Calliope tightened her grasp on Clio’s sash, and said, “Indeed we are, your Grace. The landscape here is most intriguing. We took a walk to the falls a few days ago.”
“And did you see the secret grotto?” the duke asked. “There are many fascinating tales of the water spirits who live there.”
Water spirits like poor, trapped Daphne? Calliope wondered. Up close, she could see the red scar on his forehead, where his own fleeing Daphne had bashed him.
She also saw something else. The carving on his cameo pin was a tiny scroll. The symbol of Clio, Muse of History.
“Alas, most of us can’t swim,” Emmeline said brightly, cracking the tense mood. “We can only imagine the glories of the hidden grotto.”
“Perhaps that is for the best, Lady Emmeline,” the duke said. “It is probably just a cold, rocky cave.”
“Or a place of hidden wonders,” Clio said softly. “Which some fairy king wants to keep all to himself.”
“Then it would be unfortunate for the fairy king that some of us mere mortals do know how to swim,” the duke answered.
Lady Kenleigh, as if sensing the tension growing back, said quickly, “Have you had much time to explore the local landscape yourself, your Grace? The Roman fort, or some of the ancient barrows?”
“Not as of yet, Lady Kenleigh. I hope to remedy that very soon. And, in the service of getting to know my neighbours, I am having a small dinner party the day after tomorrow. I know it is shockingly short notice, but I hope you will all be able to attend. Your entire party, of course, Lady Kenleigh.”
Lady Kenleigh and Lady Rushworth exchanged surprised glances. “Of course, your Grace,” Lady Kenleigh said. “We have no fixed engagements. We would be honoured to attend.”
“Excellent! I will see you then.”
With one last bow, the duke strolled away, vanishing into the crowd.
“My goodness,” Lady Kenleigh said weakly. “A dinner invitation to Averton Castle.”
“Shall wonders never cease,” Lady Rushworth answered. “Come, Sir Walter, I think I need to find some good, strong wine after such a shock to the system.” She took his arm and they ambled off, chattering happily about the possible treasures to be seen at the duke’s castle, and looking not in the least “shocked”.
Clio, though, was rather pale. She tugged her sash free of Calliope’s clasp and snapped open her fan, ruffling her hair with a stiff breeze.
“I wonder if we’ll see the Alabaster Goddess,” Emmeline said. “They do say she is hidden away somewhere in those medieval passages!”
“It would not be worth going if we didn’t see her,” Clio said. “Along with whatever else he might have locked up in that fortress. Mummies, perhaps? Cursed jewels?”
Emmeline laughed. “Don’t say that to Lotty! She will imagine mummies rising up out of their coffins at night and going lurching about in dark corridors, putting curses on all who dared invade their tombs.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did resort to curses, finding themselves in the clutches of the duke,” Clio said. “Ah, look, Emmeline, there is your handsome brother. I do believe I promised him the next dance.”
Clio shut her fan and hurried over to Emmeline’s brother, taking his arm to usher him into the forming set. Emmeline, too, set off to dance with Mr Smithson, leaving Calliope standing by herself.
Where on earth was Cameron?
Cameron made his slow way through the thick crowd, balancing delicate glasses of punch. The line at the refreshment tables had been quite lengthy, the punch and cakes growing sparse under the increasing demand. At last he claimed his prize and turned back to Calliope and their friends, only to be brought up short by the Duke of Averton.
So that was what the commotion at the door had been. Cameron should have guessed.
The duke stood directly in his path, a sombre statue in black and white. Those flat green eyes gave nothing away—no thoughts or memories, no anger or remorse.
Cameron felt himself go cold in response, an icy chill spreading to his very heart. His fists tightened on the glasses. It was a good thing he held them, solid impediments that prevented him from starting a brawl in the middle of a genteel assembly.
“Averton,” he said coldly.
“Westwood,” the duke answered quietly. “I am glad to see you here. I never had a chance to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“I was told you were the one who found me in my gallery, who summoned help.”
Cameron nodded curtly. “I was.”
“I’m grateful. You could have easily left me there.”
“Abandoning wounded creatures is not my way.”
A small, ironic smile touched the duke’s serious expression. “What? The ‘Greek god’ is not given to careless cruelty?” He touched the side of his slightly crooked nose.
“Unlike some.”
“Hmm. Well, whatever your motives, I’m grateful. My blasted carelessness! When I am near my antiquities I don’t notice anything else.”
“You needn’t pretend, Averton. I know what happened. I know you were not alone in that gallery.”
The duke’s only reaction was a muscle that twitched along his jaw. His gaze shifted to the dance floor, where Clio promenaded with the Kenleighs’ son. “Ah, yes. Our beauteous Muse of History, who has a temper to equal her loveliness.”
“If you come near her again…” Cameron growled.
“So very protective, Westwood. But then they do say you cherish a tendre for the elder Muse. Perhaps you seek to impress her with your threats.”
“It is no threat. Merely a warning.”
“I remember your ‘warnings’ very well. In this case, they are quite unwarranted. I wish Miss Clio no harm; quite the contrary. You and I have no need to be enemies.”
Averton gave him a nod and walked away. Cameron swallowed his cold anger, burying it deep in that ice, and went on his interrupted way.
No need to be enemies? Au contraire.
“What did the duke say to you?” Calliope asked when he reached her side, taking one of the glasses from him.
“Nothing of any consequence.”
“Did he invite you to his dinner party?”
“No. Does the blasted man have parties? That seems far too normal a pastime.”
“Very true. But you are invited to one. He has asked the whole house party. For some unfathomable reason, it seems he is newly determined to be sociable.”
Cameron gave a derisive snort. “I doubt he’d want me in his precious castle.”
“Perhaps not, but you have to come anyway. It may be our last chance to see the Alabaster Goddess.”
“Or to corner a thief?”
Calliope frowned. “I’m not sure. Could the Lily Thief have followed us from town? Or be one of our own party after all?”
“Your friend Miss Price, perhaps.”
“Lotty? She could assuredly think up such a dramatic scheme, but carrying it out would be something entirely different.”
“The duke himself, then.”
“I would like that. He is already a villain. Why not add one more black mark? But why would he? He has the Alabaster Goddess already.”
Cameron shook his head. “I can’t help but feel it has everything to do with that list. Why would he have it?”
“And hidden away like that.” Calliope sipped at her punch. “Perhaps all will be revealed at the party!”
Chapter Nineteen
“Ouch!” Calliope gasped, as her elbow connected with the wall. Cradling the throbbing arm close to her side, she hurried down the narrow back staircase, holding her breath lest anyone hear her. At last she tumbled out into the midnight air, drawing the hood of her cloak up over her head.
She was glad of the aching elbow, though. It distracted her from her nagging doubts.
“What am I doing here?” she muttered, as she hurried across the garden. Shivering in the wind, running off to meet Cameron, like…
Like Clio and her m
ysterious night-time visitor.
This was not much like her, throwing caution to the winds, running off to meet a man in secret. But maybe that was the point. She no longer really felt like herself, like sensible Calliope. Not since she came to this place, felt its strange magic. Something new and frightening possessed her, and she just wanted to see him. Be close to him.
And here she was, slipping out of the house all alone. She laughed aloud at the deliciousness of it all! No wonder Thalia was so addicted to wild behaviour. It was wonderful.
But she was early to her rendezvous. Cameron was nowhere to be seen yet, and she was alone with the ancient ghosts. With the pile of old stones that led to those nonexistent stairs.
Calliope drifted towards them, as towards an anchor in the wide sea of the night. They were still an oddity, so out of place in the neat bit of garden. She wondered that no one had dismantled them and carried the stones away for a wall or cottage. Perhaps this spot had some mysterious significance and therefore none dared touch it? A curse or spell?
Calliope tiptoed closer, her nervousness about meeting Cameron concealed by sudden curiosity. Yes, the stones were different from before. She was sure none had been loose when she and her sisters examined them when they arrived at the Abbey. She cautiously nudged one with the toe of her half-boot, but couldn’t shift it.
She glanced back, making sure Cameron wasn’t near, before she leaned over the low wall, peering down into what had been only a shallow pit and a couple of steps cut into the dirt. Though it was dark, lit only by the bright silver moon, it didn’t seem so shallow now. The shadows extended on and on, like a corridor stretching away into the earth itself. She remembered her dream, a strange new world.
Calliope took a deep breath of the cold, peaty air. What was all this? Someone had surely been here since she last saw the stones, someone who had uncovered and opened an old trapdoor. Clio and her visitor? But why?
The gardens of Kenleigh Abbey were an absurdly busy place.
Calliope edged closer, taking a tentative step down into the pit. The dirt was spongey under her feet, but firm enough. She took another step and another, deeper into the shadows, hardly daring even to breathe…
“Well, and there you are, Miss Chase! Running away from our appointment?”
“Ack!” Calliope shrieked, her heart flying into her throat at the sudden sound. She lost her balance, sliding down on her backside and slipping down another step.
Gasping, she stared up to see Cameron staring down at her, outlined and shadowed by the moonlight so that he seemed an apparition. “Blast it, Cameron!” she cried, frightened into cursing. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry, Calliope. I thought you were expecting me,” he said, scrambling down to her side. His boots knocked some pebbles loose, sending them skittering down into the abyss. “Are you all right?”
“Everything but my dignity,” she muttered. She took his proffered hand and let him lift her to her feet. Their heads barely reached the top of the stairwell, and they were pressed close. Calliope clung to him, sure they balanced alone on the edge of a cold precipice—just like her dream.
“No bruises?” he asked gently.
“Not yet.”
“I’m fairly sure I asked you to meet me near the ha-ha, not in a giant’s grave,” he teased.
“A grave!” she yelped. She hadn’t thought of that. Could there really be bones under their feet?
“Not literally, I think. Still, these steps must lead somewhere. They do appear to go down a long way.”
“That’s the odd thing,” Calliope said. “When my sisters and I first saw it, there seemed to be only one or two steps. Then just dirt.”
He peered up at the opening above their heads. “It must have been blocked up.”
“Why open it now? What is it?” If not a grave.
“If we knew that, my dear Calliope, I’m sure all our questions would be answered. But then, sadly, we would have no need for secret meetings!” His hand tightened on hers, and he led her back up into the night air. “We’ll have to come back when there is more light.”
Calliope held on to his hand, feeling the warm safety of him envelop her until all the ghosts vanished and they were all there was in the darkness. As he drew her closer to him, his hands around her waist, she felt that excitement grow and expand, tingling and irresistible, like life itself.
She didn’t want to let it go, ever. She didn’t want to lose this fragile, beautiful spell.
She smiled up at him, winding her arms tightly about his neck so he could not fly away from her. His hair, too long, too curling, was like warm satin against her skin, his body so warm and solid and delicious against hers. How she yearned to stay here in his embrace all night—for ever! To kiss him, feel him, and forget about thieves and ghosts and families and everything.
“How beautiful you are, Cameron,” she whispered.
His eyes widened in surprise, but before he could answer, she went up on tiptoe to kiss him, pressing one swift caress to his lips, then another and another, teasing him until he groaned and pulled her even closer, until there was not even a breath between them. He groaned, deepening the kiss, his tongue seeking hers, and she was lost in him. Of her need to be just this close to him, always, taste him, smell him, draw all he was into her until he was hers.
It wasn’t like their first kiss, soft and tentative as they learned the taste of each other. It was fast and hungry, filled with the yearnings of their time together, the drive to be close and know that this was real.
Calliope didn’t question herself, for once in her life. She didn’t know what all this fury of emotion meant; she only knew she had to be close to him. The muse united with the god.
Cameron drew back slowly, pressing tiny, fleeting kisses to her cheek, her jaw, the sensitive spot behind her ear. She trembled at the warm rush of his breath.
Calliope laughed, shivering, clinging to him as if she would never let go.
“Oh, Calliope,” he groaned, resting his forehead against her hair. “We can’t go on like this!”
She nodded, pressing her face to the curve of his neck, inhaling deeply the salty, heady scent of his skin. Yes—she saw now. This was the true thing she always sought, the eternal beauty. And she knew what she had to do.
She had to let go of her old self entirely, of her old inhibitions and fears. She had to be reborn—with Cameron.
She had to be bold.
“Come with me,” she whispered. She clasped his hand in hers, leading him across the darkened garden, beyond the secret stairs. Her steps were shaky, weak with the force of their kiss, with what she was about to do. She could feel his puzzlement, yet he followed her without a word. Trust was one of the things they would have to find together.
She led him into the stand of trees, along a narrow, overgrown pathway until she found a small clearing, a ragged, enclosed circle. In the centre was an old ash pit, pale grey in the moonlight. A magical fairy circle, the perfect spot.
“Calliope…” he began, his voice hoarse.
“Shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. Words would only shatter the spell. She was done with words, with worry and thought and always being proper. “Just follow me.”
She stepped back from him to unfasten her cloak, letting it pool around her feet. As he watched her, his eyes narrowed, she drew down the deep, low neckline of her gown, revealing the curve of her bosom, the line of her pale shoulders. Calliope swallowed past a dry lump in her throat. What if she was doing this wrong? What if she wasn’t pretty enough? What if…
No! She shoved away the fear. This was right. This was what she needed to do, to free herself—free them.
She pulled the pins from her hair, shaking the black curls free over her bare shoulders.
“You see, Cameron,” she said, cursing the girlish tremor in her voice. She was trying to be seductive! “Surely I can be Aphrodite as well as Athena.” She reached out and took his hand, urging him closer.
“
Calliope!” he moaned. She felt his muscles tense, resisting her. “What are you thinking?”
“Please, Cameron.” She shook her head, her hair spilling down her back so he could see her breasts in the moonlight. If only they were bigger! “It has to be here, now, in this place.” She pressed against him, kissing his cheek, his neck, his jawline. His breath sucked in on a hiss. Ah-ha! She was getting somewhere.
“I want you, Cam,” she whispered. “Don’t you want me?”
“Of course I do, my beautiful Calliope. But…” His words were swallowed in her kiss, her lips soft and open on his, not to be denied. With a deep moan, he gave in, his touch seeking the bare skin of her shoulders.
It was as if Aphrodite did take over her soul, Calliope thought as she boldly untied his cravat, dropping it to the ground at their feet. The goddess guided her hands as she pushed his shirt away from his muscled chest, her mouth as she kissed the damp hollow of his throat, the curve of his shoulder. How smooth his skin was, hot under her caress. The feverish warmth seeped into her own soul, and she knew only him.
This was right.
Twined together, they fell to her cloak, the trees whirling dizzily over her head. Calliope landed on top, tossing away his shirt. He was exquisite, she thought in breathless awe. More glorious than any ancient statue, for he was alive, his skin glowing, vibrant with breath and desire and strength. Her trembling touch traced the light, coarse hair of his chest, the thin line that led tantalisingly to the band of his breeches. His stomach muscles tightened, his breath uneven as her touch brushed the tight press of fabric just below that line.
“Calliope,” he gasped. “Be careful. If you are not sure…”
“I am Aphrodite, remember? I wouldn’t be here if I was not sure.” Exhilarated, bold, scared, she awkwardly opened his breeches and tugged them down over his lean hips. “Oh!” she whispered.
To Catch a Rogue Page 18