by Eva Devon
Cleo grimaced. “Devil take it! Do tell me they serve gin at parties? How else shall I survive?”
She wasn’t about to tell her sister-in-law that she absolutely had to survive the ton and its uninspiring nature, lest she lose a wager.
Lady Beatrix frowned, contemplating the question. “No, but some of the punch is quite surprising and will put you under quickly if you’re not careful.”
Cleo burst out with laughter. “Oh, you’ve never been drinking in a tavern in Jamaica, then.”
“I confess not,” agreed Lady Beatrix.
“I doubt England has rum,” ventured Cleo.
“Rum?” queried Lady Beatrix.
“Rum,” confirmed Cleo. But at Beatrix’s mystified gaze, she added, “I shan’t introduce you to the wild liquor. Now, I cannot stay indoors. If I do, I shall lose my wits. Thank you for this morning, but off I go in search of adventure.”
Lady Beatrix hesitated then asked, “Might I come with you?”
“If you truly wish to,” Cleo said, stunned that her sister-in-law might wish such a thing.
Beatrix’s smile would have dazzled the sun. “Should we go for a ride in the park?”
“I ride horses if I must,” Cleo said, “but I do not prefer them. I did ride across half of England just recently, but—”
“Ah, yes, the wild pursuit of Lockhart Eversleigh,” Lady Beatrix enthused.
“Shh,” said Cleo. “We’re not supposed to speak of that. It never happened, don’t you know?”
“That’s right,” said Lady Beatrix conspiratorially. “It never happened. I have no idea why I mentioned such a thing. Now off we go, then, to explore.”
“If you insist,” said Cleo with a smile, surprised that a lady should wish to spend time with her.
“Oh.” Lady Beatrix hesitated. “If you don’t wish my company. . .”
“No, no!” Cleo protested quickly, realizing how she must have sounded. “Of course I wish it, Lady Beatrix. I’ve simply never had a female friend besides my sister. It shall be a remarkable thing, indeed, to get to know you a bit better. I think I shall like it quite well.”
“Wonderful,” said Lady Beatrix with a clap of her hands. “Now, you’ll have to be all right with the fact that I’m a rather slow mover.”
“Oh, I’m used to doldrums, Lady Beatrix, and sometimes they are the most fascinating times of all, so I will have no trouble at all if you are not swift afoot.”
And she meant it.
She did not mind the fact that Lady Beatrix’s injured leg meant she could only walk at half the pace of most people.
Cleo was quite impressed with the fact that Lady Beatrix had not let it get her down and that she was determined to go about society like anyone else. Quite the contrary. Cleo was happy to help her sister-in-law traverse the town.
As a matter of fact, as every moment went by, she found that she liked Lady Beatrix more and more, and perhaps she was about to have her first friend. It was a surprising thing she dared to consider, but dare, she did.
Chapter 12
“Cleo Duke was whom you were speaking about,” gaped Ellesmere before glancing about their crowded club.
At this time of the day, several men were seated about, in brown leather chairs, perusing the news sheets. It was a haven from the female sex and an opportunity to connect with friends in a quiet setting where speech was not necessary.
But Ellesmere seemed intent on speaking over their freshly poured coffee.
“Indeed,” Andrew drawled, glad that his friend could now fully understand his predicament.
“Deuced take it, man,” Ellesmere said, marveling at the revelation. “You told me there was a lady who did not wish to be a countess, and I did not believe you. I certainly do now. She is a Gorgon.”
“She’s not a Gorgon,” Andrew defended immediately, “She’s no monster.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” rushed in Ellesmere, mortified. “She’s a towering example of womanhood, but. . . No one is like that.”
Andrew presented a rueful smile. “Well, she’s like that.”
“And you? You’re pursuing her,” said Ellesmere with a shake of his head, amazed.
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Andrew replied with a frown. “In all truth, I think she could be pursuing me.”
“No,” said Ellesmere with a laugh. “You’re pursuing each other. It’s very clear to me. The two of you are absolutely matched.”
Andrew growled, “We are not. We simply like each other a good deal.”
Ellesmere’s eyes danced. “Oh, I think you two are two sides of one coin.”
“It’s impossible,” sighed Andrew. “I am bound to England, and she loves to sail away.”
“Surely, such a thing could be overcome,” Ellesmere said brightly. “Look at Adam and Lady Beatrix. Look at Lockhart and her sister.”
“Cleo is different,” Andrew countered firmly, determined to stay grounded in the realm of reality. “She is a woman who likes to rule. She would not wish to have a husband at all, as far as I can see, and I don’t think I could bear the idea of a wife who was always leaving me.”
Ellesmere stared at him for a long moment then, with a dubious arch of his brow, surmised, “So you’re going to have a good bit of fun with her, and that’s all?”
“Exactly,” confirmed the Earl of Rutherford.
“Hmm.” Ellesmere studied him carefully. “I do wonder. You seem most taken with her.”
Andrew ground his teeth then said, “Am I going to have to pop you one to stop you from talking?”
“Quite possibly,” Ellesmere said, his lips twitching. “Do you think we should go and box?”
“No, not today. I have no wish to have matching black and blue eyes.” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the intense anticipation humming through his veins. “I’m going to be seeing her this evening.”
“Are you, indeed?” Ellesmere waggled his russet brows. “Just interested in her a little bit, are you? Didn’t you see her last night?”
“I did.” The thought of her kiss sent the most strange feelings of desire through him. Not just passion, but need for her. “And let us simply say that I have not had enough.”
“Well,” Ellesmere shrugged his broad shoulders. “How could anyone have enough of a woman like that?”
“Don’t speak about her like that, Ellesmere,” he growled, unable to stop himself.
Where the devil had that come from?
Ellesmere’s lips curled in an amused grin. “A little bit jealous, are we?”
Bloody hell. He was. And that felt damned dangerous. He couldn’t recall being jealous in his entire life.
Ellesmere raised his hands. “She offered to help me find someone, I’ll have you know.”
Andrew guffawed. “Indeed?”
“Yes,” Ellesmere groaned. “Apparently, it is obvious how hopeless I am.”
Shaking his head, he took a long drink of his coffee. “I’m trying to imagine Cleo playing matchmaker between you and some young lady. It never would have occurred to me she’d be interested in pairing people.”
“Well, she seems to be,” Ellesmere said before he leaned forward, braced his elbows most indecorously on the polished wooden table, and declared, “Perhaps I should try to pair the two of you.”
“Cease,” warned Andrew. “I command it. I don’t wish to hear any more suppositions about my romantic life.”
“If you insist,” Ellesmere said over his coffee, “but I have a feeling—”
“Cease,” Andrew repeated loudly. “I don’t wish to hear it. Now, allow her to help you find your lady love or stay the devil out of my business when it comes to romance.”
“It is a romance, then?” Ellesmere crowed.
Rutherford threw up his hands. “I’ve had done. No more.”
And with that, he stood up and strode out of the club, Ellesmere laughing behind him.
Chapter 13
Over the years, Andrew’d had af
fairs. Many of them.
They’d all been wonderful and brief and enjoyable.
This felt nothing like those.
He knew it in his bones. But now, there was no going back, and he found he could not wait for it to truly begin.
That kiss in the garden had just been a taste of the heat that was to unfold between them.
He would ignore Ellesmere’s ribbing. They were the sallies of a well-meaning friend. After all, men did like to give each other a devil of a time. He’d show Ellesmere that this was just an affair meant for pleasure, not some damned march down the aisle towards matrimony and children and worrying about whether or not Cleo would stay in London or if she’d leave him.
When the time came, he would happily escort Cleo back to her ship, wave her off, and then, perhaps one day, see her again when she came into port. That was what their relationship was to be, and he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to enjoy her.
Tonight. . . She would arrive under cover of darkness to begin their affair. He had everything perfectly prepared. In his chamber, the fire roared. There was a table with wine, cheese, fruit, a few sweet things upon it.
He had lit candles throughout the room, giving it a beautiful golden glow. And he knew that at any moment, his butler would escort her up the stairs, knock upon the door, and allow her to enter his chamber.
His massive bed, a bed that heretofore only he had slept in, was made to perfection. The green silk sheets would feel smooth upon their skin, and he could not wait to roll her in them. Cleo was the only woman he’d felt compelled to bring into his own townhome.
That should have given him pause.
He did not feel nervous. The feeling making him completely alive was excitement, not nerves. After all, he was a man of experience. But there was something in him, some heightened note of anticipation that he’d never quite felt before.
So, as he strode to the fire and gazed down into the flames, he tried to ignore the fact that he was waiting, wondering if, by some odd chance, she might not come. But she had clearly enjoyed that kiss just as much as he did.
So, when at last he heard the footsteps echoing down the hall, he straightened. His eyes locked on the door as if hypnotized. This was the moment he had been waiting for. . . now—he dared not say his entire life, but much to his astonishment, it felt like that at that particular moment.
A soft, gentle knock sounded on the door before the panel swung open.
Boldly, she strode in.
He had wondered, throughout the day, what she might wear. Some seductive costume or dark cloak over a beautiful gown? He should have known better.
Cleo strode in, in a long coat that would’ve been fashionable ten to fifteen years ago. Its tails embroidered with gold and buttons, and the cuffs were thick and heavy. A linen shirt was loose at her neck, and the ruffles at her wrists were most becoming. She had a snug red waistcoat, with golden embroidery sent in the shapes of birds and flowers along its edges.
Much to his shock, she wore a pair of breeches.
Those breeches were snug against her legs, dark-colored, and tucked into boots that were knee-high. Her hair was tucked up under a hat. It was possible one might mistake her for a boy or a young man if they were a few feet away, but he knew far better.
Oh, no. Cleo was not a boy at all. She was the fiercest woman he’d ever met.
“Masquerading, are we?” he asked, his voice low and hungry even to his own ears.
“Well,” she propped a hand on her hip then waved to the lushly stitched coat. “I thought it might be nice if I were to enter your house and not look like a wayward young woman. Besides, I don’t need to give Adam and Alexander any more trouble than they’ve already had over the years.”
She smiled, a slow, clever smile. “This way, it simply looks as if a friend of yours is paying a call—”
“In the most remarkable coat I’ve ever seen,” he said.
She gave him an elaborate bow, her hand twirling. “Why, thank you, my lord. It is a coat I am most proud of. It’s beautiful, is it not?”
“Very,” he agreed, wanting to pull it off her and drop it to the floor. “Who knew you would like something so ostentatious after the gown I saw you in last night.”
“That was ostentatious, too,” she said. “In its own way.”
“It was also remarkably simple,” he growled. It had framed her body in such a way that he’d felt as if he were but a breath from knowing what her body felt like unclothed. “It was striking. There was no lace or silliness to it.”
“No,” she pointed out. “But it was not like the other gowns of the evening.”
He couldn’t help but agree. She’d been the most striking woman in the room even if her gown had been one of the simplest. It had still managed to somehow be sumptuous and seductive.
“Would the good captain care to partake in a glass of wine?” Andrew asked.
“I would, indeed,” she said, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. “Please do pour.”
As he walked to the table and lifted the decanter, he easily poured two glasses of bold red wine. He picked up the crystal glasses and carried one towards her. She stretched out her beringed hand and took it easily. Their fingertips brushed, naked, and even though both of them were experienced souls, it was a moment of contact in which they each met each other’s eyes. There was a flare of excitement in hers as if she had been eagerly awaiting this, too.
“Drink,” he urged.
She lifted her glass in a salute. “To good times and good friends. To good people and to good ports of call.”
“I can easily second such a toast,” he said, and they both lifted their glasses to their lips.
They drank simultaneously, listening to the sound of the wine slipping into their mouths and down their throats.
When she lowered her glass, it had stained her lower lip a shocking shade of berry. Andrew longed to reach out and rub his thumb against that lower lip and then kiss it and taste the wine upon her flesh.
He smiled at her then, a smile he felt in his soul. A slow smile that seemed to radiate straight from his desire. He was determined to remain playful, to not be overly serious, and so he teased, “Am I to be but one of your men in many ports.”
“Ah,” she said, tsking. “You assume a great deal, my lord.”
“Do I?” His breath caught in his throat. She was staring at him most oddly. “Forgive me.”
“I do not have a man in every port,” she said simply before she took another swallow of wine. “I’m not particularly interested in affairs.”
“No?” he queried, surprised, for she seemed so full of passion. “Not particularly.” She cupped the wine glass in her beautiful sun-kissed hands. “It might astonish you, but I do not spend my life off my ship, engaged in amours.”
He blinked, feeling as if the entire earth swung around him at the significance of her statement. “Am I unique, then?”
“Yes, indeed, you are.” She glanced at her wine then lifted eyes full of raw desire and something deeper. “I saw you, and I knew that I had to have you.”
“I am amazed,” he said, even as he felt his heart begin to pound. For that was how he had felt. An uncontrollable pull towards her. To have her. To be a part of her life.
“You shouldn’t be.” She gave him a skeptical shake of her head. “You know you’re a beautiful man.”
“Perhaps,” he managed to say, though he did not generally spend time thinking of his appearance. “But, I’m amazed that a woman like you would choose a lord like me.”
“Why ever not?” she protested, stepping deeper into the room, the firelight casting its glow upon her lithe body.
“Am I not,” he ventured warily, “the symbol of everything that you despise?”
She cocked her head to the side, which caused the feathers on her hat to dance playfully. “If you were, I certainly would not be here. There is something different in your speech and the way you see the world. Look at how you knew that Lockhart nee
ded to be let go to be with my sister. You see the world as it is, not as you want it to be.”
Andrew wondered if that was true. It was certainly a compliment.
“Thank you, good lady,” he said with the flourish of a bow. “I’ll take that.”
“Good,” she said. “It is one of the reasons why I’m here in this room with you. You are a bold sort of fellow, and I like bold fellows.”
“Hmm,” he said. “You like bold, daring, dangerous men?”
“You are bold,” she affirmed, “but not daring nor dangerous.” She grinned then.
“Am I not?” he scoffed, teasing her, loving to see her smile. “I dared you when we met and was willing to be beaten by your brothers.”
“Too true, too true.” She lifted her wine to her lips and drank deeply. “But I cannot see you upon the high seas, risking life and limb.”
“No,” he granted. “I would for my country, of course, but for mere profit? No. A pirate’s life is not for me. I am more interested in the well-being of this land and ensuring those upon it live a good life.”
“I’m glad to hear someone cares,” she said softly.
“There are many of us in England who do care, but many more do not.”
“I’ve seen London’s slums,” she replied quietly, her face serious now.
He tensed. “Have you, by God?”
“I have.” A look of grave misgiving furrowed her brow. “I walked through some of it today.”
“Cleo,” he said, his lungs tightening with a sort of fear that had never coursed through him before. What if she’d been killed? “That is exceptionally dangerous.”
She arched a brow, surprised by the intensity of his response. “Are you worried for me, my lord?”
“Yes,” he ground out. “If you’re going to go walking anywhere near the East End by yourself.”
“I promise you I go armed, and I did not go far. I only went to Covenant Garden.”
“Alone?” he queried, stunned.
“Yes,” she said simply, mystified by his shock. “I am not your typical lady. I swear I have been to many ports that would give you the shivers.”
