Mischief in Regency Society: To Catch a Rogue

“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.”

Calliope thought again of those rumours Emmeline told her about. The wagers on how soon she and Westwood would be betrothed—or would kill each other. “No, indeed. People do like their gossip.”

“But not us,” he said teasingly. “We are above all that. We care only for the benefit of art.”

Calliope laughed. “I am not so high in the instep as all that, I hope! I confess I do indulge in a spot of, shall we say, speculative conversation now and then.”

“Never! Not Miss Calliope Chase.”

“Sad, I know, but I must be honest.” Calliope sighed.

“And what do you speculate about?”

You, she almost said. She bit her lip, turning away again to peer at the passing pedestrians on the walkways. They were in a more sparsely populated part of the park now, most of the stylish gawkers behind them. Here were mostly serious strollers, nurses with their charges, footmen with dogs on leads. The phaeton rolled past them slowly, at a snail’s pace. “Oh, this and that. Bonnets, of course. Parisian fashion papers. Fans and plumes. Don’t ladies always interest themselves in the latest styles?”

Cameron shook his head. “Some ladies perhaps, Miss Chase. Not you, nor, I dare say, your sisters, or your friends in that Ladies Society of yours all the females of the ton are so anxious to join. You can’t fool me.”

She hoped she could fool him, at least some of the time. He couldn’t know how much they really did talk about him at Ladies Society meetings, how most of her acquaintances were half in love with him, called him their “Greek god”. He couldn’t know why she needed his help so much now. Why she had to keep an eye on him.

And he really couldn’t know that she was beginning to like him.

There. She said it, at least to herself. She was beginning to like him, to look forward to his conversation, his smiles. It surely wouldn’t last, though. Such silliness rarely did. She knew this from watching ladies like Lotty, who were infatuated with a different gentleman every week.

It was like one of Lotty’s beloved novels, turned farce rather than Gothic tragedy. The Folly of Calliope. At least it was folly with a purpose.

“Very well,” she admitted. “Sometimes we do talk about hats, and sometimes suitors. Mostly we talk about art and history. And books.” No need to mention that once in a while the books were things like Lady Rosamund’s Tragedy.

“I knew it. Did I not say you cared only for the benefit of art?”

“You did. And that, Lord Westwood—Cameron—is why I need your help.”

He glanced at her, his brow arched. “My help? Dear me, Miss Chase, I fear I shall swoon!”

Calliope lightly slapped his arm. “Don’t tease! I’m serious.”

“As am I. Who would have thought this day would come? I’m quite dizzy with surprise.”

“Hmph.” She snapped her parasol closed, just in case she was required to rap him over the head with it. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

“Always.”

“Very well, then. I think we both agree the duke is an odious man, yes?”

His smile melted, the corners of his beautiful, Greek god-ish lips turning down. “Of course.”

“You know that better than I, I’m sure. You went to university with him. I only have his behaviour towards my sister to judge by. And his rapacious collecting habits. Those are quite vile enough.”

“Believe me, my dear Miss Chase, you don’t want to see what the man is like outside of polite society,” he said darkly.

My dear? Calliope peered closer at him, trying to read his face under the shadowed brim of his hat. It was as smooth as a statue, as Hermes. Only an obsidian glint in his eyes betrayed the depths of emotion roiling inside.

“No, I don’t,” she said softly. “But I will, if that’s what it takes.”

“If that is what what takes?”

“To protect my sister. And the Alabaster Goddess.”

“The Alabaster Goddess?”

“Of course. It is too much to think I could protect all those objects in that dreadful house. The lioness, the sarcophagus, Daphne. But I think Artemis is in the most immediate danger. Both from the duke and from whoever might think to take her from him.”

“The Lily Thief again?”

“Perhaps. He is not the only petty criminal about, you know. She could be in danger from any number of people.”

“You think some pickpocket from Whitechapel is likely to break into Acropolis House and steal a Greek statue? Maybe some of those cat mummies while he’s at it?”

Calliope sighed. “Put like that, it does sound silly. No, I don’t think some cutpurse is going to haul the goddess away. There are plenty of criminals with more sophistication who could carry off such a crime, though. She is a prime target. Not too large, in beautiful condition…”

“Too famous to sell on the open market.”

“That wouldn’t stop a collector who wants only to gloat over her in private.”

“As the duke has done?”

“Yes, just so.”