Never A Duke (Dukes' Club Book 11) Read online

  Never

  a

  Duke

  The Dukes’ Club

  Book 11

  By

  Eva Devon

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Never a Duke

  Copyright © 2019 by Máire Creegan

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  I am so grateful to have four marvelous men in my life. Thank you for making every day one full of love.

  Special thanks to:

  Patricia, Judy, and Monica.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Eva Devon

  Chapter 1

  Considering that Calliope Duke had been sailing about the world for the majority of her life, it was a shocking thing that she’d never set foot in the world’s capital.

  London.

  She had been to most of the great ports of the world.

  At least five years of her younger years had been spent in Asia, and she’d sailed the glorious waters of the Caribbean from infancy.

  But no, she’d never been to London.

  There was a decided reason for it too.

  Calliope had no desire to go and see the land which had been so determined to keep its clutches on the fledgling United States.

  England had never been for her.

  After all, it was the source of all things. . .

  Well. . .

  English.

  And Calliope loathed Englishmen.

  They were all so distant, so frigid, so superior.

  She, an American and world traveler, had come to believe that the English felt far too highly of themselves. So, as she stood amongst the teaming, towering masts of the thousands of ships docked in London’s shipping docks, she fought the urge to scowl.

  Instead, she did the next best thing.

  She laughed and folded her arms underneath her linen-shirt-clad breasts.

  She walked across the main deck, her perfectly made, knee-high leather boots raking across the rough wood. Thick fog penetrated her beautifully stitched, flowing shirt and embellished green waistcoat.

  She didn’t give two figs for the damp.

  Over the years, when away from the Caribbean, she’d grown used to the cold, and she loved it.

  The very idea of having to put on her elegantly tailored greatcoat in just a few moments, traipse down the gangplank, and do what she’d come to do was rather annoying, but still, she’d come to London for a purpose.

  It was the only reason why she’d come to such a city, which of course, she realized made her a bit silly.

  She disliked people who refused to try new things, and so she should dislike herself at this present moment. Yet she was not eager to go in search of her brothers—half-brothers, really—but search for them she must. Her sister, Cleo, who was in the captain’s chambers totting up the accounts, had agreed wholeheartedly. . . Even if she had scowled whilst agreeing.

  Calliope was well aware she and her sister were an odd couple.

  London would not know what to do with them, of that she was certain, and in a way, she was looking forward to it. Calliope was not, however, looking forward to knocking on the doors of her brothers’ shipping offices in the city. Still, she was grateful she would not be knocking on their doors in Mayfair.

  She’d read about Mayfair, and she’d heard about it.

  It was a place of ponces, of absolute prancing dandies, who wouldn’t know what to do with a cutlass or a pistol, let alone a bit of sail.

  Even though it was necessary to put boot on London’s ground to meet with Adam and Alexander, at least she was fairly certain her two other half-brothers, James and Rafe, were somewhere about the East Indies, and she didn’t truly wish to see them again at this time.

  Not right now, not with the death of her mother.

  That was something she didn’t even wish to think about, but think about it, she must, for she and Cleo had inherited her mother’s ship, The Wasp.

  While she and Cleo could go about independently, which they were sometimes inclined to do, they both knew the chance that it took, doing such a thing.

  No, it was far better to fold in under the Duke family and, at least, get protection from the vast shipping lines that circumnavigated the globe.

  At least, she could avoid him. She wouldn’t have to ask her father, who had retired. If she had. . . Well, the question would never be asked.

  She was fairly sure her brothers would offer her protection without controlling her.

  Yes, she’d give them a large portion of The Wasp’s profits, and then all would be well.

  She and Cleo could go about the rest of their lives, sailing the waters of the world and not having to worry about being preyed upon by dodgy loan men or questionable insurers.

  That was the way it should be.

  So with one last look at the many masts and ships that were here to pick up goods or drop them off and then go back again out into the wide world, she headed to the captain’s cabin. She waved and gave a nod to several busy sailors, many of them very eager to go off deck and into town.

  She bit back a smile.

  Most of them would come back with sore heads and sore cocks the next day, but what could one do?

  You could not control the nature of men.

  Calliope climbed the stairs to the main deck and then went into the slightly shadowy chamber. Even the wall of windows could not lighten it, given the London gloom.

  Her sister, as usual, was indeed scribbling away in a thick ledger.

  “You’re coming with me, then?” Calliope tested.

  Cleo did not look up, pulling her black sleeve back lest she trail it through her perfectly written fresh ink. “Into town?”

  “No, the Cape of Good Hope,” Calliope said dryly before she sighed. “You’re not going to make me go into London by myself, are you?”

  Cleo blew out a derisive breath. “I have absolutely no desire to go into that terrible, terrible place.”

  “Do you think I wish it?” Calliope teased, propping her booted foot on the top of the desk.

  Cleo pursed her lips even as she wrote. “No, but you’re the people person.”

  Calliope threw up her hands. “I am not a people person.”

  “You are,” Cleo insisted, sanding her page then pressing it with paper. “I’m the one who’s good with the books, and you’re the one who’s good with negotiations. I’m too. . . demanding.”

  It was true. Cleo did not negotiate. Cleo barged in and gave orders. Something that usua
lly resulted in pistols drawn and fighting words spoken.

  Calliope groaned. “If you insist, but really, you should get off this ship for a bit of an airing.”

  Cleo narrowed her blue eyes. “I don’t plan on getting off this ship until we’re back on the warm waters of the West Indies.”

  Calliope tsked. “That leaves me with the difficult work.”

  “You have to do the difficult work?” Cleo scoffed and wiped the nib of her quill. “No. You have all the fun.”

  “Fun?” Calliope countered, stunned by the summation. Dealing with their brothers and bandying about with all the landlocked didn’t seem such a thing.

  “Indeed,” Cleo said, leaning back in her chair and hooking a leg over her knee, her black breeches loose enough to allow it. “You get to go about the ships and ports and things and have adventures.”

  “You could have them too,” Calliope pointed out, refusing to feel badly. She adored her sister, but her sister’s dislike of people couldn’t be dismissed. “You just don’t wish to leave The Wasp.”

  “That’s not true,” Cleo protested.

  Calliope gave her twin a serious glare as if to say, now, do be honest.

  Cleo gave a sheepish grin. “I accede. You’re correct. I don’t actually like to go to taverns.”

  “Which is a great mystery to me,” Calliope said. “Taverns are great fun.”

  “For people who like to drink,” Cleo countered. “With sweaty, dubious men.”

  Calliope let out a laugh. “While sweaty men can be tricky, gin is a marvelous thing.”

  “Then, you should be very happy in London.” Cleo cocked her head to the side. “They make quite good gin here, they say.”

  “I’ve heard it’s acid,” Calliope returned with a shudder.

  Waggling her brows, Cleo leaned forward. “Well, why don’t you go out and find out. You do like to do research, after all.”

  Calliope laughed again.

  It was true.

  She was very good at doing all the research necessary to find out what were the best goods they could transport across the waters and make the most money, which allowed her and her sister to maintain their sense of freedom and independence.

  She tugged her long, wild hair back over her shoulders.

  “Fine, then, I’ll go. For us, for the ship, for Mother,” Calliope intoned with great drama.

  Cleo frowned. “Yes,” she said. “For Mother. She’d like to know that we were in London.”

  “Do you think so?” Calliope asked. Their mother, Anne, had hailed from Ireland and had often made strong commentary about the English. “Mother didn’t have a lot of things to say about London that one would appreciate.”

  Cleo shook her head. “I can’t agree. I think Mother had very fond memories of London.”

  “Then why did she leave?” Calliope demanded.

  Cleo nibbled her lip then shrugged. “Because, well, scandal, of course.”

  Calliope shuddered.

  She couldn’t understand people who were so controlled by scandal.

  It made no sense.

  There were so many wonderful things in this world, so many opportunities, so much adventure.

  Why limit one’s self to a tired, tight little life with nothing exciting to offer and every day exactly the same? She couldn’t imagine it.

  What kind of person could do such a thing?

  Much to her horror, as it turned out, millions of people could live thus.

  “Well, then,” Calliope said, straightening her waistcoat. “I’m off.”

  “You best put a coat and hat on. You’re going to look like an absolute scandal yourself, and then they’ll never let you in anywhere.”

  With a begrudging nod, she went to the pegs that bore her long coat and hat.

  It was true.

  Even in the ports of Asia and the Indies, she wore her coat. It gave her a look of authority that a simple linen shirt, even with her waistcoat, wouldn’t.

  She pulled on the knee-length coat with its gold embroidery, and placed her feathered hat on her head at a jaunty angle.

  She took a quick look in the silver mirror.

  Well, she looked a bit wild.

  Perhaps she should do something with her appearance, but really, the idea of taking time to put on a proper frock?

  Impossible.

  Besides, she didn’t own a proper day frock, really.

  No, she preferred her beautifully embroidered captain’s coat with a waistcoat to match, to a silly gown. Her linen shirt was tied at her neck, with billowing ruffles at the sleeves.

  Unlike Cleo, she didn’t wear breeches.

  She found them to be rather tight and burdensome. She liked having the freedom of her legs. The skirt was not like those popular in the fashion of this time. It was long and flowing and easy to manage.

  It wasn’t at all tight or constraining. She could take great strides if she wished to, and it was made of a rich, dark red, embroidered at the bottom with gold.

  “Shall I go shock Alexander and Adam, then?”

  “I don’t think you can truly shock Adam,” Cleo pointed out.

  Calliope silently agreed.

  She’d only met her brothers Alexander and Adam a handful of times, but she quite liked them. James and Rafe, she’d encountered several times on the High Seas.

  The brothers were different.

  Different than Cleo and Calliope, but it was clear that they were related, aside from their mutual sandy locks.

  Adam was wild, and she admired him for it. Alexander was a bit more reticent, and he reminded her a good deal of Cleo. Truth be told, Adam and Alexander could have been Cleo and Calliope if the sisters had been born men.

  But they had not, and it had shaped their destiny.

  Unlike her brothers. . . she and Cleo had also been born bastards. They used their sire’s last name, which he allowed, but they did not own it.

  That too had shaped their destiny.

  Calliope tried not to let it bother her most of the time, and most of the time, it didn’t. It was only very rarely when such thoughts of the fact that their father had abandoned them so entirely when they were but small girls came into her mind.

  She sometimes wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up with a loving father, but having met Alexander and Adam, she knew that they didn’t know what it was like either, so she hadn’t grown too frustrated with such contemplations.

  It was true that their father kept sending missives, asking Cleo and Calliope to return to Boston, but she loathed Boston even more than she loathed the idea of London.

  Those uptight Puritans with all their rules and all their views and all their judgments. No, thank you. She had no intention of sailing into that harbor.

  She turned to her sister and spun about, her skirt like a bell. “Do I pass muster, then?”

  Cleo gave her a quick once-over before reaching for a cup of neglected coffee on her bolted-down desk. “Well, you look absolutely stunning. Your clothes sumptuous, but I’m not entirely sure what London will think of you.”

  “London is a metropolis that is full of many cultures.” Calliope nodded confidently. “I’m sure they shall adapt to me just fine.”

  Cleo arched a blonde brow, her skepticism as thick as the coffee they brewed. “Do you think so?”

  She nodded. “Indubitably.”

  If not, she’d make them.

  It was the only way to do things or go about this life of trial.

  One had to live by one’s own principles. Not others’. If one did that, nothing new would ever be accomplished.

  Adapting to the ways of others was beyond her. Her soul would be crushed if she attempted it, and her soul was far too big to endure such a thing.

  So with that, Calliope made sure she had coins in her purse, tucked carefully away. If London was like any other great city in the world, it would be full of cutpurses. She adjusted her hat once more, ensuring it had the necessary jaunty angle she preferred, whi
ch caused the feathers to bounce optimistically as she walked, and gave her sister a nod.

  “I’ll be back soon with news, and then we can get out of this godforsaken city.”

  Cleo plunked her boots upon her desk, ankles crossed. “You know we have to spend at least a few days in this hellhole. The men will never forgive you if you don’t allow them to have their wild fun.”

  Calliope groaned.

  Though she loathed to admit it, it was true.

  The men did need to have time to work free their urges.

  Weeks upon a ship, doing nothing but work and spending time only in the company of men, did make for difficult sailors.

  Until they’d sowed their oats and drank a barrel’s worth of gin, they were stuck in London. It would be a few days at the very least.

  They’d drink and whore themselves into oblivion, feel absolutely terrible, and long to go back out to sea where they could be cleansed by the salt air and the freedom of running up the rigging and letting out the sails.

  She frowned at the admission of more time than she wished spent in Britannia, touched her purse one more time, and felt the crinkle of paper in it.

  Earlier, she had tucked the address of the Duke shipping offices into the velvet drawstring. It still amazed her that Adam and Alexander were willing to have an office in London. Or at least, to man that office themselves.

  They too hated the English very much as far as she could tell from their few meetings, but things did change, and they were practical men. They understood that London was the greatest shipping center in the world.

  The Leviathan, the beast, the ever many-tentacled octopus that stretched out all over the world, claiming and taking whatever it could.

  She headed back out of the narrow cabin onto the quarterdeck. The sea air had long disappeared, something she tried not to think about as she headed out to the gangplank, stared at the teaming docks, and squared her shoulders.

  It was time. And she wasn’t one to take things tentatively.

  She bounded down the wooden way and stepped for her first time onto English soil.

  She did not go up into flames, which quite relieved her.

  She doubted that London, like holy water, could expel someone who had less than complimentary feelings about it, but still, one never knew. And she had a slightly suspicious nature, as most sailors did.