Chapter Thirty
Every eye in the room turned to Calliope the moment she stepped through the doors flanked by the three men who had taken her from her shop. She ignored those stares. Chin lifted. Shoulders squared. Let them look. Let them wonder if she was the same girl they’d once scorned.
Because she wasn’t.
Not anymore.
And she wasn’t going to cower for anyone. Not again. Especially not for Duvessa.
She had, however, been surprised at the quality of the gown.
She wore a gown of flowing white, matching gloves that came to her elbows, and pearls in her hair.
Her stepmother had even dressed her in a pearl necklace, which of course, to her, felt more like a collar than anything else.
Even so, appearances had to be kept up, she supposed.
All eyes turned to her.
Her uncle, the Earl of Balfour, had finally arrived and stood by the window with a drink in his hand.
He was heavier than she remembered, his once-dark hair now a thin, silver crown around his head.
His belly strained against his waistcoat, and his lips pursed with disapproval.
He spared her but one glance before averting his gaze.
She could scarcely believe she shared this man’s blood!
Beside him stood another man, dressed in lavish gold.
Too much gold. Age had not been kind to him.
A wide belly, even wider than her uncle’s, sweat gleaming at his brow despite the cool of the room, piggish eyes that raked over her as though she were cattle at market.
She just had to look at the greed in his gaze when his eyes fell on her to know he was the betrothed, Lord Flemmington.
With them was a corrupt officiant, she presumed. How else could he allow a woman to be forced into a union against her will?
Her stepsisters hovered by the piano, tittering and giggling, but still only the second most annoying sight of the day. Duvessa, she took the top spot. The woman seemed to have had a sculptor carve a look of smug victory into her face. Most annoying.
Calliope couldn’t deny the apprehension that stole over her as to whether she’d be able to fully escape, but she was determined to remove that insufferable gleam from all these people.
“Well,” the earl said into the air, “my niece returns.”
“I was kidnapped back,” Calliope pointed out.
“Semantics.” He waved a hand. “You have caused trouble enough.”
It appeared her betrothed knew of these troubles and had still decided to go through with the wedding. Her plan might not work.
Lord Flemmington made his way to her, his gaze openly sliding down her bodice. “She’s thin,” he muttered. “But serviceable.”
Revulsion crawled up Calliope’s throat. “I am not a broodmare to be inspected.”
Morgana giggled, clapping her hands. “Oh, how bold! Brighton gave her a quite the tongue.”
“Pity it didn’t give her sense,” Victoria added.
Duvessa raised a hand, silencing the jabs. “Calliope knows her duty. She will comply.”
Calliope laughed. “Comply? Is that what you call kidnapping now?”
Lord Flemmington’s face mottled red. “Girl, you will not shame this family again. We shall be married tonight. The paperwork is ready, the vows will be spoken, and you will cease this insolence.”
“I will not,” Calliope said flatly.
“Defiance,” Duvessa purred, circling closer. “How tiresome. You ought to thank us for taking you back at all and for setting this match for you.”
Were these people addlebrained? “Taking me back? I have known nothing but your cruelty at your hands! This is no different.”
The stepsisters gasped as though offended. Morgana pressed a hand to her breast. “Cruelty? What nonsense!”
Lord Flemmington grunted. “I paid a hefty price for this union, so shall we get on with it?”
Calliope’s heart pounded, the walls closing in. So it was money. All this was done for money. Her nails bit her palms.
Now’s the time.
She lifted her chin, bracing herself. If she shocked them, she might be able to dash past her guards. She knew this house like the back of her hand. She could disappear for hours before they found her. “You would wed a girl already ruined?”
Duvessa’s sharp eyes whipped to her. “Do not listen to her.”
“Listen to me?” Calliope challenged. “I wonder, did you sell me or my maidenhood? For I don’t possess that any longer.”
The room froze.
“That’s not true!” Duvessa exclaimed.
“Oh, it’s very true, stepmother,” Calliope said, an undercurrent of mockery in her tone. “Used goods. Bedded. By an outlaw, no less. Albeit a handsome one.”
The words landed like a cannon blast. Gasps, sputters, outrage.
“You lie!” Duvessa snapped, her eyes narrowing. “You dare speak such filth in this house?”
“Yes, lies,” Victoria hissed. “She says it to escape her duty.”
But Calliope did not waver. She looked her uncle dead in the eye. “Examine me, then. Summon a doctor. You’ll see the truth. I am no innocent. I am ruined. Worthless to you.”
Lord Flemmington bristled. “What is the meaning of this, Balfour? You promised me she would be chaste!”
The earl’s hand drink scattered against the wall. “You dare shame this family with such depravity?”
“I dare speak the truth,” Calliope declared.
Morgana’s face twisted. “Who? Who touched you? Name him!”
Calliope’s lips curved, cold. “A man you’d spit at in the street. A criminal. A beast.” A lovely, gentle, broody beast.
“Enough,” Duvessa hissed. “You weave lies. She is untouched. She must be. She will be examined, and the truth will out.”
Calliope’s chin lifted higher. “Do what you must, the outcome will not be changed.”
“Fetch a physician,” Duvessa said. Calm voice. Cold eyes. “Now.”
One guard moved for the door.
“Wait,” the earl snapped. “We’ll not have the neighbors talking. Send for Dr. Pritchard. Quietly.”
The guard nodded and slipped out.
Lord Flemmington said, “If she’s spoiled, I’ll not take her.”
Thank stars!
However, her plan to dash off was felled by her uncle.
“Hold her.” The earl pointed at the guards who remained. “I won’t have her bolt.”
The corridor beyond the doors erupted with noise. Shouts, cursing, a cry of pain, and an all too familiar crash of something shattering against the floor.
The room froze again.
“What is that?” Duvessa snapped.
A laugh bubbled from Calliope even as one of the guards caught her arm.
The drawing room doors blew inward.
Their reckoning had come.
Maxen filled the doorway, eyes cold, flanked by Reaper and Drake. He looked like dark, avenging angelic beast. So did his brothers. In fact, they looked positively menacing.
A part of her hated that he now knew. Hated that he saw what her life had been like. But stars, she also wanted him to keep seeing. Because someone was angry for her. Furious, even. His eyes burned into her. And he didn’t look away.
No one had ever burned for her like that before.
The man gripping her arms tightened his grip, and she flinched. Not missed by her beast’s sharp gaze.
He all but snarled, “Hands. Off. My. Woman.”
*
Ever since Peregrine had taken Calliope from under his nose, Maxen had known fury in a dozen shades.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the rage he felt at the sight of the scene before him.
He’d never seen Calliope look so damn beautiful, but at the same time, one sweep of the room, at what was being forced on her, and he wanted to rip the dress from her body and burn it.
He’d rather endure the torment of her striding about in trousers than see her in what was meant to be a wedding gown for another man.
“Who the blazes are you?” an older woman demanded, two young women pressed close to her skirts.
“The last man you should have crossed.” He crossed the floor in three strides, slammed his fist into the man holding Calliope, and in the same motion seized her waist, dragging her against him.
The man dropped like an ox, both hands flying to his bloodied nose.
He rolled, groaning, spitting crimson. His partner shifted as though to lunge, but Reaper’s pistol cocked with an audible click.
The second man froze. Drake leveled his on the man on the ground.
The world righted. Most of his fury bled away now that his woman was back in his arms. Where she damn well belonged. “I’ve come to collect what was stolen from me.”
Maxen didn’t spare them another glance. His arm tightened around Calliope, and bright, sparking eyes stared up at Maxen.
“How did you find me?”
He smiled. “Did truly believed I wouldn’t?”
“Well, London is rather large.”
“Not large enough.”
She grinned at him.
“And he had me,” another voice cut through the room. Two men entered, and Maxen scowled. Never mind that he’d vowed to never set foot in London again, but he’d had to stop and ask for directions, and help from Drake’s cousin, the Earl of Dare, who had also come along.
“Mr. Fitz!” Calliope exclaimed.
The man inclined his head. “Lady Calliope.”
“So that’s how you fled,” the older woman sneered. “Fitz. Such elaborate schemes.”
“I’ve always had Lady Calliope’s interest at heart,” Fitz said. “Even now. You are aware you cannot force anyone to wed without their consent?”
“This is a family matter,” a grey, old man snapped.
“Ah, Balfour, Countess Duvessa,” Dare said. “You are quite right. Since it’s a family matter, you should allow your niece and the Furys to sort out their family matter without interference.”
“So this is the ruffian you bedded?” Balfour snapped.
Calliope coughed, her face reddened. “I had to do something,” she said by way of explanation.
Maxen arched a brow, but satisfaction filled his entire being. “I’m a man who values family. I shall take full responsibility.”
“You’d wed a lady?” Doubt flickered in her eyes, and he hated it. That she might think he believed her unworthy in some way. She must have heard about his aversion to the upper class.
“I’d wed Calliope.”
That earned him an even bigger beam. “Then I’d happily wed a beast.”
“You harlot!” the woman, Duvessa, cried.
Maxen almost lost his damn tempter and punched a woman. “Madam, if you ever call her anything but an angel again, I will destroy every single thing you hold dear.”
“How dare you speak that way to your betters!” the old man in gold snapped with indignation.
This was why he’d had to become stronger, wealthier, more powerful.
So not even a tip of their fingers could ever hope to touch you.
And they couldn’t touch him. “How dare you? A man who would bind a woman to his will with force has forfeited the right to call himself anything but coward. If you ever come near Calliope again, I will break every bone in your body.”
The stepmother stepped forward. “Do no think for one second we’re scared of you, you brigand?”
“Allow me, frère.” Reaper, with the devil’s own grin, changed the aim of his pistol.
Maxen covered Calliope’s ears just before the crack of the shot exploded against the floor at the women’s feet. The three screamed, collapsing into a heap of wails.
How bloody satisfying.
His arm tightened about Calliope, sheltering her in the cage of his body. “You bloody menace,” he muttered at his brother.
Reaper only laughed. “They’ll live, but they should be very, very afraid.”
Drake gave an exasperated sigh but did not lower his weapon. Neither Fitz nor Dare seemed all that startled.
Maxen turned back to the pale visages of Balfour and whoever the old man was. “Hear me well. Calliope belongs to no one but herself. She chose to stand with me, and I with her. You come for her, you come for me. That is all you need remember.”
Duvessa’s fan snapped shut with a crack. “You will never be able to enter society after this!” Duvessa cried from the floor.
Calliope lifted her chin. “I belong in Brighton with my beasts, anyway.”
Pride swelled in Maxen’s chest so sharp it near knocked him senseless.
For a man who’d been called monster more times than he could count, the words struck like salvation.
He did not want to stay any longer. He bent, swept Calliope into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather, and strode for the door.
Fitz and Dare stepped aside, the former grave as a judge, the latter with infuriating amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Drake,” Maxen growled, pausing only a heartbeat. “Round up those two and find the other one.”
“Why?” Calliope asked.
“They touched you. Took you from your shop against your will. They’re going to the dungeon.”
Her lips parted, but before she could speak, Reaper chuckled. “I’ll collect the other one, frère. You go make up with your lady.”
Christ yes. He was about to do just that.