by Eva Devon
It would have made things simpler, but the aching pain traversing his body had nothing to do with ailment, unless one considered heartbreak an ailment. For that particular muscle had spasmed in the most horrific ways in the last days.
His entire body felt like molten lead.
He hated himself.
He hated himself for having indulged in his passions, giving in to her, giving in to himself. It had not been simply a carnal meeting, theirs.
No. He’d allowed it to be one of souls. And that was his fault entirely.
It was he who had wanted her beyond rack or reason or ruin.
And so, now, as he took the road to London, he did not bloody care that it was night and dangerous. For he was no longer able to bear being about his family.
The only possible thing he could do now to save himself would be to petition his commanding officers to send him as far afield as they possibly could, to some godforsaken place where he might catch malaria or be worked until he could barely form a thought.
Yes, work was the only thing that sounded appealing at this particular moment because if he did not keep himself at task, his emotions—those deep, wild emotions—would crash over him and swallow him up.
He kept his focus on the road.
The moonlight streamed down, but it would still be easy to have his horse misstep.
As they galloped, he caught wind of another sound.
The sound of horses.
It was uncommon for another night rider on the road, and he usually wouldn’t have ventured it himself.
It could still be dangerous though highwaymen were far and few between these days.
He kept on. Knowing it was the best course. Likely, it was some other desperate traveler.
He didn’t stop riding until a pistol crack fired through the air, and then he definitely did not stop. On the contrary, he cracked the reins of his horse, urging him to race ahead.
Lock wasn’t about to be told to stand and deliver this night. He had far too much on his mind, and he was in no mood for it, but another shot cracked off, a damned good shot that whizzed just past his horse.
The animal twisted with fear and bucked.
Lock flew into the air at the wild angle of his horse and tumbled to the earth.
Dirt filled his mouth, and he spotted his animal racing off into the night.
He was going to murder whomever had done that, for his horse was a damn good animal, and he did not wish to see him harmed.
He ignored the pain racing through his body and pressed his hands into the hard earth.
Knowing he had no other course, he waited. There was only one way to deal with such a person, to get close enough to absolutely deal the most horrific blow so that they would never try such a thing again with a man like him.
As the rider approached slowly, it seemed they were a little bit wiser than Lock had hoped.
Their long, dark cloak fluttered in the wind, and it took a moment for him to see the glints of long blonde hair beneath it.
His heart stopped.
Calliope?
She rode by his fallen frame and then jumped down from her own stallion, her boots crunching into the rough earth.
She strode forward like an angel of darkness in the night.
Her blonde hair whipped out from underneath her hood, caressing her cheeks and tumbling down her back. She wore all black, something he’d never seen her do before, and she looked absolutely fierce, her face harder than he’d ever seen it, too.
There was a glint to her eyes that seemed to suggest she might kill him before anything else.
Had he truly angered her so intently?
Would she murder him tonight?
He’d never thought her to be someone so capable of murder. But she looked as if she was going to kill him.
The Calliope he knew was far more reasonable than that.
Passionate but reasonable.
This specter seemed to look like she was death come for his soul.
Something felt odd.
He felt a strange coolness at her nearness.
Had his heart changed so readily?
It didn’t seem possible.
One moment ago, he’d been thinking of Calliope, longing to hold her in his arms, to be with her, to take back what he’d said, and to curse his father for leaving him feeling so completely invulnerable and incapable of taking a chance at emotion.
But now in her presence, he felt. . . He felt strange.
And as she stepped before him, her boots kicking up the earth, he leaned back and glanced up at her. “What the devil are you doing, woman?”
“What am I doing?” she asked coolly. “What are you doing? Running away from your family too?”
“I’m not running away,” he gritted.
“Are you not?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “It seems to be something you’re quite good at.”
Lock frowned. “I realize I’ve upset you.”
“Upset me?” she repeated before she smiled slowly, a cold grin, and pointed a pistol at him. “Oh, indeed, you have, my lord, Captain Eversleigh. You’ve upset me a great deal, and I think we’re going to have to settle accounts.”
“What the devil does that mean?” he asked.
“Get up,” she said. “You’re coming with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’m going back to London to fetch new orders.”
“Oh, new orders so you can run halfway around the world and abandon—”
“I’m not abandoning anyone,” he cut in.
“Aren’t you?” she queried, that pistol barrel aimed carefully at his heart.
“Stand up,” she ordered.
He did, wondering if his stronger reach might wrest the pistol from her, but it seemed mad that Calliope would be holding him hostage in any case, and he hated the idea of using force with her.
He certainly wouldn’t.
If she insisted that he go somewhere, he would. If she felt he had hurt her so terribly, then he would make amends. It seemed mad, but there it was.
“I’ll go wherever you say,” he acquiesced.
“Good man,” she mocked. “Good man, because if you did not?”
“What the devil is this?” he demanded.
“I’m abducting you,” his aggressor said.
“Abducting me?” he echoed.
“I say, you are slow,” she said. “I don’t know what she sees in you. You are handsome, I admit, but—”
“She?” he queried and then swallowed, realizing that nothing was as he had imagined.
“Yes. She,” the woman said.
“My God,” Lock gasped. “You’re her sister.”
“Aha,” she said. “Catching on now, are we?”
“Are you truly Cleo?”
She cocked her head to the side. “I am. And what you’ll soon realize is that I’m the mercenary one. When she wants something, I will make it happen because. . . No one hurts my sister. Do you understand me?”
Lock nodded, and then, much to his shock and astonishment, two shadows strode across the field. Those shadows stepped onto the road.
As he caught sight of their faces, Lock’s jaw hardened.
Alexander and Adam stood silently in the moonlight behind their sister.
“I hope you heard,” said Adam, and Alexander narrowed his eyes. “No one hurts our family.”
“My God. I’m surrounded by Americans again.”
Alexander gave a low laugh. “One would have hoped you learned, after Gemma. We always win in the end.”
Lock narrowed his eyes. “So you’re all going to abduct me, put me on a ship, and take me where? The ends of the earth so I never see her again?”
“Oh,” Cleo’s brows rose, and a wicked smile curved her lips. “We’re going to take you to be with Calliope, of course.”
And with that, something kicked him from behind, and he felt himself fall to the ground. One thought played through his head. . . He was going to see
her again. At least one last time.
Chapter 20
Abduction was never something Lock had aspired to.
After all, he was a man of action, someone who went into battle sword drawn, courage in hand, fighting the fear of what was to come. Now, he quite happily sat in the coaching inn, hands bound behind his back under his cloak.
Knowing that if he made the wrong move, he’d be summarily jabbed with one of the Duke family’s blades, just like a pincushion.
He was positively delighted.
He’d been so certain about what needed to be done.
He’d been planning to go to London to ask for a commission to run away.
They were right.
It was exactly what he was doing, and now that he’d been faced with such a fact, he was ready to do exactly the opposite.
It was as if fate had stepped in, told him what truly needed to transpire, and he would do it.
Dammit.
It was time to embrace the fact that he absolutely loved Calliope Duke. There was no getting around it, and it was clear that the universe wanted him to know it. No doubt, they would chuck him on board a ship with her, send them out to sea, and somehow things would be sorted.
That moment in the woods with Calliope had been truly dark and awful.
His soul often felt as if it would break when he thought of his father. He knew, once outside of those woods and now in this coaching inn, that he could not allow himself to be controlled by his past.
It would never allow him to live if he did.
Perhaps even his father, from the other side, had had something to do with Cleo Duke and her two brothers showing up for him to make good upon his feelings for Calliope.
Yes, this was exactly what was supposed to happen, and he couldn’t help feeling a hint of smugness as he sat there near the fire.
But that smugness died an immediate death at the sight of Rutherford.
Rutherford stopped dead for a moment, clearly stunned by their chance meeting. Then he cut across the crowded room, his dark hair flicking with red in the light of the great fire.
They locked gazes with each other, and for a moment, he was absolutely certain that Rutherford was going to kill him where he sat.
Instead, the marquis sat down before him. “You great ponce,” he said. “I ought to call you out right now for what you did.”
“And what exactly is that?” Lock challenged, knowing full well.
“You broke her heart,” Rutherford said. “She is not someone who’s easily broken, either.”
That was true, but he had a strong feeling he would never actually be capable of breaking Calliope Duke. No one could do that, but he knew he had wounded her.
“It’s none of your bloody business, Rutherford,” he said.
“Oh, it is,” Rutherford countered, his gaze as cold as stone. “For I consider her to be a particular friend of mine, and anyone who hurts a friend of mine is meat.”
“Well, don’t worry overmuch,” Lock said lightly. “She has a great many people looking out for her.”
Lock jerked his chin towards Adam and Alexander. Cleo, too, stood nearby, and he knew that if he put one foot out of line, he would be a dead man.
In fact, he was now surrounded by people who would happily be his executioner.
None of them would have a compunction about it, and his body would be found rotting out in some bog somewhere, or perhaps never to be found at sea.
Rutherford folded his arms across his great chest. “I will happily get in line to murder you,” he said.
“Well, there is a long queue if you must know, but I don’t think it should be necessary.” Lock leaned forward, the rope biting his wrists. “I’m going, now, to tell her I love her.”
Rutherford narrowed his eyes then he studied Adam, Alexander, and Cleo. “No, you’re not,” he contradicted.
“What the devil do you mean?” Lock said. “Of course, I am.”
“No,” Rutherford spat out. “You are not going. You’re being taken, and there is a significant difference in that choice of words.”
Lock shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t follow.”
“You do, Lock.” Rutherford blew out a derisive breath. “You’re no fool. Not truly. The truth is, you’re an exceptionally intelligent man with a good brain. Not only that, your brain often operates on cold thought. So, logic should be no stranger to you in this. You’re not going of your own accord. No doubt, before they got a hold of you, you were running off to some parts unknown.”
Lock shifted uncomfortably at the truth of that.
That’s exactly what he had been going to do, and the truth was he was being taken to Calliope.
It had been all too easy, and he’d been more than happy to acquiesce to it.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lock protested, even as his gut twisted. “I’m going to her now.”
“It does matter. Do you think she’ll honestly take you like this?” he mocked. “She’s a proud woman, a strong woman, and she’s not going to like the fact that you’ve been dragged to her. I hope to God she kills you on board her ship.”
Lock hesitated as the weight of Rutherford’s words fell upon him.
Once again, it was true.
There was one thing Calliope had said to him that suddenly rang in his ears. She was no thing to be put down and picked up again.
My God, that’s what he was doing.
Lock hung his head.
He was the worst of bounders, the most disgusting of men, and suddenly, he felt a sort of loathing for himself that coated his skin and made him feel. . . It made him feel desperately unworthy.
He looked at Rutherford and could barely swallow the distaste in his mouth. Finally, he said, “You’re correct.”
“Of course, I’m correct,” Rutherford said, leaning his elbows onto the rough table. “I’m looking at you, and I see a bloody coward.”
That word usually would’ve caused Lock to stand and demand account.
A duel would’ve been thought over such an accusation, but not today, because Rutherford was right. He was a coward. He was terrified. He was terrified of becoming like his father. He was terrified of choosing Calliope. He was terrified of choosing love. So terrified that he couldn’t go himself, but rather had to be dragged to her.
He had to be abducted.
By God.
His father would be so ashamed.
For though his father had not been able to survive this life, he had loved unquestionably. He had loved with passion.
Passion so deep, yes, it had caused him to be unable to sustain himself.
But he had loved.
Lock, on the other hand, was too bloody afraid.
No, his father had been the brave one even if he had not been able to endure it.
Maybe that was what had gotten his father, though.
Fear.
Fear of continuing on with the pain.
But Lock knew now that he would experience pain anyway.
Pain would be his companion without Calliope. Of that, he was absolutely certain, and so he had to choose her, come what may. But he could not be a coward about it.
He gave Rutherford a solid nod. “I have to thank you.”
“Thank me?” Rutherford scoffed. “What ever for?”
“For showing me what sort of man I’m being. Not a man at all. A coward,” Lock replied, though it galled him.
Rutherford looked at him as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “You admit it?”
“Indeed, I do. I’ve made a great many errors, I admit that I am in terrible wrong with regards to Calliope.”
Rutherford narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know why I should help you if that’s what you are suddenly about to ask me to do.”
Lock shook his head. “I don’t need help, per se. For I must do this myself. . . But I do need a distraction.”
“A distraction?” Rutherford echoed.
Lock nodded, then took one look at Adam, Alexander, and Cleo.
>
Rutherford sighed then gave a curt nod. “God, help me.”
“Oh, He will,” said Lock as he began to work at the ropes on his wrist because there was really only one thing he could do.
He had to escape, and escape he would.
Chapter 21
Cleo, Adam, and Alexander stood on the deck of The Wasp, looking as if they had perpetrated the worst possible crime.
Calliope swung her gaze to each of them. “What the devil is wrong with the three of you? You look as if someone has killed all of your dogs.”
Cleo folded her arms across her chest. “I have failed you.”
“Failed me?” Calliope asked, wondering what the devil was happening.
“Yes, that idiotic bounder.” Cleo’s brow furrowed. “I had him.”
Calliope’s stomach tightened. “You what?”
Adam and Alexander scuffed their boots along the deck.
“We kidnapped him,” confessed Adam.
“You did what?” Calliope demanded.
Cleo ground her teeth together. “It was the only thing to do.”
“Do you realize what could have happened to the three of you if you’d been caught abducting the brother of a duke?” Calliope demanded.
“Yes, but he also happens to be our relative, so it really couldn’t possibly be that terrible,” pointed out Adam.
“Adam,” she gritted. “Your wife would murder you, as would yours,” she said to Alexander.
Alexander shrugged. “Gemma would understand. The same thing happened to her.”
“What?” Calliope yelped.
Adam laughed. “It’s true. I abducted Alexander and Gemma together. It’s a tradition, don’t you know?”
“A tradition?” Calliope drawled. “My God, our family. It’s something else, isn’t it?”
“That, it is,” Adam replied ruefully.
Calliope drew in a long breath and rushed, “I have no desire to stay here any longer, but promise me you’ll never do something like this again.”
Cleo frowned. “You’re my sister, and I love you, and I want you to be happy.”
Calliope folded her arms across her chest. “Abducting Captain Eversleigh would not have made me happy. I have no desire to have him on board this ship.”
“That’s a shame, then,” said a familiarly delicious voice from the gangplank. “For here I am. Am I not allowed to come aboard?”
