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And he was wrong: she did dare. There was literally nothing she wouldn’t do for her brother.
THAT AFTERNOON THE sun shone brightly on the green on the south side of Pelham House. Maximus knew he was supposed to be enjoying the day and, more important, the lady he was wooing, but all he could think about was the infuriating Miss Greaves. To actually attempt to blackmail him—him, the Duke of Wakefield—was entirely beyond the pale. How she thought he might be so weak was a source of scorn, rage, and bewilderment within him. There was another emotion lurking there, deep inside, something perilously close to hurt—but he had no desire to examine that further, so he concentrated upon the rage. He’d make sure to impress upon the wench his displeasure with her actions if only she weren’t being so completely childish as to ignore him all morning.
Not that her studied disregard bothered him in the slightest.
“You’ll think me a braggart, Your Grace, but I vow I’m a fair hand with a bow,” Lady Penelope chirped beside him.
“Indeed?” Maximus murmured absently.
Miss Greaves drifted behind them, silent as a wraith. He had the most persistent urge to turn and confront her—make her say something to him. Instead, of course, he sedately led Lady Penelope toward where footmen and maids milled about with the accoutrements of archery. Opposite, across the green, three large wooden targets had been set up, not too far away, for the ladies were to have their turn today demonstrating what skills they might have in archery. The gentlemen were expected to observe and praise—whether the archer deserved it or not, of course, for a lady’s vanity was a fragile thing.
Maximus stifled an impatient sigh. This sort of thing—the silly games, the entire house party, come to that—was expected of him, not only for courting a lady such as Lady Penelope, but also in the regular way of things because of his rank, his social standing, and his position in Parliament, but there were times such as this when the whole thing rankled. He could be in a London coffeehouse right now, urging another member of Parliament to enact better legislation against the sale of gin. He could be in St. Giles, following any number of leads into the deaths of his parents. Damn it, for that matter he could be with his secretary managing his estates—not his favorite work, but important nonetheless.
Instead he was strolling a green like a veritable fop with a rather silly girl on his arm.
“Do you practice archery, Miss Greaves?” he found himself asking, quite out of the blue. The sunshine had probably gone to his head.
“Oh, no,” Lady Penelope exclaimed before her cousin could answer. “Artemis doesn’t shoot. She hasn’t time for such pursuits.”
flushed a hare and the dogs were off, crashing through the underbrush with all the subtlety of a regiment of soldiers. Two birds were startled by the chase and he looked up, watching their flight.
And then he was aware that he was no longer alone.
His heart certainly did not leap at her presence.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Miss Greaves was bareheaded, wearing her usual mud-brown costume. Her cheeks were pink from her morning walk, her lips a deep rose.
He glanced down and saw with irritation that her feet were bare again. “You ought to wear shoes in these woods. You could cut your feet.”
Her lips curved in that not-smile and his irritation grew. Everyone else leaped to comply with his wishes, but not her.
Percy ran up, flush with the excitement of his hunt, and made to jump up on her.
“Down,” Miss Greaves calmly commanded, and the spaniel nearly tripped over his own filthy paws to obey.
Maximus sighed.
“Did you catch that poor bunny?” she murmured sweetly to Percy as he wriggled madly with delight. “Did you tear it to shreds?”
Maximus’s brows rose. “You voice a bloody sentiment for a lady, Miss Greaves.”
She shrugged. “I doubt he could ever catch a rabbit, Your Grace. Besides”—she added as she straightened—“I am named for the goddess of the hunt.”
He looked at her oddly. She was in a strange mood this morning. She’d never been deferential to him, but today she seemed almost confrontational.
The greyhounds returned, panting, along with Lady Penelope’s white lapdog, and all three greeted Miss Greaves.
He glanced at Miss Greaves in questions and she shrugged. “Bon Bon seems to like the morning rambles, and I know he loves your Percy. It’s almost as if he’s found a second life.”
She started forward. Starling, Bon Bon, and Percy ranged into the woods, but Belle fell into step with them, nosing along the path. They walked together wordlessly in what might be deemed a companionable silence if it weren’t for the tense set of her shoulders.
Maximus glanced at her sideways. “I take it your parents were of a classical mind?”
“My mother.” She nodded. “Artemis and Apollo. The Olympian twins.”
“Ah.”
She took a deep breath, her inhalation making the bodice of her dress expand distractingly. “My brother was committed to Bedlam four years ago.”
