Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(37)

He’d lost track of Ridley.

His feet were yanked out from under him. Apollo’s head smacked the stone floor and for a moment he knew nothing but ringing light. When next he looked up, he saw Ridley, still holding the chains that bound his feet.

Leech staggered over, hand cupped over his bleeding nose, and kicked Apollo in the face. Apollo raised an arm—moving far too slowly, something was wrong—but Leech kicked him again, this time in the ribs. There was pain, but it was muffled somehow, and that should be causing him alarm, he knew. Apollo tried to curl into himself, protect his vulnerable middle, but Ridley yanked on the chains again, pulling his legs straight. Leech had his cudgel now, and was lifting it—

Ridley grinned, his hands fumbling at the half-opened falls to his breeches. “We’ll shut your mouth good and proper this time.”

No.

True fear sparked at the back of Apollo’s mind and he lurched up, butting his head into Ridley’s middle. The guard fell on his arse, yelling. Apollo thrashed, kicking, hitting anything he could connect with.

Something slammed into his head.

He glared blearily up. Leech’s goddamned cudgel. He’d take the thing away and beat the guard with his own weapon, by God.

Tyne stepped on his throat. Apollo’s lungs heaved. Once. Twice.

No air.

Thrice…

Blackness descended.

THE MORNING SUN dappled the forest floor beneath his feet as Maximus tramped along the next day. He’d risen early, restless without his usual exercises in the London cellar. His work was in the city and he had an itch to return to it.

Courting a woman for marriage was a trying business.

Belle bumped her head under his palm as if in sympathy. Percy and Starling had already ranged ahead, but Belle liked to stay by his side.

Well, usually, anyway.

Her narrow ears suddenly perked and she was off, bounding gracefully through the underbrush. He could hear the other dogs yipping in greeting.

Ridiculously, he thought he could feel his heart beat faster. Despite their antagonism, despite her threats to his equilibrium, he wanted to see her, and right now he wouldn’t examine why.

In another few steps he made the clearing with the pond and looked about. He could see the dogs milling a quarter way around the pond—even Bon Bon was there—but he couldn’t yet see her on the path.

And then he did see her and arousal went straight to his cock.

Artemis Greaves was in the pond, as graceful as a naiad, her skirts bound up at her waist, standing thigh deep in the sparkling water.

How dare she.

He strode swiftly around the pond to stand at the shore nearest to where she was wading. “Miss Greaves.”

She glanced at him and if anything looked displeased to see him. “Your Grace.”

“What,” he said softly but dangerously, “are you doing in the pond?”

“I would have thought that obvious,” she murmured as she began moving toward the shore. “I’m wading.”

He gritted his teeth. The closer she came to shore the more milky white leg emerged from the water. It was soon apparent that she was bare from just below the juncture of her thighs all the way to her narrow feet. Her skin glistened in the morning sun, pale and vulnerable, wholly, terribly erotic.

As a gentleman he should look away.

But damn it, it was his pond.

“Anyone could happen upon you,” he hissed, aware at the back of his mind that he sounded like a prudish old woman.

“Do you really think so?” she asked, finally reaching the shore and stepping onto the mossy bank of the pond. “I doubt most of your guests usually rise before nine of the clock at the earliest. Penelope hardly ever emerges from her rooms before noon.”

She stood there, head cocked, as if she truly wanted to debate the morning habits of his guests. She’d made no move to lower her skirts. He watched a bead of water slide slickly down one rounded thigh, over the pretty contours of her knee, faster down the smooth slope of her calf to drip off one delicate anklebone.

He snapped his gaze up to her face.

She still looked merely curious, as if standing half nude in front of him was a completely acceptable way to start the day.

Good God, did she think him a eunuch?

He wanted to shake her, to scold her until she hung her head in shame. He wanted to—

“Put down your skirts,” he growled. “If this is your way of provoking me because of our disagreement, I’ll have you know it won’t work.”

“That wasn’t my intent,” she said calmly. “As I told you, I was simply wading for no other reason but the enjoyment of it. However, I do think you incorrect.”

“I…” He couldn’t follow her with her legs so alluringly exposed. “What?”

“What makes you think I can’t provoke you?” She arched an eyebrow and untied the knot that held her skirts up. They fell, shrouding her gorgeous legs to the ankle, and that did not annoy him at all.

“You’re not to go wading in my pond again,” he said.

She shrugged and picked up her shoes and stockings where they lay on the path. “Very well, Your Grace, but it’s a great pity. I should’ve liked to go swimming.”

She pivoted and glided up the path, bewitching bare ankles flashing under her skirts, leaving Maximus to imagine her swimming in his pond, gloriously nude.