by Eva Devon
Calliope started weaving her way through the thick company of people, and despite her long-held inclinations, she found that she liked it.
Like all truly great shipping cities, there was a vast swath of all sorts of people. People from Asia, people from Arabia, people from Africa, the Caribbean.
The widely varied amount of colored clothing and people before her bolstered her.
It was not some great homogeneous lump of boring sameness.
No, it was full of the vitality of life.
She breathed it in and noticed that the smell, also like many great cities, was rank. It smelled of sweat, smelled of other human fluids, and held the accompanying odor of stale water and mud.
She strode on, tempted to grab a hackney cab, but quickly denied that idea. She’d rather be on the ground, looking at the city. She turned about, knowing that if she went in the direction of one of the church spires, she’d be able to find her destination easily.
Cities were wonderful that way, and she could negotiate her way across any great water.
Cities were simple.
Stars were sometimes hard, especially when one could not see them when they were covered with clouds. Still, she’d choose stars any day.
She spotted the great dome of St. Paul’s and gave herself a nod, brushed down her coat, and headed into the thick, but now often-suited, array of people.
From wild sailors, she now found herself surrounded by frantic-looking businessmen and the urchins who cleaned the street before them so that they might not become mussed by the thick mud.
Soon, Calliope realized that she was heading into the oldest part of the city. She wove her way past the Tower of London, and that was a marvel.
She allowed herself to linger for several moments, staring up at the castle and prison.
She’d seen many great buildings in her day.
The mosque in Istanbul had nearly taken her breath away, but this, this was also a sight to behold, and she knew the history of the great building as well.
There was nothing to sniff at about it, and so she stood quietly, taking in the place where so many people had been murdered as political prisoners and where the great kings of old England had first taken up their home.
She gave a little shudder, knowing that the Tower Green, the site of many powerful executions, lay but a hundred or so feet away, but then she also gave a little smile of admiration.
Like so many things in life, the Tower was both terrible and beautiful.
She continued on, weaving her way and asking every now and then for directions to the part of the town that she was seeking.
Just as she went past the Jewish quarter, she realized that she’d found the shipping office. She looked down at the piece of paper, then she looked at the number on the building.
Yes, this was it.
She smiled and got ready to give a little rap on the door. Hand lifted in mid-air, poised to gain admittance, she nearly jumped as the brightly painted blue panel swung open and she came face to face with the thing she loathed most. An English gentleman. . . and officer.
He took one look at her, raked her up and down with his intelligent, assessing green gaze, and looked utterly. . . appalled.
Chapter 2
Calliope lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, knowing that look, and said proudly, “You’re blocking the door. Who the devil are you?”
“Madam, I might inquire the same, and this is my family’s doorway, so I shall stand in it all day if it pleases me.”
“You don’t abide here,” she countered firmly. “It’s impossible.”
“I never said I did,” he drawled. “Now, you look like a ruffian, and I think you should hie off.”
Dash it all.
Those rich, plummy English tones tumbled over her like a powerful waterfall.
They were a sound she usually loathed, but somehow, coming from his sensual lips, she found herself hesitating.
She usually gave no thought to Englishmen, but this one, this one was different. His dark hair feathered about his stern face, and it was a stern face that looked as if it had seen more battles than one. His broad shoulders were positively immense.
They were covered with the rich scarlet coat of an English officer. His gold buttons, blinking in the sunshine. His dark hair was slightly longer than the common taste of the day. In fact, his hair was as long as a sailor’s, curling around his face, tied back gently with a queue.
And his eyes? His eyes were almond-shaped and a sharp lime green. They looked as if they might cut as quickly as they could smolder.
At present, they’d gone from horror to. . . interest.
Their wicked green danced over her, taking in her feathered hat, tracing over her beautifully tailored coat to her skirts, then down to her black boots.
“What are you, some sort of female pirate?” he demanded.
“I am most definitely not a pirate,” she scoffed at his ignorance. “Do you go about insulting people every day?”
He looked at her then, his brows rising with surprise at her boldness. “Generally, no. Sometimes, yes.”
“May I ask who you are, sir, that you bandy about so easily the word pirate?” While it was clear he was no green youth, she wondered if he, like so many English officers, thought the lower orders beneath him. “You clearly have never met one if you’re so easily using it.”
He scowled. “Not true. I most definitely have met a pirate.”
“Oh?” she queried dubiously. “He must have been a poor one if you’re so happy to call people pirates. You clearly don’t know anything about how vicious they generally are. I am far too good-natured. Why, I would never give you a watery grave for a bit of gold.”
He scowled again. “What are you then? A traveling performer?”
“Again and again!” she blustered, both amused by him and astonished at his rudeness. “You, sir, are the most insulting of English gentlemen, are you not? I thought that you sort were supposed to be all good manners and kind words.”
“Good manners. Yes,” he said. “Kind words. No. Clearly, you have not met a great many English men.”
“I have,” she countered. “Far too many. They do love to press common men into service. Now hie you hence so I can go inside. You’re still blocking the way.”
He stared at her, clearly amazed that she had given him orders.
Obviously, he’d spent far too much time amongst the English, she realized, where people hopped to do whatever he said.
Worse, not only was he English, and a gentleman, his uniform declared his rank of captain. Yes, the man was used to being universally obeyed.
“I suppose I must,” he gritted, “since you are determined to go inside. But I shan’t have you accosting my brother-in-law.”
“Your what?” she asked, gaping.
“My brother-in-law. Family, don’t you know?” he intoned slowly as if her wits were wanting. “Need I repeat myself again?”
“I cannot believe it,” she countered. “None of my brothers would marry into a family such as yours. You’re an absolute arrogant—”
“Calliope!” a voice called from the back.
“Alexander!” She drew in a relieved breath. “There you are. This, this, this horrible little lobster of a fellow won’t let me through!”
“Lobster?” the captain echoed.
“Yes,” she gritted, leveling him with an amused stare. He was so easy to irk. “A boiled crustacean that turns a shocking red. You’re obviously as inclined to pinch and are of a generally crusty character.”
The captain looked at her, amazed. “No one has ever said anything like that to me in the entirety of my life.”
“How unfortunate for you,” she said. “It would have done you a great deal of good to hear it.”
Calliope cleared her throat, trying to get a better view of Alexander. “Now he says that you are his brother-in-law. Is that possibly true?”
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Stranger things have h
appened, Calliope, including the fact that you and I are related.”
“Say it isn’t so,” she said with great drama.
“It is so,” sighed Alexander. “May I introduce—”
“Madam,” the captain cut in. “My name is Captain Lockhart Eversleigh.”
“And he’s a lord,” Alexander added sotto voce.
Calliope tsked. “Oh, how terribly unfortunate for you.”
A muscle tightened in Captain Eversleigh’s beautiful jaw. “Madam, you are impossible.”
“Yes, I am. I’m delighted you’ve taken note.” She gave him a saucy grin. “It’s one of the things that make my life worth living: that I’m impossible to many gentlemen, especially ones like yourself!”
“American,” drawled Captain Eversleigh as if it were the worst of all accusations.
“Correct,” she agreed. “Though, truthfully, I spend most of my time outside of those waters.”
His sensual lips twitched with either disgust or amusement. “How unfortunate for the rest of the world.”
She let out an unladylike laugh. “You have a vastly male opinion, sir!”
“As do you, clearly,” he countered. “Now I must go, and I will rid myself of your company, which I’m sure will give you a great deal of joy.”
“Indeed, it shall,” she returned, stepping aside. “Off you go, then!”
He scowled again. “Madam, you would try the patience of a saint.”
She laughed again, both flummoxed by him and amused. “You have no idea, Captain!”
With that, Captain Lockhart took one last look at her, and something in his eyes changed ever so slightly to. . . appreciation. That look seemed to say that, though he disliked her, he found her fascinating. And he rather liked that she had stood up to him so easily.
It was not an uncommon look that she found she inspired in men.
They were all usually amazed that she was not some sort of wilting flower who would do whatever they bid. But usually, such interactions went one of two ways.
They absolutely loathed her, or they thought she was absolutely marvelous for it.
She was not entirely sure what Captain Eversleigh thought.
But she had a funny feeling it was going to be loathing at the end of the day, despite the appreciation, which was a deuced shame. Because she could see he was an absolutely beautiful, if taciturn, individual.
And she might be able to overlook the fact that he was an Englishman so that she could savor the handsomeness of his stunning body. It could be good fun, needling him and seeing if he might loosen some of his hard and fast view of the world.
But she doubted he would give her the chance.
With that, Captain Eversleigh touched his tricorn and started for the steps. As he crossed by her, his broad, hard body caressed hers ever so slightly.
To her shock, she stilled for the barest moment.
So did he.
That slight, mere touch was electric between them.
She almost gasped at the delicious perfection of it.
How foolish it was, but it was the truth.
He made her feel absolutely alive in that moment.
She pulled back quickly.
As did he.
No Englishman was going to make her feel as if she was losing control of herself.
Of that, she was absolutely certain.
No, she’d be the one in control, thank you very much. And so, she snapped her gaze to her half-brother. “Come now, Alexander, let’s go inside. Thank you for the most unusual introduction.”
Captain Eversleigh inclined his head ever so slightly and, without a backward glance, strode into the crowded street.
Alexander stepped back, a slight grin upon his face. “Well, that was interesting,” he said.
“Interesting is not the word for what that was,” she said.
Alexander’s grin grew. “I haven’t seen that particular Eversleigh as irritated as that since the first time we met.”
“Doesn’t like us Dukes, does he?” said Calliope, mirroring her brother’s amusement. They were a difficult lot.
“His brother’s a Duke.”
“So he’s surrounded by Dukes, then, is he?” she laughed.
“Yes.” Her brother paused, his broad shoulders taking up much of the simple but elegant hallway. “And he doesn’t like Americans either.”
“That was quite obvious,” she stated, bemused. “Poor fellow. Surely, life in America would help him be a happier man?”
“I doubt it.” Alexander started down the hall, his black-breeches-clad legs easily eating up the floor. “He likes his rules and his regimens, and his Hail Britannia.”
“Oh dear,” she tsked, following with, “What a waste.”
Captain Eversleigh was such a divine-looking young man, it was sad to think he might be bound up in so many rules and recriminations for the rest of his life. What a lack of feeling!
Over the years, she’d met many of the older English sailors. They were an entirely different sort.
They’d been fabulous, poetic souls, happy to kiss and hug and shed a tear, which had made her delighted and happy. But a new breed had befallen the English people. They were all far too stoic, and she blamed Wellington.
He was a great general, but he did like to minimize suffering.
It made it all the more easy to continue in a never-ending war, she supposed.
Though she could have easily continued speaking about Captain Eversleigh and his fascinating sternness, she decided to turn the conversation. “I’m not here to talk about Captain Eversleigh.”
“I surmised as much,” Alexander said, leading her into a large office decorated with pictures of ships and globes. “I doubt you sailed halfway around the world to talk about my family.”
“I didn’t even know they were your family,” Calliope put in without too much acrimony.
“So terribly sorry about that,” Alexander replied as he went to the simple silver grog tray. He poured out two stiff brandies and quickly handed her one of the crystal snifters.
She was tempted to quip about gin but decided too many other important things needed to be discussed.
“You should be,” she teased, cradling the snifter. “I had no idea I’d gained so many awful, terrible aristocrats in part of my bloodline.”
Alexander let out a booming laugh. “It was a shock to my system as well, but they’re really not quite that terrible.”
“So you say, so you say, brother mine.” She took a drink of the liquor. It burned like candied fire and raced to her gullet, even as it seemed to coat her tongue.
“You should come and stay with us,” Alexander said suddenly.
She coughed, not because of the brandy, but because of the offer. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come and stay,” Alexander reiterated, pouring another splash of brandy into her snifter, perhaps to make her more inclined to agree. “It would be an absolutely marvelous plan.”
“There is nothing marvelous about that plan,” Calliope returned. “I sleep on my ship, as you should do.”
“I used to,” he agreed with a shocking dose of merriment, “but I’ve become a bit of a landlubber, I won’t lie. My wife, she does well on board ships, but she prefers to keep her feet dry.”
Calliope gave him a doubtful look. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, Alexander. You used to be such a free spirit.”
“I am a free spirit,” he said. “As is my wife. You’ll quite like her.”
“An English aristocrat. I can’t imagine that.”
“Well,” he said. “Just wait and you’ll see. I have a funny feeling that the two of you might actually get on vastly well. God help London, actually, if the two of you get together.”
“Indeed? I’m most intrigued.” She leaned forward. “I never would have thought an English lady capable of such rebellion.”
“You haven’t met the right English ladies,” he informed before taking a good swallow and wincing. . . Clearly n
ot from the brandy but a memory. “Some of them are absolute terrors.”
She thought about that.
It was true.
She hadn’t met many English wives.
Most of them were forced to stay at home and be absolutely appropriate, being the wives of men who were subjugating peoples all over the globe. “I’ll strongly consider your offer, but I have come all this way to discuss my ship.”
“Your ship?” Adam queried from the door.
She turned to her older and very wild brother. He was the sort of fellow that most found larger than life. She liked him for it. His appetite for living was legendary, and so it had shocked her to her toes when he’d married. She’d heard of it just recently.
“Yes,” she said, smiling at his presence. “Cleo’s and mine.”
Adam strode into the room, his long blond hair, tied in a leather strap. He wore no restricting coat but kept his linen shirt shockingly open at the neck. His sleeves were folded up as if from work.
He crossed to the grog tray and poured himself a glass. “Cleo is here too?”
She gazed at him, astonished by the question. “Does Cleo ever go anywhere without me?”
“Forgive me,” he said. “I guess I should have thought of that, but—”
Alexander cut in as he leaned against his desk, “You are a terrible correspondent, Calliope, and we’ve met but rarely.”
“Now, you must forgive me,” she said before she bit her lip. It was hard to explain something they already knew. “I just don’t really care for our father.”
“None of us really care for our father,” Adam pointed out as he stood, feet braced slightly apart, as if he was still perched upon the main deck. “We’ve warmed to him in the last year, and I know that he wishes to meet you.”
“I have no wish to meet him,” Calliope said tightly. “That bounder left us high and dry when we were small, and I don’t think that he should be allowed to make up for it just because he’s afraid of heaven’s gates.”
Alexander grimaced. “I wouldn’t quite put it like that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she returned.
