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At the top of the stairs, a man sat on a wooden stool, looking bored. He was tall and thin and Artemis had amused herself—rather morbidly—on previous visits by noting his resemblance to Charon.

She paid Charon his due—a tuppence—and watched as he took out his key and unlocked the depths of Hell.

The stink hit her first, a thing so solid it was like wading into filth. Artemis held the handkerchief on which she’d sprinkled lavender water up to her nose as she made her way. The inhabitants here were always chained, and many could not or did not make it to their chamber pots. To either side were small, open rooms, almost like stable stalls, though most stables smelled better and were cleaner than this place. Each room held a denizen of Hell, and she tried to avoid looking in as she passed.

She’d had nightmares in the past from what she’d seen.

It was actually quieter up here than the vast galleries below, whether because the inhabitants were fewer or because they’d long since given up hope. Still there was a low droning of something that once might’ve been song and a high giggling that stopped and started fitfully. She knew to skip swiftly past a cell on her right, dodging the foul missile that flew out, hitting the wall opposite.

The last chamber on the left was where she found him. He squatted on filthy straw like Samson restrained: manacles on both ankles and a new one—she saw to her horror—about his neck. The heavy iron ring encircling his neck chained him to the wall with not enough slack to let him lie down fully. He was forced to crouch, leaning against the wall if he wanted to rest, and she wondered what would happen if he slept and fell forward. Would he strangle himself in the night without anyone knowing?

He looked up as she hesitated in the entrance to the chamber, and a broad smile lit his face. “Artemis.”

She went immediately to him. “What have they done to you, my heart?”

She knelt before him and took his face in her hands. There was a lump over one hairy eyebrow, a scabbed graze high on his right cheekbone, and a cut on his too-broad nose. It looked broken.

But then it always had.

He shrugged massive shoulders covered only in a filthy shirt and coarse waistcoat. “It’s a new beauty regime. All the court ladies are following it, I hear.”

She swallowed a lump in her throat but tried to smile for him. “Silly. You mustn’t taunt them just for fun. You’re rather handicapped by these chains.”

He cocked his head, his thick lips curling. “Only makes the playing field even, doesn’t it?”

She shook her head and dug into her basket. “I … I haven’t much, I’m afraid, but Penelope’s cook kindly gave me some meat pies.” She offered one on a napkin.

He took it and bit into the pie, chewing slowly as if to make the repast last. She examined him covertly as she unpacked the rest of the basket. His face was leaner and if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d lost weight. Again. He was naturally something of a giant, with the shoulders and chest to fit, and he required large amounts of food. They weren’t feeding him and she hadn’t been able to sell the necklace for money to bribe the guards so they’d look after him.

Her brows knit worriedly as she came to the last thing in her basket.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning as far as he could to look.

o;I said alive and whole,” she snapped, finally wrenching two buttons off. “That is not whole.”

“Megs,” he started, no doubt to make some stupid male excuse, and she shoved him none too gently into the one straight-backed chair.

She wasn’t strong enough to manhandle him—she knew that somewhere in the back of her maddened brain. He must be conceding to her anger, letting her push him about.

Perversely it only made her madder.

She dropped to her knees, roughly spreading his legs and shuffling forward between them.

His eyes widened, which, at any other time she might’ve taken pride in. The man had been the Ghost of St. Giles for years—there mustn’t be many things that could surprise him.

“What—”

She reached forward and yanked open his fall and the smallclothes beneath, watching in satisfaction as his cock bobbed out, ruddy and half hard.

She took his length gently between her hands, her arms resting on his thighs, and looked up into his face. “I’m very, very angry with you.”

And she opened her mouth over him. She’d never done this—although she’d wanted to before. She’d always been too shy, too worried that he’d think her sluttish or not like what she did.

But here, now, she simply didn’t care anymore.

She trailed a line of kisses down his length, marveling at the pulsing warmth within him, then licked up the strong tendon on the underside.

He muttered something and his hips jerked under her arms, half lifting her.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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