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Artemis was about to reply when they were hailed by Lord Noakes, just entering the theater with his wife. “Miss Picklewood, Miss Greaves, well met. I wasn’t aware you were back already from the country, Miss Picklewood.” He glanced speculatively at Phoebe.

Lady Noakes’s pinched face looked nervous this evening as she clutched her husband’s arm.

Miss Picklewood, an old hand at social innuendo, merely smiled. “I’m simply stopping for a bit before returning to my friend. I do so love Harte’s Folly, don’t you, my lord, my lady?”

“Oh, indeed,” Lady Noakes twittered before glancing at her husband and abruptly falling silent.

Lord Noakes nodded easily. “But isn’t the duke escorting you ladies tonight?”

“We’ve no lack of escort,” Miss Picklewood said, gesturing to Lord Griffin and the other gentlemen now joining them with their ladies. “I fear that the duke had other things to attend to tonight.”

An odd, twisted smile crossed Lord Noakes’s face. “I hope he isn’t off chasing phantoms.”

Artemis glanced at him sharply. Was he somehow referring to the Ghost? Surely he had no way of knowing Maximus’s secret?

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, we must to my box.” Lord Noakes bowed and ushered his wife away.

“What an odd thing to say,” Miss Picklewood murmured, her forehead crimped. “What do you think he meant by ‘chasing phantoms’?”

Artemis cleared her throat. “I’ve no idea.”

“Oh, here’s Lady Penelope at last,” Isabel Makepeace drawled in amusement. “Wretched creature to keep us all waiting.”

Penelope was making an entrance, naturally. She wore a dress of gold tissue and was escorted by the Duke of Scarborough. As she entered the crowded theater, she flipped open her fan, gazing languidly about.

Artemis felt a burst of fondness for her cousin. She was so vain, so mannered, but underneath she could be quite sweet at times. And Artemis had hurt her so badly without Penelope ever knowing. Well, at least she’d decided to leave Maximus. Pray Penelope never discovered the truth. Artemis smiled and held out her hand to Penelope as she approached. They hadn’t seen each other in days.

urning coal in Lin’s hands turned into her own dear brother, Tam. He jumped from the phantom horse he rode and as his feet touched the earth he once more was mortal.

Tam grinned up at Lin. “Sister! You’ve saved me, but now you, too, must leave the wild hunt in order to live once again.”

Lin looked from her brother’s joyful face to that of the Herla King, but he avoided her gaze, his eyes already set on a ghostly horizon, resigned to his eternal chase.…

—from The Legend of the Herla King

Artemis slipped out the back door of Wakefield House, what few belongings she had clutched in a pathetic soft bag in her hands. She hesitated, panic beating at her breast. She had to leave—leave right now while she could, when Maximus wasn’t before her, tempting her with everything she hoped for and could never have—but she had no idea where to go. It didn’t seem right to seek Penelope out—not after what she’d done with Maximus. And she certainly couldn’t ask Lady Hero or Lady Phoebe.

The door opened behind her and she braced herself. Not again. Oh, dear God, she wasn’t sure she could go through this all over again with Maximus. She felt as if a part of her soul had been torn out, the wound bleeding, slow and steadily, somewhere internally.

But the voice that addressed her was feminine.

“My dear.”

She turned to see Miss Picklewood regarding her with deep compassion. “Can I be of help?”

And for the first time in her life Artemis Greaves burst into tears.

MAXIMUS STRODE FROM the front of his house and called for a horse. This was all he had left, it seemed: revenge. Well if that was so, then he intended to complete his task quickly and with the most amount of blood possible.

In minutes he was trotting down the street.

Havers Square was indeed not in a very fashionable area of London. The house itself was an old half-timbered affair, though not nearly as broken down as something found in St. Giles. Maximus dismounted and gave a small boy a shilling to watch his horse. Illingsworth apparently rented only the top two floors of the house, and luckily he was at home. Maximus was shown up the stairs and into a cramped sitting room by an elderly maid who simply left him there without a word.

Maximus turned, inspecting his surroundings. The room had been furnished with a mishmash of furniture, some of which had been expensive at one time. The dirty grate wasn’t lit, probably as a cost-saving measure, and the two framed engravings upon the wall were cheap.

The door to the sitting room opened.

Maximus turned to see a man in a frayed green banyan, stained on the front with something that might be egg yolk. He wore a soft cap on his head and was unshaven, a patchy ginger beard straggling up a thin face with cheekbones so sharp it looked like the skin of his face was pulled too tight over them.

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