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“Was she?” Maximus looked at her, his eyes sardonic and intimate.

“Well, she was until the Duke of Scarborough took it upon himself to console her,” Phoebe said. “You ought to watch out for him, dear brother. Scarborough will snatch her out from under your nose.”

“I’ll worry about that when Scarborough’s income increases by another tenth.”

“Oh, Maximus,” Phoebe said, her mouth turning down.

The maids entered at that moment, so Phoebe was forced to swallow whatever she was about to say.

Artemis watched as the tea things were set on a low table between them, along with trays of cakes and small, savory treats.

“Will that be all?” the head maid asked Phoebe.

“Yes, thank you,” Phoebe replied and, as the maids trooped out again, turned to Artemis. “Would you like to pour?”

“Of course.” Artemis leaned forward and began assembling the tea.

“I know it isn’t my place, Maximus,” Phoebe began slowly as she offered a piece of cake to Bon Bon, “but I can’t help but think that you deserve better than a wife who weighs your worth down to the ha’penny.”

“Shall I have a wife who values not the importance of money—particularly my money?” Maximus asked lightly as he accepted his dish of tea from Artemis. His hands made the dainty dish look like a thimble.

“I would you had a wife who valued you instead of your money,” Phoebe snapped back.

Maximus waved an impatient hand. “It matters not. My money is from the dukedom and while I live I am the duke. One might as well sever my heart from my chest as separate me from my title. We are one and the same.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Artemis asked low.

Both Phoebe and Maximus looked at her as if startled by her voice, but it was only Maximus that Artemis concentrated on. Maximus and his unfathomable deep brown eyes.

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation—without even stopping to think about it, as far as she could see.

“And if you didn’t have the title?” she asked. She shouldn’t talk to him like this in front of Phoebe—it revealed too much about their peculiar relationship—yet she needed to know his answer. “Who would you be then?”

His mouth flattened impatiently. “Since I do have the title, it doesn’t matter.”

“Humor me.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, frowned, and then said slowly, “I do not know.” He glared at her. “Your question is silly.”

“But telling, nonetheless,” Phoebe said. “Both in the answer and in the inquiry.”

“I will take your word for it,” Maximus said, placing his dish of tea on the tray. “But I have more important matters to attend to. If you’ll allow me to borrow Miss Greaves, I’ll show her the house and instruct her on her duties as your companion.”

Phoebe looked startled. “I thought I’d do that in the morning.”

“You may show Miss Greaves your rooms and whatever personal things you want done tomorrow, but I have a few special instructions I want to make clear tonight.”

o;Or the Ghost is a madman himself.” Maximus pulled a stack of papers forward as if ready to dismiss the other man. “Again, I don’t see how this matter is of importance to me.”

“Don’t you?”

Maximus looked up sharply at the dragoon captain. “Explain.”

It was Trevillion’s turn to shrug. “I mean no offense, Your Grace. I merely observe that the Ghost appears to have much the same interests as you. He patrols St. Giles, often accosting thieves, footpads, and those engaged in the gin trade. He seems to have the same obsession with the gin trade that you yourself have.”

“He’s also rumored to be a murderer and a ravisher of women,” Maximus said drily.

“And yet just a few months ago I interviewed a woman who said the Ghost saved her from ravishment,” the dragoon captain said.

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