To Deceive a Duke by Amanda Mccabe Page A

separated them. She had foolishly thought Cory had not noticed, being so preoccupied with her sketching, but she should have known better. Cory was a Chase, after all. Observation—some might unkindly call it snooping—was their raison d’être.
    ‘That was just a misunderstanding,’ Clio said.
    ‘Was it?’ Cory answered. ‘You and the Duke seem to misunderstand each other a lot. Like that time at Herr Mueller’s lecture at the Antiquities Society…’
    ‘Well, we’re not going to have any such misunderstandings today,’ Clio said firmly. ‘We’re all going to be perfectly polite and have a pleasant luncheon. Correct?’
    Cory gave a most impolite snort. ‘I wouldn’t count on that if Thalia comes back from the theatre. She doesn’t like him, either, and you know Thalia is likely to say anything.’
    Clio sighed. She did know that. Calliope, the most sensible and organised of them, had once likened managing her sisters to herding a pack of feral cats. Not flattering, but probably true. Maybe her father was right about their upbringing.
    ‘Thalia will be polite, too,’ Clio said sternly, trying tosound like Calliope. ‘We are all going to be polite. Yes, Terpsichore?’
    ‘I will if you won’t call me that.’ Cory hated her full name.
    There was no time to remonstrate further. The Duke himself came into the valley on his gleaming black horse, gazing around him with an air of wary interest. He had no entourage at all, no army of hangers-on. Not even a groom. Just himself, yet he alone seemed to fill up every corner with his vast presence.
    He had left off his black garb in the afternoon heat, wearing instead a wheat-coloured linen coat over his buckskin breeches and high boots. His bright hair fell to his shoulders, under the shadowing brim of his hat.
    Sir Walter hurried forward to greet him, and even Cory followed, dragging her feet only a bit before making a proper, pretty curtsy. But Clio found she was quite frozen to the spot, unable to move even one step on seeing him again. Seeing, feeling, the reality of his presence.
    It was one thing to think about him, to ponder his mysterious motives and try to push away her own tangled feelings for him. But it was always something else entirely to be face to face with him in the stark light of day.
    He swung down from his horse, shaking hands with Sir Walter, bowing to Cory. He slowly drew off his riding gloves, watching thoughtfully as her father gestured to the villa, the cracked steps leading to the agora. She saw that he did not wear his rings today. There was no gaudy sparkle of emeralds or rubies, no antique stickpin in his simply tied neckcloth. No satin waistcoat, either. Nothing to distract from his austere beauty. His simple clothes, his solemn mien, it all spoke of a seriousness of purpose here.
    A purpose she still could not get to the bottom of.
    Her father and Averton turned toward the pavilion where Clio stood, making their way slowly as Sir Walter talked and gestured avidly. Averton nodded, listening intently.
    Edward , she thought suddenly. He was not the Duke today. He was Edward.
    And she was shocked to realise she wanted to run forwards and throw her arms around Edward ’s neck. To feel the press of his lips on hers as he lifted her from her feet, twirling her around and around as the world blurred and crumbled around them. No Duke, no Lily Thief, just Clio and Edward, free to feel and do whatever they chose. To forget the past.
    As if such a thing was even possible. Clio was too much a realist to believe that .
    She smoothed her skirt as they drew closer, folding her hands tightly to still their trembling. To keep them from reaching out for him.
    ‘…should be here soon with our meal,’ Sir Walter was saying. ‘In the meantime, perhaps you’d care to see the mosaics of the villa. They are extraordinarily well-preserved.’
    ‘I would like that very much, Sir Walter,’ Averton answered. ‘Everyone speaks of their beauty. Good day,