by Eva Devon
“Oh, I think you might be,” Tony teased.
“And why would you say that, Tony?” Lock growled in warning. “And be careful, I might just go ahead and gullet you this morning.”
“You could try, of course,” Tony said with a nonchalant shrug. “You’re a bit afraid because you like her just a bit.”
“I loathe her,” he countered firmly, swinging his blade in a wide arc.
Tony cocked his head to the side, assessing as he suggested, “Perhaps another part of you likes her. Not your brain, perhaps your eyes, perhaps your—”
“Cease!” Lock bellowed. “I am not entirely responsible, of course, for the reactions of my body to certain persons, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to act upon it, and it certainly doesn’t mean there’s any logic or reason to it. The human anatomy is a mystery, and man is driven by lust,” he all but thundered.
“So you do lust after her,” Tony said triumphantly.
“Possibly,” Lockhart admitted, and he hated the fact that he had to.
God, she was beautiful, and not just in any sort of typical English rose sort of way. Her blonde hair had been wild like a lion’s mane, curled and all in a large braid, hanging down her back underneath her tricorn hat. He loved the way her coat had hugged her frame, and her skirts had been thick and voluminous about her legs.
And those black boots.
My God, it gave him pause.
A woman like that would be able to go anywhere. There would be no delicate mincing about, she’d just go and get things done.
He had a deucedly funny feeling that if he wanted to go into the wilds of the world, she’d come with him, and what could they do in such places?
He doubted she would have any reticence about making love by a stream.
Suddenly, he frowned.
What the devil was he doing, thinking about making love by a stream with a woman like that? He shook his head.
Tony laughed. “I see. She has had quite an effect on you.”
“Well, she’s not the usual sort,” he defended. “So one mustn’t expect a usual reaction.”
Tony all but shook with amusement. “Yes, but, Lockhart, I’ve never seen you blush.”
“I was not blushing,” he said far too quickly.
“Of course not, old boy, of course not.” Tony cleared his throat and tried to appear serious.
He failed as his lips twitched.
“I’ve absolutely no interest in her,” Lock insisted.
“Never dared to suggest you did.”
“Yes, you did,” Lock returned.
“All right, so I did, but you know?” Tony gestured to him, up and down. “I can see that it upsets you.”
“It does not upset me,” protested Lock.
“Hmmmmm,” Tony murmured.
“I do not like your insinuation,” Lock declared.
Tony’s eyebrows rose. “Insinuation? What ever could I possibly be insinuating? I said not a word.”
“You did not need to, and you certainly meant to imply anew that she’s had some sort of effect upon me.”
Tony stared, opening his eyes wide and blinking innocently. “Has she not?”
“Of course not,” Lock ground out, even as he realized that he was about to head into the-lady-doth-protest-too-much land.
Whatever was he to do?
The truth was, she had had a profound effect upon him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her hours later, and yet here he was, about to fight with Tony in a practice duel and unable to push her from his thoughts.
“Let’s put it from our thoughts,” Lock said with forced cheer. “Come on, then. En garde.”
Tony grinned. “Anything you say. Anything you say. Happy to oblige.”
And Tony took up his dueling stance.
They each were excellent with the blade and had spent hours upon hours practicing, but Tony was a former adventurer cum marauder upon his father’s vessel. He’d learned to fight on sailing ships, whereas Lock had learned in military academies and from his brothers.
They had completely different fighting styles and so enjoyed the interaction immensely.
Very few could outdo them with a saber, rapier, or cutlass.
Of their generation, they were the best. The only people who could possibly outdo them were Lock’s older brothers or the Duke of Aton. He hated to admit it, but Alexander Duke wasn’t so very bad, either. But it was a very small group who held such skill.
They eyed each other carefully.
Their blades began to flash.
Lock advanced quickly.
Then Tony parried and thrust. Lock, twisted, turned, bent down to a knee, and quickly came up, attempting to get a touch upon Tony’s chest.
Tony laughed boldly and jumped out of the way. He then quickly lunged forward and managed to touch Lock’s thigh.
Lock let out a curse.
“Getting a bit slow, are we?” Tony waggled his brows. “Old age creeping in, or is it all that time away from our duties?”
Lock ground his teeth.
There was truth in that.
He’d been spending less and less time on the parade grounds. He didn’t care for parading at all.
It was such an unnecessary thing in his mind. He didn’t want to be a pretty toy soldier. He believed in fighting for his country, of course, but that endless drilling while wearing pretty uniforms did seem rather ridiculous.
“I practice a good deal, thank you very much,” he said without allowing himself to be provoked.
“Then it must be something else,” Tony taunted. “Perhaps a certain lady.”
Lock fought back a growl. “Now, you stop that, or else I’ll have to. . .”
“Have to what?” Tony challenged as he parried and thrust again.
Lock made a quick advance, his blade flashing. Just as they were about to clang again, his older brother Charles strode in. “My, my, two pretty young peacocks at it.”
“Hallo, Charles,” Lock drawled, pausing in his fight.
Generally, whenever Charles entered a room, everyone gave pause, for he was the owner of the club and also the most dangerous blade.
Lock didn’t fancy showing off for his older brother, and he preferred not to have Charles watching while he and Tony fought, because inevitably, he always felt as though he was trying to prove something, which of course, was silly.
One could not prove anything to Charles. Charles could not be impressed. No. Simple action was what was good to Charles.
Charles pulled down his own rapier from the wall of weaponry. “I see you two were practicing a bit, but not particularly effectively.”
“I told him,” Tony said.
Charles laughed. “Lock thinking of a lady, then?”
Lock threw up his arms, the sword in the air. “Why the devil does everyone keep insisting it’s a lady?”
“Everyone?” Tony pointed out. “Just myself and your estimable elder brother.”
“Ah, it must be true, then,” Charles said, “if you’re so sensitive about it.”
“I’m not sensitive,” he defended swiftly then wished he hadn’t.
Tony and Charles both gave him a knowing grin.
“Good God,” Lock rushed. “If this is what I have to listen to, all this nonsensical business about being fascinated by an American. . .”
“Oh, God. An American, is it?” Charles said with mock sympathy. “Well, that’s it. Lock’s done for. He might as well start pulling the wedding bells.”
“Don’t you dare insinuate such a thing,” said Lock, filling with horror. “I’ll not hear another word about it.”
And with that, Lock went back to the wall, put up his rapier, grabbed a linen towel, and headed toward the door. “Lock,” Tony called. “Lock, don’t. . .”
“No, no, dear boy,” Charles cut in quickly. “Let him go. Lock needs to think about his lady love.”
Lock let out a wild note of exasperation and said, “You two simply insist on this becaus
e you’re married men and you can’t wait to have another victim sacrificed at the altar of connubial imprisonment.”
“It’s bliss, I tell you. Pure bliss,” Charles said confidently.
“Give in now, I tell you.” Tony agreed.
“Absolutely, old man,” Charles continued, his dark hair almost blue in the fading light.
“The sooner you say yes to this American pirate lass, the happier you’ll be,” put in Tony.
“American pirate lass?” echoed Charles. “Oh dear. He really is in for it, isn’t he?”
“Oh, indubitably,” said Tony.
Lock rolled his eyes and strode through the arched doorway. There were better ways to spend his time than trying to hold his position to Tony and Charles. He’d never win. Yes, the best thing to do was to find his friend Ellesmere and have some gin.
Yes, gin was the best way to forget that woman, for nothing else seemed to work.
Chapter 4
“I am absolutely not going to a dinner party.”
“Cleo,” Calliope groaned, propping her booted foot on the chair beside her sister. “You must. I said that you would.”
“Well, you never should have,” Cleo said without mercy. “I loathe such events. I don’t particularly want to leave the ship at all. Besides, you know I hate wearing dresses.”
“Just for the one evening,” Calliope all but wheedled, something she only did with her sister.
“No.” Cleo placed her quill in its jar. “I absolutely will not. Besides, I have a great deal of work to do, many maps to pore over, ledgers to fill.”
“Oh, please, don’t proclaim so to me.” Calliope folded her arms over her chest. “I know you too well. You’re simply coming up with a list of things that need to be done so you won’t go. I know what you’re actually going to do. You’re going to sit in here and read the latest novel. I bet you’re going to read Tom Jones perhaps again for the tenth time.”
“Tom Jones is an excellent story,” Cleo insisted passionately.
“Yes,” seconded Calliope, rolling her eyes. “But it is about the very people you loathe.”
“Which is why I prefer to read about them than actually experience them,” Cleo returned, pulling a stack of papers towards her.
Calliope let out a, “Hmph,” then continued, “It would make me look very bad to our brothers, and it won’t look particularly good for our scheme.”
“Tell them that I will visit them soon for tea, and I’ll come in the back way through the servants’ entrance.” She shuddered. “And I am not putting on a gown, not for any of them.”
Calliope dropped her head back, exasperated. Her mother would have been proud. Her mother, an Irish woman, had absolutely loathed the English and did everything she could to ensure that she did not submit herself to the rules of society.
Thus Cleo and Calliope had been raised to be the exact opposite of what a good English debutante or young woman should be, which made coming to a place like London very tricky.
Sometimes it was also deuced tricky in other places.
Generally, they were happiest in cities like Paris, where almost anything went.
The salons there were quite wonderful.
Calliope had heard that there was a similar atmosphere in some of the salons of the demimonde of London, but that was also a bit tricky.
She wasn’t entirely sure she was going to throw herself in with that lot, but she might have no choice.
Not if she was going to have a bit of a good time while she was in London and if they were going to stay for any particular amount of time. Unlike Cleo, she couldn’t remain aboard ship the entire time if they were docked.
No. When at port, she had to go on land, just for a bit, to have a little taste of an adventure. She considered.
Captain Eversleigh was definitely going to be an adventure if she chose. He was such an odd man. So beautiful. Clearly articulate, clearly accomplished, and yet if it was true what Adam and Alexander had said, he was as laced-up tight as any young woman in a corset.
What would it be like to help him free himself of all those rules? It could be a great deal of fun, or at least, it could be a great deal of fun to see him dance about in irritation as she tried.
“What the devil are you thinking?” Cleo said. “You look. . . most absorbed.”
“Oh,” she said lightly. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“That’s not true,” Cleo protested. “I see it on your face. There’s some sort of plan in your head.”
“A plan?” Calliope exclaimed, intent on swiftly misdirecting her sister. “Never think of it! Besides, it shouldn’t bother you at all. You have absolutely no interest in what I’m going to be up to this evening.”
“I am interested if it’s going to cause any sort of trouble for us.” Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “Besides, we want to have a good relationship with our brothers when we leave here. We need their protection.”
“We want their protection.” Calliope tried to look firm. “We don’t absolutely need it.”
Cleo gave her a hard stare. “We do need it if we wish to have a relatively simple life.”
Calliope scoffed. “Who wants a simple life?”
“We do! In this, at any rate,” Cleo insisted. “One doesn’t really want to have to worry about the troubles that one can have on the high seas without any sort of protection. And you agreed, too, that the Duke family. . .”
“Yes, yes, I agree.” Calliope dropped her foot to the floor and propped her hands on her hips. “The Duke family is exceptionally powerful, and it would be foolish of us not to accept their protection on this level, but it does seem that Adam and Alexander wish to be friends with us.”
Calliope cocked her head to the side and added, “Do you think James and the young brother will come to town too, eventually?”
Cleo shook her head. “No. I’ve read several reports about them. Both are committed to life upon the high seas, engaging slavers.”
Calliope nodded approvingly.
It was a noble endeavor, even she had to admit.
She was proud of her brothers. She wished she weren’t. It would have been so much easier if they were dissipated young men, who gave no thought to anything except for gambling, drinking, and whoring.
But none of them seem to do that at all.
They all seemed to be quite—
Yes, it would have made things so much easier if she could’ve just flat out loathed her brothers like she loathed her father.
But it was impossible to do.
They were all rather charming in their own way, and not only were they charming, they were impossible just like she was, which made them have a certain affinity that couldn’t be ignored.
Whenever they all got together in the same room, which had only happened as many times as fingers she had on one hand, they got on splendidly. That was, after they insulted each other more times than anyone could possibly count.
She stared at Cleo, wishing that her sister could get over how terrible it had been for her mother when their father left them. But Cleo had been the closest to their mother and remembered the darkest days the best.
So she didn’t blame her sister and decided not to press any further.
She wouldn’t beg.
No, that’s not how they did things.
Cleo and Calliope never begged. They accepted and moved on. It was the only way to go about life. From the outside, perhaps, it looked as if they had grand bluster and lived life tempestuously.
But the truth was both she and Cleo liked facts, and they liked getting on with it.
So she gave her sister a quick hug and a peck on the cheek and said, “I suppose I shall just have to have two helpings of pudding.”
“Pudding,” Cleo grimaced. “What a ludicrous word for dessert.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Calliope said. But their mother had used the word too, being Irish. The English and Irish did share several words. But that was just about where similarities drew the
line. She headed back through the hallway, out onto the main deck, and caught sight of MacTavish.
“I’m going to be in town for the next few days,” she informed.
“You’re going to do what, lass?” he asked with his thick Scot’s burr.
“You heard, Mac. Town.”
MacTavish was the only person on board the ship who could call her lass. Everyone else called her Captain, or else they saw serious consequences.
Oh, no, she wasn’t one for the whip, but she and her sister knew how to use punishment aboard this ship. They would simply just deny leave, or extra rations of rum, and that usually put the men straight quickly.
Calliope grinned at the old sea dog. “My brother has invited me, and I think I’m going to actually take him up on the offer for once.”
MacTavish nodded his silver head, his weathered face pleased. “It’ll be good for you, lass, to get to know Adam and Alexander better. They’re good lads.”
She arched a brow, not entirely convinced even if she was inclined to think well of her brothers.
MacTavish had met the Duke lads more carefully before, and she trusted his opinion.
Still, it was difficult facing that their father had preferred a different family. A family with sons who were as brave and noble as anyone could hope.
She forced a smile. “I’ll do the best I can.”
“Grand,” he said, clapping his big hand upon her back as a man would do to another. “Now, don’t be slurping the soup.”
“Mac,” she said with mock horror. “You know I know how to eat just as well as anyone.”
MacTavish gave her a wink.
The truth was she had excellent manners when she chose to use them. She’d learned how to behave in the greatest salons of France and throughout the great houses of Asia and Europe.
But it was far more fun to be provoking than to be proper.
So she smiled anew at MacTavish. “Send my trunk up, but make sure you don’t send any of the proper gowns, will you?”
MacTavish laughed. “Ah, you’re asking me to sort your gowns, are you?”
She clapped him back on the shoulder, though she had to reach rather high. “Indeed, I am, because you have the best taste.”
And it was true.
MacTavish had chosen just about all of her clothes.