Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(20)

Well, since she’d been forced to leave her childhood home.

She shook the dreary thought from her mind. This time was precious and there was no point in using it to mourn past sorrows. The sun was up now, the light fresh and delicately new, and she tiptoed into the trees, placing her steps carefully, for her feet had become tender since she’d last walked barefoot on a forest floor.

This wasn’t really a forest, she knew—it was a carefully cultivated copse, made to look wild by expensive gardeners—but it would do. Overhead, the birds were waking, singing their joy at the new day. A squirrel ran up the trunk of a tree and then paused to scold her as she glided past. Soft leaves rustled underfoot, and every now and again she stepped on bare earth, cool and welcoming.

She could lose herself here. Cast off her clothing and become a wild thing, escaping civilization and society, another animal in the woods. She’d never have to go back, never have to bow to those who thought her inferior or simply looked through her as if she were the paper on the walls.

She could be free.

But who would care about Apollo, then? Who would visit him, bring him food, and tell him stories so he wouldn’t truly go insane? He’d rot, forgotten in Bedlam, and she couldn’t let that happen to her darling brother.

Something moved in the trees up ahead. Artemis stilled, flattening herself to a broad trunk. It wasn’t that she was frightened of whoever it was, but she liked her solitude. Wanted to enjoy it a little longer.

She heard a panting and then all at once she was surrounded by dogs. Three dogs, to be specific: two greyhounds and a hunting spaniel with a lovely plumed tail, wagging briskly. For a moment she and the dogs merely took stock of each other. She looked around, but no one else seemed to be in the woods, as if the dogs had gone for a jaunty ramble all on their own.

Artemis extended her fingers. “Are you three by your lonesome, then?”

At her voice the spaniel sniffed interestedly at her fingertips, his mouth hanging open as if he were grinning. She fondled his silky ears and then the greyhounds bounded forward to give their approval.

A corner of her mouth curved up and she stepped out, continuing her own walk. The dogs ranged in front of her and to the sides, loping ahead before circling back to snuffle her fingers or butt against her hand as if to receive permission before trotting off again.

Artemis meandered for a bit, not worrying about their destination, she and the dogs, and then, suddenly, the trees parted. Ahead was a pond, the morning sun shining off the dappled water. At the far side of the pond was a clever rustic bridge that led to a small, artfully tumbling tower at the other end.

The two greyhounds went immediately to the pond’s edge to drink while the spaniel decided simply to wade in until he could lap the water without bending his head.

Artemis stood at the tree line, watching the dogs, tilting her face to scent the woods.

A shrill whistle broke the tranquility.

All three dogs lifted their heads. The taller greyhound—a brindled brown-and-gold female—took off toward the bridge, the other greyhound—a red female—right behind. The spaniel bounded to shore in a shower of water, shaking vigorously before barking and following.

There was a figure on the other side of the bridge, drawing closer. A man in worn boots and an aged coat that once had been of exquisite cut. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and he moved like a great cat. A floppy hat covered his head, obscuring his features. For a moment Artemis inhaled in shocked recognition.

But then he stepped into the light and she saw that she’d been mistaken.

It was the Duke of Wakefield.

MAXIMUS SAW MISS Greaves standing at the edge of the woods like a suspicious dryad and thought, Naturally. What other lady would be up and about so scandalously early? What other lady would make his dogs desert him?

Those same dogs ran to him as if to share with him their new friend. Belle and Starling milled around his feet while Percy planted muddy paws on his thigh and drooled upon his coat.

“Traitors,” Maximus murmured to the greyhounds, not bothering to reprimand the disheveled spaniel. He glanced across the pond, half expecting Miss Greaves to have disappeared, but she was still watching him.

“Good morning,” he called.

He approached her as he would a wild, woodland creature: gingerly and with an attempt to appear harmless, but she didn’t start. He amended the analogy as he drew closer: a wild animal would show fear.

Miss Greaves merely looked a little curious. “Your Grace.”

Percy, who had been investigating the tall reeds by the edge of the pond, lifted his head at the sound of her voice and appeared to take it as invitation to run to her and attempt to hurl himself against her legs.

Miss Greaves gave the dog a stern look before he’d even reached her, and said simply, “Off.”

Percy collapsed at her feet, his tongue hanging out the side of his jaws, ears back as he gazed up at her adoringly.

Maximus shot the dog an irritated look as he turned and began walking back around the ornamental pond. Miss Greaves fell into step beside him.

“I trust that you rested well last night, Miss Greaves?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied.

“Good.”

He nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. Usually he disliked company on his morning walk, but for some reason, Miss Greaves’s presence was almost… soothing. He glanced sideways at her and noticed for the first time that her feet were bare. Long, elegant toes flexed against the ground as she walked. They were quite dirty from the forest floor and the sight, if anything, should’ve filled him with disgust for such a shocking display of impropriety.