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So when he heard the light tap of a woman’s shoes on the filthy stone in the corridor outside his cell, he leaned his head back against the wall and found a smile to paste on his blasted face.
She appeared a moment later, peering around the corner, her sweet, grave face brightening at the sight of him. Artemis wore a worn but clean brown gown, and a straw bonnet she’d had for at least five years, the straw mended in small, neat stitches over her right ear. Her gray eyes were lit with warmth and worry for him, and she seemed to bring a waft of clear air with her, which was impossible: how could one smell the absence of stink?
“Brother,” she murmured in her low, quiet voice. She advanced into his cell without any sign of the disgust she must feel at the uncovered slop bucket in the corner or his own damnable state—the fleas and lice had long ago made a feast out of his hide. “How are you?”
It was a silly question—he was now, and had been for the last four years, wretched—but she asked it earnestly, for she truly worried that his state might someday grow worse than it already was. In that, at least, she was correct: there was always death, after all.
Not that he would ever let her know how close to death he’d come in the past.
“Oh, I’m just divine,” he said, grinning, hoping she didn’t notice that his gums bled at the smallest motion these days. “The buttered kidneys were excellent this morning as were the shirred eggs and gammon steak. I must compliment the cook, but I find myself somewhat detained.”
He gestured with his manacled feet. A long chain led from the manacles to a great iron ring on the wall. The chain was long enough for him to stand and take two steps in either direction, but no more.
“Apollo,” she said, and her voice was gently chiding, but her lips curved so he considered his clowning a victory. She set down the small, soft sack she’d been holding in her hand. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve already dined since I brought some roast chicken. I do hope you’re not too full to enjoy it.”
“Oh, I think I’ll manage,” he said.
His nose caught the aroma of the chicken and his mouth began to water helplessly. There’d been a time when he’d never thought much about his next meal—beyond wishing vaguely that cherry pie might be served every day. It wasn’t that their family had been rich—far from it, in fact—but they’d never lacked for food. Bread and cheese and joints of roast and buttered peas and peaches stewed in honey and wine. Fish pie and those little muffins his mother had sometimes made. Dear God, the first slurp of oxtail soup, the bits of meat so tender they melted on his tongue. Juicy oranges, roasted walnuts, gingered carrots, and that sweet made from sugared rose petals. Sometimes he spent days simply thinking about food—no matter how much he tried to drive the thoughts from his mind.
He’d never again take food for granted.
Apollo looked away, trying to distract himself as she took out the chicken. He would put it off as long as possible, the inevitable descent into becoming a ravening, mindless animal.
He shifted awkwardly, the chains clinking. They gave him straw for both settee and dainty bed, and if he rummaged a bit he might find some cleanish spot for his sister to sit on. Such were the only comforts he could offer a guest to his cell.
“There’s cheese and half an apple tart I wheedled from Penelope’s cook.” Artemis’s expression was gentle and a little worried, as if she knew how close he was to falling on her present and swallowing it all in one maddened gulp.
“Sit here,” he said gruffly.
She sank gracefully, her legs folded to the side as if they were on some pastoral picnic rather than a stinking madhouse. “Here.”
She’d placed a chicken leg and a slab of the tart on a clean cloth and held it out to him. He took the treasure carefully, trying to breathe through his mouth without seeming to. He clenched his jaw and inhaled slowly, staring at the food. Self-control was the only thing he had left.
“Please, Apollo, eat.” Her whisper was almost pained, and he reminded himself that he was not the only one being punished for one night of youthful folly.
He’d destroyed his sister that night as well.
So he raised the leg of chicken to his lips and took one delicate bite, placing it back on the cloth, chewing carefully, keeping the madness at bay. The taste was wonderful, filling his mouth, making him want to howl with eager hunger.
He swallowed, lowering the cloth with its contents to his lap. He was a gentleman, not an animal. “How is my cousin?”
If Artemis were less a lady she would’ve rolled her eyes. “She’s up in the boughs this morning over a ball we’re attending tonight at Viscount d’Arque’s town house. Do you remember him?”
Apollo took another bite. He’d never moved in the most elite circles—hadn’t the money for that—but the name tweaked a memory.
“Tall, dark fellow with a bit of a manner? Witty and knows it?” And a devil with the ladies, he thought but did not say aloud to his sister.
She nodded. “That’s him. He lives with his grandmother, Lady Whimple, which seems a little odd, considering his reputation. The ball I’m sure is completely planned by her, but it’s usually in his name.”
“I thought Penelope went to balls almost every night of the week?”
A corner of Artemis’s mouth quirked. “Sometimes it seems like it.”
He bit into the tart, nearly moaning over the crisp-sweet apple. “Then why the excitement over d’Arque’s ball? Has she set her cap at him?”
“Oh, no.” Artemis shook her head ruefully. “A viscount would never do. She has plans for the Duke of Wakefield, and rumor has it he may attend tonight.”
“Does she?” Apollo glanced at his sister. If their cousin finally settled on a gentleman to marry, then Artemis might very well be out of a home. And he could do absolutely nothing about it. His jaw tensed and he reined in the urge to bellow his frustration. He took another deep breath and drank from the flask of beer she’d brought him. The warm, sour taste of hops settled him for a moment. “Then I wish her well in the endeavor, though perhaps I should be commiserating with His Grace—Lord knows I wouldn’t want our cousin’s sights on me.”
