To Catch a Rogue

by Amanda McCabe

  Cameron laughed. “Greece is hot. Dry, dusty. Yet there are bays of rugged coastline, which make the country seem half-land and half-sea. The sky and the sea are so brilliant a blue, sometimes turquoise, sometimes deep and mysterious, like a sapphire. The Greeks are attuned to nature, you know, in a way we aren’t. Or at least haven’t been since the days of that barrow up there. They people the mountains and woods and streams, the sky, even the salty breezes from the sea.”

  “Like the Muses in their groves, or Zeus from the peak of Olympus?”

  “Just so. The land is truly alive to them.”

  “And did it come alive for you?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Instead he sat up, swinging around to stare at the stream, his knees drawn up to his chest. Calliope sensed he didn’t see that satiny water, the cluster of their friends. Surely he was far from her, ensnared in hot, dusty Greece.

  “One of my mother’s favourite places was the island of Delos,” he said. “Her father, who was a great scholar, used to take her then when she was a girl, and she would tell me tales of it when I was a child. Great sagas of how Apollo and his twin Artemis were born there, of how, long before the golden age of Athens, the rise of Delphi, Delos held all the great riches of the land in its marble sanctuary. Gold, silver, gems. The necklace of Eriphyle, the tiller of Agamemnon.”

  Calliope leaned forward, fascinated by this sudden glimpse of Cameron’s soul, a solemn essence so often hidden behind his dazzling smile. “Did you go there?”

  “Of course. It was not the place of my mother’s tales, though. Like you, I grew up on stories of Greece as it was thousands of years ago. Marble pillars, great temples, the birth of freedom. It is not like that now, especially on Delos.”

  “Perhaps it is best I stay here, then! Preserve my illusions.”

  Cameron tossed her a grin. “I wondered that, too, when I first saw the dusty reality of modern Greece. And yet on Delos I found something I did not expect. Something—magical.”

  Calliope crept closer until she sat beside him, slowly, lest she break the spell the sunny day bestowed on them. “Tell me about it.”

  “You know the Homeric Ode to Delian Apollo?”

  “A bit. ‘How shall I receive the god, the proud one, the arrogant one who stands in the highest place, above all the gods and people of the teeming earth.’”

  “Yes. From Delos Apollo became the protector of human reason. He may have ruled from Delphi, but he was born and raised on Delos. Yet it seems such an unpromising place for such youthful gods. Tiny, barely three miles long and one mile wide, barren, with marshes and crags. I first went there in the early morning; it was so grey and misty as the boat drew near. The place had the look of an abandoned quarry, littered with broken stone among the wild barley grass.

  “Yet by noon the mist had cleared, the sun was out in full force. And I saw what my mother saw. The stones there are not the honey colour of the Parthenon, Calliope, but such a pure white it is almost silver. They glitter in the light, flashing off the water and marble. Never still. Alive in the hot silence where only lizards live.”

  Calliope could almost see it all. “Wasn’t Apollo a scourge of lizards, among his many other talents?”

  Cameron laughed. “So he was. He seems to have made peace with them, though. They dart among his sacred swans, as those stone birds peacefully circle their lost lake.”

  “The swans don’t sound very careful of the island’s treasures.”

  “They have no need to be. Artemis and her army of lionesses take care of that.”

  “Like our friend at the duke’s house? Greek cousins, perhaps?”

  “Indeed, I believe she must have been the ancestor of those Delian creatures. They are young, you see, hot for battle. Crouched and ready to spring. Once there were fourteen of them, they say; now there are only five, and one guards the Arsenal in Venice. But though they are fewer they are no less vicious. The swans happily circle their lake, while the lionesses guard.”

  “Yet they allowed you entrance.”

  “Perhaps they remembered my mother. Artemis was her favourite goddess.”

  Calliope remembered the Alabaster Goddess, poised with her bow, whispering of enemies. For an instant, she pictured her at the entrance to Delos, fierce and elegant, keeping intruders away from the circling swans sparkling silver-white in the intense sun. “How I would love to go there.”

  “One day you will, Calliope.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not fearless like you are. Not full of adventure.”

  He shot her an unfathomable glance. “No? I would think anyone who was determined to chase down a thief would have to possess a heart full of adventure.”

  “No. I just want to see justice done.” If she even knew any longer what justice was.

  Cameron just shrugged and reached for the picnic basket, rummaging about until he found the last of the lemon tarts. “I think you might surprise yourself, Calliope Chase.”

  He held out the tart, the bright yellow cream poised temptingly just beyond her lips. She bit into it, feeling the sharp burst of tart citrus on her tongue, echoing the sun overhead.

  How she liked this day, Calliope thought as she swallowed the lemony morsel and smiled at Cameron. She liked the sun and sky, the whisper of the water, the nearness of her dearest friends. She liked the strange, ancient magic of this land. She felt free here, far from the prying eyes of town, the shackles of her own practicality. It seemed a time out of time, a short span where she didn’t have to be herself. She could be whoever she wanted.

  She could even be someone adventurous. And it was Cameron who made her feel that. Believe it. Because he was so free, she could be, too, as long as she was with him.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, reaching up with his thumb to wipe away a trace of lemon on her chin.

  Calliope trembled at the brush of his skin, so rough on hers. “I was thinking what a very beautiful day it is.”

  He grinned at her, and leaned just a tiny bit closer. The dark glow of his eyes said he wanted to kiss her, and, despite the proximity of the others, she wanted him to. More than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

  But before their lips could touch, a shadow descended over his face as his glance flashed over her shoulder. Suddenly cold with disappointment, Calliope looked back—and froze.

  At the top of the slope that led down to their little sheltered valley was the Duke of Averton, mounted on a large black horse that snorted and pranced in place. With his long cloak and loose, bright hair, his expression intent as he stared down at their party, he reminded Calliope of an unhappy god. Hades, perhaps, breaking up a summer flower-picking party to snatch poor, unsuspecting Persephone.

  Calliope turned frantically towards Clio, surely the prospective Persephone. She hadn’t seen him, was examining a cluster of water plants with Thalia, laughing. It was surely the first time Calliope had heard her laugh for days, especially after her mysterious late night. Why did the duke have to come ruin things, as always?

  Beside her, Cameron rose to his feet, all of his warm lassitude vanished. Calliope closed the basket where the cheese knives were—just in case.

  In the end, though, there was no need to lock up weapons. The duke wheeled his horse around and galloped away, leaving only a ray of chalky sunlight in his place. Clio never even saw him.

  Calliope sat back on the blanket, suddenly limp with relief. Cameron, though, still stood next to her, stiff and alert. Combative as any creature of Artemis.

  “This can’t go on,” he muttered. “Not like this.”

  Clio had seen the duke. How could she avoid it, when the man insisted on appearing like some black wraith alighting on the hill? She didn’t betray her notice, though, just went on talking as if a cloud hadn’t just shadowed their lovely day.

  Why did he have to plague her so? Why did he always have to appear wherever she happened to be, watching, reminding.

  But she knew why. And she intended to be the vict
or in this particular game. There was simply no other way.

  After a few moments, that icy sensation at the back of her neck vanished, leaving only the kiss of the sun, and she knew he was gone. She stood up, stretching her back as she gazed at the now-empty ridge. He wouldn’t always be gone so easily, she knew that. And she wouldn’t always have a stone statue within reach, either. She had to watch herself, be far more careful than she had ever been before.

  Not just careful of the duke. She saw Calliope watching her, eyes narrowed in concern. Just as she had watched ever since the night of the masquerade ball. Not asking, not prying, for surely she knew Clio would never divulge all. Just watching. Had she been watching last night, too?

  Clio sighed. How she hated deceiving Calliope, of all people! She loved her sister dearly, despite Calliope’s managing tendencies, despite her need to make things right, even when that was clearly impossible. But it had to be done. Clio would never endanger Calliope, or any of her family.

  She had chosen this path. She was willing to risk its dangers. Her sisters had not. In fact, Calliope was surely one of the very dangers she feared!

  But no danger was greater than the Duke of Averton. He was like the hydra. Cut off one of his fearsome heads and another popped up in its place.

  Clio waved to Calliope and shot her a bright smile. There was no fighting the hydra today. The sun was too warm, the air too sweet, rich with the scents of crystal water and mossy earth. A rare day of peace and accord. It shouldn’t be squandered.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The village assembly rooms were surely not Almack’s, just as Lady Kenleigh had said. But then, Calliope had always found Almack’s vastly overrated—indifferent music, abysmal refreshments, and insipid conversation, not to mention arbitrary rules. Order was one thing; senseless silliness another.

  This building was the largest in the village, long and low, sturdy local grey stone with high windows shining with welcoming light. She could hear the faint, lively strains of a reel as they alighted from the carriage. Music and laughter, brightly clad figures darting behind the old, wavy glass, beckoning her to join in the fun.

  “At least we won’t see any dukes here,” Clio whispered, taking Calliope’s arm as they climbed the shallow stone steps.

  “We can always hope, anyway,” Calliope answered.

  “He does have the disconcerting habit of popping up wherever we are, lurking about behind trees and statues. I doubt he would want to bring such attention to himself by appearing at a village assembly, though.” Clio handed her shawl to an attendant, pausing to smooth her upswept hair, the skirts of her apple-green gown. “Don’t you think?”

  Calliope straightened her own attire, pale blue on white embroidered muslin, and hoped that Clio was correct. It would indeed create a great stir for his Grace to show up here, but Averton never did shrink from attention.

  And what of Clio’s mysterious midnight visitor? Would he be here?

  The main room was quite crowded, with the musicians, more enthusiastic than talented according to Thalia, playing away on a raised dais at one end. The dancers twirled and spun in the energetic reel, their feet tapping out a loud, staccato beat on the worn wooden floor. Refreshments were laid out on long tables under the windows, hearty sandwiches and pies, vast bowls of punch—very different from Almack’s, indeed.

  As they moved slowly through the thick crowd, Calliope carefully examined all the faces. A few of the men were tall, but not as much so as Clio’s visitor. They were mostly large, red-faced country squires, as well as one elderly vicar and an extremely young curate.

  She couldn’t picture any of them donning hats and cloaks to go sneaking around at midnight! Nor did Clio react to any of them in any fashion other than distant politeness.

  Calliope sighed as she took a seat near one of the windows. She was assuredly not cut out to be a sleuth! There was something below the surface, something just beyond reach, that she was missing.

  “So very serious this evening, Miss Chase,” Cameron commented lightly, dropping into the chair beside hers. “Do you not enjoy dancing?”

  Calliope smiled at him, glad of the distraction from her labyrinthine thoughts. “Of course I enjoy dancing.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember. Athena was very light on her feet at the masquerade ball.”

  “And her dance with Hermes was surely the only bright spot of that dismal evening!”

  “Well, we mustn’t let this event turn sour, too. May I have the honour of the next dance?”

  Calliope gazed out at the spinning dancers. They laughed and clapped, full of high spirits. “Perhaps later. Maybe we could walk for a bit? Take a turn about the room?”

  “Whatever milady likes.”

  They made their way around the crowded room slowly, greeting people politely. Cameron leaned close to her as they skirted around the dance floor and murmured, “I think I may have found out something. Can you meet me tonight? In the garden, perhaps, near the ha-ha?”

  Meet him? Calliope’s stomach gave an excited lurch, and for a second she was actually frightened. Not of Cameron—of her own feelings. She longed to run away, back to her safe old practicality. But then she remembered the waterfall, the Greek bandits, and she knew she could not.

  She just had to leap forward.

  She only had time to nod as they came to a group of their own friends, Lady Kenleigh and Emmeline, Calliope’s father and Lady Rushworth, and fell into conversation with them, an oasis of quiet familiarity. Cameron soon left them to procure glasses of punch, disappearing back into the crowd.

  Calliope nibbled at a sandwich, feeling her own spirits rise to meet the lively music, the chatter and colour. How very excited she was—a midnight meeting! She was surely becoming just like the adventurous ladies of Lotty’s books.

  She laughed as Lady Kenleigh told a story about Emmeline’s childhood, how she would play “antiquities hunting” with her brother by digging deep holes in the garden.

  “…they were certain they would find a buried city, like Pompeii,” she said. “The gardener was quite livid!”

  “That sounds like something you and your sisters would have done, Calliope,” Sir Walter said. “You were always so very—suggestible.”

  “I would prefer the word ‘imaginative’, Father,” Calliope protested. “‘Suggestible’ makes us sound like little automatons. You always taught us to think for ourselves, to apply what we learned.”

  “And you girls always took that very much to heart!” Sir Walter said, chuckling. “Gave your dear mother fits. D’you remember when Thalia—?”

  Sir Walter’s tale was interrupted when the assembly room doors opened, as if brushed aside by a giant, invisible hand. Everyone turned to see who arrived so late; even the music seemed to slow. It could only be one person, of course.

  “The Duke of Averton,” Lady Kenleigh murmured. “Whatever would he be doing at a village assembly?”

  Lady Rushworth lifted her lorgnette to peer at the new arrival. “And looking so positively restrained. For him, anyway. He always was such a peacock of a man.”

  “They say he keeps very much to himself at his castle,” Emmeline said.

  “Yet he deigns to come down among us peasants,” Clio murmured. “How curious. Should we all bow and curtsy, do you think? Pretend we are being presented at Court? Too bad I forgot my plumes and train.”

  Indeed, it seemed that the crowd was quite unsure of what to do with such a personage in their midst. The press of revellers had grown so that there was hardly room to walk through the throng around the dance floor. Someone had opened the windows, but it was still warm and stuffy, heavy with the scents of perfumes and silks, woollens, wilting flowers. The music had grown more raucous, the dancing faster and less organised.

  Now, it all seemed to slow, to grow muted and shadowed. The music did not cease—that would have been far too dramatic. But the focus of the room shifted, the lively conversation shading into whispers and murmurs.

  C
alliope turned towards the doorway, edging closer to Clio. The duke was looking rather restrained, just as Lady Rushworth said. No satin-lined cloaks or embroidered waistcoats, no leopard skins or chitons. He seemed a bit puritanical, even, in a black superfine coat and stark white cravat, simply tied and skewered with an antique cameo pin. His hair was tied back in an old-fashioned queue, and his face was serious but not haughty as he gazed out over the room.

  Calliope glanced at Clio from the corner of her eye, to find that her sister gazed back at the duke with her own air of solemn serenity. The candlelight glinted on her spectacles, hiding her eyes.

  Cameron was not yet back with their punch, and Calliope could not see him through the crowd.

  “I do believe he’s coming this way,” Lady Kenleigh said, straightening the gauzy shawl over her shoulders.

  Calliope’s gaze snapped forward again to see that he really was “coming this way”. The crowd parted for him, like an obedient little Red Sea. He nodded at the vicar and various other village worthies, but his progress was steady, his goal unmistakable.

  Calliope caught a fold of Clio’s green sash in her hand, as if that could hold her sister back if she really wanted to bolt or cause a scene. But it helped her feel connected to Clio in some way, anchored to the real world.

  Scenes were never Clio’s way, though. She watched the duke approach with a polite half-smile on her lips.

  “Good evening, Lady Kenleigh. Lady Rushworth, Lady Emmeline. Sir Walter. Miss Chase. Miss Clio,” he said, bowing his head to them. The shifting light caught on his brushed-back hair, turning it to burnished gold, like an antique mirror. “It is good to see you all. We have not met since Herr Mueller’s talk at the Antiquities Society, I believe.”

  He was really quite handsome, Calliope thought with some surprise. Too bad he was also so very—strange.

  “Good evening, your Grace,” Lady Kenleigh replied, ever the gracious hostess even when taken by surprise. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here tonight.”

  “I am hoping to spend more time at Averton Castle in the future, Lady Kenleigh, so I thought I should get to know my neighbours better. I trust you are enjoying your holiday?” His inquiry was addressed to everyone, but his gaze was on Clio. As they watched each other, Calliope had a vision of two lions circling each other on the Delian shore.