by Eva Devon
Adam let out a hack of disgust “I cannot believe I’m listening to this.”
Alexander threw up his hands. “I swear to God, I’m listening to the propositioning of my sister, and I’m not supposed to say a single damn thing.”
Her lips twitched. She and her brothers had spent so little time together, she found their behavior surprisingly endearing.
“Of course, you can say something,” Rutherford said, agreeably. “Say whatever you like. Tell her to run back to her ship. Tell her to have another kind of adventure. Tell her to stay away from me, and tell her to go away and be a good sailor and not stay in London and face the ton.”
She could not believe her ears. “My God,” she said. “You do have a way with words, do you not?”
“I do,” he said happily, folding his arms once again over his magnificent chest. “It’s from my mother’s side of the family. They’re Irish.”
“So is mine,” Cleo said, marveling at his pride in it. So many English people looked down upon Ireland.
“Indeed?” he queried, his eyes shining with anticipation.
“We have that, at least, in common,” she begrudged. It wasn’t the only thing, either. She strongly suspected he desired her as much as she desired him. . . Hence his absurd manipulations.
He slowly raked his eyes over her then, letting his gaze linger upon her lips. “You have a way with words too, I can grant you.”
“Oh, I’m glad you noticed,” she drawled.
“But we still won’t have more words together,” Rutherford said with a dramatic sigh. “For you will not stay despite my bet and my dare.”
“I’ll take you up on your bet,” she heard herself say before she could think. “But what will be the prize?”
To which, both of her brothers let out curses.
Rutherford waggled his dark brows. “If you can stay in London for a month, you may name the price.”
She stilled. “I may name it?”
“Indeed,” he affirmed. “But I do not believe you will be able to do it, so I needn’t fear whatever it is.”
“Hah,” she said. “I shall make you pay through the nose. It shall hurt your soul when it comes time to give up accounts.”
“Then, you needn’t fear,” he replied easily with a nonchalant shrug. “And I will be prepared to do it, for I am a man made of money.”
“That sounds most unpleasant,” she replied, knowing the pointless lives of the very rich.
“It is not,” he disagreed easily. “I promise you that, to be made of money, because I know what to do with it, unlike some men.”
“Throw it away upon women like me?” she countered.
“No,” he said. “I never throw money away, and one can never throw away money upon a woman like you. I don’t know any women like you. You are the one and only of your kind,” he continued. “Hence my willingness to make this wager. For I will not risk losing you for a short time. I wish to know you better.”
Alexander rolled his eyes. “My God, are we reading a novel? Are we enacting it out?”
Rutherford laughed. “Quite possibly,” he said. “But it’s true. There is no other woman like your sister.”
Adam snorted. “With that, I can agree. My own wife is remarkable, it’s true, but Cleo, well, most men would be terrified of a woman like her.”
Rutherford grinned. “I’m not most men, and I’m ready for a bit of adventure.”
“My goodness,” Cleo said, as a burning anticipation took up flame within her. “I had no idea that, that was what I would be giving you. Is that truly what you wish?”
“Yes,” the earl said firmly and without flinching.
She tilted her head to the side. “Then, best be ready,” she said, “for adventure, you shall have.”
Chapter 5
Cleo sat in silence upon her stallion as the Earl of Rutherford rode off at dawn.
“I can’t believe you’ve agreed to stay in England,” Adam drawled.
“Why not?” she queried, lightly gripping the reins in her gloved hands. “Is it so very terrible?”
“You always seem to think so,” reminded Alexander from atop his beautiful black stallion. He patted the animal’s neck to keep him calm.
“Perhaps I shall change my mind,” she said, rather surprised herself that she had agreed to such an endeavor.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Adam mused, his own seat on his white horse superb despite his preference for the sea. “You might stay for a bit of time. He is actually, as you say, rather beautiful.”
“Ha!” she exclaimed, urging her mount to exit the cobblestone courtyard. “Harken to you.”
“Well, I can appreciate a bit of male beauty the same as anyone else. It’s just factual.” Adam grinned at her, his wild blond hair tied easily behind his neck. “Is it not?”
“It is,” she agreed, enjoying the easy banter with her brothers. She’d never had such a thing growing up, and she found that this escapade with Adam and Alexander was bringing her closer to them.
She nodded as she considered Rutherford’s person. “He is quite lovely.”
“Oh, Cleo, you’re not going to cause a scandal. Are you?” asked Alexander, his voice wary.
“I might,” she replied, absolutely loving the opportunity to rib her older brother. “Mother did it when she was here last time.”
“One needn’t do what mothers have done!” Alexander protested passionately.
“You’re right, of course, but a scandal never hurt anyone.” “That’s not true,” Alexander disagreed firmly. “Scandal can be the absolute devil. Some people are untouched. . . Others are positively scarred.”
“Well,” she said, refusing to be managed, especially by two men who had lived far beyond the bounds of society’s dictates. “You two have both married into a family full of it.”
“I can’t argue that point,” agreed Alexander, though he looked as if he wished he could.
The fact was that Alexander had married into one of the most scandalous, if most powerful, families in England, and Adam was not far behind. For his wife was a cousin of said family.
No, Cleo did not need lectures on propriety from them. Besides, both of her brothers had lived their lives boldly, unafraid of the censure of others.
Nothing would have suggested that they were proper fools before, and she did not need to be told to behave now. She truly hoped they had not succumbed to rules.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how.
So, she urged her stallion on, towards the London road.
“Damnation,” Adam suddenly bit out. “How the devil are we going to tell her?”
“Calliope?” Cleo queried, feeling her own sense of unease at the idea.
“Exactly,” said Adam, his face a bit grim now.
Alexander winced as he easily kept pace with them on the muddy road. “She might murder us all.”
“She won’t,” Cleo said resignedly as she considered her sister’s reaction. Her stomach tightened with dread. “She likes us too well. She loves us. She’s not going to hurt us. She’ll be disappointed, which is worse.”
Both of her brothers let out long breaths of air, both knowing what that disappointment could hold.
“Calliope’s disappointed look,” Cleo warned firmly, “is far worse than my mother’s. We’ll all whither on the spot and wish we had fallen into the Thames.”
“Well, we could always send a note,” Alexander said with false cheer.
Cleo glared at him. “I didn’t know you were a coward, brother.”
“I’m not, but I have no wish to tell her what we’ve done and that we failed at it.” He scowled. “She will not be impressed either way.”
“True,” Cleo agreed as they all fell into silence. . . knowing the end of this journey was not to be a particularly pleasant one.
For not only had they failed to bring Captain Eversleigh with them, they had failed to bring their sister happiness. There was nothing good at all about what
they’d attempted except for perhaps the odd and intriguing exchange with Rutherford. She could hardly believe that she’d agreed to stay. It wasn’t like her to take up bets or dares.
No, it wasn’t that he had dared her.
Clearly, she’d wanted to stay; it was the only explanation for her behavior.
Such a thing was a marvel. She’d never wanted to stay in London or England before. She’d had an abhorrence for the birthplace of her father, and for the land that had made her mother’s life rather difficult.
It was, after all, the center of almost all the oppression in the world, or at least, so she felt. It seemed rather odd to make her home in the land of the oppressors for more than just as long as it took to replenish supplies and refit The Wasp.
But there it was. It’s what she had agreed to, and she couldn’t deny the fact that she was looking forward to the Earl of Rutherford’s company. She had a strange feeling that he knew pleasure and that he knew how to give it.
And she was rather looking forward to that.
It had been a long time since she’d permitted herself to have a bit of fun. Truth to be told, it was time she allowed it. She’d been holding on too tight for the last two years. Demanding a great deal of herself.
Now, she’d enjoy herself. She’d sample the excitement of being on land and away from the sea. All good sailors needed that. They all needed to sow their oats, have a bit of rum, and a good time before they went back out for months. Was she any different? Of course not! She’d been a sailor all her life.
Yes. That’s all this was.
After she’d had her time with the Earl of Rutherford, well, she’d be ready to sail the world again without a backward glance. If only she didn’t have to tell Calliope what she’d done, or how they’d failed, but she did, and there was no getting around it.
So, like the strong woman she’d worked hard to become, she flicked the reins and urged her stallion on at a quicker pace, practicing exactly what she was going to say to explain the mess she had made in the name of love.
Chapter 6
In the light of a cold English morning, the Earl of Rutherford had no idea what had compelled him to be so damned rash.
As he rode his perfectly groomed stallion across Hyde Park, he wondered why he was willing to take such a risk. Was he truly that bored?
Over the years, he’d promised himself he would never engage in the indulgence of boredom.
“Good God, man,” Ellesmere galloped up beside him along the Row, entering the park from the direction of Speaker’s Corner. “You look as if you’ve become possessed.”
Andrew made no reply but gave his friend a nod.
Ellesmere’s russet brows drew together. “Do we need to sprinkle holy water upon you? I know that’s not our sort of thing to do, but you do look most perplexed.”
Andrew rolled his eyes, which caused Ellesmere to laugh loudly, drawing the interest of several of the other morning riders.
The Earl of Ellesmere was another powerful man in England, and desperate to be married.
It was a well-known fact.
The poor devil, he kept looking for someone, but he couldn’t find the wife he wanted. In a way, Andrew understood him. He had not thought to look for a wife until recently.
As a matter of fact, he was a well-known and reputed rake, and he quite enjoyed that fact. But the years were passing, and it was definitely time for him to settle down and ensure an heir.
It was not convenient, his attraction to Cleo Duke. She was the opposite of what he should be pursuing, but he didn’t want to be completely entombed when he wed.
Ellesmere, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. He just wished to find a suitable young woman, someone who was reasonably intelligent, pretty, and who could do exactly what was needed.
Which was perhaps why his friend could never find quite the right lady.
As it was now, as they rode along Rotten Row together, several ladies of the ton stared at them. Dressed in beautiful muslins and linens, they waved their fans, tittering away.
They were a powerful pair.
Still, Rutherford wasn’t entirely certain what he was going to do next. Because Cleo Duke would come knocking upon his door and demand that they begin their adventure together. Usually, he was the one who did the seducing. But he did not think she was the type to be seduced. Oh no, she would not give up control, of that he was certain.
The fact that he did not know how this would go should have been thrilling. It was not. And that was a mystery to him, given that adventure was what he had craved.
Suddenly, now that he was about to be launched into said adventure, well, he was at a loss.
Ellesmere peered at him. “I say, old boy, shall I summon a priest?”
Andrew snorted. “I don’t think holy water would take care of my particular predicament.”
“No,” Ellesmere agreed, adjusting his cream-colored leather gloves along the reins. “Ladies cannot be eradicated with holy water.”
Andrew swung a surprised stare to his friend. “How do you know it’s a lady?”
“Could it be anything but?” Ellesmere’s eyes danced. “I doubt you’d be so perplexed over the prices of cotton.”
“True,” Andrew admitted, though he loathed how transparent he apparently was at this moment. “But there are a great many things that could cause me to be distressed.”
“Indeed, but it is not a great many things.” Ellesmere arched a brow. “It is a woman.”
“You’re correct on that point. It’s not a lady.” He tried to focus on the perfect gait of his horse. He failed. Now, with thoughts of her, trying to penetrate his mind. “It is a woman.”
“Bloody hell,” Ellesmere groaned, eyeing him with undue sympathy. “You haven’t gone and fallen in love with the barmaid, have you? That doesn’t seem like you.”
“She’s not a barmaid,” Andrew retorted, then he straightened on his polished saddle. “But she is certainly most unusual.”
“Oh, unusual?” Ellesmere echoed. “The ton will hate that or love it. It’s hard to say. One never knows. Are you going to make her your countess?”
Countess! From interest to marriage. That was Ellesmere’s mind at present.
For one moment, the idea of living with Cleo Duke for the rest of his life chased through his mind. . . It was not unpleasant. He imagined that wicked smile greeting him. . .
Andrew shook the senseless thought from his head. “I don’t think she’d ever let me make her a countess.”
“Let you make her a countess?” Ellesmere gaped. “She wouldn’t like to be a countess? What kind of woman is she?”
“One who believes in a republic,” Andrew said pointedly.
Ellesmere blew out a huff of disbelief. “Even so, I know not a single woman who wouldn’t want to be a countess. Not truly.”
His friend was going to be in for a rare surprise. Andrew almost anticipated it. “I’ll introduce you to her. It shall be interesting.”
“Hmm,” said Ellesmere. “I hope that you do. Meanwhile, are you going out this evening? I think it would be a very good idea to get you out and about. Or we could go boxing or. . .”
The truth was, Andrew had only managed to force himself out of the house this afternoon. He didn’t really know what he wished to do. If he was honest, the deepest part of himself hated waiting for Cleo Duke’s return to London. Truly, he really wished to see her, to settle the accounts. To know what was going to happen.
He was not used to being in such a state of unease. He was used to knowing exactly what was going to occur, but he did not. The ball, so to speak, was not in his court.
He had thought he would like it.
He did not.
For all the adventure he’d craved, he was discovering a great deal about himself and his familiarity with normalcy. In the midst of it, he seemed a bit, well, flummoxed.
It was rather disheartening. He thought himself made of sterner stuff than that. Besides, damn it, he was t
he one who had arranged it.
He should be pleased, not full of so much. . . unease.
Instead, he felt like a man waiting for a storm to break, and he was wondering if he had battened down all of the proper buildings, as one should. Because if he had not, surely flooding would commence, storms would ensue, and he would lose his roof. The roof being a metaphor for his brain.
He did not like the idea of losing his wits to anyone, let alone to Cleo Duke. He had been so certain he would be able to lead in this. Now, somehow, it felt as if it was actually she who was in the lead. And he was going to have to decide how he felt about that, and soon.
Chapter 7
Cleo stood on the deck of The Wasp, cursing Rutherford.
The blasted man was absolutely correct.
She and her brothers had arrived early in the morning to break the news to Calliope that they’d lost the love of her life.
They’d dreaded it every mile, returning to London. But now, as she stood there on the deck with Lockhart Eversleigh giving up everything—blast the man—professing his love for her sister in his dashingly handsome way, well, she really wanted to throttle Rutherford for being absolutely correct.
The arrogant ponce of a man! How she wished to rail against it, but she couldn’t, not really.
She couldn’t cease in her delight for her sister. For Calliope’s face positively beamed with happiness as Lockhart Eversleigh swept her into his arms, kissing her passionately. His dark hair was a perfect match for her sister’s blondness.
The two of them looked absolutely like wild creatures ready to seize the world and live every day to their fullest, which was very different from the way Lockhart had appeared before. He’d been so rigid, so terrified to break his regimented rules.
But now, he looked like a man ready to throw himself to the wind and give himself over to her sister. It was a happy ending or a felicitous beginning, whichever way one looked at it.
So, after they had kissed passionately, whilst Cleo and her brothers stood waiting, Cleo forced herself to do the right thing. She squared her shoulders, crossed the deck, thrust her hand out, and said, “It does appear you’re about to be my brother. So, welcome to the family, Lock.”
