Mischief in Regency Society: To Catch a Rogue. Amanda McCabeЧитать онлайн книгу.
But that was about to change. For too long now Cameron had lived with someone else’s life. It was time to begin his own. One piece at a time.
He stood up and reached for the parcel on the desk. It was small, flat, carefully wrapped in brown paper. Cameron carried it over to the carved fireplace mantel, gazing up at the painting that hung there. It was one his father had acquired on his own Grand Tour many decades ago, an indifferently executed murky scene of Egyptian pyramids. Cameron had never much liked it, even though it hung there through his childhood. The perspective was all wrong, the colours dim, conveying no sense of the desert brightness, the mystery of the Egyptians.
He reached up and unhooked it from the picture rail, lifting it down at last. It left a pale square on the topaz-coloured silk wallpaper. Then he tore the wrapping from his new package and lifted the pyramid’s replacement into its place.
Cameron stepped back to survey the image. He had seen it in that gallery window and knew it was meant to be his. Meant to hang just here, where he could see it every day as he worked at the desk.
It was an image of Athena, standing framed between the shining white pillars of her temple. The sacred fire burned behind her, outlining her slim figure in pleated white silk. One arm was outstretched, holding her grey owl, while the other hand rested on the shield propped beside her. Her golden helmet rested at her feet, and her hair, a river of glossy raven-black, flowed over her shoulders.
Her beautiful face, a pale oval set with wide-spaced grey eyes, was solemn and knowing. She was beautiful, oh so serious, set on her own course come what may.
She was, in short, Calliope Chase. Or very, very like her.
Cameron smiled up at her, not sure she would appreciate such levity. The real Calliope Chase certainly wouldn’t appreciate knowing he had her double hanging in his library. Yet he could never have passed up this painting. It was so lovely, just as her modern counterpart was.
Why was he always so drawn to her, when their meetings so often ended in strife or farce? He should stay far away from her, from all her family. The Chases were trouble he did not need, now most of all. He had important work to do, and couldn’t afford to be distracted by a beautiful Athena with fire in her eyes. Fire just waiting to scorch him if he got too close.
Yet he never could stay away. Every time he saw her he was pulled to her side, he couldn’t help himself. Lately it seemed quarrelling with her was more fun than making love to another woman would be. The thought of quarrelling and making love with Calliope was enough to make his head explode! Her fiery nature would surely take hold even in bed, and her pale skin and black hair against his sheets…
“Blast,” Cameron cursed, spinning away from Athena’s knowing gaze. The chances of Calliope Chase ending up naked in his bed were slim to none. She wouldn’t even come near his house once she found out what he had done with his father’s antiquities. Not even Aphrodite could help him with that Muse, no matter how much he desired her.
But he could keep her safe from Averton. Safe from her own folly concerning the Lily Thief, perhaps. She said she would be at Averton’s ball. Well, so would he. And he would not let his Athena out of his sight.
“Oh, Miss Calliope! You look lovely,” Mary said, putting the last touches on the hem of Calliope’s costume.
From her perch atop a stool, Calliope surveyed herself in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“Not at all. It’ll be the finest costume there.”
Calliope did rather like it. She had worked closely with the modiste to replicate an etching her father owned of the Athena statue that had once stood in the Parthenon. The soft, thin white muslin was pleated and fastened at the shoulders with gold brooches, bound at the waist with gold cord. The sandals were also gold, and she wore antique bracelets and earrings that had once belonged to her mother. Waiting for her by the bedchamber door was a helmet, shield and spear.
Calliope fiddled with the cord, unaccountably nervous. Ordinarily she would be excited about a Grecian masquerade. Yet this was no ordinary ball.
What if the Lily Thief did appear? It was one thing to talk about catching criminals in her own drawing room, quite another to face a real, living thief bent on taking the Alabaster Goddess. What if she could not stop him? What if Artemis did indeed vanish, never to be seen again?
Don’t be faint-hearted! she told herself sternly. You can’t fail. This is much too important.
She glanced towards the spear and shield. The weapons, pasteboard and glitter, would never hold against steel. But they reminded her of her purpose. She had to be Athena, and protect those in her charge from harm.
No matter who the Lily Thief was. No matter what might happen.
“Shall we finish your hair now, Miss Calliope?” Mary asked, putting away her needle and thread.
“Yes, thank you,” Calliope said. She stepped down from the stool and went to her dressing table, where gold ribbons and combs waited. “We don’t have much time left, the carriage is ordered for nine.”
Mary had just started brushing out Calliope’s hair, twisting the strands into long ringlets, when there was a quick knock at the door and Clio appeared.
“Oh!” Calliope gasped. She hadn’t yet seen her sister’s costume, or even known its theme, and the effect was dazzling. Dazzling and strange.
Clio was not an Olympian goddess, all pale perfection, or even the Muse of their namesakes. She was instead Medusa. Her gown was of vivid green silk, the sleeves like long wings, split and folded back from her shoulders. The green robe revealed glimpses of a gold-tissue underdress, embroidered with tiny green glass beads that winked and sparkled. An emerald kirtle, a rare medieval piece that had also been their mother’s, caught the rich fabric around her waist.
But it was her headdress that was truly extraordinary—a twisting, tangled nest of gold-tissue snakes, their scales overlaid with greenish, brassy embroidery. More of the beads formed their eyes, and they seemed to gleam malevolently, as if the snakes were alive. Only a few long tendrils of Clio’s own auburn hair escaped, revealing that here was a real woman and not a vengeful Gorgon.
“What do you think?” Clio asked, twirling around in all her frightening splendour.
“I think there will be no one else like you at the party,” Calliope answered, bedazzled by those snake eyes. “Wherever did you find such a creation?”
“Madame Sophie made the gown,” Clio answered, adjusting her sleeves. “And I did the headdress myself. Cory helped me, you know she’s quite the budding artist. They look quite fearsome, don’t they?”
“Terribly,” Calliope said with a shiver. A frown from Mary made her sit still again, facing the mirror so her hair could be finished. “I doubt the duke will attempt to harass you with those staring at him.”
Clio laughed. “I’m not afraid of the duke!” She brandished her staff, a tall gold-and-green, ribbon-wrapped pole topped with yet another snake, a puffed-out cobra. “I shall just turn him to stone.”
“If only it was always that easy to deal with men,” Calliope muttered. “What are Thalia and Father dressed up as?”
“Thalia is Euridice, and Father is Socrates, of course.”
“With his cup of hemlock?”
“Hmm, yes,” Clio said. She stepped up to Calliope’s mirror to make sure her snakes were straight. “Or rather a cup of lemonade with sprigs of mint floating in it. We shall have to make sure he doesn’t bore everyone in sight at the ball, for he is already wandering around the drawing room, declaiming to the furniture.”
“If there is no youth to corrupt, a hassock will do. Is that a direct quote from