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He picked up Lady Penelope’s gloves and, unsmiling, saluted Miss Greaves with them. She bowed to him, equally grave.
Maximus turned to the house, thinking. He had no idea how he would do it yet, but he meant to best her. He’d show her that he was the master, and when she’d admitted his victory… well, then he’d have her. And he’d hold her, by God. His huntress.
His goddess.
Chapter Seven
If the Herla King’s wedding had been grand, the Dwarf King’s nuptials were magnificent. For seven days and seven nights there was feasting and dancing and storytelling. The cavern sparkled with gold and jewels, for a dwarf has a deep and abiding love of the treasures that come from the earth. So when King Herla at last presented his wedding gift there was a roar of approval from the dwarf citizens: he offered a golden chest, twice the size of a man’s fist, spilling over with sparkling diamonds.…
—from The Legend of the Herla King
“And his eyes glowed with a red fire as if he’d newly come from Hell itself.” Penelope shivered dramatically at her own tale
Artemis, listening to the story of their encounter with the Ghost of St. Giles for what seemed like the hundredth time, leaned closer to Phoebe and murmured in her ear, “Or as if he had a slight infection of the eye.”
The younger woman clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Would that I had been there to protect you from such a fiend,” the Duke of Scarborough exclaimed.
The gentlemen had just joined the ladies in the Yellow Salon after dinner, and the guests were scattered about the room. The ladies mostly lounged on the elegantly carved chairs and settees while the gentlemen stood. Scarborough had immediately crossed to Penelope and latched on to her side upon entering, while Wakefield was prowling about the perimeter of the room. Artemis wondered what his game was. Surely he should be waiting attendance on her cousin? Instead, when she looked over, his brooding gaze caught hers.
She shivered. He’d been somehow more intent since her little show of archery this afternoon. Perhaps that had been hubris on her part, but she’d been unable to pass up the opportunity. She wasn’t another London society lady. She’d grown up in the country, had spent long days wandering woods, and she knew how to hunt. True, her game had always been birds and the odd squirrel before—not predatory dukes—but the principle was the same, surely? She would stalk him, goad him, until he had no choice but to save her brother. It was a delicate maneuver: she wanted to suggest she was quite ready to reveal him, but at the same time if she actually gave away his identity as the Ghost of St. Giles, she lost all her leverage. A fine game indeed, but at least she’d accomplished the first movement:
ot? he wanted to ask. Surely Miss Greaves’s station as Lady Penelope’s companion didn’t preclude hobbies of her own—even silly ones like ladies’ archery? Except it might very well do. Her position was a sort of genteel modern-day slavery, reserved solely for the most vulnerable of the gentler sex—those without family of their own. Lady Penelope could keep Miss Greaves busy from morning to night if she chose, and Miss Greaves would be expected to be grateful for the servitude.
The thought made his mood darker.
“I also enjoy riding, sketching, dancing, and singing,” Lady Penelope prattled on. She tapped his sleeve with one flirtatious finger. “Perhaps I can demonstrate my voice for you—and the other guests—this evening, Your Grace?”
“I would be delighted,” he replied automatically.
Behind them he heard a slight choking sound. He turned his head and glanced back to see Miss Greaves with her lips twitching. He had a sudden suspicion regarding Lady Penelope’s supposedly lovely singing voice.
“Oh, look, the Duke of Scarborough is helping with the targets,” Lady Penelope continued. “He told me last night that he likes to hold an annual contest at his country estate for athletics such as running and archery, so I suppose he’s quite the expert. No doubt that’s why he’s so skilled at fencing as well.” She seemed to realize her comments weren’t the most politic and sent an annoyingly sympathetic glance his way. “Of course, not everyone has the time to practice fencing or indeed any other athletic endeavor.”
The slight gasp that came from behind them most definitely sounded like a choked-off laugh this time.
“Oh, I’m sure His Grace has other, more cerebral skills,” came Miss Greaves’s voice in suspiciously dulcet tones.
Lady Penelope looked as if she were deciphering the word cerebral.
“I spend a great deal of time in Parliament,” he replied in what even to his own ears sounded like a damnably pompous tone. “I’m glad to see that you’ve regained your voice, Miss Greaves.”
“I never lost it, I do assure you, Your Grace,” Miss Greaves responded sweetly. “But are we to understand that you don’t practice fencing at all? If so, your performance yesterday—at least at the beginning of your duel with the Duke of Scarborough—must be a veritable miracle. I vow, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you fought with a sword nearly every night.”
He turned slowly on her. What was she about now?
Miss Greaves met his gaze, her own face serene, but there was a wicked gleam at the back of her eyes that made a chill run up his spine.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Artemis,” Lady Penelope said plaintively after a rather awkward beat.
“May I help you don your arm guard, Lady Penelope?” Scarborough asked behind Maximus.
Maximus cursed under his breath. He hadn’t noticed the ass sidling over.
Miss Greaves tutted. “I’m quite shocked by such language from a distinguished parliamentarian, Your Grace.”
“I’m sure that you are anything but shocked, Miss Greaves,” he snapped without thinking.
