AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He was careful to keep his face blank even as his heartbeat began to speed. What could he possibly have let slip? “Why?”
“He left something with me last night.”
Dread wrapped itself about his chest. “What?”
That hidden smile played about her lips again. Mysterious. Captivating. Utterly feminine.
“A signet ring.”
THE DUKE OF Wakefield’s face was as still as stone. Artemis wondered what he thought and, rather disconcertingly, what he thought of her. Did he disapprove of her levity regarding the Ghost of St. Giles? Or did he find it offensive that she thought a costumed footpad might be an aristocrat?
She searched his face for a second more and then faced forward again. She supposed it hardly mattered what he thought of her—besides being an adequate lady’s companion for Penelope. He’d never before sought her out specifically to talk to her. She doubted he would ever do so again. They, simply put, didn’t move in the same orbits. She smiled wryly to herself. They didn’t even move in the same universe.
“Are you going to fetch refreshment for Lady Penelope?” he asked, his voice rumbling pleasantly at her shoulder.
“Yes.”
She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll help you bring it back.” He turned to the footman ladling glasses of punch and snapped his fingers. “Three.”
To her amusement, the man leaped to provide three glasses of punch while the duke simply stood there.
“That’s very kind of you, Your Grace,” she said, all trace of irony carefully erased from her voice.
“You know that’s not true.”
o;Oh, indeed.” Penelope snapped closed her fan and tapped Artemis on the shoulder. “He’s jealous.”
Artemis gazed at her beautiful cousin. There were several adjectives she might use to describe the duke’s frame of mind when he’d left them: scornful, dismissive, superior, arrogant… actually, now that she thought of it, she was fairly sure she could come up with dozens of adjectives, and yet jealous wasn’t one of them.
Artemis cleared her throat carefully. “I’m not sure—”
“Ah, Lady Penelope!” A gentleman with a bit of a tummy straining the buttons of his elegant suit stepped deliberately in front of them. “You are as lovely as a summer rose.”
Penelope’s mouth pursed at this rather pedestrian compliment. “I thank you, Your Grace.”
“Not at all, not at all.” The Duke of Scarborough turned to Artemis and winked. “And I trust that you’re in the best of health, Miss Greaves.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Artemis smiled as she bobbed a curtsy.
The duke was of average height but had a slight stoop that made him seem shorter. He wore a snowy wig, a lovely champagne-colored suit, and diamond buckles on his shoes—which, rumor had it, he could well afford. Gossip also said that he was on the hunt for a new wife, since the duchess had passed away several years previously. Unfortunately, while Penelope could probably forgive the man his stoop and little belly, she was not so sanguine about his age, for the Duke of Scarborough, unlike the Duke of Wakefield, was well past his sixtieth year.
“I am on my way to meet a friend,” Penelope clipped out, trying to dodge the man.
But the duke was the veteran of many a ball. He moved with admirable deftness for his age, somehow catching Penelope’s hand and hooking it through his elbow. “Then I shall have the pleasure of escorting you there.”
“Oh, but I’m quite thirsty,” Penelope parried. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to fetch me a cup of punch, Your Grace?”
“I’d be most delighted, my lady,” the duke said, and Artemis thought she saw a twinkle in his eye, “but I’m sure your companion wouldn’t mind the chore. Would you, Miss Greaves?”
“Certainly not,” Artemis murmured.
Penelope might be her mistress, but she rather had a fondness for the elderly duke—even if he didn’t have a prayer of winning Penelope. She turned sedately, but fast enough to pretend not to hear her cousin’s sputter. The refreshments room was on the other side of the ballroom, and her progress was slow, for the middle of the floor was taken up by dancers.
Yet, her lips were still curved faintly when she heard an ominously rumbling voice. “Miss Greaves. Might I have a word?”
Naturally, she thought as she looked up into the Duke of Wakefield’s cold seal-brown eyes.
“I’M SURPRISED YOU know my name,” Miss Artemis Greaves said.
