Never A Duke (Dukes' Club Book 11)

by Eva Devon

  “Come,” he urged.

  She leaned towards him. “Where?”

  “I cannot tell you without giving it away to some degree,” he explained. “And I wish it to be a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises,” she protested passionately.

  “I don’t believe you.” He did not pause in his long strides down the Axminster runner of blue and green. “Your entire life is one surprise after the other.”

  “Oh, you’d be amazed,” she said, easily keeping up. “A great deal of my life is quite mundane.”

  “Mundane?” he scoffed.

  “Yes, I have the same duties every day aboard my ship. I often sail the exact same route, and I go to the same port cities.” She shrugged. “Over the years, it has all become the same.”

  He eyed her doubtfully. “I cannot believe it, madam.”

  “Believe what you will,” she dared. “I certainly would not trade my existence for another one. I’m quite happy in it, but I don’t think it’s as glamorous as some people say. I have spent days upon my knees, scrubbing the decks.”

  He was tempted to ask if she was ever willing to spend her time on her knees for any other inclination, but at this particular moment, he knew that would be the wrong thing to say, even if she was willing to hear quite scandalous things and had likely done scandalous things as well.

  “Trust me,” he requested. “For a moment.”

  “Trust you,” she repeated. “Do I look like a trusting sort of person?”

  “No,” he admitted, yet completely determined to keep the surprise from her as long as possible. “But I think this once, you might give it a go. After all, that’s what you wish me to do, isn’t it? Live outside the things that I usually would do.”

  She sighed dramatically. “If you insist I be an example to you on how to be impulsive and how to go outside what one is comfortable with, then I must do it,” she said. “Though it gives me little pleasure just now.”

  He tsked. “Oh, I think this shall give you great pleasure.”

  “You know me so well, then?” Her cheeks pinkened. “What will please me?”

  He gazed down upon her, feeling strangely at ease and excited at once. “I think in this, I can be fairly certain.”

  “Well, then,” she said merrily. “Let’s go and see if you know me as well as you think.”

  He headed off then in a direction he’d gone many, many times in his life.

  Thousands, really.

  For it was one of his favorite rooms in the entirety of the house, if one could call the place the house.

  It was fairly close to being the size of one of the great palaces of Europe.

  But it had a much nicer feel, for good people had lived in it over the centuries. The Hunts had always been rather remarkable. None of them too stodgy, and none of them too self-important, even though they were all incredibly powerful people.

  As they strode down the halls, he noticed that she did not bother to glance at all the portraits and all the grand filigree.

  He wondered at that.

  Perhaps she’d already been down this hall, or perhaps she was far more accustomed to this sort of life than he’d originally imagined her to be.

  He realized he had made a vast many assumptions about her, and he was thrilled to find out which ones he’d been incorrect about. It was like opening a book and discovering the pages and reading what was upon them when one had taken a look at the cover and assumed the contents were about something entirely different.

  It truly was an apt analogy because he led her into the massive library and waited.

  She looked at him then smiled ruefully. “I’ve been in this room before. It’s foolish of you to think I had not, if you mean to impress me.”

  “Ah,” he said, “I’m glad to know it. It tells me a great deal about you.”

  “Does it?” she asked, pleased.

  “Oh, yes,” he confirmed, leading her farther in, through the many chairs and tables. “If one of the first rooms you came to was this, it means you are a superior sort of person.”

  “Oh, why, thank you, Lock.” She gave him an embellished bow. “You do flatter.”

  He shook his head, admiring her more with every passing moment. “It is not flattery to say that one of the things that makes you superior is your wish to improve your mind or that you gain great love from being around books.”

  “They do give me a good deal of happiness.” She nibbled her lower lip as she contemplated the towering rows of shelves stretching on and on. “I always ensure I take many books with me on our voyages. Some are old favorites, others are new.” She paused and trailed her fingertips over a few stacked books on the table to her left. “Your library is quite extensive and most impressive, I won’t deny you that. But why have you brought me here?”

  “Well, you’ve seen the towering shelves, the books dating all the way back to Plato and beyond.”

  A naturally happy look crossed her face. She had seen them, and it was clear she’d adored every moment of that experience.

  His breath began to slow with anticipation. “But have you seen this?”

  He strode through the immense room, passing the beautiful couches and chairs which might allow one to read for hours, if not days, should they wish to.

  He’d done so on more than one occasion when the pain of life was too much to bear.

  The tiny nooks and crannies with curtains and hideaways had always beckoned to him. Over the years, many an Eversleigh had snuck away, tucked their knees up to their chests, and read through the long hours.

  She followed without question, and he could feel her veritably humming with curiosity.

  They crossed to the back of the library whereupon they came to a set of particularly simple bookshelves.

  The books which lined them were all contemporary favorites. It was one of the things he liked most about his father, and his father before him, though they’d been troubled individuals. Not only did they collect ancient books—the important texts—from many countries all over the world, they were also investors in the written word of the current day.

  From great thinkers like Burke to wonderfully popular authors like A Lady. They were filled with the most delightful turns of phrases and adventures.

  Those new additions had given him a great deal of happiness as a boy and continued to do so now as a man.

  And Jack, his brother, continued to add to the shelves as well.

  “I’ve read almost all of these,” she said. “I’ve derived great pleasure from them, I admit, but I don’t know what the surprise is.”

  He gave her a sly grin, reached forward, then touched a copy of Evelina by Fanny Burney, and pulled it slightly forward.

  There was a snick in the door, and then suddenly, the bookshelf popped open.

  She gasped.

  That sound filled him with the purest triumph.

  “Surprised, are you?” he drawled.

  “No, hardly,” she said even as her eyes glowed with excitement. “After all, you thought me a pirate, and I am used to pirate troves of treasure. Surely, this is commonplace to someone like me.”

  “Ah,” he countered. “But you yourself have said you are not a pirate and are used to mundane things. So this must be a bit of a surprise.”

  She laughed again. “Fine, Captain Eversleigh. If you insist. Now, what is behind that door?” she demanded with exaggerated force.

  “Curious, are you?” he teased, delighted to see her enthusiasm.

  “Dreadfully so,” she replied honestly. “For I think you’re about to show me a secret room of books.”

  “Clever lass,” he said.

  “Not just a lass. A captain, recall? I may not have your rank, but I do command a ship.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he returned, standing to attention. “Let me open the door and take you into a whole new room of treasures.”

  He slipped open the bookcase and very carefully lit a small mirrored lantern. He guided her into the s
mall room, which was no larger than the coachman’s rooms above the stables.

  But it was a very carefully kept place with several tables with books lined upon them, resting on silk or linen.

  “My goodness,” she breathed. “This is a particular find, is it not?”

  “Very few people get to see it,” he confirmed as he led her in. “Because the books are just far too valuable to be exposed to too many individuals. We must keep them very carefully. It isn’t that we wish to keep them away from others. It’s simply that we fear their disintegration. For their preservation, they must be kept in the dark, and they must be kept at the proper temperature. If you wish to touch them,” he said as he placed the lantern gently down on the main table. “You must wear these.”

  Gently, he tugged open one of the filigree drawers, exposing several pairs of gloves in a drawer. He pulled a pair out and offered it to her.

  Gleefully, as if she was about to be given the most delicious thing in the entire world, she pulled them on.

  “I confess, Lock,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “You have outdone yourself. This is the most perfect thing. My anticipation knows no bounds.” She bit her lower lip then ventured, “What ever will you show me?”

  Suddenly, he felt like a boy on Christmas morning. “Do you remember what you said to me last night?”

  “We said a great many things,” she pointed out.

  “Enemies to lovers,” he said simply.

  She blinked, and then her eyes widened to twin saucers of disbelief. “Much Ado About Nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  “It truly is one of your favorites?” she queried softly.

  “I shan’t deny it.”

  A fond smile tilted her lips. “Beatrice and Benedick are two of the greatest characters ever written, I admit.”

  His breath nearly caught in his throat, praying she would enjoy this as much as he hoped. “I think you should like to see this.”

  He crossed to the tables at the center of the room, and she followed but a step behind. He stopped before an exceptionally large book wrapped in linen.

  Very carefully, he peeled back the fabric, exposing the ancient tome.

  She gasped. “My God, it can’t be.”

  “It can and is,” he replied, his voice low with nigh worship for the priceless volume.

  They both gazed down at the large, leather-bound edition.

  Her fingers lingered near, but carefully away from it. “But there must be so very few of them.”

  “We don’t really know how many there are,” he said. “Some of the other great families of England have them, and some are in the precious university libraries, but they’re rare. Rare indeed and extremely valuable. And not just monetarily. The few copies are valuable to all mankind.”

  She lovingly reached forward, but then hesitated. She glanced at him for permission. Happily, so proud he could give this to her, he nodded.

  Ever so gently, she touched the leather cover, lifted it slowly, and revealed the title page.

  “The First Folio,” she breathed, full of wonder.

  “Yes, The First Folio,” he echoed, as transported as she at this moment.

  Slowly, she very carefully lifted and turned the pages, studying each as if they bore the secrets of life. And in a way, they did. For Shakespeare had had an understanding of humanity that almost no other author could match.

  Finally, she turned the page to the play they both so loved.

  “Much Ado About Nothing,” she declared.

  “There it is,” he agreed as they looked down at the blocked jet typeface. “Would you like to read aloud?”

  “I would,” she replied, her voice full of emotion.

  Together they very carefully read a few of the lines between Beatrice and Benedick. They were merry and acerbic and full of promise of the burgeoning love between the two characters. But it was a path that could not and did not run smooth.

  Lock savored the affection in Calliope’s voice as she read. With every turn of phrase, he felt his feelings for her grow. . . Much like Benedick to Beatrice. He did not know how, but he. . . He found himself. . . Loving her.

  When they finished, she gazed down at the book adoringly.

  “Can you imagine?” she asked.

  “Imagine what?” he asked, gazing down on her.

  “The dedication it took for those men to put this book together. I can’t,” she observed. “It must’ve been very difficult, collecting all those works.”

  “I don’t follow,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Well, don’t you know Shakespeare didn’t write these down in any sort of manuscript?” She, oh so carefully, traced a finger down the page. “They had to be gathered about from all of the actors.”

  “Truly?” he asked, knowing what she said, but wishing to hear her explain it to him. It gave him such pleasure to hear her recount it.

  “Yes.” She peered up at him, mystified. “How could you not know that if you’re such a lover of Shakespeare?” And then she looked into his eyes, and he let her see the merriment glittering in them.

  “Oh,” she chortled good-naturedly. “You did know, and you were simply allowing me to inform you. Good. Well done, sir. Well done.”

  “I made a good study of how these plays came to be published,” he admitted. “It is remarkable that they were preserved.”

  “And it’s such a tragedy that it was after the death of Richard Burbage, his dear friend and actor, that it was done.”

  She drew in a long breath. “Can you imagine how they must’ve missed Shakespeare, that man of words?” Her eyes shone as she spoke. “He touched so many and wrote with such great passion. What a loss he must’ve been. To wake up one day and, suddenly, there were simply no new plays, no new great works, no new characters which towered above all and yet had the heart of many, so that one might feel as if one knew that character.”

  “So true,” he said, in awe of her passion and ability to put his feelings into words. “We must admire the men who made this book. It was done at great expense to themselves and great difficulty, I’m sure.”

  She beamed up at him. “And now they have made it so that we will be able to read those plays for perpetuity.”

  He nodded. “What a great gift. Possibly one of the greatest gifts ever given to humanity. If they had not cared so much—”

  “He made them care,” she cut in, breathless. “Shakespeare. He filled them with such passion, such love.”

  “I can’t imagine ever instilling such a thing in someone.”

  Slowly, she turned to him. “Can’t you?”

  “No,” he said softly, his gaze meeting hers. “That kind of dedication, that kind of passion can sometimes lead to ruin.”

  “But look,” she said, gesturing to the book. “It can also lead to the most glorious outcome.”

  He nodded carefully. “This entire room is full of the passion and glory of thousands of years of men and women determined to make their mark. It always fills me with awe when I am in it. And now. . .”

  “Now?” she prompted.

  “Not only am I full of awe, I am amazed that I feel as I do for you.” He swallowed, bloody terrified by what he’d just admitted. “I’ve never felt so much. But with you,” he said. “You have awoken something in me, something akin, something greater than the wonder this room has given me.”

  “That is the greatest compliment,” she said, her lips parting, “that anyone has ever given me.”

  And with that, she cupped his face and brought it down towards hers.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me now. For, apparently, I am very easily won.”

  “No, Calliope,” he said. “It has taken thousands of years of great men’s and women’s works to win you. And that is a wonderful, beautiful thing.”

  He took her mouth then, at her behest. His mind, abandoning him, he wrested her to him, seizing her as if she might suddenly disappear.

  Their kiss became a dance, an equal
dance of demand and giving.

  As their breathing grew more rapid and more passionate, they both broke off simultaneously.

  “Not in here,” she whispered.

  “I completely agree,” he murmured, though he felt as drunk as if he had drunk bottles of wine.

  And with that, they were both shuffling back out of the room, closing the door, hands working at each other’s coats in the quiet library.

  He absolutely adored the fact that they’d both come to the same realization at the same time.

  They mustn’t breathe too heavily in a room with so many precious books, lest they harm them.

  No, they were both too passionate about the written word to risk damaging such priceless things.

  And so, now in the library, surrounded by more hardy books and a much larger atmosphere, they kissed each other as if there need never be an end to it.

  Their hands roved each other up and down, clasping each other’s clothes, running into each other’s hair. They kissed with equal abandon. There was no master or pupil here.

  They both clearly enjoyed the pleasures of life, and they each took and gave in equal flare. So, it was no surprise when she reached for his belt buckle, eager to be rid of his military paraphernalia. He, too, reached for her full skirts, pulling, sliding them up her thigh-high, garter-bound silk stockings.

  He allowed his fingers to trace the edges of her high boots.

  “You know, I do quite like these,” he said.

  “Do you?” she quipped. “Many gentlemen are quite intimidated by them.”

  “I understand,” he said. “It means you’re going to be quite determined and demanding. No reticence on your part. No mincing slippers, for you.”

  “That’s right,” she agreed.

  “Now, let’s divest you of some of these things.”

  He laughed softly then, completely rapt by her. He was lost then. He knew it. And there was no going back.

  Chapter 16

  It was early enough in the morning that most of the house was still asleep. It struck her as odd that they were both early risers. Some, in this house, slept almost till noon.