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Chapter Thirty-Four
Artemis hoisted her carpetbag in one gloved hand and lifted her skirts with the other as she alighted from the train and wrestled her way through the bustling throng on Paddington Station’s Platform One. At least on this occasion, she didn’t have to worry about her traveling trunks going astray. In her haste to return to London, she’d packed a minimal amount of clothing and personal items.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The weight of her carpetbag seemed to belie that fact. And as usual, she’d neglected to bring an umbrella. To make matters worse, she’d chosen to wear a completely impractical walking gown of Sèvre’s blue sateen with a profusion of frothy white lace spilling from the sleeves. Her largely ornamental straw bonnet adorned with deep-blue satin ribbon and white feathers was perched at a precarious angle on top of her simply styled curls. For once, it seemed her feminine vanity had reared its head because she’d wanted to look pretty for Dominic.
Overhead, rain hammered down on the station’s wrought-iron and glass roof. She’d be soaked within the space of five seconds when she emerged onto the street and tried to hail a hackney cab.
Shealmostlaughed then. So much for looking pretty. Although, it wasn’t as though Dominic hadn’t seen her soaking wet before. Not that her appearance would matter one jot if he couldn’t forgive her for her duplicity.
Surely, he’ll understand, she told herself for the hundredth time as she put her head down and stepped into the pouring rain. Dominic was a reasonable man. A progressive thinker. He wasn’t puritanical or a stickler for the rules. Certainly not when he was with her. When he was truly being himself.
In any event, she supposed she would soon find out how far his open-mindedness extended.
Up ahead through the sheets of rain and shifting forest of umbrellas, she could see quite a few hackney cabs clustered at the curb. Hopefully, at least one of them was free. Picking up her skirts, she sidestepped an enormous puddle and then her shoulder collided with a wall of muscle cloaked in damp black wool.
A hand shot out and gripped her upper arm with such brutal force, Artemis gasped.
“Well, well, well,” said a low voice dripping with derision close to her ear. “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Artemis Jones.”
***
The traffic was worse than bad. It was abominable.
Detective Lawrence’s coach had crawled from one impossible snarl to the next through the teeming streets of London. If Dominic possessed the stamina, he would have jumped out and run the remaining distance to Paddington Station.
By the time they’d turned the corner from Gloucester Terrace into Praed Street, then inched toward the Great Western Royal Hotel and the station’s entrance at the pace of a hobbled snail, Dominic was champing at the bit with frustration. According to his pocket watch, it was already twenty minutes past eleven. “This rain is making it impossible to see a God damn thing,” he growled, rubbing at the befogged window with his coat sleeve. “Artemis is out there somewhere. And bloody Gascoyne could be too.”
“Agreed, Your Grace. But rest assured, I have men everywhere,” said Detective Lawrence. “The next train to Bristol departs at half-past eleven. If Lord Gascoyne is anywhere about, we’ll nab him even before he reaches the platform.”
“Yes, but what if he’s turned up his collar and he’s hiding beneath a hat and umbrella?” challenged Dominic. “Do all of your officers know exactly what he looks like?”
“Most of them have been given a detailed description and have seen a rough sketch,” said Lawrence. “Only three have met him in the flesh.”
“Christ,” muttered Dominic. He rapped on the carriage roof, and before it had even stopped, he was throwing open the door and leaping out into the deluge.
Screw Gascoyne.As long as Artemis was safe, the dog could go to the devil.
Ignoring the throb of his shoulder and the thundering of his heart, Dominic charged through the rain toward the station’s entrance.
There. Up ahead in the far distance… Was that Artemis?
Dominic caught a flash of auburn hair that beckoned to him like a flame through the scudding rain and chaotic flow of pedestrians. With no umbrella to speak of and a ridiculously small bonnet that offered little in the way of protection, the woman’s red locks, although darkened by the rain, still stood out.
ItwasArtemis. Dominic would recognize her anywhere.
He increased his pace, not caring who he bumped into and pushed past in his haste to reach her side.
And then his heart all but slammed to a stop when he saw that Artemis—itwasher—had crashed into another pedestrian by a glut of hackney cabs near the curb. A tall man with an umbrella. He’d apparently seized her by the upper arm and was now bending low to speak in her ear.
Gascoyne.
Bloody blazing blistering bollocks.
***
“Lord Gascoyne,” breathed Artemis. Fear clamped her chest in a vise as she stared up into the viscount’s sneering face. “You’re…you’re not…” Somehow, she tamped down the terror ricocheting through her veins and marshaled her thoughts. “You’re supposed to be in police custody.”
He smirked. “Well clearly, I’m not.”
