by Eva Devon
She also wished him to know she took his earlier claims seriously. The idea that she might destroy him, somehow drive him into darkness, wasn’t something she could easily put aside, even if he had.
He’d seemed so determined, so concerned, and now he’d abandoned those fears, apparently willing to throw away all doubts in his need for her.
Lust, it was such a powerful emotion.
Anyone who thought the opposite was nigh lunatic.
It was the beginning of many marriages, the end of several; the beginning of relationships, and the death of others.
Lust and coin made the world go round.
So did love. . . But love was a far rarer thing, indeed.
There was no denying that she did lust for him as he lusted for her.
In all her life, she could not remember such an intense time.
Yes, she had been attracted to many beautiful, powerful men over the last few years, and she had even indulged once or twice into wonderful relationships with them. There had not been anyone who lit her body and soul on fire the way Lock did by his mere presence in the room.
Perhaps it was the way he arched his dark brow, or perhaps it was the way his green eyes glinted, daring her to say something provocative. Or perhaps it was simply the conversations they had. . . Conversations she’d had with no one else.
She swiped a glass of wine from a passing silver tray and drank a good deal of it.
“My dear, after that display,” Lady Gemma ventured, as she cradled her own white goblet. “I think you might be in need of something stronger than that.”
Calliope laughed, then groaned. “If I was aboard my ship, I’d have a glass of rum.”
“Would you, indeed?”
“Yes. It’s not my favorite of things, but it will do in a pinch.”
Lady Gemma laughed. “I have become accustomed to gin, if you must know.”
“Have you?” asked Calliope, not easily shocked, but shocked all the same. Gin was not a lady’s drink.
“Yes,” Lady Gemma smiled, her cheeks rosy. “Alexander introduced me to it. Not the gin that they sell in the east side of London, mind you. That stuff could pickle your insides. But a good gin, it is a divine thing, especially that smell of Christmas that is always with it.”
“I’ve never known a Christmas like that, one with juniper berries,” said Calliope, not wishing to share how odd her Christmases had been.
“You haven’t?” Lady Gemma asked, astonished. “They are the best sort. I absolutely adore the scent. It coats your fingers and fills the air, and everything is positively magical. Christmas is my favorite time of year.”
Calliope laughed dryly. “My Christmases were generally spent at sea.” She hesitated. “There was one we almost went to Boston.”
“Truly?” Lady Gemma asked patiently. “Did you ever go?”
“No,” Calliope gritted, hating the fact that her father still managed to shadow her wherever she went. “We never voyaged there. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been to Massachusetts. My father has invited my sister and I several times over the last two years, but we’ve always denied the invitation.”
Lady Gemma nodded. “I understand. Your father is a difficult man. He’s trying to change.”
She snorted. Somehow, it burned that Lady Gemma knew her father better than she did. But it was not her sister-in-law’s fault. “I cannot forgive him. He abandoned me, my sister, and my mother. He can’t just be forgiven because he wishes it.”
“Of course,” Lady Gemma said gently. “Pardon me if I’ve given any sort of offense.”
“You can’t give offense by stating something that’s true,” she said with forced cheer. “And I like you better than almost anyone I’ve met in this country. You’ve been very kind to me.” Calliope shrugged, hating the pain the past still caused her. “No, my father is an appalling fellow who’s trying to make good in the last years of his life.”
“And is that so very wrong?” Lady Gemma boldly ventured. “To try to change?”
“Of course, when one is afraid of the devil and the deep blue sea,” Calliope retorted. “No, he should have faced it when he was younger, when he was not afraid of shuffling off his mortal coil and facing his fate.”
“Well,” said Lady Gemma without being intimidated by Calliope’s strong words. “The truth is that we are all facing our fate every single day, and we never know when it will come. Perhaps it is not such a terrible thing that he wishes to change before the end is truly here.”
“I thought you just said the end could be any day?”
“I did,” said Lady Gemma. “One day my father was with us, one day he was gone. Just like that,” she said, her voice deep with emotion. “None of us thought he’d be gone. None of us had time to prepare. I wish he’d been able to ask us for help.”
“You have a very kind heart,” said Calliope, swallowing her own anger at her father. For it was clear that the pain of her father’s death was deep. “And I’m grateful you found Alexander. My brother would be a miserable soul without you.”
Lady Gemma lifted her glass “I will drink to that. Here’s to a good life, a long one, and a merry one.”
Calliope laughed. “Yes. And it seems to me that you will also have a host of children.”
Lady Gemma grinned. “It’s quite possible. I do seem to like the little things. They make me very happy and are a great source of joy.”
“Truly?” Calliope gaped. “I have known a few children, and they can be absolute sources of entertainment, and they’re more honest than anyone that I’ve ever known. But to have a baby, it just seems so limiting.” Calliope said. “Doesn’t it tie one down?”
“In a way,” Lady Gemma replied honestly. “But the truth is that it doesn’t have to. They’re quite small when they’re babies, and you can carry them anywhere you wish.” She winked. “If you wish to be rebellious, you could feed the baby yourself, and you never need worry. . .”
Calliope raised her hand. “Cease, cease. I have not given thought to motherhood. My own mother was excellent, of course, and of course, she did take us wherever she went upon the sea.”
Lady Gemma let out a rich laugh. “So, there you have it. There is no excuse for you not to have a baby if you’re afraid of losing a sense of adventure.”
Calliope groaned. “Too true. You’ve reminded me of my own childhood. I can still see my mother standing on the quarterdeck, Cleo in her arms, and then me, sometimes the both of us, as she shouted out orders to the men.”
“It’s remarkable that those sailors took orders from her,” Lady Gemma breathed, her face bright with admiration.
Calliope tucked a lock of her hair back behind her ear as she tried to explain the oddity of being at sea. “Sailors are an odd lot. As long as you can prove yourself to them, they’ll respect you. It’s not like here in England, where a woman is just discounted unless she’s positively singular, and even then, she could be punished for it.”
Lady Gemma shook her head. “What a world you’ve grown up in. It sounds a bit more like the one Duchess Cordelia knew.”
“I wish more women had that opportunity,” Calliope said wistfully.
“Perhaps we should work on making it possible,” ventured Lady Gemma boldly. “You know, there are several ladies in England who are working towards that end. And in America as well. It was such a tragedy that women did not get to vote when the revolution occurred.”
“I agree,” Calliope lamented, as so many women had.
Lady Gemma tsked. “For men who have such principles and scruples, those revolutionaries certainly did seem to throw their wives away quite easily. Their rights, that is.”
“Yes, I agree with that.” laughed Calliope. “Men will forever choose their own rights over the rights of their wives, it seems.”
Lady Gemma shook her head proudly as she looked about the room. “Not these men. Not my husband.”
“No, definitely not Alexander,” agreed Calliope as she took another fortif
ying drink. “Adam would ride all the way to hell and back to ensure that every soul’s rights were protected.”
“So would Lock,” said Lady Gemma of her brother, leaning in conspiratorially.
“Do you think so?” Calliope pursed her lips, carefully turning her wine glass. “There’s something in him that seems a bit, I don’t know, like he wishes to control. . .”
Gemma cut in quickly, her expression growing serious, “Lock wishes to control everything, and you just happen to be within his periphery. He thinks that if he can control things, then he won’t. . .”
Calliope cocked her head to the side, piqued by curiosity. “What? He won’t what?”
“He won’t suffer.” Lady Gemma swallowed, her beautiful gaze, dark now. “He won’t lose anyone.”
“Has he lost someone, then, so very significant?” Calliope bit her lip then ventured, “His father must have meant a great deal.”
“Yes,” Lady Gemma said gently. “And our eldest brother.”
“I don’t understand,” murmured Calliope, struggling to make sense of Gemma’s claim. “The Duke of Hunt is very much alive.”
Lady Gemma nodded, a sad smile tilting her lips. “Oh, the Duke of Hunt is very much alive, but Jack is not the eldest son. Did you not know?”
“No,” Calliope breathed. “I did not.”
Lady Gemma swallowed. “My eldest brother drowned in the lake. . . And Jack, well, some say Jack was responsible, but it’s not true. Our father’s heart was broken. It was very challenging for the entire family to face that loss and my father’s broken heart.”
“I would imagine,” Calliope managed, desperate not to say something hurtful.
Lady Gemma’s face paled as she turned and faced Calliope. She touched her hand and said, “You must understand our father never really recovered from the death, and he suffered greatly from melancholy.”
“So that is why he’s so afraid,” Calliope surmised, her heart sinking as she took in the depth of Gemma’s confession.
Lady Gemma gave a subtle nod. “It’s why he must control everything.”
“Fear,” whispered Calliope. As she let her gaze travel the room, spotting Lock, it seemed impossible that that strong, stunning man bore such an icy chunk of fear in his heart. . . But it explained so much about his actions.
“Perhaps you can help him break free of the fortress he has built for himself,” said Lady Gemma tentatively.
“No one can ever cause him to do that.” Calliope wished it weren’t true. But she had seen too many women break their hearts, desperately trying to change a rough man. “Only himself.”
“How can you be so certain?” Lady Gemma queried.
Calliope met her sister-in-law’s gaze and replied honestly, “Because I’ve seen someone build a fortress around their heart, no amount of pleading, no amount of begging, no amount of manipulation or machination can bring those stones down.”
“Forgive me,” said Lady Gemma. “I have taken us into darkness.”
Calliope shook her head. “I’m honored by your trust. But let us talk of merrier things. We are here, after all, to have a lovely time.”
Gemma drew in a deep breath. “Truly, forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Calliope said firmly as she drew nearer to Lady Gemma. “Life is full of sad matters and joyous ones, but we must take care of which we spend the most time on.”
Lady Gemma’s eyes widened. “I cannot disagree with that wisdom. We must look for ways to lift ourselves out of the darkness, no?”
Calliope snuck another glance at Lock, now standing by the Duke of Aston.
He was drinking a glass of wine, slowly, and he seemed more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, which seemed quite odd. For surely, this foray off his narrow path should have put him on edge. It seemed not.
It was as if he had found his element in this particular moment.
Again, he surprised her.
She wished she could hear what he was saying, but such a thing was impossible.
So with that, she decided it was time to return to the dance floor.
She looked about, bounced upon her toes, and hoped that someone would ask.
As if on cue, the Duke of Aston stood, the music stopped, and much to her astonishment, Lock slid onto the piano bench and began to play a jolly tune.
Aston, a remarkable presence, strode towards her, his long velvet coat trailing behind him. His wild hair was as fierce as any mane, and a gold earring winked in the candlelight.
He stopped before her, gave her a slight bow, and extended his hand. “Dance with me, dear girl?”
She gazed up at him, amazed at how kindly she felt toward him even though she barely knew him. “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Marvelous,” he said with his tigerish grin, and he led her onto the floor.
They began to dance easily, both of them knowing the merry tune. It was a reel, something that the sailors often danced, and they easily kept step to it.
“You’re going to lead Lock in a dance, aren’t you?” he asked with no subtlety.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” she nearly choked. “I think we’re leading each other.”
“Ah-ha,” he announced as he nimbly kept step. “But Lock has not your view of the world. He still sees it as a dangerous force. You have gone beyond that, have you not?”
“In a way,” she agreed, twisting and turning to the sprightly beat Lock played. “For I know the vagaries of it, but I’m still suspicious myself of some of the things which guide us.”
Aston paused and clapped to the tune. “Are you, indeed?”
“Yes,” she said. “How can I not be? I too have known my share of misfortune.”
Aston took her waist and begun to spin her. “But haven’t we all known our misfortune, and should we choose to be skeptical of the world or embrace it?”
As the room blurred, she kept her gaze trained on his weather-beaten visage. “I do not know, Your Grace, but I think a fool would not have some skepticism.”
“We must be honest about the world,” he said, stopping her then lifting her as the dance called for. “We must embrace it for what it is. But we cannot change it. So when we embrace it, we must love it too.”
She tsked as she allowed him to raise her again into the air as if she weighed nothing. “You are asking a great deal of anyone. To love that which can cause so much pain.”
“I don’t think so,” he countered, sweeping her down the line of couples now. “I think you’ve already embraced it. Look at how you celebrate and live your life as if there were no tomorrow, and you don’t apologize to anyone for who you are.”
“True,” she agreed nigh breathless. “But not everyone loves me.”
“Some people are braying fools,” Aston declared merrily.
“How true,” she agreed, unable to fight a laugh. “I’ve known a great many fools in my lifetime.”
“There you have it,” he declared. “So why be concerned by them?”
She paused.
“Ah,” he said, as he took her hand in his.
“What?” she demanded immediately, her heart skipping with a hint of unease. Aston saw far too much.
“Because one of the fools is your father,” Aston proclaimed kindly.
She grimaced. “It’s true, but he’s a very successful, intelligent man, so it’s difficult to remind myself that he is indeed a fool.”
“A fool,” Aston announced boldly. “Any man who could leave your mother was an absolute idiot.”
She grinned at his frankness. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“There’s no thanking needed. I knew Anne, and Anne was a jewel. No.” Aston shook his head. “The Dukes. . . Well, they’re an interesting lot. The boys are nothing like the old man. Though I think the old sod has come to realize what a fool he’s been. How bitter, how ridiculous.” The music stopped, and as Aston bowed, he said, “I often wonder if one of the great regrets of his life was leaving your mot
her.”
She curtsied in turn but retorted, “Well, he did leave her, and there’s no going back. He cannot make amends for it.”
Aston stood, towering over her without overbearing. “Is that bridge completely gone? Completely burned?”
“The ashes,” she replied, “are in the river and have gone out to sea.”
With that, Aston threw his head back and laughed. “Well said, my dear. Well said. But I don’t know if it shall make you happy in the end.”
She took his hand and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor, her insides spinning. Happy in the end? Was there such a thing?
She doubted it very much, indeed.
Chapter 15
“So what will you do? Woo me with flowers and chocolate?”
Lock arched a skeptical brow, marveling at her ability to tease him. “Why in God’s name would a man like me woo a woman like you with flowers and chocolates?”
She laughed merrily as they ventured down the long hall. “What ever will you do, then? Speak poetry?”
Bloody hell, even in the soft light of dawn, she was stunning. He observed her lithe, capable body next to his, all but bounding down the quiet, broad corridor.
“Closer,” he admitted though he refused to give her any more clue than that.
“Am I?” She sighed with an air of resignation. “Oh dear, poetry can be quite bad if not done well.”
A laugh boomed from him before he could stop himself. “I promise I have not written you any verse.”
“Thank the heavens for it,” she said, batting her lashes dramatically.
“You should thank not only the heavens, but the sun, the sea, the mountains, and all that lies in between. I’m a terrible writer,” he said honestly. “The only writer in this family is Lady Patience.”
“And she is an excellent one. So it’s best not to try to compete.”
They both laughed at that.
And he felt. . . Happy. Dear God, it was such a strange thing that he barely dared contemplate it lest the feeling fly away like the fickle thing he’d been told happiness was.
“So what is it, then, good sir, that you intend to do?” she asked, hands behind her back. “I am not exactly your usual lady fair, to be won with song or wine.”
