Chapter Twenty-One
Kit felt twenty-one years strip away from his life. Once again, he was a helpless and terrified ten-year-old boy. Sophia asked too much. How could she love the whole of him when he hated so much about himself?
She said she was falling in love with him, but that was just the man on the outside. He was a Janus, a man with two faces, and as long as he kept one facing the future, he could ignore the one that looked at the past. The irony was not lost on him. He had seen and faced such horrors, none would call him a coward, yet this one woman could unravel him with a few words.
If Sophia knew the whole of it, she would run, leaving him as ripped open and raw as he had once witnessed a man staked out, his chest and belly flayed so badly Kit could see the wretch’s organs. The poor devil had lived for hours in agony before death claimed him.
“I should go before the hotel is locked up,” she whispered. “I’ll give best wishes to the bride and groom, and ask Elias to escort me back.”
Sophia’s words barely registered with him until she took the first few steps away. I want to know the man I’m falling in love with… A visceral part of his being cried out. For better or for worse, he chanced everything on one word.
“Wait!”
Sophia paused with her back to him. He knew his next words would determine whether she stayed or walked away forever. He forced them from his lips.
“What do you want to know?”
He held his breath and waited. He counted the seconds away with every heartbeat that drummed in his ears. Sophia turned. Her rich brown eyes shone with barely restrained tears, and his heart surged with emotion.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
He frowned. The question made no sense to him. Any other woman would ask whether he loved her and demand he prove it. Sophia asks for his trust?
“Will you trust me with the truth of who you are?” she pressed.
“It’s not that simple.”
“The truth rarely is.”
Something awoke in him. She’d accepted his challenge.
“Most people aren’t prepared for the truth,” he said. “They will twist themselves into knots to avoid seeing what is true.”
He took a slow step toward her. “In the end, they make themselves believe a lie because it’s safe and comfortable and requires no thought, so nothing hard is ever demanded of them. Are you ready to look at the true savagery of man? I’ll give you the truth, but I’ll be demanding something else in return, and I’m not sure you’re prepared to give it.”
Now they were standing toe to toe. Sophia’s tears had vanished. The determined set of her jaw thrilled him.
“You’re afraid,” he said and then whispered. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Sophia crossed her arms. “If you think to frighten me away, then you have another think coming.”
He pulled her to him roughly and reveled in her gasp of surprise.
“You see, I know what really frightens you. You hide behind a mask every bit as set as mine. You waste your attentions on Samuel Cappleman knowing he can’t see beyond his ambition. You hide behind your glasses and your dowdy clothes because you’re afraid of the truth.”
He firmed his embrace and spoke into her ear.
“I see you. I know the passion and the fire in your soul, and you’re afraid of it. And I, selfish bastard that I am, am glad Cappleman and all the fops in London were too stupid to see it, because I want it all to myself. I want you. So do you understand? Whatever you demand of me, I’ll demand just as much in return. Are you prepared for that?”
The answer was given without hesitation.
“I am.”
Kit kissed her with wild abandon, her hair, cheeks, lips – nothing escaped him. Soon, the sounds of concertina and violin intruded, and he forced his passion under control. He held her, committing to memory the feel of her in his arms. They stood in an embrace in the shadows, unseen and undisturbed by anyone else. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders although he was not foolish enough to believe that would be the end of their troubles.
He breathed in her perfume and rested his cheek against the soft thickness of her hair.
“What happens next?” she asked softly, pulling out of his embrace.
The shyness that seemed to be Sophia’s habitual mien threatened to settle on her features as he looked on her. He wouldn’t have it. Tonight was a night of celebration, there would be time to share their secrets later.
“We eat,” he said, skimming a hand down her arm until it reached hers. “I’m starved.”
The moon approached the highest point in the sky and the night air chilled but Kit did not feel it. His cloak was wrapped around Sophia’s shoulders. He enjoyed having his arm around her as they strolled the length of Porta Felice along with other couples on the promenade eager for the night not to end.
He kept his eyes attuned to the shadows where threats might lurk, a long ingrained habit he felt wise to keep cultivated, but otherwise she had his full attention. She told him how she had been working at the library and he listened as she told him about Greek fire, how it was used in Sicily to defend against the rapacious invaders and, in turn, was used against the Byzantines during the ultimately successful invasion.
It would be a useful weapon to have, he thought, and determined to mention it to Elias. It might be more effective than a fire boat – and safer. The thought ruefully coincided with an involuntary twinge at Kit’s right knee in memory of the battle at sea which resulted in the sacrifice of the Terpsichore.
“Are you a smuggler?” she asked suddenly.
Kit paused.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, searching for a nonchalant tone.
They continued as far as the Teatro Oreta and the botanical gardens, and turned to make the return stroll.
“I see…” she said.
“See what?”
“You always answer a question with a question when you don’t want to answer it, which I suppose is an answer in itself.”
“So you’ve already made up your mind?”
“Whatever happened to trusting me?”
Kit sighed. “Touché.”
He pressed his hand to her lower back and urged her to move at a faster pace.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the Calliope. If you want the whole story, I’ll tell it there, it will be easier – and besides, I don’t want to be overheard.”
*
“Captain?”
Sophia watched the sailor on watch draw himself to attention, then relax as he identified the figure boarding the ship.
“Rouse Elias and Giorgio. Tell them to make themselves decent and meet me in my quarters.” Kit turned to her and took her hand and headed towards the rear quarterdeck. “This won’t be my decision alone. Telling you the full truth means more than my neck in the noose. Wait on deck for me.”
Sophia was utterly perplexed. She had worked out not all Calliope’s trade was accounted for by the revenuers – she was not that naive – but had only made the suggestion of smuggling in jest. Now she regretted it.
It was quiet on deck and, for some time, the only sounds were low conversations and the tune of a mouth organ high in the rigging where someone had set up a hammock. She turned to the sound of three pairs of booted feet approaching.
Kit came first, his expression grave. Elias and Giorgio were at his shoulder, a pace behind.
“Sophia, this is not the way I planned it – hell, I had absolutely no plans at all – although I imagine it had to come to this.”
Nerves started to bubble and then effervesced when he dropped to one knee. She looked to Elias and Giorgio for explanation, but the expression on both men’s faces was severe. In Elias’ hand was a thick book.
“Marry me.”
Sophia blinked rapidly.
“What?”
“It will be for your protection as well as ours.”
“Ours? I don’t understand any of this.”
Sophia backed away a step or two, but Kit snatched her hand before she could retreat any further.
“In name only. As my wife, you cannot be obliged to testify against me – no matter what happens to the Calliope. If you want to know the truth, if you want to know who I really am, Sophia, this is the only way.”
“Surely that can’t be binding.”
“Elias is an ordained Methodist minister and, all of a sudden, I’ve discovered my Scottish roots. It will do.”
She watched Elias opened up the book. She could see from the bindings it was the ship’s Bible.
Kit lightly squeezed her hand to focus her. His face was solemn.
“You wanted my trust. I’m now asking for yours. Marry me. Now.”
The crew on deck started to stir, the four of them becoming the center of attention. She could even hear the sound of footsteps on the deck below as sleeping sailors were woken and told of the news – their captain was getting married in the dead of night.
“I don’t understand the secrecy. I promise not to breathe a word of what you tell me.”
Kit rose to his feet, obviously deciding a traditional gesture on such an unconventional proposal wasn’t going to work. But he still retained a hold of her hand.
“It’s more than that. Lord William Bentinck’s situation is precarious here thanks to his excursion to Genoa. We have some mutual interests. If the political situation goes bad as he suspects it will, and if you were compelled to testify against us, you’d be jailed for your refusal and there’d be nothing I could do to protect you.”
Her eyes left Kit and she looked around her; a dozen men looked on expectantly. She felt herself begin to shake. The weight of Kit’s cloak on her shoulders weighted her but so did the expectations of the men who waited for her answer.
“A marriage… in name only,” she whispered, if only to hear the words herself, to make sense of them from her own lips.
“You’re free to do anything you wish. I won’t impose on you in any way.”
The rational Sophia, the one who admonished her to be practical, told her she would be striking a Faustian bargain. The other Sophia, the one who was adventurous and passionate, burned with curiosity. She knew she stood at the edge of a decision, a choice that would irrevocably change her life. Could she do it?
Silent moments passed and something must have changed on her face because Kit took hold of her other hand.
“Will you?”
A choice. The first in her life that was solely her own to make – not forced upon her by circumstance or obligation. What a liberating thought. Sophia stepped off the edge.
“Yes.”
The momentary look of surprise on Kit’s face revealed that he had been as uncertain of her answer as she had been herself.
“Then let’s do this.”
And, as though she were actually falling, she could not hear Elias read words from the Bible over the rushing sound in her ears. Elias turned to Kit and said something to him, then paused. Then the man turned to her and spoke. Another part of her brain, one she was not immediately privy to, answered in her stead and it must have been the right response because Elias smiled and she felt Kit squeeze her hand.
Then the gale stopped in time for her to hear him say, “And you may now kiss the bride.”
She looked to Kit. He looked like a man about to face the gallows. After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, dry and passionless, most unlike the breathless fervor of his other kisses.
Sophia smiled gamely and accepted the well wishes of the crew as she was led down to the captain’s quarters where a hastily scrawled entry under the day’s date was written:
On this day, Elias Winston Nash solemnized the marriage of Sophia Maria Green (spinster) and Christopher John Hardacre (Captain)
Strange, she thought, as she scribbled her signature underneath Kit’s. Until now, she had no idea Kit had a middle name. Had he known hers? He must have done. It would have been on the passenger manifest.
Elias added his signature, sealing the contract. Such as it was.
Behind her in the officer’s mess, she heard the clink of glasses and the sound of bottles being opened, no doubt for a toast. In the meantime, Kit had pulled out a small casket from the cabinet. He unlocked it and pulled out a gold ring. It was wide and decorated with engraved flowers.
“There’s no need to do that,” she protested, but allowed him to take her hand anyway and slip the gold circlet onto the ring finger of her left hand. She looked at it and felt its unfamiliar weight.
“Yes, there is,” he said. “I robbed you of the wedding day I’m led to believe young girls dream of from infancy.”
Sophia shook her head. “I’ve never given it much thought,” she confessed, ashamed to acknowledge the truth of it. Yes, she’d dreamed of being married to Samuel, but it was only ever in the abstract. Not like this.
“Sophia, look at me… please.”
She drew in a deep breath and watched his fingers rub warmth into her hand where he held it.
“It will be all right, I promise.”
He’d misunderstood her reserve but she was too exhausted to correct him.
“The ring is yours to keep no matter what happens. Keep it to remember this mad folly or sell it if you ever have the need.”
“Thank you.”
Kit fixed her a wry smile.
“You were so eager to know everything about me and now you’re lost for words.”
She had no response and so did not give him any.
“Then let me take you home. Rest tonight. I’ll visit you tomorrow and satisfy that normally insatiable curiosity of yours.”