To Deceive a Duke. Amanda McCabe

      ‘Clio!’ he growled, his icy calm cracking at last. He dropped the reins, his hands curling into fists.

      And Clio felt a stirring of some strange satisfaction.

      ‘You are the most obstinate woman I have ever seen,’ he muttered. ‘Why can you not just listen to me for once in your life?’

      ‘Just listen to you? Quietly do what you want, just as everyone does with the exalted Duke? Well, I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I am too busy to stand here arguing with you any longer.’ She strode past him, not sure where she was going, only knowing that she had to get away. Had to escape from those crackling bonds before she exploded!

      She gave Averton a wide berth, yet not quite wide enough. Before she had even seen him move, he caught her by the wrists, pulling her close to him. Startled, she dropped her dagger. It landed mere inches from his booted foot, yet he did not glance at it at all. He only watched her.

      Amanda McCabe wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class. She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA^® Award, the Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma, with a menagerie of two cats, a pug and a bossy miniature poodle, and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook. Visit her at http://ammandamccabe. tripod.com and http://www.riskyregencies.blogspot.com

       A recent novel by the same author:

      TO CATCH A ROGUE*

      *Linked to TO DECEIVE A DUKE

      TO DECEIVE A DUKE

      Amanda McCabe

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Author Note

      When I was a child, my parents had a photo-filled book about ‘Ancient Places’. I loved that book, and it made me fascinated with archaeology! I even tore up freshly planted grass in the garden, looking for Viking treasure. It all seemed so adventurous and romantic.

      The three Chase sisters share my fascination, and they are lucky enough to exist in the Regency period where interest in the ancient world is strong. They can spend their time studying artefacts, digging on archaeological sites—and finding love with gorgeous and dashing men!

      When I first met Clio and her Duke, in TO CATCH A ROGUE, I didn’t see how they could overcome their many differences. The fact that Clio knocked him down with a marble statue seemed the least of their troubles! Yet they obviously belonged together; they shared a very powerful attraction, an unusual way of looking at the world. But would that be enough? I had a wonderful time ‘visiting’ Sicily with them, and finding the answer to that question. I hope you enjoy their tale, too!

       Prologue

      Queen of fragrant Eleusis,

      Giver of earth’s good gifts,

      Give me your grace, O Demeter.

      You, too, Persephone, fairest,

      Maiden of all lovely, I offer

      Song for your favor.

      Clio Chase glanced back over her shoulder as she tiptoed along the narrow corridor of Acropolis House, the labyrinthine London home of the Duke of Averton. No one followed her. Probably they did not even notice her absence from the ballroom, not in such a crush as the Duke’s Grecian masked ball.

      Perfect.

      It was silent here, unlike the roar of music and shallow conversation. So quiet it was almost like a cave, lit only by a few lamps built to resemble flickering torches. The shifting light touched the dark panelled walls, the low, carved ceiling and the gilt-framed paintings, making them glitter and waver as if alive.

      She paused to slip off her heeled green satin shoes, hurrying on stocking feet to the end of the corridor where there was a small, winding staircase, a miniature of the grand one soaring up from the foyer. She held up the heavy green-and-gold silk skirts of her Medusa costume as she hurried up the steps. The Duke was being very cagey about the statue’s whereabouts tonight. But his servants were not all so secretive. Clio had been able to persuade a footman to tell her where Artemis, the Alabaster Goddess, waited.

      At the top of the stairs ran a gallery, almost the entire length of the front of the house. Its bank of windows, uncovered, looked out at the front garden and the street beyond, the open gates that still admitted latecomers to the ball.

      The gallery was dotted with more lamps, most of them unlit. No doubt waiting for the ‘grand reveal’ of the statue after supper, when they would spring to life as if by magic. Right now the light was dim, falling only in shimmering, narrow bars on some of the treasures displayed there, leaving others in darkness.

      Clio found herself holding her breath as she crept along the gallery, peering right and left at all the wonders jumbled together. Her father and his friends were all great collectors and loved to show off their prizes, so she had grown up surrounded by beautiful antiquities. But this—this was something else entirely. A cabinet of curiosities such as she had never seen before.

      The gallery almost resembled a warehouse, it was so thick with objects. Ancient stone kouros, stiff and precise, their empty eyes staring back at her. Bronze warriors, marble gods; cases full of Etruscan gold jewellery, lapis scarabs, jewelled perfume bottles. Steles propped against the walls. Shelves of vases, kraters and amphorae. All jumbled together, just to serve one man’s vanity, his lust for collecting.

      Clio frowned as she thought of Averton. So handsome that half the women in town were in love with him—but so mysterious. That strange light in his green eyes when he looked at her…

      She shook her head, the satin snakes of her headdress trembling. She couldn’t think about him now. She had a task to do.

      At the end of the gallery, alone in a pool of candlelight, was an object covered in a sheet of black satin. Only a bit of the separate coral-coloured marble base was visible. Clio approached it carefully, half-expecting some sort of trap, some alarm. All was silent, except for the whining hum of the wind past the windows. She reached out and carefully lifted the sheet, peering beneath.

      ‘Oh.’ She sighed. It was really her. The Alabaster Goddess. Artemis in all her solitary glory.

      The statue was not large. It was easily dwarfed by many of the more elaborate creations in the gallery. But she was so perfectly beautiful, so graceful and elegant, that Clio could understand why she had become such a sensation. Why ladies wanted ‘Artemis’ coiffures and ‘Artemis’ sandals.

      Why the Duke hid her away.

      Carved of an alabaster so white it seemed to glisten, almost silver, like a first snowfall, she stood poised with her bow raised, a lost arrow set to fly. Her pleated tunic flowed over the curves of her slender body as if caught in a breeze, ending at mid-thigh to reveal strong legs, tensed to run. Her sandals, those ribbon-laced shoes every lady copied this Season, still bore bits of gold leaf, as did the bandeau that held back her curled hair. A crescent moon was attached to the band, proclaiming her to be truly the Goddess of the Moon. Her gaze was focused intently on her prey; she cared nothing for mortal adulation.

      Clio stared up at her, enthralled, as she imagined the Delian temple where this goddess once resided, where she once received her worship from true acolytes. Not just ton