by Eva Devon
“Thank you,” Lock said. “I tolerate you, too.”
“Very kind,” Tony mocked. “Very kind. I know how difficult such a thing is for you.”
The barmaid came around the table, her bosom pressed against the tightly laced corset of her dress, her open linen chemise baring a good deal of her flesh.
Her blonde curls tumbled about her, and the mobcap, rather than being prudish, looked quite teasing and tempting upon her head. The skirts of her gown were thick and a beautiful maroon shade. A surprisingly clean apron decked the front.
She leaned in towards them, her bosom pressing invitingly together. “Right, then, gents. What will it be? A bit more gin? Pint of bitters? What can I get you?” She rocked forward and said easily, “Perhaps a little bit of a sit in your lap?”
“Ah, love,” Charles said kindly. “You are beauty walking this earth, but alas, two of us are taken, and it would not be possible for such a thing.”
She pouted. “Ah! Which two of you are taken, then?” She placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Are you taken, my lord, or is it the two young gentlemen over there who are caught up in the net?”
“I am taken, my dear.” Charles very gently dislodged her hand, gave it a pat, and guided it back to her tray. She paid no mind.
“As am I,” Tony added. “But the fellow here, in the red coat, well, he’s free as a bird.”
She turned to Lock, her eyes widening with surprise as she took in his frame. “Is it true, Captain? Are you free? One would have thought that you. . .”
“No,” he said with surprising speed. “I’m not free. Thank you very much. My heart is elsewhere.”
She pursed her lips. “Are you certain, Captain? I promise I’m a right good time for a little bit.”
He drew in a breath, admiring her for the way she survived and still managed to thrive in this life.
“I’m sure you’re a right good time, love,” Lock said softly. “If it were different, you would tempt me beyond imagining, but my mind and heart are not in that place.”
She gave him a saucy wink. “I’m sure that I could find a way to get your mind and heart and another part of you into that place very quickly,” she said. “I’m quite talented, if I don’t mind saying so meself.”
How did he explain he had no interest in a quick tumble?
He knew that his family, perhaps, thought it might be good for him just to have a bit of fun, but he didn’t want to have a bit of fun.
He didn’t even want to have a great deal of fun.
He just wanted to be left entirely alone. If he was alone, he’d be safe. He would not be swept up by emotion.
Perhaps he really should become a hermit and leave everyone alone and never go to another estate, bar, or tavern again. It would be the safest thing.
He gave her an honest but friendly smile. “Just gin, please.”
She pursed her lips then gave a nod. “Whatever suits your fancy, love, as long as you are drinking.”
He nodded.
She sauntered off again, and before they could even renew their conversation, she’d dashed back with a large bottle of gin to fill up their cups. And then she was off again, seeking new sport.
“You know,” Tony said, leaning forward onto his elbows as he poured out the gin. “Someone is going to snap up Captain Calliope.”
“What a strange name,” Charles said as he held out his cup.
“’tis a glorious name,” bit out Lock. “You know, the stars and all that.”
“The stars and all that,” Charles repeated with a quirk of his lips. “How absolutely eloquent of you, dear boy. I do think you must be in an absolutely befuddled state regarding her.”
“I’m not befuddled.” Lock frowned, wondering exactly how much gin he’d have to drink to forget her. For not even the scratching of the fiddle by the fire was driving her from his thoughts. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m staying far away from her. She’s far too tempting by half.”
“Well, you know the only thing to do with temptation, man,” Charles teased.
Lock gritted his teeth, having a good idea of the answer. “And what is that?”
“Give in to it,” Tony replied grandly.
“You used to lead a life of dissipation,” Lock retorted, “but you wouldn’t give in to temptation now.”
“Of course not,” Charles said, as if the very idea was insulting. “I love my wife. There’s no one who could possibly tempt me from her. She’s temptation in itself for me. Her mind, my God. It could make me dance all night long and sing the most glorious tunes. She is the stuff that stars are made of. I need nothing else.”
Tony nodded in agreement, his eyes positively dreamy. “Mine, too, if you must know. I don’t think I could ever be tempted to stray from her side. There’s not a single woman or thing in this life that could tempt me more than she could.”
“Balderdash!” Lock declared. “You are all a bunch of silly romantics. In a few years’ time, you’ll no longer proclaim them sparkling wits and shining beauties. You’ll—”
“Don’t you dare disparage my wife,” Charles cut in. And he added with great passion, “I don’t care if she gains a stone and suddenly has more wrinkles than a Basset Hound. I’ll love her beyond all things because she is the most marvelous of women. And no doubt when I’m in my dotage and absolutely impossible, she’ll do the same for me.”
Tony laughed, lifting his gin glass. “Hear, hear. My sentiments exactly.”
After a long moment, Tony cocked his head to the side. “You do know, of course, who your mother invited down to the country?”
“Everyone,” Lock said, as he swallowed back a cup of gin, now no longer able to taste its sharp flavor. “Remember? Everyone.”
“You think just family and friends, don’t you?” Tony’s eyes flashed. “But perhaps a few others too.”
Lock tensed. “What do you mean? Clarify yourself, if you please.”
“James Concorde, Marquis of Rutherford.”
Lock sputtered on his gin. “I beg your pardon?”
Rutherford? Bloody Rutherford?
Tony blinked innocently. “You heard me.”
Rutherford was one of the most notorious rakes in all of London.
He was charming, smooth, and everyone adored him.
He was the sparkling jewel of most of society, and the ladies couldn’t wait to get their hands on him. He was the sort of fellow that when he walked into the room, half the company swooned.
And not just the ladies; the men adored him too.
Lock ground his teeth until he was fairly certain they were dust.
Rutherford was the opposite of himself in every way, shape, or form.
He was gregarious, fun-loving, and never appeared to judge anyone.
No, he was a jolly old soul.
A good deal like Aston actually, without the sardonic edge.
No, Rutherford seemed to just enjoy life as it was and take a great deal of good fun in it.
Lock’s hand tightened about the glass. If Rutherford went down to the country and met Calliope, well, there would only be one result, wouldn’t there?
The two of them would. . .
His hand tightened about his cup again.
For perhaps the tenth time that night, he lifted the glass up and drank the thing to its dregs, not caring that this fresh bottle of gin burned like acid down to his gullet.
What the bloody hell was he going to have to do to get the image of Rutherford’s lips on Calliope’s, of his hands on her, out of his head?
Rutherford!
“Oh, I do think the lad is turning as red as his coat,” said Charles. “Brother mine, I adore you, but I’m about to pop you one for your foolishness.”
“Oh, please, please do,” Lock groaned as he plunged a hand through his hair.
“Shall we have a bit of fisticuffs, then?” Charles asked, his eyes sparking provocatively. “I always do enjoy a good bruising, and Patience doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind
a bit of rough.”
Tony lifted his glass in salute. “Patience is an amazing creature.”
“That, she is,” Charles agreed. “I was a lucky man the day I gambled and won her estate.”
“It doesn’t matter if Rutherford is going down there,” Lock suddenly cut in, knowing both Tony and his brother were trying to incite him. “They’re independent souls. I’m sure they shall have a grand time together.”
Tony nodded seriously. “Of course, old boy. You should have no feelings about it at all. I’m sure that Captain Calliope and Rutherford will have a splendid time together.”
Lock’s jaw tensed. A muscle tightened so hard he was certain he might not be able to speak again.
No, he wouldn’t let it bother him, not a jot.
They could do whatever they pleased, and he would think nothing of it.
“You know,” Tony said casually. “I’m going down there first thing in the morning.”
“As am I,” Charles replied jovially. “Perhaps we should ride together.”
Tony banged the rough table. “I think that could be absolutely splendid.”
“Done, then,” Charles said firmly as he began to stand. “We’ll wave our dear friend, my brother, here, off to his barracks, and we shall scamper down to the country and have a merry old time on the estate.”
“Absolutely agreed,” Tony said, joining Charles. He smoothed down his waistcoat. “Lock has far too many duties here to be concerned with the country anyway. It’ll be grand people watching, seeing Rutherford and Calliope get on. Surely, Rutherford’s a match for someone like her.”
Tony plunked several coins down on the table. “It’ll take a strong man to pair that one.”
Lock snorted.
A strong man, indeed.
Rutherford was strong, it was true.
And Calliope would no doubt like him, but surely, she needed someone a bit more serious, a bit more interesting, who wasn’t simply a happy, smiling ponce.
Someone like, well. . .
No, he wasn’t going to think it.
Absolutely not.
He was going to drown himself in the last of the gin, go to bed, and that would be the end of it.
He wouldn’t think another thought about going down to the country himself and ensuring that Calliope chose. . .
No, he’d made himself quite clear before. He wasn’t going to go back on his decision. He was going to hold tight and do exactly what he needed to. Holding fast had always gotten him through.
And that was the end to it.
Chapter 12
Calliope Duke longed to enjoy herself, but found she could not.
It was the most upsetting thing, for the company was charming.
Everyone was kind.
Everyone wished her to have a marvelous time, and she was certain she was convincing everyone that she was absolutely enjoying herself.
In the evening, she danced every dance when the Axminster carpet was rolled back and when Aston played the piano.
She played every game of cards she was offered. She chattered away happily, discussed all the latest novels, and drank brandy and champagne with the best of them.
It was a merry time had by all, and she quite enjoyed the many walks out into the countryside.
But she couldn’t help feeling like a child who was about to have a toy snatched from her. She knew that feeling. It had always been on the edge of her enjoyment her entire life. She hated to admit it, but it was the truth.
Ever since that day when her father had walked out of her mother’s room, gave her one look, and said, “Goodbye, girl,” and then not come back, she’d known.
She’d known that nothing was permanent and that joy did not last. And so, near this family who loved each other so well, it was very difficult to allow herself to give in to the pleasure of the moment.
She usually prided herself on her ability to seize the moment, but the truth was she’d never enjoyed herself so thoroughly as with her brothers and their new extended family.
She liked them all so well.
This wasn’t like her usual experiences where half of her was enjoying irritating everyone or showing herself off.
No, this was different because she knew that they liked her for herself, and she liked them too. Oh God, how difficult to just simply be free. But that was the truth. Freedom was no easy thing.
So, as she walked across the dance floor, the Marquis of Rutherford behind her, powerfully keeping pace, she thought surely it would be pleasant to lose herself in this moment, to dance with an absolutely beautiful and capable man, and then to give in to him.
For surely, that’s what she’d come here for: for a lovely amour.
And she knew that Lady Hyacinth, the Dowager Duchess of Hunt, wished her to have a good time, but she was also watching Lady Hyacinth watch them.
Deep down, Calliope knew, somewhere, that Lady Hyacinth was hoping Calliope would not be attracted to Rutherford.
But such a thing hardly seemed possible.
The Marquis of Rutherford was a beautiful man, absolutely stunning. He had a delicious turn of phrase and knew how to flatter without sounding foolish.
But the truth was she had no desire to bed him.
As Rutherford took her hand in his strong one and began to lead her about in a waltz, she thought to herself that he was too perfect.
Such perfection couldn’t be worn every day.
No, it might be put upon for a few days or a few weeks, and she’d enjoy it very much. But such lordly perfection was the sort of stuff that grew wearing in the end.
No, she longed for a rough bit of a man, someone with a square jaw, a glint in the eye, someone who would give as good as he got and who might be a rumpled bit of cloth occasionally. Someone whose rigidity was his imperfection.
Rutherford, clearly, always knew exactly what to say and do.
Yes, a less perfect man was for her.
Calliope didn’t wish to contemplate whom that might be at present. So instead, she allowed herself to be turned about the room, as ladies did.
She had always thought it to be rather unfair, the fact that ladies had to follow another person’s lead, but she also knew it was the unwritten rule of dancing; that if she did not wish to follow, she did not have to.
Therefore, when the gentleman invited, he had better do it with politeness and not rudeness. Otherwise, she was fully allowed to turn on her heel and give him the heave-ho.
Rutherford had a firm hand and knew how to lead her on the floor. She admitted that. And he did not make her feel as if she was about to be overtaken. Still, she wished there was a bit more excitement.
She needed that excitement to distract herself from the melancholy that was creeping into her, that knowledge that she would never have a family like this one, or day-to-day friends like these, either.
Her life was a migratory one.
She would always have such people snatched from her as she went from port to port. She and Cleo had avoided deep friendships so that they would never have to risk losing such friends. . . After all, she’d been abandoned before. She did not wish to risk it with friends or family now.
Oh, yes, she’d learned when small the agonizing pain of losing. And a voice whispered deep inside her that, ultimately, it was her fault. . . Something about her was not worthy of keeping such love.
She shook her head, trying to clear away the painful memories.
“You seem a thousand miles away,” Rutherford commented, his voice as rich and deep as the sea.
“No,” she replied quickly. “Forgive me. Dark thoughts occasionally plague me.”
“Then, I must do whatever I can to lighten them,” he said kindly.
It sounded odd, but she wished he wouldn’t.
Sometimes one needed to have a dark thought or two to alleviate the gloom of one’s head. But she did find that, generally, people wished to banish all but happy expressions.
She usually didn’t mention her occasion
al low spirits, but she’d let her guard down just now, and the words had slipped out.
“That’s quite all right, Rutherford,” she assured. “I am most happy, dancing about the room with you. This is the most pleasant song, the dance is lovely, and so is my company.”
“You think my company is lovely?” Rutherford queried, smiling broadly.
“Oh dear. Are you in need of more masculine compliments?” she asked warily.
He chortled. “No. My masculinity is quite confident enough without needing to be complimented in a masculine style.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said honestly, enjoying the way he easily arced her about the room. “I should be sad if it were otherwise. Gentlemen used to have such a flair for emotion. Now they seem to be insulted if the slightest insinuation is made that they have feelings.”
“Oh, I feel, my dear,” he said softly, his head angled down ever so slightly, which caused his russet hair to tease along his brow. “I promise I am no stoic fool.”
She laughed. “No need to convince me of that point,” she said. “You may simply be yourself.”
Rutherford blinked at that, and his step hesitated ever so slightly. Suddenly, she wondered, was he being himself now?
He seemed so at ease, so natural, and yet, she wondered.
Calliope tilted her head to the side, peering up at him. “Do you truly wish to seduce me?”
He tripped.
“Oh, was I too frank?” she asked.
He coughed. “No, no, not at all. This is, of course, an Eversleigh household, and people do behave as they wish in those.”
Assured, she continued, “So, do you? Or—”
“I was considering asking if you might like me to visit you later,” he rushed with surprising confidence, his hand pressing into her back. “But I also like you quite well, and perhaps we should consider—”
“Consider what?” she asked, her stomach tightening with apprehension.
His brow furrowed, then he burst out, “Well, something more serious.”
“You’re not going to ask me to marry you, are you?” she blurted.
He flushed.