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

  The stars, of course, were her anchor.

  They never changed.

  They turned, of course. Because the world did. But they were a constant.

  If she looked in the right direction, the right star would always be in the right place, and they would tell her where to go and how to be.

  Yes.

  The stars were not, as Shakespeare sometimes suggested, temperamental.

  No, they burned brightly and constantly.

  It was humans who were not so.

  Humans were often dimmed, and angered, and full of emotional resentment, incapable of remaining consistent. They waxed and waned like the moon, whereas the stars. . . The stars were ever-present.

  Much to her chagrin, in London, to see the stars was nigh impossible.

  Too many lights, too many fires, too much smoke kept them hidden from view, and her heart sank just a bit.

  “My family is too much for you?”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She had not thought he would follow her out here, and she shook the sadness she felt away.

  For Lockhart Eversleigh was a mystery to her, and she did like a good mystery.

  She turned to him. “And what would you say if I said yes?”

  “I’d say you were honest,” he replied.

  “Well, then, I’ll be honest. They are a bit much. But I enjoy them very much, too. I’d rather have their frank honesty and their loud, booming happiness instead of the other miseries I’ve seen with most English families.”

  “Yes,” he granted, his strong face shadowed by moonlight. “I will say that my family is an exception, and so are their friends. I’m glad they’re so happy.” He paused, his emotion surprisingly visible as he added, “It wasn’t always thus.”

  “No?” she queried, amazed that he would share such a thing with her. Where was his hard shell that she’d become so accustomed to?

  He shook his head, his dark hair brushing his square jawline. “No,” he said. “Happiness was something that did elude us.” A wry smile turned his sensual lips. “We’ve always been wild, of course, the Eversleigh clan. But a tragedy did strike us once upon a time. We almost did not recover.”

  She studied him, feeling oddly akin to the captain in the still of evening out of doors. “I understand,” she said gently. “Tragedy strikes almost every day somewhere in this world. It is difficult to avoid it. I think it comes to all of us. That doesn’t make it less painful, though, does it?”

  “You’re quite wise for a wild woman from the middle of nowhere,” he complimented, though of course, it did not sound quite the compliment he likely intended.

  She forgave him for it. Lockhart Eversleigh was not the best in company, and she was beginning to understand him and like him better for his crusty demeanor. She had a very strong feeling that his heart. . . His heart was far softer than he’d ever admit.

  “I’m not from the middle of nowhere,” she pointed out lightly. “I’m simply not from what you believe to be the center of all things.”

  “Ah.” He took a step forward, hands still clasped behind his back. “Yes, London. But London is the center of the world,” he countered.

  “So, many people say,” she conceded. “But I’m not entirely sure that’s true. There are a great many other cities, you know? Hong Kong, Marrakesh, Naples, Paris; so many glorious cities and, now, places like Boston.”

  “Yes,” he said through what seemed like gritted teeth. “Places like Boston. Places that are the center of insidious revolutions.”

  “You, sir, strike one note, do you not?” she teased, wondering why he clung so strongly to his dislike of the republics springing up about the world. “Is that the only thing you know?”

  “It’s easiest and best to keep to my code.”

  “Easy,” she echoed. He did not seem a man to be driven by what was easy.

  “Yes.” His voice was deep, a rough rumble in the night.

  “Don’t you like to be challenged a bit?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m challenged,” he said, closing the distance between them so he could speak in a soft voice that still sounded of rough things like whiskey, leather, and stone. “I’m challenged every day, but it’s the simple things that keep me on course.” He glanced up. “Like the stars.”

  She drew in a deep breath, amazed he’d say such a thing. “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Oh, I do. You’re aptly named if you love the stars.”

  “Ah. You speak of Calliope and Ares?”

  He nodded. “She fell in love with the god of war.”

  “And brought him stars as gifts.”

  “They met a tragic end.”

  “Of course. It is a Grecian tale,” she said. “They did love their stories of woe and adventure. And Calliope must have loved Ares very much to have given him such treasures.”

  “He wasn’t worthy of her,” he said softly.

  She grinned. “No one was worthy of Calliope.”

  “Is anyone worthy of you?”

  The question shocked her. “Are you asking if I fancy a certain captain in a scarlet coat?”

  “Good God, woman, you do lead me in a merry tune.”

  “You needn’t stay to my tune at all if you find it discordant,” she reminded. It was clear she affected him. . . And she liked that. Liked it very well, indeed.

  “I don’t,” he breathed. “It’s not discordant at all. It’s far too pleasant.”

  “Is it?” she queried, gazing up at him.

  “Oh, yes. You know how to play a tune that makes people listen.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Some people, I think, would like to string me up and have done with me for that tune.”

  “Then, they are fools,” he murmured. “You might drive me mad, but I won’t deny that you play a tune that would make any man pay attention.”

  “Is that a compliment?” she queried. “Or an insult?”

  “What think you?”

  He stood so near, their bodies almost brushing, and she found herself desperately wishing to lean into him.

  “With you?” She cocked her head to the side. “I’m not entirely certain.”

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you,” he said. “You’ll just have to decide for yourself what I think of you.”

  “Can you not tell me what you think of me?” she insisted, finding herself mystified. He was not as simple as she had surmised.

  “Do you truly wish it?” he asked, skeptical.

  “Oh, yes. I’m very easily able to handle such commentary.”

  “That’s what people say,” he warned. “But I don’t think it’s true. We’re all affected, whether we wish to say it or not, by the beliefs of others.”

  “Are we?” she challenged, her heart beginning to beat a trifle faster. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Oh,” he all but whispered as he bent his head down. “Yes, we are. It’s why we become the way we become. We’re shaped and twisted like trees. The words or the wind would shape us.”

  “Words or wind would shape us?” she repeated, captivated. “What a romantic notion.”

  “There’s not a romantic bone in my body,” said Lock. “That’s for my brothers and my mother and my sister.”

  “Are you so very different?” she asked, not believing him for a moment.

  “Very,” he replied.

  She found herself short of breath, her fingers longing to reach out and brush his dark hair from his brow. “Is that on purpose, through device, or is it through birth?”

  “All three,” he confessed. “I think I have definitely chosen to be different, but I was born different too.”

  “I see,” she said. “And that’s difficult for you?”

  “It’s difficult for anyone,” he said. “To be different. You should know that.”

  “Should I?” She blinked innocently. “Am I so very different?”

  He laughed, a gentle, gruff sound. “You know that you are. And everyone adores you
for it.”

  “Everyone except you,” she sallied.

  “Your difference is not the reason I dislike you.”

  “So you admit it,” she gasped playfully. “You dislike me.”

  “Of course I admit it,” he replied easily, even as his gaze darkened with desire. “You dislike me too.”

  “Do I?” she queried, her breath hitching in her chest.

  His gaze hazy, he asked, “Don’t you?”

  “I know you dislike me because I’m not a biddable miss.”

  He gave her one solid, strong, unrelenting stare. “There is not a single biddable woman in my entire family. I find the idea that that’s what I should approve of appalling. I have no interest in silly, biddable misses. But you,” he challenged roughly. “You like to cause trouble for the fun of it.”

  “Indeed, I do,” she admitted, her entire body feeling as if it had been sparked by him. “Life is far too short to let the waters lie still.”

  He glanced at her then with an emotion that was not desire. Something darker. Something more dangerous. “Clearly, you’ve never seen where trouble can lead, then,” he said. “You’ve never quelled a rebellion or seen the way fire can crash through a group of people.”

  “I run a ship, my lord,” she returned. “Of course I’ve seen it.”

  “Then, why in God’s name would you like to cause trouble?”

  “Oh, I don’t like to cause that kind of trouble,” she returned. “There’s trouble for fun, and you’re right, there’s trouble for danger. One I enjoy, the other abhor.”

  He contemplated her.

  “You do know how to incite me,” he said with a strange note of admiration.

  “And that’s a good thing?” she asked.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “It is a good thing,” she murmured as the realization struck her. “You like it.”

  His eyes narrowed again.

  “If your eyes narrow any further,” she said, “you won’t be able to see me at all.”

  “True,” he said. “But I can certainly hear you. I can feel you. And I know that you’re here.” He took a breath. “Damnation, woman, I can feel your presence like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

  Her blood all but thundered in her ears at his confession. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your presence,” he said, “it fills me up. It is. . . a delicious torture.”

  “Delicious?” she countered.

  “Yes,” he said, drawing closer until there was but the narrowest of breadth between them. “It surrounds a person. It caresses them, and then it shakes them and says, ‘Sit up and take notice.’ You know that about yourself. You don’t really need me to say it.”

  “No, I don’t need you to say it,” she agreed, her breath coming in short takes, her breasts rising and falling quickly, nearly caressing the brass buttons of his waistcoat. “But I’m surprised that you enjoy it.”

  “A woman who can command?” he pointed out, the tips of his boots now touching hers. “A woman who knows herself? I do enjoy those things,” he said. “It’s the rest I can’t stand.”

  “The rest?” she asked, shocked at the rapidity of their intimate discourse.

  “You’re against everything I hold dear. Rules and regulations.”

  “Oh,” she sighed. “Rules and regulations. Is that truly what you admire, my good sir?”

  “It’s what keeps the world running.”

  “It’s what keeps the world in control,” she countered.

  “We shall never agree,” he said simply, his rough hand slipping around hers, swallowing it up. “Shall we continue to debate?”

  She shook her head, the simple touch of his hand intoxicating. “I don’t think anyone could win this war.”

  He brought her fingertips to his lips, kissing them, oh, so lightly. “Are we at war, then?”

  “A merry one,” she managed.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice as rich and tempting as melted chocolate and brandy. “A merry war. You’re quite something, aren’t you, Calliope Duke?”

  “Indeed, I am.” She licked her lips as if she could already taste him. “But so are you, Captain Lock.”

  “And you like that too,” he said, turning her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm.

  “Yes.” She gasped at the simple, sinful gesture. “I like it. I like you. I like the way you bluster and say that you don’t like me and that all you care about are rules and regulations. Yet, what I think you want most is to. . .”

  She paused.

  “Most?” he queried, lingering over her hand.

  “I think that you wish to kiss me,” she said. “And if you were a pirate or a sailor, you would have already done it. But you’re an Englishman and a captain of His Majesty’s Army.”

  “So I am.” He lifted a gaze so hot to her eyes, she felt set ablaze with desire. “And?”

  “You will not kiss me,” she said hoarsely. “Even though you wish to, because rules and regulations say that you should not.”

  His hand tightened around hers. “Is that a dare?”

  “Would such a thing were to work upon a man such as you.”

  “At the end of the day, I do, do what I wish, Calliope.”

  “And you wish?” she queried.

  “Oh, I wish to kiss you,” he said, pulling her against his hard body, the proof of his desire pressing into her hips. “There is no question. I wish to see if the fire in your words matches the fire in your soul.”

  “My goodness,” she breathed. “A poet as well as a soldier.”

  “You’re a devil of a woman,” he rasped as he wrapped her in his embrace.

  “Indeed, I am,” she agreed, entranced by the feel of him enveloping her. “And you’re a devil of a man, so we’re beautifully paired.”

  With that, he all but crushed her to him as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter 8

  This was complete madness, Lock thought.

  They barely knew each other at all.

  In fact, they’d known each other for less than a day. Already, Calliope Duke had caused him a great deal of distress and angst since their first meeting.

  And if his family found out he was madly kissing her out in the garden, well, they were going to love it.

  That was the worst part of it all.

  They’d think it was absolutely marvelous for him.

  No one was going to castigate him for making love to Calliope Duke out in the garden.

  His family had done far worse things and would cheer him on apace.

  God’s teeth, he wanted her.

  She drove him wild.

  It was absolutely true. She drove him out of his wits. But he had an unshakable feeling that he did the same thing to her.

  She liked the fact that he was so straight-laced.

  He’d wager she was looking forward to getting him out of his stiff uniform. In fact, he’d further wager she’d feel triumphant doing it.

  He was half tempted to let her try it. She tasted of salt air, sun, and joy.

  He wanted to drink all of that in, so he devoured her kiss.

  To his absolute delight, she devoured him right back.

  Their hands roamed over each other, holding tight, pulling closer.

  Their breaths grew ragged.

  This was what he had always longed for, someone who could match him, someone who could keep apace with him.

  So often, the young ladies he knew would hold back.

  No, no other young lady bore comparison to Calliope. Not now. Not ever.

  Bloody hell, what was he doing?

  He was really quite tempted to throw himself in entirely to have a mad passion with her.

  Wasn’t that what life was about, occasionally having a mad passion?

  He’d held himself in check for so long, especially here in London, that it seemed like the ideal thing to do.

  But in that moment, he felt himself beginning to lose control, like a man climbing a mountain with h
is fingers and slipping upon the granite. At any moment, he was going to lose his grip and plunge to the rocks below.

  His heart stuttered in terror.

  He’d never lost control in all his life, and it was imperative he never do so, for he knew which way that went.

  To lose control was to slide into the abyss of misery. He’d seen it almost happen to his brother Charles, and it’d certainly happened to his father.

  He could not allow it.

  He knew his temperament.

  He was dangerously close to wild abandonment. And if he took the wrong step now, he would be surrendering himself to a life of agony. Something he might not survive.

  No, it was only duty, rules, and control that kept him safe.

  And if he were to step aside from that, well, any misery he’d know heretofore would be nothing compared to what he might face in the future.

  So, no matter the fact he wished to drive his hands into her blonde, curling hair, or to loosen the hooks of her coat and bare her linen shirt, he suddenly stepped back, his breath coming in hard takes.

  “Why have you ceased?” she breathed.

  “I am taking control of the situation,” he ground out. “I believe you were in control of it just a moment ago.”

  “You don’t care for that?” she asked, gazing up through half-lidded eyes. “Me in control?”

  “I do not dislike you in control, Calliope,” he said. “I dislike me out of it.”

  “I see.” She stilled, her passion banking as her gaze rapidly darted over him. “How very sad that you’re a man who cannot let go of control.”

  “You know not of what you speak,” he bit out, stepping back from her embrace. “You wouldn’t truly wish it for me if you knew the consequences.”

  Her fingers slid over his arms as if she might try to hold on to him, but then, she let go. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “No,” he warned.

  “I’ve seen men go close to the edge, leap, and. . . soar,” she said, her hands falling to her sides. “Why are you so afraid of it?”

  He blew out a harsh note. “Because I’ve seen men fall off it, broken, and I don’t want to be a man who could never come back.”

  Her eyes softened then. “I’m sorry to hear it, Captain Eversleigh. I shouldn’t wish such a thing for you either. Is that what you fear?”