would seem, of frightening her.
His days were spent with his crew out on the Calliope. Most evenings he was holed up in his study with Elias and Giorgio, no doubt making plans.
She had come to hate Kaddouri almost as much as Kit did. The pirate was killing her marriage piece by piece. She missed the days when Kit would talk easily with her. The only time they spent together was in bed at night and, when morning came, the only evidence of his presence was his scent on the sheets and fading warmth of where his body had lain.
She swallowed against a lump in her throat and picked up her charcoal. She stared at her sketchbook. The image taking shape – a luxurious villa and lush gardens – blurred. She blinked it into focus.
Movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned just as Kit took one step forward – and disappeared.
She screamed and her screams continued as she ran to the edge of the cliff. The rocks below were covered by high tide but, even so, they churned and roiled dangerously.
Where was he? She put a hand to her stomach to stop it curdling and scanned the water. He wasn’t there. Perhaps he was trapped under the rocks. She took another step closer to the edge before her elbow was gripped by a firm hand.
“Sophia!” She turned wide eyes to her uncle and found his face fearful. “Come away from there, girl.”
She allowed herself to be led from the edge. She felt nothing – not the sun on her face, the wind tugging at her skirts, not even her own feet, but she walked anyway.
At some point, she found herself sitting on a bench with a blanket on her shoulders. She was looking out onto the western sky where high wispy clouds like horsetails turned apricot, then pink as the ocean prepared to swallow the sun.
“He’s all right, Sophia.”
She felt her shoulder gently shaken. She raised her head, looked into Elias Nash’s sunburned face, then returned her gaze to the sea.
“Did you hear me, Sophia? Kit is all right. He just wanted to test how far he could fall for when we…” Elias paused, apparently deciding she didn’t need to hear the “why”. He sat
down beside her uninvited. “The leap was planned and it was as safe as it could possibly be. We were right there with a rowboat when he jumped.”
She decided she had heard enough. She stood and took just one pace before Elias reached for her.
“Look, Kit is in a dark place. He always is before a mission. But now he has you to bring him back.”
All at once, feeling came back along her nerves, painful and raw.
“I can’t do this, Elias.”
The room she entered was in total blackness. Sophia edged around the wall until she bumped something with her hip. A table or a bench of some kind. She felt around blindly until she felt the familiar shape of a lamp.
She steadied it before reaching into her pocket to fish out a vesta case. She flicked the hinged silver lid with her thumb, ready to retrieve a match.
Kit’s voice, harsh and gravelly, from the darkness startled her.
“Leave it.”
“It’s dark.”
“I prefer it.”
Sophia heard the rustle of clothing as she imagined Kit sitting up.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I was worried about you. You haven’t been home for three days. Not a proper bed, not a proper meal.”
She pulled out the match and was prepared to draw it along the striker when Kit’s hand gripped her wrist. She hadn’t heard him move, but she certainly felt his presence now, dark and dangerous in the warmth of the windowless stone cottage.
“I said leave it.”
She pulled her arm, but he held it firm. She tugged once again and he let her loose.
“You’re frightening me.”
“Am I now?” he said, his voice amused. “For the first time Miss Bluestocking admits her fear. Good. Fear is what will keep you alive.”
“‘Perfect love casts out fear’,” she told him, her voice stronger.
“Sadly for you, I’m not perfect.”
Her eyes were now accustomed to the dark. Kit was in deep shadow. This was not the man she knew – her husband, her passionate lover. This man was a stranger to her and yet she recognized this side of him. The devil-may-care attitude that had attracted her now was a barely restrained recklessness.
“Why are you doing this?”
“To survive. To make sure the men of the Calliope survive.”
“‘Not one lost’,” she whispered. “I heard you say that during the night of the storm.”
“Not one lost – that’s my promise when my crew signs on. Don’t be under any illusion about what it is we do. Death is the penalty if we fail. And a death more horrible than you can contemplate. I do this to ensure I don’t fail.”
Sophia tried to resist the warm seduction of his logic. As lunatic as it sounded, Kit made sense. That probably made her as crazy as him. The only problem was it would inevitably end in death. He would push himself one step too far, just to see how much he could endure, and it would kill him.
She ran her tongue over her teeth and asked the question she’d wanted to ask from the moment she entered the room. “Are you using laudanum?”
“Who? Elias.” he asked and answered the question. Sophia nodded.
“If you’ve seen what I’ve seen, felt what I’ve felt, you wouldn’t wonder at it if I did. But in answer to your question – no, I’m not using laudanum.” Kit bit out a bitter laugh. “That was another promise I made. Elias is determined to save my body as well as my soul.”
Not one lost. What about her? If he died, she would be lost. She contemplated asking the question, but she suspected she knew the answer. Elias had made it clear. Ridding the world of Kaddouri had been a plan set in motion more than a year ago. Kit could not go back on it now.
That left her with no other choice.
“Uncle Jonas is going back to Palermo tomorrow. His passage to England leaves next week. I’m going with him.”
“Are you coming back?” The question was only mildly curious, as though Kit already knew the answer.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Over the din, Sophia heard the command to cast off. She stood on the dock at Palermo and waved to Uncle Jonas as the stevedores pushed the ship away with their long poles.
It would have been so easy to return to England and slip into the life she had before – the near invisible companion to the wealthy and desirable heiress. She even found herself considering Samuel’s crass suggestion to become his mistress, in secret of course, while he led a public life with a public marriage. Her pride would be stripped but she would have a roof over her head.
This way, she had her pride – and little else. Thank God, Morwena and Jonathan had graciously invited her to stay with them. Just for a little while, she assured them. Just until she knew what she was going to do.
She loved Kit with everything she had, but she couldn’t live with him and his self-destructive thirst for revenge. She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. She knew that, although it didn’t lessen the pain of her broken heart. He needed peace for his soul and she couldn’t give it to him. She was destined to be a widow before they ever truly had a life together.
Sophia turned away and started walking towards the markets. No, it was better this way. She could grieve for him now, instead of live in hope for his safety and his sanity, only to have it cruelly taken away from her in the suicidal battle with Kaddouri.
She was mindful of being an imposition on others. She had enough income, if she was careful, to support her in Palermo for another two months. It would give her time to think and make a decision about her future. She had enjoyed teaching the children on Catallus, and she knew of convents whose special calling was teaching. Perhaps, she could join one of those.
Beyond the harbor, the verdant green of Monte Pellegrino called to her. The walk would be strenuous and seem even longer without Laura’s animated conversation, but solitude would help provide solace.
*
“We did it!” Elias shouted.
Kit was on his feet, knife in hand, even before he opened his eyes, his heart racing. His crew usually knew better than to disturb him at times like this, but the venomous rebuke on his lips died at the excitement in Elias’ voice.
His first officer ignored the knife and continued, “We did it! We made Greek fire, and it works.
“The men have installed the furnace and are putting in the pipework now. We’ll be ready to trial it at sea tomorrow.”
“Not a moment too soon. Good work.”
He followed Elias out of the cottage and was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight.
“How long?” he asked.
“Three days.”
Strange, it seemed longer. He had dug deep into himself, fought every permutation of battle in his head, considered the worst case scenario, and examined tactics.
Not one lost… Not one lost.
Every time he ran through the battle in his mind, he knew keeping this vow was impossible this time. Casualties were inevitable; fatalities even probable. The only thing he could do was make sure he bore the most risk.
Three days… There was a blue moon in just another ten days’ time and still no word from Ahmed Sharrouf.
The unknown concerned him the most.
He knew his men and his ship were ready. Kaddouri he knew almost as well. The man was clever, a master in his art of plunder and piracy, but he was just a man. Just a man, Kit reminded himself as he felt his breath shorten. And like any other man, he had his weaknesses; he was mortal.
Kit inhaled deep to pull himself back to the present and followed Elias down to the Calliope.
The crew cheered as their captain boarded. He acknowledged them with a grin.
“Let’s examine this beast.”
He headed to the bow of the ship where the head of the Greek fire tube was fixed in a frame just off the port side of the bow, pointing off to the side. Bronze pipework glowed in the midday sun and slithered across the deck like a fat, satisfied snake before disappearing
into the belly of the ship.
He took the fore steps down two at a time. The pipe ran over his head and he followed it to the galley where a furnace had been installed alongside the cooker.
“We can rapidly heat the Greek fire by diverting heat from the stove,” Giorgio explained.
Pride swelled in Kit’s chest. Not for himself – in the scheme of thing he was nothing – his pride was in his men and their aptitude. The fact they trusted him with their lives was humbling.
He slapped Giorgio on the back and grinned, and received one in return.
“Captain!”
Marco beckoned him through the center of the ship to show off his work. The passenger quarters had been converted to an additional armory. Hung neatly, ready for rapid deployment were grapples, ropes and chains. Fuses were stored in painted boxes according to the color of the wax denoting their length and therefore the length of time it would take to burn.
Pistols, long arms, and sabers lined the inside wall. The weapons were fit for a small army, and that’s exactly what they were.
“The turn of the tide is at six tonight,” said Elias. Kit climbed the aft stairs and consulted the weather readings. He added them to the ship’s log.
“Let’s go burn a boat.”
Elias grinned like a schoolboy and called out across the deck for the crew to be ready to weigh anchor.
Anticipation flowed, giving him a high only two things matched – his opiates and the very first time he made love to Sophia. He remembered her departure and his elation vanished.
“Bring her about, fifteen degrees to port!” Elias commanded. The crew scrambled to do his bidding.
They responded to him as they did to their captain and Kit was glad for it. The Calliope would need a good man to lead her after he was gone.
He raised a telescope to his eye. The small anchored vessel was four hundred yards away, an unmasted, unseaworthy hulk of a small gunboat he’d obtained just for this occasion.
“Bring her in closer, it’s time.”
He didn’t need to say more. Elias issued the command and the men scrambled to their posts. Elias gave him a worried glance and Kit had to admit to his own nerves. This was the test, whether Greek fire, this ancient weapon of war, could live up to the legendary tales.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 162
