A Duke Like No Other (The Dukes' Club Book 12)

by Eva Devon

  He eyed her then down his aquiline nose, a single black brow arching with disdain. “You kidnapped me.”

  “It’s true,” Cleo admitted, giving her sister an apologetic grin. “We did. We abducted him. We thought we’d shake some sense into him, but it seems he didn’t actually need it.”

  Lock linked his broad arm around Calliope’s waist and gazed down at her adoringly. “Oh, I did, and I’m deeply grateful that you took me in hand, but it actually wasn’t you three who got me here.”

  Alexander and Adam shuffled their feet.

  It was amazing seeing such big, strong men act like schoolboy children.

  “No?” Cleo asked, dreading his answer. “What was it, then?”

  Lock smiled, the most carefree she’d ever seen him. “The Earl of Rutherford.”

  “Ah!” she bemoaned, crossing her arms over her loose black coat. “Don’t say it’s so. He’s already a puffed-up fellow who believes he knows everything.”

  “Well, he does know a great deal.” Lock laughed. “He’s the one who convinced me I needed to come here, not be dragged. Calliope never would have had me if I had been dragged.”

  Calliope gave him a wicked grin as he grabbed hold of a piece of rigging, and shook her head at the man she loved. “Well, the Earl of Rutherford is a very wise man because he’s absolutely correct. Had you been dragged here in irons to be with me, I would have thrown you overboard. Irons and all.”

  Lock laughed again. “Thank God, Rutherford helped me escape from your mad relatives.”

  “Oh, Lock, we’re all mad here,” Calliope teased, her own gaze full of love. “Including yourself.”

  Lock nodded. “I confess it. My family is full of absolutely mad-capped individuals. Now, what the devil are we going to do next?”

  Cleo stared from her sister to Lock, feeling her whole world change. All their lives, nothing had separated them, but suddenly, Cleo knew that was about to shift. Her heart clenched with dread, but she could not deny that this was what needed to happen for her sister.

  “Well,” Lock said, meeting Cleo’s gaze with a great deal of seriousness. “I think Calliope and I are going to sail the world. But, Cleo, this is your ship. Will you have me on it? I really can’t come without your permission.”

  Here it was. The moment in which everything would change. Fear stole through her, threatening to hold her in its grip. But she forced herself to draw in a deep breath and. . . smile.

  Cleo drew herself up and declared boldly, “Of course you’re welcome aboard The Wasp. But I’m not coming with you.”

  Calliope’s face paled as her sister’s words registered. She shook her head. “You can’t possibly mean it.”

  “Oh, I absolutely can,” Cleo returned with a wink. “I think you two need a bit of time together. That’s what young people in love are supposed to have. No, I think I would just be a thorn in your sides, a malaprop, a third wheel.”

  Calliope started to protest. “You could never be a—”

  “No,” Cleo cut in, lifting her hand to stop her sister. “It’s absolutely true. I must stay in London for a bit. I think it’s time I got some land legs.”

  “Besides,” Adam put in merrily. “She’s found herself a lover.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Calliope said, her blue eyes widening with mischief.

  “The two of you come to London to take it by storm,” Alexander declared. “Calliope, you found a husband, and who knows what will happen with Cleo?”

  “I shall not find a husband,” Cleo said quickly. “Unlike Calliope, I shall not be tempted to that particular fatal dance. I have no wish to make my own execution. Thank you very much.”

  Alexander laughed loudly, his head thrown back. “That’s what we all say before we’re sentenced, and then we find we quite actually like it.”

  “No,” Cleo gritted. “I shan’t hear it. No marriage for me. Look what happened to all of you. You’re all positively, perfectly tamed birds in your cages. I shall always be free.”

  “So you say,” Lock replied, so full of love he was all but aflame with it. “That’s what Calliope said. That’s what I said. But in the end, I think we all—”

  “No!” Cleo roared, tempted to cover her eyes but unwilling to behave as a total child. “I shall not hear it. Thank you very much. If I have to be the last bachelor standing.”

  “You can’t be a bachelor,” observed Adam. “You’re a woman.”

  She snorted. “Bachelor is a much more apt term for me than spinster. Spinster denotes someone put up on a shelf, that no one wants. I am a connoisseur of fine things, and I enjoy life.”

  Calliope wrapped her arms about Calliope and squeezed. “London is never going to know what to do with you, Cleo.”

  Cleo laughed and replied, “Oh, I’m counting upon it, but they like a rare bird in most cities, and so I think I’ll make them like me.”

  Calliope’s gaze was full of encouragement. “You’re going to try that, are you?”

  “Why not?” Cleo shrugged. “You’ve been successful at it in several places. I think I shall give it a go.”

  “I’m sure you shall be very successful,” Calliope replied with another tight hug, a hug which seemed to say so much now that they would soon part. “Just make sure you don’t stab anyone over dinner.”

  “Oh, I shall leave my knives at home,” Cleo promised dramatically to fight her tightening throat. “Hatpins will do nicely if necessary.”

  Calliope groaned against her shoulder. “Oh, dear. You really, truly are going to murder someone over the port one night.”

  “Well, at least I shall make a splash,” Cleo enthused, not wishing to ever let her sister go, but knowing she must. So, she pushed back and said with great cheer, “They’ll write ballads about me, and great stories.”

  Adam and Alexander both looked on with pained-but-accepting expressions.

  “You know we do business in this town,” Alexander said patiently.

  “This is going to be most interesting,” Adam added.

  “Yes,” Cleo declared, grinning. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  Chapter 8

  Cleo pulled on the long, extravagant painted silks she had purchased over her travels.

  They were still reflective of the current fashion of a Grecian style, but they were very long and flowed sumptuously. The many colored panels of ruby and amethyst were painted with golden flowers and interconnecting swirls like one might find on a mosaic in the Mediterranean.

  The golden belt was buckled just underneath her breasts, emphasizing how little material actually covered them, as was the fashion in Paris.

  She had adorned her hair with jewels and swept it up in a beautiful knot of curls.

  Large rubies dripped from her ears, and she bore more jewelry than any young lady she knew would dare to wear in public.

  Though she was foreign to this land, she was not foreign to the customs and rules of England. Her mother had ensured she and Calliope knew the way society worked. . . And then encouraged them to do the opposite.

  She knew that young ladies in London were seldom allowed to wear much jewelry at all. Only married women wore the truly grand stuff.

  But Cleo knew, most of all, if she tried to mirror any of the young ladies in London, she would be devoured. And she could never be anyone but herself.

  No, she had to go into this, declaring that she was something altogether different. She was Cleo Duke, adventurer, traveler of the world, marauder.

  No one was going to set her down.

  Not a chance in heaven or hell.

  Even if she was a hen, she was going to rule the roost when she strode in. She’d seen the way the upper classes devoured other people in courts all over the world. And Londoners? Her mother had made it clear they could be the worst. And she wasn’t about to let that happen to herself.

  Quite the contrary.

  As she pulled on her long, rich green cloak and readied to leave her quarters on The Wasp, she took one last look arou
nd. This was going to be her last night aboard ship. She’d already agreed with her brothers that she would be staying with Adam.

  All of her things had been packed into a trunk and already transported over to his townhouse. It was difficult to leave The Wasp, the only place she’d known as a home for years. Every now and again, she had lived in various villas and houses for a few weeks when her mother decided it was time to put into port for a brief period of time, but predominantly, she’d grown up aboard the ship.

  She’d loved it.

  Traveling from here to there, the salt always in her hair? What better life could there be? The wind had commanded her direction, and her whole world had been the wheel of the ship, the stars, and a compass to navigate the globe.

  Here in London, it would be an altogether different affair.

  But she would not need a compass.

  The towering buildings along the skyline would guide her.

  There would be no stars, for the sky was darkened by coal, and here, ladies were ruled with an iron fist. Whereas on board a ship, she was king and captain. Come what may, she was determined to enjoy herself.

  She would not stay in London with the risk of sorrow and hurt.

  She would quickly disabuse Rutherford of any notion of any kind of romance. This was to be a quick bit of passion, a delight, a foray into pleasure, and surely, a rake like he would enjoy the time with her and wish nothing else.

  Yes, it was the perfect thing to do. Cleo strode out of her quarters, skirts in hand, and closed the door firmly behind her. She hurried across the deck, careful not to hook her delicate gown on any of the ship’s perfectly organized paraphernalia.

  She did not allow herself a backwards glance at The Wasp at dock. Instead, she strode down the gangplank to the hackney coach she’d ordered.

  Any other time, she would have strode the streets of London herself, but she was no idiot. The mud alone would make such a thing impossible in her evening slippers. Besides, she would not go about with jewels and a gown. Even though she was quite capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much, and despite what she told her sister, she did have a dagger in her reticule.

  She was a lady who liked to be prepared.

  Though she loathed to give it its due, London was a marvel.

  Even she had to admit it as she traveled through the dark night, peering out the window of the coach.

  They headed out from the docks, taking the long road through The City and into the most exclusive areas of town. It took quite a long time, traveling through the choked streets, and she was glad that, soon, she would not have to do such thing in a hackney cab.

  Once she moved in with Adam, she would be living in the most popular and expensive area of London, and she’d be able to walk anywhere she wished on foot. But this night, she’d had to seek alternative transportation despite the fact that Adam had tried to convince her to go to the ball with him and his wife, Lady Beatrix.

  This? This was perfect. She would arrive on her own, a complete mystery, and all would be well.

  When the coach pulled up to the massive house on St. James’s Park, blazing bowls of light before the edifice, she gazed up at the Grecian columns, which were meant to mirror the Parthenon of Greece. She’d seen the ancient Greek building with her own eyes. Here, now, so far away from those warm golden shores, she wondered at this strange, cold climate so determined to mirror the classical creations of much warmer climes.

  Here, they sought enlightenment, and yet, the English had become a cold lot that did not like passion. They seemed completely different from the ancient Greeks, which inspired their way of life now.

  The English, as far as Cleo could tell from her interaction with them about the world, were cold fish. Maybe once upon a time, they’d been more romantic souls in the day of Chaucer and Shakespeare and Marlowe. But now, now, they valued reason. They valued philosophy. They valued stoicism.

  Oh, she might laugh in the face of a hurricane, but she would never try to pretend that it wasn’t there. The English, on the other hand, might try to pretend it was but a gentle rain.

  As she took the grand stairs up to the double doors, she was admitted into the foyer by a host of gaping footmen dressed in crimson and gold from head to toe.

  She whisked off her cloak and tossed it to the first footman she saw. The fellow, with his powdered wig, caught it quickly in a white-gloved hand. . . Just barely. She beamed at him before she headed up the red-carpeted staircase that curled around into the west wing of the house.

  Easily, pretending she was heading into unknown territory and was in need of her most confident self, she wove through the crowd. As the company caught sight of her, several nearly stumbled on their own gowns and immaculately clad feet.

  It was a remarkable thing to see a young lady alone, but she had no fits or foibles about it. In fact, she was already enjoying causing a bit of a stir.

  Over the years, she’d largely become accustomed to standing out wherever she went. When she spotted Adam and Alexander, both dressed in stunning but simple black evening dress, she did not run over to them but gave them a nod and slowly strode in their direction as if she was The Queen.

  They, lips twitching, waited patiently for her to cut across the room.

  Adam gave her an elaborate bow. “Darling Cleo, it is good to see you.”

  “You act as if you have not seen me just hours before,” she teased, taking his hand.

  “Well, my dear, we must make this look as if we are having an absolutely marvelous reunion,” he said grandly. “Don’t you think?”

  “If you insist,” she said, and she embraced him, giving him a kiss on each cheek.

  “Careful. Careful,” warned Adam gleefully. “You’ll make the English swoon. They do not do kisses, my dear.”

  “Do they not?” she scoffed. “How tragic for them, for kissing is one of the great pleasures in life.”

  Alexander coughed. “It is, dear girl, but they’re English.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The English, the English and all their rules. We Americans are just as bad, really. But the rest of the world, they do love a good show of emotion. Italians, for instance.”

  “Cleo,” Adam gritted, his lips twitching with amusement. “Do not mention the Italians. The English can’t stand them.”

  She laughed. “Oh dear. Already on the wrong foot, am I? I think I shall just have to keep hopping about. Now, where the devil is Rutherford? I think he’s avoiding me.”

  Adam nearly choked. “You can’t possibly mean it. He all but begged you to stay.”

  “It does seem to be true,” she sighed, wondering at the strangeness. “I can make no sense of it. Apparently, he must be quite threatened by my person, because I went to his house. He was not there, and he is not anywhere to be found.” She frowned, wondering if she’d been so terribly mistaken in the fellow. He’d seemed so. . . remarkable in that coaching inn. “Apparently, he no longer wishes to keep our wager.”

  But then, as she let her gaze wander across the room, she spotted him. He was intensely beautiful. Rutherford stood taller than most of the men in the ballroom, making it impossible to miss him.

  His russet hair shone in the candlelight, and his evening clothes were cut to perfection. They hugged his hard body like a lover.

  It was tempting to rush over to him and give him a pop on the shoulder, demanding to know what the devil he was up to.

  She almost did it just to shock him, but instead, she knew that would be the worst possible thing to do. Oh, no. He had been the one to wager that she would not be able to survive London, and so she was absolutely going to make certain he saw that she could.

  So, instead, she grinned and arched a brow, preparing a plan. “There he is. The prey. Do you think he knows it?”

  Alexander said, “I don’t think he realizes that you’re the wolf and he’s the lamb, if that is what you infer?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I think he knows,” she r
eplied. “He’s no fool.”

  “No, but he’s never known anyone quite like you,” said Adam, taking a glass of wine from a passing footman.

  “He knew Calliope.”

  “And Calliope is not like you,” pointed out Alexander as he smoothed a hand down the front of his black waistcoat. “Calliope is a kind-hearted soul.”

  “And I?” she queried with faux offense.

  “You? You’re dangerous,” declared Adam.

  Cleo beamed. “Why, thank you, dear brother. Isn’t it good fun?”

  Her brothers both groaned again. She found she quite enjoyed provoking their general dismay when both had lived so wildly.

  “This is going to be quite a night,” Alexander sighed.

  “I promise not to be too terrible,” she said, placing her hand on Alexander’s forearm. “I don’t wish to ruin your children’s lives for all eternity.”

  “Thank you,” Alexander said through gritted teeth.

  “Now, who shall I dance with?” she asked, looking back and forth at her brothers.

  Adam frowned. “Well, the Earl of Ellesmere is—”

  “Perfect,” she announced, not feeling too particular as long as the fellow wasn’t in his dotage. “He shall do splendidly. Introduce me.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Adam mocked lightly before taking her arm and leading her across the hall to a perfectly handsome. . . actually, exquisitely handsome young man, who looked far too nice for her own tastes.

  Adam began, “Ellesmere.”

  “Yes, yes,” Cleo cut in, finding herself ridiculously eager to begin. “So you insinuated, brother, as you led me over here. How do you do, my lord? I am—”

  Adam leaned in and whispered, “This is not how it’s done, Cleo.”

  The Earl of Ellesmere gazed at the two of them, clearly amused.

  “I don’t care how it’s done, Adam,” she replied honestly. “I’m not overly concerned about the rules of the ton. I’m above those sorts of things.”

  The Earl of Ellesmere’s eyes sparkled with astonishment and clear intrigue. “Are you, madam?”