Mischief in Regency Society. Amanda McCabe

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СКАЧАТЬ especially now, when she needed to move as unobtrusively as possible in society to discover the Lily Thief. Was it the duke? Westwood? The mysterious Minotaur from the ball? Or someone she had not yet even thought of? She could never find out if everyone was watching her, laughing behind their fans.

      But she did need to talk to Westwood. He was the only one, besides Clio and the duke, who knew what really had happened in that dark gallery. Perhaps he could help her now, but she had to be careful. It was possible he was also her biggest obstacle.

      Calliope pushed the bonnet aside and reached for the newspapers from that morning. The more disreputable ones were full of news from the masquerade ball, nearly all erroneous. One had the duke’s head split completely open, blood and brains spilling forth on to the floor. It didn’t mention how the man still lived after such carnage. One had jewels stolen from the house, ladies fainting, masked thieves brandishing pistols. Or swords. Or daggers.

      None of the accounts were as bad as her own memories, though. Of the smell of coppery blood mingling with dust. Of that scrap of silk in the duke’s hand.

      Calliope shuddered and shoved the papers away. Under all those black headlines, under her own confused memories, there lurked the truth. And she intended to find it. Surely it was the only way to stop the Lily Thief, and keep Clio safe.

      Yet she couldn’t do it alone. She was no Athena. She needed as many allies as she could find. Her sisters, the Ladies Society. Cameron de Vere?

      Could she trust him? Last night he had been like a rock amid chaos and confusion. But that did not erase his old attitudes towards antiquities, their old quarrels.

      There was only one way to find out. Talk to the man. Try to see beneath his light, charming façade to the truth beneath.

      Calliope reached again for her bonnet and popped it on her head. She wished it had some flirtatious feathers or bright fruit and flowers, or that she herself possessed Thalia’s blue eyes or Emmeline’s fine figure. Brown eyes and skinny limbs, clad in classical white plainness, weren’t likely to coax secrets out of any man, let alone one as admired by the ladies as Westwood.

      It was no use worrying about it, though. She was who she was, and there was nothing to be done about it. And she was going to be late if she didn’t hurry.

      Calliope retied the bow under her ear and reached for her blue spencer. Maybe she didn’t have flirtatious azure eyes, but she did have one thing she shared with Cameron—a knowledge of history and antiquities. They could speak the same language, if they just tried.

      As she pinned a tiny brooch, a golden owl of Athena, to her collar, a knock sounded at her chamber door.

      “The Earl of Westwood is waiting for you in the morning room, Miss Chase,” the footman announced.

      “Thank you,” Calliope called. “I will be down directly.” She touched the owl and whispered, “Courage.”

      The fashionable hour was just beginning as Calliope and Cameron turned into the gates of Hyde Park, his dashing yellow-and-black phaeton rolling smoothly along the lane, joining in the bright parade. Calliope opened her parasol, turning it over her shoulder to block the afternoon sunlight—and some of the stares of the curious.

      “Are you quite well today, Miss Chase?” Cameron asked, steering his horses down a slightly quieter pathway. She had been right about his driving skills. His gloved hands were featherlight on the reins, his horses perfectly responsive to his slightest touch. Just as she had been responsive when they danced.

      “A good night’s sleep and a strong pot of tea can do wonders,” Calliope answered, nodding at Emmeline as they passed her and her mother in their carriage.

      “Did you sleep well, then?”

      Calliope laughed ruefully, and shook her head. “Hardly at all. I had such dreams!”

      “Dreams of falling statues?”

      “Of being chased by hairy Minotaurs down endless corridors.”

      He gave her a sympathetic smile. “That house would be quite enough to disturb anyone’s dreams, even without other—events.”

      “Quite. I hope never to see Acropolis House again.”

      “Or its owner?”

      “Him, too. Will he live, do you think?”

      “The doctor who was summoned last night says his prognosis is quite good. Once his brain is set right. Whatever right might be for such a man.”

      Calliope swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “And have you heard what the events of the night are supposed to be?”

      “That the duke was examining his treasure, and she fell from her unsteady base. A tragic accident.”

      “At least until the duke awakens and tells the truth.”

      “Until then. How is your sister today?”

      “Quiet, but well enough. Clio does not stay discomposed for long. But her account of events is much what you would think, I fear. The duke surprised her as she examined the Alabaster Goddess, and when he tried to do—something, she hit him with the statue.”

      “Well done for her.”

      Calliope laughed. “I think she is mostly disappointed she didn’t finish the job.”

      “Well, I’m sure one day someone will—finish the job. The duke has many enemies.”

      “Like you, Lord Westwood?”

      He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Perhaps. One can never predict what might happen in the future. And I thought I asked you to call me Cameron.”

      “When we are alone.”

      “Aren’t we alone now?”

      Calliope looked around at the crowd of carriages and equestrians. “Hardly.”

      “No one can hear us.”

      “All right, then—Cameron. I hope that, if something does one day happen to the duke, it won’t be by your hand.”

      “You wouldn’t like to see me in Newgate, then?”

      Calliope had a vision of him locked behind stout bars, dishevelled, waiting for the noose or the ship to Botany Bay. Once it might have made her laugh; now it made her shiver. “Not for the likes of the Duke of Averton. I don’t want to see you or my sister hurt because of him.”

      “I don’t want to see such a thing, either, believe me.”

      “Then how can we prevent it?”

      “We?”

      Calliope examined the passing scenery, the neat rows of trees, feigning a carelessness she was far from feeling. “I think we worked together well last night, did we not?”

      “Yes,” he agreed slowly. “Certainly we prevented anyone knowing what really happened in that gallery, though I’m sure there is no power on earth that could stop speculation.”

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