It brought back memories of the Pembrokes’ ball all those many months ago. He had played the carefree bon vivant then. He wore the same evening dress and jeweled rings on his hands like a costume – only his gold earring was not for show. No, it had a far more serious meaning than that. The earring was the custom of sailors, a form of insurance that should their body be washed up on shore, the gold would be enough to pay for a decent burial and reward the person who arranged it.
When he received the invitation from Lord William to attend and give his verdict on the Ottoman envoy, it was an intriguing proposition. When he further learned Professor Fenton would be giving a special display, the invitation became irresistible.
I had heard said Kaddouri has a new patron who helped him to build Al-Min. A wealthy man. A man of great influence.
“You managed those stairs just fine without your cane,” Sophia observed.
Kit peered through the curtains and looked out over the city, casting an eye over other balconies before turning back into the room to find her sitting in a high back leather chair.
“I don’t like to go anywhere unarmed,” he told her. He watched her eyes fall to his cane. With one hand over the silver pommel, he twisted and withdrew a sword part way from its ebony sheath.
Sophia nodded but did not look particularly impressed. “And that includes at London balls and British Embassies?”
“Especially at London balls and British Embassies.”
Kit heard the seconds tick away.
Does the young lady in question actually know she’s being courted?
He turned away from Sophia to make sure she didn’t see his pained expression. The question had been asked by Elias a week ago. Was that what he was doing? He didn’t know. Sophia was the first woman who had ever captured his interest beyond the most base sort. She aroused more than lust in him; she intrigued him, and brought out protective instincts, too.
“Why?” Sophia asked.
He wished he knew.
Kit shook his head to bring himself back to the present and to answer the question she had posed, not the one Elias had asked.
“Why what? Go armed?”
“Let’s start with why you obviously provoked the Ottoman envoy tonight – and under the roof of the British ambassador himself.”
“He insulted you and your cousin.”
Sophia paused. “When? I don’t recall such an incident.”
“When you and Laura were in the tableaux.”
Sophia looked thoughtful, clearly trying to remember the incident. “One of his men said something to him in his own language. I recall the sheik replied and they both laughed. What did they say?”
Both very pretty, sahib, but the pale-skinned one on the right is particularly rare.
Yes, she would look good on my bed with her legs spread. If you ask nicely, I’ll give you the other one to poke.
Kit felt his lips thin and his jaw clench at the memory, and he gripped the top of his cane. “I wouldn’t dishonor you by repeating it.”
Sophia seemed to weigh his answer before nodding. “And your reply? The one, which made him so angry?
Your mother’s cunt.
Kit hesitated. “I reminded him of his mother.”
Silence fell between them once more, leavened by the violin’s light notes that reached the library. Sophia smoothed her hands over her skirt then stood. “Then I thank you for addressing the matter for us. Now, if that’s all you wanted to talk to me about, I should return downstairs in case I’m missed.”
Kit further tightened his grip on the pommel. God, he was making a hash of this.
“I also wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Sophia halted at the door.
“What have you done this time, Captain?” He heard the forced levity in her voice.
Kit drew a breath before answering. “Your uncle mentioned Cappleman’s engagement over dinner.”
Sophia’s eyes shone with tears, which she immediately blinked back.
“Yes. It’s very good news, indeed. The family is delighted. Lady Victoria is a charming young woman and she and Samuel will be very happy together.”
“Sophia…”
The woman before him lost her battle. Two lines of molten silver spilled over her lids and down her cheeks. Kit swept her into his arms and held her tight. For some reason, he felt his own heart pierce, the pain of her tears wounding him as though he had been cut.
“Cappleman is a fool.”
Her tears did not last long, but she remained quiet in his arms. The smell of her perfume, lavender, heated by the warmth of her body stirred him while he listened to the sound of a slow waltz drift up from the ballroom below.
Sophia swayed a little on her feet and Kit followed, turning the move into a dance step. His right arm slid up her back, along her arm to her hand. He took it and stepped forward. Sophia kept her eyes closed as they danced.
Kit recognized the gift of her trust as he led them around the room. His hand was not content to remain barely touching the small of her back. His fingers spread wide and drew her close until their hips touched through their clothes. Sophia’s breasts, full and round, brushed against his chest and his desire for the woman in his arms ignited.
Then those rich brown eyes were open to him and so, too, was her mouth, slightly parted.
“Kit…”
His name on her lips drew him to hers and he kissed them, softly. To his delight, she responded, opening her mouth further to give his questing tongue access. He plundered it like the privateer he was, utterly, devastatingly, until Sophia indicated her surrender by pulling him closer and matching the sensuous exploration of his mouth with one of her own.
His lungs were near bursting when his mouth left Sophia’s. He lavished kisses to her cheek before putting his full attention to the warm dusky color of her neck. He felt her fingers thread through his hair. Kit pressed his body closer, allowing her to feel his arousal.
He swept his arms up her back. Sophia threw back her head in response and sighed, the top of her breasts exposed to him. His lips trailed down to where her neck met the collarbone and offered open-mouthed adoration across her décolleté and the tops of her fawn brown breasts. His thumbs touched the soft undersides.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered. Sophia gave him only a whimpered sigh in response.
He poured all of himself into the kisses, expressing what he could not in words. He wanted to empty her of all the self-doubt and fill her with himself so Sophia could see herself the way he saw her. Kit slowed his ardor and pulled away, reaching for her hands and bringing them one by one to his lips and watching hers tremble.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I want to love you as you deserve to be loved. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you… and I wish I knew how.”
Sophia’s eyes widened, and so did his. Expressing vulnerability had not been part of the deal. Now he was even more exposed.
*
Once, when Sophia was a little girl, she had urged Samuel to push the swing harder and he did, letting her swing higher and higher. While Laura squealed, begging her brother to not be so rough, Sophia relished the tingling feeling in her stomach and in her chest as the swing fell on its backward arc. The sensations she felt now were like that, only magnified and went further to the junction of her legs where she felt her body respond to Kit’s hardness.
Never had Samuel made her feel a tenth of the pleasure Kit had elicited from her in such a few short minutes. The disappointment of her cousin’s kiss ended as she explored Kit’s mouth, tentatively at first. But with growing confidence, she kissed him with the same passionate ardor he offered to her.
She felt her body respond to his. Her nipples puckered and grew hard when his lips tasted her neck. The sweep of his arms up her back brought gooseflesh across her arms, leaving her able to do nothing more than lean her head back. His warm mouth on the tops of her breasts made her breathless, wanting, yearning for fulf
illment.
Was this the passion that had thrown Laura so recklessly into the arms of the men of the ton? It was powerful, addictive. God help her, she wanted more of it, more of him.
He whispered that he wanted to make love to her. She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but if it involved him doing more of what he was doing with his lips and hands, then she was certain that’s what she wanted, too.
The roaring sound of blood rushing to her ears softened like a departing rainstorm. Before long, she heard the ticking of the mantel clock and the sounds of the ball downstairs. Kit’s hazel eyes watched her steadily as though he was waiting for a response to a question he had asked.
“Why?” she whispered. She was full of questions tonight but she needed to know, to understand, if she was to ever fully put her trust in him.
“I’m led to believe this is what people do in a courtship but I seem to be making a mess of things.” Kit barked out a self-deprecating laugh and shook his head, before releasing her hands. “If I’ve offended you, then forgive me. I’ll leave you in peace.”
“Why would you think I’m offended?”
“Argh!”
To her alarm, Kit dropped to his knees and raised his hands in supplication. “For God’s sake, Sophia, put me out of my misery, please. I want to pay you court, but I’m terrible at this. I’ve never done it before. If you’re looking for Shakespearean sonnets and flowery speeches, you’re out of luck. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I can count my happiest memories on one hand and you feature in most of them. I want to know you – the things that make you laugh, the things you’re passionate about. And when you smile, I want to be the cause of it.”
Sophia felt a tightening in her chest. He wanted to be her beau? Why her? She saw the way other women looked at him tonight. She was sure he would never spend an evening alone if he wished.
The conflict must have shown itself on her face because Kit, once again, got to his feet and placed a finger across her lips. The very act of it sent tingles through her.
“No more questions, not right now. I want just one word – yes or no. Are my attentions welcome?”
Kit removed his finger and waited. He seemed somehow younger, less certain of himself than the cocksure sea captain she knew. Sophia had so many more questions but the one thing she couldn’t deny was the way he made her feel, not just physically – although she recognized the passion between them – but for the first time in her life, someone was interested in her. She was not the poor relation, the afterthought.
“Yes.”
Suddenly, she was in his arms once more, an embrace that spoke of relief with vulnerability running too close to the surface. Sophia put her arms around him and breathed in deep, the smell of orange, whiskey and cedar she would forever associate with him, the heat of his body, the broad expanse of his back under the worsted wool of his jacket.
She licked her lips, unable to stop a question from forming.
“How… how does this work?”
“I have no idea. None at all.” He sounded out of breath, like he’d run a mile. “This is as new to me as it is to you. All I know is I want us to explore it together.”
Kit tipped his head back to look at her. “Agreed?”
Someone walked past on the landing outside. Sophia took a settling breath bringing her emotions under control. She nodded. Kit kissed her chastely on the forehead.
“I have to get you back downstairs. We’ve been away too long; we’ll be missed.”
Chapter Eighteen
Are you ready to dance until midnight, Cinderella?
Sophia smiled to herself as she recalled Kit’s words.
Last night, she certainly felt like a fairytale princess. She’d been dressed in a beautiful costume, wore magnificent jewels and danced with a handsome prince. This morning, she was back among the ashes… well the dust at least, and lots of it.
Uncle Jonas used a crowbar to lever up the lid of one of the many crates around them. The lid prized open with a groan, long nails like cobra fangs refusing to let go of its prey.
Specks danced in the air and she coughed.
“At least there’s plenty of light in here,” he said, his tone placating.
“Plenty of dust, too,” she answered.
Normally, the opportunity to clean and touch precious antiquities would delight her. But today, she felt a little out of sorts and strangely dissatisfied.
Sophia looked around for a clean place to sit and gave up. She picked up one of her cleaning cloths and wiped down a rough-sawn bench. So, this was to be her office for the next few weeks.
She was the only woman at the university, and this fact had caused somewhat of a stir when she arrived with Uncle Jonas. Despite the fact the scholars had all gone home for the summer, her presence was deemed a distraction. Despite Uncle Jonas’ spirited defense, he also didn’t wish to offend his hosts, so a compromise was reached. Sophia would be given a desk in the storeroom and she could ring for a porter to fetch any resources she needed from the library.
Sophia watched Uncle Jonas hobble to another crate and ready the crowbar. “I really wish you’d rest your leg and let me do that.”
“Don’t nag, girl, it’s only gout. Too much overindulgence at that party, I wager. I’ll put my feet up in the library, just as soon as I find… Hmm, perhaps I packed it in the other crate.”
Sophia shook her head indulgently and left him to his work while she got on with hers, starting with the small, wooden box protecting a rock crystal perfume bottle. She closed her eyes and imagined the hands more than a thousand years before hers expertly cutting and polishing it until it was clear. Now it was clouded, but it could be made to shine again. Even so, she could see the remains of its contents – residue that was amber in color. Sophia held it up to the light. The design looked Egyptian.
They’d gathered a number of pieces that didn’t seem to fit neatly as either Greek or Roman. In fact, everything in this box seemed to be much later in time – some of it with Arabic inscription from the time of the Islamic empire.
With care, Sophia pulled out each object – a plate, a small hoard of coins, a laver – and continued writing a detailed description, including where on the grid map it had been found, for the report to the Cambridge Senate.
The last object from the box was heavy and required two hands to lift it from the crate. It was the sculpture of a lion’s head in brass. It looked to be a life-sized mask, but it was too heavy for anyone to wear. Sophia pulled out her ruler and faithfully annotated the dimensions.
Something caught her attention at the creature’s jaw. There seemed to be some kind of nut holding it in place. She examined it further. On turning it over, there was a two-inch wide tube at the back. She dripped some olive oil, remains of the mezzo plate from her lunch, into the jaw hinge and started working the joint.
After several minutes, the lion stared at her open mouthed and the tube she noticed seemed to be a nozzle that narrowed to an inch in diameter at the front.
She’d never seen the likes of it before. A water feature? Why would it need a hinged jaw? Brass was used for water fittings – in fact, Emperor Claudius had demanded their use in Rome. They were durable and not easily tampered with, so when he decreed a household could only take so much water, the emperor obliged his subjects to connect to the aqueduct by a certain diameter brass pipe.
Water under pressure from a tube narrowing from two inches to one would make it spit out a long way…
She heard Uncle Jonas shuffle into the room behind her and start rummaging through one of the boxes.
“Uncle? What do you make of this?”
She put the lion’s head in front of her face as a mask and allowed the hinge to drop. “Grrr.”
He smiled at her jest, then took the brass work and examined it front and back as she had done.
“My first thought was it could be part of some kind of fountain but it’s not like anything I’ve come across or seen in your books,” she
said. “The hinged jaw puzzles me. It seems like it was made to conceal the nozzle behind, but why? I can’t think of any ceremonial use for it.”
Uncle Jonas tapped it with a fingernail and looked thoughtful.
“I’m sure I’ve seen something similar – only in illuminated manuscripts, not in the flesh, so to speak.” Excitement lit his grey eyes. “Come with me.”
“I can’t, I’m supposed to stay here.”
He wrinkled his nose and waved his hand.
“Pish-posh. It’s the summer holidays and it’s only been me in that blasted library for hours – you’ll scandalize no one. Come on.”
Uncle Jonas hobbled as fast as his swollen foot would allow, down the tiled hallways, past walls filled with paintings and niches filled with precious objects. The library was deserted, just as he said.
He scoured row upon row of books, dismissing titles with a shake of his head and muttering something under his breath as he searched for the particular folio he was looking for.
“Ah ha!” He said with triumph. He opened the book and pointed to a medieval painting of a battle between two boats, both with oarsmen as she had seen on the journey here. The ship to the left threw flames from its bow.
“A cannon? But that can’t be right.”
“No, no, girl, can’t you see? Take a look.”
Sophia moved in closer and put on her glasses. Of course it wasn’t a cannon. It didn’t even look like one. The red flames came from a figurehead in yellow that looked very much like a lion.
“I believe that device was used to spout Greek fire.”
At her puzzled expression, Jonas continued. “It was some kind of liquid that could be ignited and pumped through a furnace out to a siphon covered by a figurehead like you have there.”
Sophia nodded, studying the image some more.
“Fire is dangerous on ships, but surely seawater would douse fire as a weapon.”
“Ah, but that’s the devilishly clever thing about it, it can’t be extinguished by water. In fact, according to the accounts by Theophanes, Greek fire actually floats on the water and was successfully used against the Mohammadan invaders by the Byzantines.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 151