To Deceive a Duke (16 page)

‘Goodnight, Edward,’ she called softly. ‘I will watch my back, I promise.’

And guard against
him
, above all. As always.

Edward stood outside the Chases’ gate, observing the house intently until at last he saw the glow of a candle in one of the windows. For the merest moment, Clio appeared behind the glass like an apparition, clad in a white dressing gown, her hair loose over her shoulders. He wondered if she saw him, if she even looked for him there, staring up at her window like a love-struck supplicant. If she would fly down and land in his arms once more, so fleeting and precious.

But she merely drew the curtains, leaving him with just the reflection of light through silk, the diffusion of brightness and warmth that was all their relationship could ever really be.

Assured that she was safe in her chamber, that her street was quiet, he turned back toward home. A chilly wind had blown up from the valley, stirring the leaves over the walkway in rustling fits. Edward raised the satin collar of his coat to deflect the cold, or perhaps to hide from the world. From what he knew he had to do.

Edward had realised from the moment he arrived in Santa Lucia that keeping Clio away from the silver would not be easy. The Chases were famous for their strong wills, their free-spirited natures, no doubt inherited from their bluestocking French mother. And Clio was by far the worst of all the Chase Muses. Who else would have devised the whole Lily Thief scheme?

It was all only because she cared so very deeply, he knew that. Cared about history and knowledge and art, about doing what she thought was right and damn the consequences. It was one of the things he admired about her, that shining, warrior spirit. She was a passionate woman, and passionate people were seldom malleable. But his stubborn streak was surely at least as wide as hers, and he would not see her hurt.

Edward paused at the turning of the street, glancing back at Clio’s house. The light still glowed in her window, but all else was dark and silent. Santa Lucia slept under the blanket of the cloudy night sky, a picturesque ancient village. Yet he knew that under all the beauty, under the peaceful visage, lurked something quite menacing. A shadow just beginning to form its shape.

Yet Clio was not alone. No matter how she pushed him away, how she fought against him, he would keep her safe. No matter what.

C
lio stabbed at the dusty earth with her spade, anger and frustration in every furious dig. It was a warm day, the sun a merciless hard yellow orb overhead, and even the birds and insects were silent in the heat. Clio was all alone at the farmhouse, surrounded by the vibrating silence, the rich, organic smell of the dirt and the clover. She didn’t mind, though, for she was unfit for human company that afternoon. The only remedy was to roll up her sleeves and
work
.

She wiped at her damp forehead with her wrist, staring down at the deep trench she was digging along the perimeter of the crumbling wall. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Something, anything, to confirm or deny what Edward had said about this site, that it had something to do with the silver and she should stay away. But she found nothing, not even the pottery shards and coins she had come across before. The trench was empty.

Clio took off her spectacles, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, lying in her bed until dawn going over and over her escapade at Edward’s house. The hidden bowl, Artemis—their kiss. Why was it that
whenever they met, no matter what the strange circumstances, she could not keep from touching him? From falling into his arms?

She tossed her spade down, relishing the loud ‘thunk’ it made as it landed point down in the dirt. If only she could throw it at Edward’s handsome head! At least that would be one way to end the emotional storms they constantly battled. She didn’t seem to have the willpower to end it herself. She couldn’t even stay away from him.

Clio sat down under the meagre shade of a tall cypress tree, reaching into her knapsack for a bottle of water. There wasn’t much left, and she sipped at the last warm drops, thinking back over all she had learned last night. It wasn’t a great deal. Only that the silver existed, or at least some of it, the offering bowls. Supposedly it had something to do with her beloved farmhouse. And Edward was trying to tell her what to do—again.

Why did he want her out of here? Because he saw her as a weak damsel to be protected? Or because he wanted the silver himself?

Clio sighed as she tucked the empty bottle away. Life here in Santa Lucia had certainly been far less complicated before Edward had showed up. But not nearly as interesting.

She laughed aloud. Yes, she must truly be insane to prefer theft, curses and stolen kisses to quiet study, but there it was! She could never be the fine, proper lady Calliope was, and she needed mysteries and causes in her life. But she
didn’t
need Edward to make her feel so frustrated!

Clio stretched her legs out before her as she leaned her head back against the rough bark of the tree, gazing out over the remains of the house, her new series of trenches and pits. Lack of sleep made everything shimmer and shift, until the present ruins seemed to fall away, revealing the place as it had once
been. Bustling and full of life. Full of happiness and joy, sadness and grief, the flow of daily living.

Until it was all destroyed in a moment. A victim of senseless war.

‘You have been in Sicily too long,’ Clio muttered. She was becoming too affected by the sun, by the talk of curses and spirits. She needed to go back to grey, sensible London.

Except she knew that even in England she wouldn’t be safe from magic. It followed her everywhere, in the form of Edward—whether he was with her or not.

‘Maybe I should go to Russia, then,’ she mused. ‘It is cold and icy there, no room for sunstruck dreams.’

Though surely the fact that she was talking to herself meant the madness was permanent.

And she knew she
was
mad, for she saw Edward himself coming into the valley, riding his black horse along the narrow pathway. He had shed his coat in the heat, and wore only his white shirtsleeves and plain black waistcoat with his buckskin riding breeches and high boots. His hair fell to his shoulders, the same colour as the sun.

Had she thought him a dark, brooding Hades? Well, she was wrong. He was surely Apollo, one with the sky and the light. But Apollo, like Hades, also had a tendency to grab what he wanted and damn the consequences.

Was he really here, then, or was he a figment of her imagination? Clio climbed to her feet, watching guardedly as he dismounted from his horse. He also seemed to watch her closely, as if unsure what she would do.

Not that she could blame him. In the past she had done everything from hit him with a statue to jumping into his arms for a passionate kiss. She wasn’t sure herself what she would do any more.

Edward walked slowly toward her. ‘Hard at work, I see,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘And I have not yet encountered any vengeful spirits.’

‘Perhaps they are very tiny, like pixies, and hide in crevices. Ready to jump out when least expected.’

‘It doesn’t take a tiny pixie to do that. Large dukes are equally adept at taking people by surprise.’

He laughed. ‘I did try very hard not to sneak up on you today. I asked Zeus here to be as loud as possible on the trail.’

And yet, in her dreaming, she had not heard him until he was right upon her. So much for ‘watching her back’. ‘Will you sit with me in the shade for a while, then, as long as you insist on being here?’ she said. ‘Though I fear I have no refreshment to offer.’

‘No matter. I brought my own,’ he said, turning back to draw a flagon and two goblets from his saddlebag. ‘A sort of peace offering, if you will.’

‘A peace offering? It should be
me
giving that, considering I was the one to break into your house,’ Clio said.

They sat down together by the tree, and Edward poured out the deep red wine. ‘But I was the one who provoked you to it. I should have known you would not be content with vague warnings.’

‘True. We Chases are not known for patient docility.’ She sipped at the wine. It was cool and sweet, welcome refreshment on a warm day no matter who offered it.

‘No, indeed. You are women of action, and I should have planned for that.’

‘You have a plan, then?’

‘Not yet. But one is forming.’

And would he let her be part of that plan? She could be of
help, she knew it, if he would only trust her. She knew how to catch villains, knew how they thought and acted. Unless Edward
was
the villain. Then she would have no idea what to do.

He didn’t seem a villain today, lounging beside her in the shade. They sat together in companionable silence, letting the sunny Sicilian afternoon wash over them.

Clio finished her wine, turning the goblet around in her hand. Suddenly, the heavy glass vessel felt like iron, weighty, her wrist and fingers weak with numbness. As she stared down at her hand, bright spots danced before her eyes. Her limbs also turned heavy, her thoughts scattering as soon as she formed them.

What was happening to her? Frightened, she forced herself to her feet, clinging to the tree for support. The world tilted around her.

She sensed Edward standing up beside her, felt his hand on her arm. When she tried to focus her gaze on him, the sun behind his bright hair dazzled her. He seemed surrounded by shimmering heat.

As she tried to back away from him, her booted foot kicked at the fallen goblet. She stared down at it, one thought suddenly fearsomely solid.

‘The wine,’ she gasped. ‘You poisoned me!’

‘No, Clio,’ he said insistently. His hands reached for her again, holding her upright, and this time she could not even try to fight him. ‘Not poison. Just an herbal tincture to help you sleep. You will wake in a few hours with no adverse affects, I promise.’

Clio couldn’t quite believe him. She struggled with all her might to stay awake, to move, to get away. But she felt bound with iron shackles. ‘Why would you do that?’ she said, her words slurred. Her vision was turning dark.

‘To protect you,’ he answered. He sounded so very far away. ‘You wouldn’t stay away from this place, so I had to do it. I’m sorry, Clio.’

Her knees buckled beneath her, and she felt him catch her up in his arms. He held her easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather, yet she felt weighty as a boulder. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she heard him say again, ‘I am so sorry it had to be this way.’

Not half as sorry as he was going to be when she woke up…

Edward laid Clio gently on the waiting bed, his heart troubled. The horrified accusation in her eyes as she realised what was happening, the way she believed he could poison her—it wounded him.

But this was the only way he could think to keep her safe. She would not heed his warnings, would persist in breaking into houses and going alone to isolated valleys until she found what she sought. Or until trouble found
her
.

Keeping her out of the way for a few days was the only way. One day she would understand. Or, knowing Clio, she would never understand, but she would be alive.

He gently removed her spectacles and her boots, tucking the soft linen sheets and velvet counterpane around her. The potion was strong; she would probably sleep until morning. And when she awoke…

‘It is only for a few days,’ he whispered, smoothing her tangled hair back from her brow. In sleep, she was so peaceful, so lovely, a gentle smile on her lips. If only she could always be like this—but then she would not be
Clio
, the fiery, stubborn Clio he had come to care about so.

‘Just a few days,’ he repeated. ‘You will be safe here. And then you can hate me for ever if you like.’

He turned the lamp on the bedside table down to a faint glow before he left the chamber, locking the door behind him. It was dark when he stepped out into the fresh air, the heat of the day banished by cool mountain breezes, by a cloudless blue-black sky.

When he had found this place on such short notice, it had seemed a godsend. A small stone cottage high in the hills, miles from Santa Lucia along bad roads, hidden from everyone. Old Baron Picini, who had been dead many years, had used it for his romantic liaisons, far from the wrath of his wife. It was almost windowless, quiet and solitary, perfect. He had brought in comfortable furniture, books, a quantity of firewood and food.

Surely a few days would see the resolution of the matter of the silver, and then he could let Clio go. Release her back into the world, like a fierce goshawk.

Edward rubbed hard at his eyes, pushing the loose strands of his hair back from his brow. It was a terrible plan, he knew that. But he had no time to come up with a better one, no way to persuade Clio to do as he said. Kidnapping was all he could think of.

He went back into the cottage, and settled by the fire to watch and wait. It was silent now behind the bedroom door, the silence of sleep, dreams, peace. That would not last long.

Not long at all.

C
lio felt as if she were swimming, fighting her way upwards through a thick, warm liquid, like when she used to dive into the pond with her sisters as a girl. Something dragged at her feet, pulling her back down into waiting darkness. She wanted to go back, wanted to fall into the waiting snare of silent unknowing, but something urged her to fight. She kept struggling upwards, battling against the bonds until finally she burst free into the light.

And into pain. Her head throbbed, as if she had been drinking too much champagne or reading without her spectacles. Or both, like that silly evening she and Thalia stole a bottle of brandy from her father’s cellar and then tried to act out all the roles in
Electra
.

Had they done such a thing again? Clio was sure they had not, but she couldn’t quite remember. She forced her gritty eyes open, blinking against the sudden cold rush of reality. Where was she? Not in her own chamber, either in Santa Lucia or in London, she knew that.

She pushed back the bedclothes that were tugged up around her chin, and she saw that the counterpane was of soft,
rich dark red velvet. The sheets were lace-trimmed linen, thick and luxurious. Her own sheets were nice, but not
that
nice.

As she sat up against a pile of bolsters and cushions, she noticed red brocade bedcurtains looped back from a carved bedstead, like a medieval bower. The only light, a fuzzy ray of chalky white sun that pierced her aching head, fell from one tiny window set high in a whitewashed wall. She squinted against its glare, studying her new and strange surroundings.

The room was small but very well appointed, with dark red-and-green Turkish rugs on the polished wooden floors and several paintings on the walls. There was a mirrored dressing table, laden with brushes, boxes and jars, and a large desk. It was piled with more books than she had ever seen outside a library, their fine leather bindings glowing jewel-like in the faint light. A wardrobe with carved doors lurked in one corner next to a small fireplace.

It was like a chamber in some old fairy story, a bower in a thicket where the princess could hide from the witch. But she was surely no princess! Was she dreaming this place? Had she really been drinking too much wine with Thalia again?

Then it hit her, like a rock tumbled from a hillside to land right on her head. Edward had drugged her! He had drugged her, and snatched her away from the farmhouse, and now she was here. In an enchanted castle.

Clio groaned, falling back onto the pillows. That horrid
fiend
! And to think she had begun to like him. Well, perhaps not
like
exactly, but definitely to think better of him. And she had kissed him! Let him see her naked breasts. Given in to her lust for him like a love-struck fool. Like the silly, romantic females she always prided herself on not being.

And just look what disasters had ensued! She ended up kidnapped.

Well, not for long. Clio rolled out of bed, her limbs aching and weak, and assessed the situation. Her spectacles rested on a bedside table next to a burned-out lamp. Her boots were lined up neatly by the bed, and she still wore her loose brown muslin work dress, now sadly crumpled.

The door was stout wood, bound with thick iron hinges and pierced by one tiny, barred window, a perfect prison door. It was, as she had suspected, firmly locked. But this seemed to be an old place, and old places often hid such things as trap-doors and secret passages.

Clio searched every inch of the floor and walls, finding nothing. Not even so much as a crack or knothole. The wardrobe had no false back or bottom, and held only some of her own clothes. The villain had planned well for his crime.

She dragged a chair over to the wall beneath the window. Standing on it, stretched on tiptoe, she could just peek outside. And all she saw were trees. Rocks and trees. She seemed to be in a clearing of some sort, and, no matter how her ears strained, she could not hear a single sound.

She slowly lowered herself into the chair, feeling profoundly alone and lost. Trapped. As she wrapped her arms around her chest, she noticed a bowl of fruit on the desk, glistening red and gold and purple, like a Dutch still life. There were no pomegranates, but she thought of Persephone all the same. She, too, had been snatched away from her life by a scoundrel on a black horse, borne down into the shadowy underworld just because some arrogant
man
felt like it.

A sudden flame of fury swept through Clio, burning away the chill of loneliness. How dare he! How dare Edward, the
well-named Duke of ‘Avarice’, just lock her in here? How dare he—how dare he make her care for him? Want him!

‘Idiot!’ she shouted. She didn’t know if she meant herself, or the Duke, or even the whole insane situation. Imprisoning her, as if they were caught in one of her friend Lotty’s silly horrid novels. She reached out in a flash, shoving books and fruit and candlesticks into a clattering mess on the floor.

She pounded her fists on the table, relishing the ache of it because it was
real
. She didn’t know why Edward had done this, though really she should not have been surprised by it. He was a strange man. But she did know he would not get away with it. Not this time. She was just as determined as he was. She would escape, and then she would…

Well, she didn’t know yet what she would do. But it would be something terrible. Something to equal Artemis and Actaeon. Edward would be sorry he ever encountered her at all.

As she sat there, fuming, she heard a muffled noise from outside. Clio stood up on the chair again, peering into the clearing. Ah, there he was at last. Her Hades, astride his black steed. He studied the house cautiously for a moment before he dismounted, taking a package from his saddlebag.

‘You
should
be cautious,’ she muttered, watching with clenched fists as he approached. ‘It will avail you nothing in the end.’

Tense, every nerve alert, she heard a door open somewhere below her chamber, heard the click of his boots on stone floors. On tiptoe, hardly daring even to breathe, she crept off the chair and scooped up the empty fruit bowl. It was bronze, light and thin, but she was stronger than she looked. Maybe if she took him by surprise, she could knock him unconscious and run away. Steal his fine horse.

Oh, yes. She would like that.

Holding tightly to the bowl, Clio took up her position by the door. She held her breath, listening tensely as his footsteps made their slow way up some stairs. Her heart pounded, and she couldn’t breathe. He was almost there; she heard the metallic rasp of keys.

She raised the bowl high…