by Eva Devon
Her shoulders tensed. “We shan’t draw out horrible things. You and I should only discuss pleasant things.”
“If you insist,” he acquiesced, realizing that perhaps Cleo was not as free as he’d assumed. Was she, too, a prisoner of the past?
“I do. We needn’t go into deep dark secrets.” She gave him a winning smile that she clearly knew charmed. “That is not to be our sort of relationship.”
“I agree,” he said, knowing she would never be his. . . Not truly. A woman like Cleo was a wave upon the shore, always flowing back to the sea.
The knowledge. . . ached.
He shook the foolish feeling away quickly. He was no sentimental fool. Nor was Cleo. They would enjoy each other, and that. . . That would be more than enough.
As they waltzed about the room, he drew her slightly closer to him, bending his head towards her. “I cannot wait to kiss you.”
“Scandal, good sir!” she exclaimed with the playful grandiosity that seemed to be her second nature. “You talk of kissing a lady upon the dance floor?”
“I do.” He let his hand slide slightly along her ribs. “For, I think you wish me to. We hunger for each other, do we not?”
Her lips parted, and her breath hitched before she managed to whisper, “We do, I shan’t pretend it is not true.”
How he wished to know the inner workings of her mind. . . He likely never would. But he could know her embrace. He could know the taste of her lips and the feel of her skin.
“Then, let us go into the garden,” he urged softly.
She gazed up at him and teased, “Ask me nicely.”
He fought a laugh. She would keep him on his toes. There was nothing boring or mundane about her, and he adored how she did not act as so many others might. She was no heady seductress.
No, she was a playful siren, and he could not wait to answer her call.
“Dearest Cleo,” he said, his voice a rough rumble. “If you please, come with me into the garden so that we might be alone. For your company would fill me with the greatest pleasure.”
“It would be an honor,” she replied with a slight bow of her head. “Lead on, my lord.”
So, he drew their dance to a close, took her hand, and guided her off the dance floor.
Half the company watched, because she was such a remarkable figure. Both of them paid no heed, consumed with each other.
Chapter 10
“I should go first,” the Earl of Rutherford said quietly as they easily walked towards the edge of the ballroom. “And then you should follow.”
She nodded, knowing she could cause only so much scandal. Leaving the ballroom with Rutherford blatantly would be a step too far. After all, she was not so senseless that she did not recognize blatant rule breaking would affect her brothers. Even if they were part of a rather scandalous family.
All one had to do was keep a vague appearance of some propriety and one could get away with a great deal.
After he slipped out, Cleo waited several moments near the door, observing the couples dancing, and then she too slipped into the shadows of the corridor.
Full of anticipation, her body all but humming with it, she headed out to the wide pavilion at the back of the house. Her slippers rushed down the stone step, and she made her way onto the slightly dew-touched grass.
The night sky overhead was dark, and there were no clouds, just as she’d surmised. But a few torches here and there lit the garden, making it clear the owners of the house knew there would be people in clandestine meetings outside.
She kept walking, confident that the earl would find her.
Once she had slipped into the copse of several lilac bushes, their scent wafting around her, a hand slipped out and wound around hers.
She might’ve yelped if she had not known his touch immediately. Instead, she turned towards him quickly and saw his face touched in the barest light.
“You found me quite easily,” she said quietly, pleased.
His dark hair brushed his forehead, and he reached forward, touching her silk bodice with the tips of his fingers. “You made it easy with your glittering golden gown.”
“You like it?” she asked, her heart wild at his touch.
“Its boldness suits you.”
“You suit me too,” she breathed, aching for his embrace.
His sensual mouth parted, and his fingers traced up to her collarbone. “Do I?”
“Yes.” She wet her lips, hungry for him. “I think you’ll be most interesting.”
“You make me sound like an animal in the tower,” he growled lowly. “Something in a cage to be noted. Not let out.”
“Is that what you feel like?” she whispered, caught off-guard by his comment. “That you’re caged and observed and not let out?”
He winced as if displeased she had perhaps caught sight of his true feelings. “Oh, aren’t all aristocrats caged lions being observed?”
She cocked her head to the side, contemplating him.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps, but there’s something about you just now, which makes me think—”
“Don’t think, Cleo, not now,” he cut in. “We’re to have passion, not philosophical discourse.”
“Can not one have passion and philosophical discourse?” she teased, even as she realized she’d just asked him to share more than passion with her when she had been unwilling herself on the ballroom floor. “Surely, the two go hand in hand. We need not bare our souls, but certainly, we can bare our minds?”
He laughed at that. “You are a marvel, Cleo.”
“Thank you,” she said, glad she had taken away the darkness that had fallen over him for a moment. “I like you rather well, yourself. Though you drive me mad with your arrogance and your insistence that you are always right.”
“You are just the same,” he pointed out, sliding his hand to the nape of her neck.
She laughed at that then let out a soft moan at his touch. The feel of his fingers, ever so slightly rough, delicious.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she confessed as she drank in the feel of his fingers on her body. “Perhaps we are just alike and that will be our downfall.”
“Oh no, Cleo,” he disagreed. “There shall be no downfall between you and I.”
“No?” she queried, swaying towards him.
“We are both too pragmatic about all of this,” he said as he then cupped her cheek in his palm. “We know the way life is.”
She bit her lower lip, her entire body alive with need for him. “And how is life?”
“Life must be grasped and enjoyed,” he explained as he stepped closer to her, his body grazing the silk of her gown. “One must never forget that, but one must always know that love is a dangerous thing, indeed. And that one, in this life, is essentially alone.”
Her eyes searched his face. “My. . .” she whispered. “If that is not philosophical discourse, I do not know what is.”
“Then, I should pair it with a kiss, for that is why we are here.”
With that, he lowered his head and, at last, did the thing she’d been longing for him to do for days.
He took her mouth with his in a searing kiss.
She did not hold back but slid her hands up his shoulders and into his hair, winding her fingers into the tendrils at his neck.
He tilted his head down and pulled her hard to him, his hands gripping the silk of her gown. Arching her back, he bowed her so they were pressed together so tightly that not even a piece of parchment could have been slipped between their bodies.
Their kiss grew hot, passionate, their breath ragged. Their tongues met as their lips parted, and they devoured each other with pleasure and passion.
Kiss after kiss stole her wits. She could barely think of anything at all but him. All philosophy, all reason abandoning them. His hands roved her back, cupping her hips, urging her towards him. She could hardly believe this wild passion was occurring between them. He was so different than any lord she’d ever met, and she could not wait
to be in his bed. . .
Chapter 11
“The next thing you know, you’ll be getting married,” Lady Beatrix said over her morning tea. “Just like Calliope.”
Cleo shuddered as she contemplated Adam’s beaming wife. “Never in a month of Sundays. Don’t say such a thing. You’ll put a curse upon me.”
Lady Beatrix laughed. “I never thought I would marry, you know? I was absolutely certain I was going to live out the rest of my life in absolute misery. And then I met Adam.”
Cleo gave her sister-in-law a playful scowl. “Surely, you’re miserable, married to Adam. He is my brother, and I should know that a life wed to him is a condemnation of eternal proportion! I should have given you my deepest sympathies upon your marriage.”
Beatrix nearly spit her tea, and she pressed a linen napkin to her rosy lips. “You cannot convince me that you truly believe such a thing. I’ve seen the way you and Adam are together. You both get along splendidly.”
Cleo resisted the urge to hook her knee over her chair at the breakfast table and scandalize her genteel sister-in-law. But Beatrix was better than almost any lady she’d ever met, and so she refrained. After all, she didn’t need to cause trouble every hour of the day.
Hardship had struck Beatrix, and that had made her different.
The death of almost her entire family had molded Beatrix in fire.
Instead of growing cold and cruel about it, she had somehow managed to open her heart to the future and to Cleo’s brother.
Cleo could not admire a person more.
So, instead of hooking her knee over the arm of her chair, she leaned forward and took a large swig of her tea before informing, “I’m not getting married anytime soon, so please don’t start planning any weddings.”
Beatrix gave a horrified guffaw. “I don’t care to plan weddings, if you must know. I think a good, quick, brief ceremony with a special license is the best thing in the whole world.”
Cleo gaped at her sister-in-law. “Truly?”
“Indeed,” intoned Beatrix. “I think we put far too much stock in the whole ceremony. Really, it’s what comes after that’s most important. . . Which is hopefully a long life with a friend.”
“You and my brother are friends?” Cleo asked dubiously, even if she had seen how loving the two were together.
“Oh, yes,” Lady Beatrix replied easily, taking up a piece of toast and spreading butter liberally upon it. “Adam and I are the closest people in the whole world. He knows all my secrets, and I’m fairly sure I know most of his.”
Cleo gave a skeptical glance. “All? I highly doubt that. My brother has some very serious scandals in his past.”
“Well, I’m a very open-minded sort of person,” Lady Beatrix said easily. “I don’t think he could scandalize me too terribly. I have read a great deal.”
“Ah, a wonderful recommendation for any lady,” Cleo agreed, lifting her pink-painted cup in salute. “But not quite the same thing as traveling the world and being at the same ports of call where Adam and I have been.”
“Are you trying to make me feel as if I have not seen the world?” Lady Beatrix teased.
“Have you seen the world?” Cleo asked, truly curious.
Lady Beatrix frowned then leaned back a bit in her delicate ivory chair. “Well, I’ve seen a bit of it now. Adam has taken me, you know, several times about. I’ve been to the West Indies, and I’ve been to the United States. I hope to travel east one day.”
“Wonderful,” Cleo replied honestly, realizing she should not have underestimated Beatrix. “I’m glad to know you like being aboard a ship. I cannot imagine Adam spending the rest of his life here in England.”
Beatrix nodded sagely, her dark hair loose and curled, kept in place by a blue ribbon. “I understand, but hopefully, he can bear it for a while. There are a good many reasons why he has to stay.”
“Your title and all that,” observed Cleo, still amazed that she would one day be an aunt to a nobleman.
“Yes,” Lady Beatrix agreed. “Our eldest son will one day inherit my father’s title by special permission from Parliament. And it would be very sad indeed if Adam did not wish to stay and raise him, because I must.”
Cleo blew out a breath, marveling at the strangeness of life. If anyone had told her but a year ago that Adam would be married to an English Lady and be father to a future lord, she would have laughed them off her plank.
“Well,” Cleo ventured. “As long as you take trips together, I suppose it will all work out.”
“That’s exactly what marriage is,” Beatrix said. “A great deal of compromise.”
“Oh dear,” Cleo groaned. “Another thing to not recommend it to me. I’m terrible at compromise.”
“I doubt that very much,” teased Beatrix as she spooned marmalade onto her toast. “You seem to me to be an absolutely wonderful person of business. As far as I can tell from what Adam says, you run The Wasp and its dealing as if it were a well-oiled machine.”
“The Wasp is nothing like a machine,” she countered, even as she was grateful for the compliment. “It is a living, breathing creature of wood and sail and rope.”
“Forgive me,” said Beatrix. “I know little about nautical terms, but I simply meant to give you a compliment. You are obviously excellent at what you do, and to do so, you must be able to compromise with your men.”
“I took no offense,” Cleo assured. “I love my ship, you see? Almost as if The Wasp were a person.”
Beatrix blinked. “It is amazing to think of you as captain of a crew.”
“Why?” Cleo popped a bite of scone into her mouth. “Because it is not usually done?”
Beatrix nodded as she surveyed her tea and toast. “Yes, for you’re quite a personality. I can imagine you commanding a ballroom easily.”
Cleo gave an exaggerated look of horror. “Never! But in regards to the ship, there are always exceptions to every rule, and I suppose I’m one of those exceptions. I’m very good at getting big men to do what I want. They’re actually quite afraid of me, you know?”
“But, but you’re so small!” protested Beatrix.
“I suppose so.” Cleo pursed her lips. “That’s part of it. They’re absolutely terrified of small women. It’s good fun, you know, looking up at a man well over six feet tall and making him shiver in his boots.”
“Is it, really?” Beatrix asked, clearly fascinated.
“Oh, yes,” Cleo assured. She sat up straighter and gave her sister-in-law a conspiratory grin. “But I don’t really like to be a hard taskmaster. I’d much rather my crew was happy, and so we all get along very well.”
Beatrix smoothed her hand down the front of her sapphire gown, “And now you’re here in London?”
“Yes, Sodom and Gomorrah, here I am,” Cleo sighed. “Land of the empire.”
“How long will you stay?” Beatrix asked. “I hope a very long time. Or at least time enough so we might become good friends.”
“As long as I feel Calliope and her new husband, Lock, need to be alone together upon The Wasp.”
“That could be some time,” informed Beatrix merrily. “Newlyweds and all that.”
“Yes, I suppose it could,” Cleo admitted with only a slight amount of annoyance. She could not let herself be truly upset. For how could she when her sister was so happy?
She eyed her remaining tea, swallowed it, then looked to the coffee pot and took it. She was in need of sterner stuff. Tea, whilst most pleasant, could not do the job she’d become accustomed to on the other side of the glove.
She lifted the silver pot and poured the steaming-hot liquid into her cup. She’d never quite been able to appreciate tea the way the English did. No, no, she far preferred a bolstering cup of the black liquid. She lifted it toward her lips, savoring the aroma, and sipped.
“I hope you don’t mind having me here,” she said as a satisfying wave of warmth pulsed through her. “And if you do, I’ll simply find a place to stay.”
B
eatrix shook her head, her dark curls dancing. “Oh, no. It’s wonderful having family. I used to be surrounded all of the time. It was quite difficult when that stopped. And luckily, I had the Eversleigh family to take care of me until I met Adam. And now, he and I are very close. I’m glad to know you shall be here, too.”
“And you’re building your own family,” pointed out Cleo.
Beatrix’s brows rose as she asked carefully, “Do you like being an aunt?”
“Oh, children are wonderful,” Cleo said easily. “They’re great fun. They’re absolute truth-tellers, and they never think about the future. They’re just in the present.”
Beatrix cocked her head to the side. “I never thought about that, but it’s absolutely true. Would you like to have children of your own?”
Cleo hesitated. She didn’t know. She’d never really given it a great deal of thought. She’d loved her mother dearly and absolutely loved her sister, Calliope. It was wonderful having that family.
And now, Calliope was off in the world with her new husband, and their mother was gone.
She was suddenly adrift, she realized. She had her brothers, of course, but they’d not been raised together. They’d been almost at odds for most of their life, and she’d been rather jealous of them for years, truth be told. She knew Calliope felt the same, as their father had abandoned them for his sons.
It had been an incredibly painful thing, realizing a father could prefer certain children to others, but that was how it was. She didn’t hold it against Adam or Alexander, or Rafe or James, who were halfway across the world just now. No, she couldn’t.
It had nothing to do with them, the poor choices their father had made.
“I cannot be bothered with the future,” Cleo said with a shrug. She brushed her hands, not wishing to think of the sort of pain her mother had endured in her love affair that resulted in two daughters.
“Now, this is a most serious conversation.” Cleo forced a bright smile. “And I am not going to have any serious conversations while I’m here in London.”
“Oh, well, you’ve come to the right place, then,” said Lady Beatrix, realizing that Cleo no longer wished to dwell on anything of import. “All the people here wish to talk about are foxes, hounds, horses, and the weather. And the ladies like to speak about lace.”
