Jonas waved to another row of books on the shelves.
“If you’re that interested, there’s a set of commentaries by Emperor Leo VI on military tactics, or Praecepta Militaria commissioned by Emperor Nikephoros Phokas.”
*
“‘See the conquering hero comes! Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!’” Kit grinned, reveling in the sour expression Lord William threw his way as he strode into the British ambassador’s suite.
“I tolerate a lot of things from you, Hardacre. You’d be wise not to push me. I’m not in the best sort of mood for it.”
Bentinck was about forty – a decade older than Kit, but he had energy of a man younger, although he was not prepossessing to look at. The envoy had the softer looks of his mother – rounded cheeks and droopy eyelids that made him look half-asleep. But what he had inherited from his father was a keen military mind that saw him promoted from ensign at the age sixteen to lieutenant-colonel at twenty and to lieutenant-general at the age of twenty-six.
The correspondence he shoved aside bore the royal crest of Maria Carolina, Queen of Naples and Sicily. She called Bentinck “the Beast”, and he had an equally viperous name for her. Kit had it in him to feel sorry for the man. He had overheard a conversation that suggested Bentinck had right royal problems with his own monarch thanks to his ill-considered expedition to interfere in the politics of Genoa.
If Kit had been one of Bentinck’s subordinates, he’d be quaking in his boots at the murderous expression cast his way. The mountains of Vesuvius couldn’t erupt so spectacularly. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to poke the bear.
“I had an official complaint this morning from the Ottoman envoy over your behavior at the reception.”
Kit allowed his contempt to show. “And he was so overcome by my rudeness it took him three days to lodge his complaint? The man’s an arse.”
“He might be an arse, but he’s close to his cousin, who, need I remind you, is the Sultan of the entire bloody Ottoman Empire! If Turkey switches sides to France, once more, then we’re really screwed.”
While Bentinck raged, he raised his eyes to stare at the portrait of the Prince Regent hung on the wall behind the desk. Kit had weathered greater storms than this one. And like the ones he’d sailed in the Atlantic, this, too, would blow itself out. It did with a long, put-upon sigh.
“Pour us some of that sherry you brought me back from Spain, and tell me the news from the African coast.”
Kit bit back another smart retort, swallowed his indignation and poured the amber liquid into two dainty twist-stemmed glasses.
“It’s been quiet.”
“That would suit us all.” Bentinck raised his glass and saluted Kit. “We’re bloody tired of this war with Napoleon. At least our navy can concentrate fighting the Frenchies instead of fighting a war on two fronts with those Barbary pirates nipping at our heels.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not going to stay quiet for long. My contact tells me Kaddouri has a powerful and influential ally who has helped finance a stronghold on the Tunisian coast.”
“Ah yes, Kaddouri. You never did explain your particular obsession with that man.” Bentinck waited for a justification Kit knew he would never give. His reasons were his own – as was the vengeance he planned. After a moment of silence, Bentinck tried a different question.
“Where on the Tunisian coast?”
Kit shook his head and lied. “That I’ve yet to determine. The Calliope will be in the area again in a few weeks. If we see anything, we’ll let you know.”
Bentinck’s look was unwavering; he seemed to know he was not being told the truth. But with no other explanation forthcoming, the ambassador picked up his pen and waved at the mounds of correspondence on his table. “Well then, if that’s all you have to report, then go. I have work to do. Stay out of trouble and don’t harass His Majesty’s foreign guests.”
That was just a dig too far.
“I don’t trust Selim Omar and I suggest you don’t either.”
Bentinck set the quill back into its holder. “Why? Because you thought he and his party were rude to Jonas Fenton’s nieces? I never saw you as a gallant.”
“The Ottomans ravage the coastlines of Europe, plunder villages, put men in chains, and work them to death. The depraved savagery you hear of is nothing until you’ve witnessed it yourself. Consider yourself lucky you and your good lady wife are childless, for what they do to daughters—”
Bentinck rose to his feet.
“—You’ve made your feelings amply clear on the matter, but unless you have something His Majesty’s government can act upon, keep your opinions to yourself. Stay out of the man’s way if he bothers you so much.”
Kit turned on his heel and marched towards the door, the fire of his anger well stoked. The final straw was the voice behind him. “Be a good man and close the door on your way out.”
He complied, by swinging the door violently. It slammed so ferociously the framed pictures on the adjoining walls rattled. And his ill humor had not abated by the time he left the building. He glanced up the street, catching a glimpse of the Hotel de France and the iron balcony on the second floor he knew was Sophia’s suite.
Although he would never tell her, he had followed her back to the hotel on the day she had seen him at Morwena Gambino’s shop – just to see her home safe – and only left when she opened the balcony window.
He wanted to go to her then, but he had barely understood why. It had taken Elias’ teasing to make him realize Sophia was not just an idle fancy, and his interest in her was more than just the friendship he professed.
Memories of last night’s kiss warmed him through more than the late morning sun overhead. He had been right – passion lay beneath her reserve and his discovery of it seemed to surprise her just as much.
Sophia knew nothing about his past – and he liked that. For too many years, the weight of his slavery and grievous misuse weighed on him as though he was still in chains. The shackles may have been cut away, but all he saw in the mirror was a boy too small to defend himself. He was convinced everyone could see it too, so he kept his acquaintances small.
But he never saw pity in her eyes, nor disgust – so perhaps there was an unsullied part of his soul. He needed her to show him where it was.
Chapter Nineteen
A gust of wind roared easterly up the headland, wrapping Sophia’s skirts around her legs as she exited the Sanctuary of Saint Rosalia. She made a desperate clutch for her veil, tugged from its pinned mooring on her head, and walked on until she was sheltered once more in the structure’s lee.
It was a beautiful building on the outside, but what lay hidden was more spectacular. Behind the baroque facade was a cave, a hundred feet into the mountain itself. It had been the home of Palermo’s patron saint and was now a convent. The chapel was a large natural grotto with the altar hewn out of living stone. While Laura painted outside, Sophia attended a mass. Although she was beginning to understand a little Sicilian, the rituals of the Catholic Mass were second nature to her, and she followed them effortlessly.
Now back in the sunlight, she spotted Laura on some grass opposite where she had set up her easel. Although it was just preliminary sketches, Sophia could see her cousin had captured the way the sanctuary emerged from the cliffs of Monte Pellegrino, which rose even higher behind it.
Sun glinted off Laura’s beautiful hair, which had lightened considerably over the summer.
Sophia smiled. “Did you know you might have something in common with Rosalia? She had long, pale hair and blue eyes like you and lived in the Palazzo di Normanni under the protection of King Roger the Second. While out hunting here on these very mountains, the king was attacked by a lion and a brave knight called Baldwin saved his life. In gratitude, the kind told Baldwin to name his reward, and he asked for Rosalia’s hand in marriage.”
“Oh, how romantic!”
Sophia grinned. “You might not think so when I tell you the rest. Rosalia wasn’t happy
. She chopped off her beautiful locks and announced to the king she wished to become a nun. And she did, joining a convent in Palermo, but still Baldwin was not deterred and kept pressing to get her to change her mind.”
“Did she marry him and live happily ever after?” Laura asked hopefully.
“No. She ran away, hid in the cave, and dedicated her life to God. She stayed there until her death at the age of thirty.”
“Well, that’s hardly a life well lived is it?”
“The most interesting part of the story happened nearly five hundred years after she died. The plague had come to Palermo and thousands were dying. One day, a man was hunting for food up on the mountain, and he saw a vision of Rosalia who showed him where her remains could be found. She told him if she was given a Christian burial, the plague would stop, and it did.”
“Oh, look who’s arrived.”
Sophia looked to where Laura had pointed her pencil. Sheik Selim Omar was walking up the hill to the lookout. Like the first time she met him, he was wearing ordinary European dress instead of the clothing of his homeland. Without the garish silks and satins, he was a handsome man, swarthy, with hawk-like features. He also seemed much younger than he had seemed in uniform at the reception.
“Oh my, he’s coming towards us!” Laura set down her pencil and brushed down the sleeve of her dress.
“What are you doing?”
“Well he’s a prince and I’ve never really spoken to royalty before. Do you think he’s handsome?”
“Laura!”
“Oh, calm yourself. I’m not that much of a goose, I just want a story of my own to send back home to make my friend Gwendolyn jealous. She’s become too high and mighty now she’s married a duke. Now, if I could tell her I had a flirtation with a real Ottoman prince…”
Sophia shook her head in mock exasperation then giggled herself. “Be careful – he might take you seriously and whisk you off to his harem.”
“I hear the women in those places are all beautiful and lounge around in sumptuous palaces and wear beautiful jewelry all day with slaves to do all the work. It sounds like paradise to me.”
Sophia and Laura fell silent as the emir approached.
“Ladies,” he nodded. “Such beautiful faces… I wish to practice my English. Will you indulge me?”
The sheik’s retinue was nowhere in sight, and Sophia had not forgotten Kit’s mistrust of the man. What had been said that night? Could Kit simply have been jealous? She dismissed the thought as ludicrous.
Despite the fact Selim Omar kept most of his attention on Laura, something about her must have caught his attention.
“I see you are looking about, Miss Green. Is something amiss?”
“I was wondering where your entourage was, your Excellency. I’m surprised an important man such as yourself is without escort.”
“It is for that very reason I like to, as you English would put it, ‘slip the leash’. Have you never wished to be completely free of the obligations of your station?”
His direct look became uncomfortable. Sophia glanced away. When she looked back, the smile he gave her was benign.
“Ah, yes, I see you have. My ways and customs may be different, but we are all children of the one God, are we not? There is no reason for mistrust, although I do applaud your caution.”
His eyes narrowed and Sophia found herself, once more, under the sheik’s watchful scrutiny.
“Not all men are well-mannered and respectful of women.” A strange tingling started in the back of her neck, and Sophia was certain he was making a veiled reference to Kit.
“Then we’re honored to have you as our protector, Your Excellency,” Laura answered sweetly. With those words, it seemed as if the sun had emerged from behind clouds and the shadow that passed between them disappeared.
Sheik Selim sat comfortably on the grass and became an entertaining host. He regaled them with stories of life in Topkapi Palace, “the most beautiful and sumptuous palace in all the world”. It had, he said, four courtyards and was a city within a city, constructed of marble and decorated in tiles of gold, aqua and blue.
“Do tell us about the harem,” Laura enthused. “Is it true it is filled with the most beautiful women?”
“I do not exaggerate when I tell you the most beautiful women in the world come to be trained in the palace, and many become wives of agars and princes, learned in the arts of ruling her husband’s household. Although their beauty is veiled from me, as the sultan’s cousin, I would say few would match your many charms, Miss Cappleman.”
Laura blushed at the compliment and returned to her painting. She attracted Sophia’s attention out of the corner of her eye and looked positively giddy. Sophia shook her head. Oh dear, the crush has already started. One saving grace, at least, was Laura knew from the outset nothing could come of it.
After a while, Selim Omar rose and stood over Laura’s shoulder to watch the sketch turned into a watercolor. “You have an exceptional talent, Miss Cappleman, you’ve captured the scene in front of you beautifully. Do you paint often?”
“As much as I can, Your Excellency.”
“Ah… here, when we are alone, and I am dressed in the clothing of the European, we must not be so formal. You must call me Selim.”
Laura looked ready to swoon as he raised her hand to his lips.
“And you, too, Miss Green.” Once again, she was an afterthought, because his next remark was directed back to Laura. “Do you exhibit your works?”
“I’d dearly love to, but I don’t know if I’m good enough for the Royal Academy.”
“Well, I think you are,” Sophia interjected. “All you need is confidence.”
“Perhaps you need a paid commission to convince, what was it? – the Royal Academy? – to display your work.”
Sheik Selim smiled at Laura’s hopeful gasp and then looked thoughtful. “Yes, as a woman, you would be allowed into my cousin’s harem.”
“You… you would wish me to paint their portraits?”
“That would not be allowed, but you could teach them your skill to add to their other considerable talents.”
“You flatter me, Sir.” Laura blushed.
And that was one flirtation too far, Sophia decided. If Laura had no control, she would have to exercise it for her.
“Alas, such a kind offer would have to be refused. We’re only in Palermo until the end of summer, then we return to England for Miss Cappleman’s brother’s wedding.”
Selim Omar held her attention a fraction longer than comfortable. She observed a challenge in his eyes. Perhaps the emir wasn’t used to women speaking their minds in his country. A moment later, the genial companion returned with even more stories of richly adorned palaces, incomparable mosques and exquisite artworks.
The bell on the sanctuary clock tolled six. Sophia started, she hadn’t realized so much time had passed.
“You will have to forgive us monopolizing so much of your time, Your Excellency.” Sophia thought it wise to emphasize his rank as a reminder to Laura. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. We have a dinner engagement and—”
The sheik raised his hand. “–Do not concern yourself. Today, I’m at your disposal. I hope you will allow me the privilege of escorting two beautiful young women safely back to their hotel.”
His voice was mild but Sophia did not mistake the displeasure in his face.
“I wouldn’t dream of—”
“—We’d be honored, wouldn’t we, Sophia?”
Sophia swallowed, unhappy at being overruled. There was something “off” about the whole encounter, but she couldn’t describe it to herself, let alone anyone else. Foreboding played at the edges of her consciousness. But in the absence of any impropriety, there was nothing she could do. She pushed away her disquiet and assisted Laura to pack up her art easel.
The three walked back down the hill, casting long shadows across the yellow sandstone path into the city. In the sapphire blue sea below, a ship approached the
harbor, its sails pale gold as it picked up the dying rays of the sun lingering on the horizon.
Sophia was so distracted by the view she didn’t notice the pebbles underfoot until her leg skated out from under her. She gasped, convinced she was going to fall on her dignity, when Selim Omar grasped her arm and arrested the fall. His hand remained on her arm and kept his voice low.
“You should take greater care, Miss Green. Sometimes we don’t see the danger right before our eyes.”
The ghosts of unease rose, sending tingles to the back of her neck. Then the sheik released her arm.
“Are you all right, Sophia?”
“Yes, Laura,” she answered in response to her cousin’s concern. She took a couple of tentative steps forward to test her ankle. The joint twinged in small protest. “No harm done.”
Sophia took a deep breath and resumed walking.
“No harm at all.”
She idly swung her injured foot in the cool water of the tub and watched Laura put the finishing touches to her ensemble. Tonight, she wore her blush pink summer gown decorated with a spray of seed pearls, ready for an evening card party at the home of a group of expatriate Britons.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here with you?” Laura’s reflection asked her.
Sophia shook her head. “You and Samuel go and have a wonderful time.”
“But we’ll be staying overnight, you’ll be on your own.”
Sophia withdrew her now wrinkled foot and placed it onto a cloth. “I shall hardly be on my own. I have books to read and correspondence to write, if I feel up to it.”
Laura gave her a pitying look. “You can’t avoid Samuel–”
“–And I don’t want to,” Sophia said firmly, even as she acknowledged the untruth to herself. “But he is your brother and this will be the last season you will have him all to yourself before he marries. You should spend some time with him. Go. I’m quite all right and you can tell me at breakfast tomorrow how much you won at whist.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection Page 152