Mischief in Regency Society. Amanda McCabe

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СКАЧАТЬ she leaped off her pedestal and coshed him on the head?”

      Clio laughed. It was a strained, choked sound, but very welcome none the less. “Well, she did need a bit of mortal help. I grabbed her by that wooden base and swung it towards him. I just wanted to scare him, make him back away. I thought for a moment he was dead, and I didn’t mean to kill him! I wouldn’t mind if he was dead, but I don’t want his blood on my hands.” She held out one trembling hand, palm up. “Of course, it’s there anyway.”

      “No!” Calliope took that hand, holding it tightly. “He is alive, and will probably recover, more is the pity. Hopefully his wits will be scrambled enough, though, that he won’t hurt anyone else.”

      “And so he won’t talk of this to anyone?”

      “Why would he? Being known as an attacker of women—and being so weak a woman could attack him and bring him low—could hardly be what he wants.”

      “For a normal man, perhaps. I don’t have any idea what a man like the duke could want.”

      They sat there for a long moment, clinging together, the only sound the snap of the fire. Outside the window the sky was beginning to lighten, a lark twittering in the trees. London coming to life again for one more day.

      “There is something I want to show you, Cal,” Clio said. She rose unsteadily to her feet and crossed the room to her bed. From under the mattress she drew a folded, rumpled sheet of paper, covered with a spidery black hand. One corner was ripped away.

      “What is it?” Calliope asked, as Clio came back to the fireside.

      “I’m not sure. When I—well, when Artemis made contact with the duke’s head, the wooden base split and this paper came out.”

      “Oh, yes!” Calliope exclaimed, remembering that broken base, the tiny scrap of parchment. “I saw that it was broken. But what is the paper?”

      “A list of some sort.” Clio smoothed it out on the hearth rug. “I can’t quite figure it out, though.”

      Calliope leaned closer, peering at the tiny words. “Cicero. The Grey Dove. The Sicilian. The Purple Hyacinth. Nicknames?”

      “Perhaps. There are ten of them in all, and they’re each so strange. I wouldn’t have thought the duke was one for secret societies, he seems so solitary, but after seeing his Gothic horror of a house I know anything is possible. What could they be nicknames for?”

      Calliope ran her finger down the baffling list. “Charlemagne. The Golden Falcon. I have no idea. It must be very important, though, to hide it in the Alabaster Goddess like that.”

      “Important—and illegal, no doubt. Immoral goes without saying.”

      Illegal contacts? “Oh, Clio,” Calliope breathed. “Do you suppose the duke is the Lily Thief?”

      Cameron splashed cold water over his face, hoping the icy drops would finally wake him from the bizarre dream this whole evening had been. It didn’t work, though. When he opened his eyes, slicking back the wet strands of his hair, his rumpled Hermes costume was still tossed over a chair. And he faced himself—eyes bloodshot, face strained—in the mirror.

      In his travels to Greece, he and his companions were chased by bandits and rebels on occasion, running through the rocky hills with bullets zinging at their heels. That was surely dangerous, but also exhilarating. Life-affirming. After a narrow escape, they would drink and sing around campfires until dawn, when they would run again.

      Why, then, did he feel so weary now? So—old, almost. Was it because bandits and bullets had a strange honesty to them? Unlike whatever it was that had happened at Averton’s house tonight. That had a murky, corrupt air, a mystery he didn’t care for.

      Would he have left Averton to die, if Calliope Chase’s solemn dark eyes weren’t watching every move he made? He was surely tempted to, and the world would be better off. In the end he couldn’t. He couldn’t even let a man he detested die. Because of some weakness in himself? Because he didn’t want to seem less than good, seem the flawed man he was, in front of Calliope?

      Cameron shook his head, droplets flying, and reached for his dressing gown. He drew the warm brocade over his chilled nakedness, watching as the first light of day, grey-pink and fuzzy, peeked through the window. Now wasn’t the time for agonised self-examination. He had never been good at that, anyway; he was no poet. Now was the time for action, for solving whatever it was that had happened last night. Someone had tried to kill the duke. Perhaps they had tried to steal the Alabaster Goddess.

      The duke himself was always up to something. What did he want with Clio Chase? What did she have to do with last night’s events? What was going on with the Chase sisters?

      Cameron went to the window, staring down at the street coming to life for the day. Milkmaids and greengrocers hurried along on their errands; a maid scrubbed at the white steps next door. She yawned as she worked, but Cameron, despite his long night, was suddenly wide awake, his earlier weariness quite forgotten.

      Something had happened between him and Calliope Chase, as they made their way through those dark, mouldering rooms. He had always thought her beautiful, of course. And sharply intelligent, sure of herself as only a truly clever person could be. But also stubborn and maddening!

      Last night there was a new connection, a new spark that intrigued him, drew him in, even as his suspicions grew. He would find out what was going on with her, with his deep Athena who hid so much. It wouldn’t be easy to gain her trust, her confidence. In fact, he had the feeling it would be the most difficult thing he would ever do. But something was afoot in the small world of antiquities collecting, in the world of the Chases, and he was determined to find out what that was.

      Even if he had to spend time—lots of time—with Calliope Chase. Not that that would be a terrible hardship, he thought, remembering the way her Athena costume clung to her bare, white shoulders. But someone had to solve this riddle, before more artefacts like the Alabaster Goddess fell victim to its spell.

      And he was just the person to do it.

Chapter Ten

      Calliope tied the ribbons of her bonnet into a jaunty bow just under her left ear and examined herself in the mirror. Did it really look well on her? It was her favourite hat, chip straw trimmed with blue satin ribbons. But was it too—plain?

      And why was she so very worried about hats, when there were so many other more important things to be concerned about? Clio and the duke, the Lily Thief, the Ladies Society.

      She knew why the sudden preoccupation with fashion, though, and she didn’t like it. She was worried because she was to wear the bonnet to go driving in the park with Lord Westwood.

      Cameron.

      With a frustrated sigh, Calliope pulled off the bonnet, completely disarranging Mary’s careful construction of curls, and reached for the note that had arrived over breakfast.

      “Miss Chase, would you do me the honour of driving with me in the park this afternoon? I think that there, surrounded by hundreds of people, would be the only place where we could really talk. If you are agreeable, I will call for you at half past three.”

      If she СКАЧАТЬ