Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(84)

“Oh, and Panders? I do know you’ll make sure we’re not overheard.”

At that subtle hint about the eavesdropping of servants, Panders stiffened imperceptibly. “Of course, ma’am.”

And then, he, too was gone.

Maximus sat back in his chair, looking like a particularly dangerous cat lounging. “What is this about, Bathilda?”

Artemis was rather admiring of Miss Picklewood’s courage. She didn’t even hesitate as she looked at her powerful relative. “You’ve seduced Miss Greaves.”

Maximus didn’t move. “Where did you hear that?”

Miss Picklewood waved a hand and reached over to take the decanter of brandy. She spoke as she poured herself a slight inch into the empty wineglass before her. “Where I heard it from doesn’t matter. What matters is that it is true and it is now, or very soon will be, public knowledge.”

“What I do in the privacy of my own home is no business of anyone’s but mine,” Maximus said with all the arrogance of a man with a thousand years of aristocratic ancestors.

Miss Bathilda took a delicate sip of her brandy. “I’m sorry, but I must disagree, Your Grace. What you do, even in the privacy of your own home, affects many other people, including Phoebe.” She set down her glass firmly. “You cannot keep your mistress in the same house as your maiden sister. Even you must bow to the dictates of society.”

Artemis’s gaze dropped to the table. She noticed absently that her hands, laid sedately on the wood before her, were trembling. Carefully, she balled her fingers and let her hands drop to her lap.

Maximus waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly. “Artemis won’t corrupt Phoebe, you’re aware of that.”

“You know as well as I that a reputation is based purely upon what is perceived rather than any reality. You’ve made Miss Greaves a fallen woman. By her very presence she soils all ladies around her.”

“Bathilda!” Maximus’s warning was a growl.

Artemis couldn’t help a small gasp at the same time. She’d known what she was now, but to have it so bluntly stated by someone she’d considered a friend was still shocking.

Miss Picklewood turned to Artemis for the first time. Her face was determined, but her eyes were sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but I did warn you, my dear.”

Artemis nodded, ignoring Maximus’s glower. “So you did.”

“You need to leave.”

Artemis held the other woman’s gaze. “And I will. But tomorrow night Phoebe has her heart set on seeing the opera at Harte’s Folly with the other ladies from the Ladies’ Syndicate. She’ll be upset if I don’t attend.”

Miss Picklewood frowned.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Bathilda,” Maximus ground out. “One day more won’t taint Phoebe.”

Miss Picklewood’s lips pursed. “Very well. I expect one day won’t make any difference. Attend Harte’s Folly and then, my dear, it must be over.”

Artemis glanced at Maximus. He had his face turned, his teeth clenched so tightly she could see the muscle flex in his jaw. Their affair wouldn’t be over—he’d offered her a house—but she supposed as far as Miss Picklewood was concerned it didn’t matter as long as she was hidden away.

Artemis rose from the table, not looking at Maximus again. “You needn’t say anything more, Miss Picklewood, for you’re quite right. I can’t stay here with Phoebe. If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go begin packing.”

She walked to the door of the dining room with her head held high, but she still couldn’t help the small sob when she closed the door without anyone protesting.

IT WAS LATE when the door to the cellar opened. Apollo didn’t bother turning. He’d already been served his supper by the valet. Now he simply lay on his back, his arm thrown across his eyes and dozed.

But the footsteps that approached his bed were lighter than a man’s.

“Apollo.”

Artemis stood over him with a cloth bag in her hands.

He sat up.

“We have to hurry,” she said as she dropped the bag to the ground beside his cot. The bag clanked.

She bent and took out a mallet and a chisel. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to find these. I finally asked one of the stable boys and voila.”

She looked inordinately pleased for a woman who was risking herself for him. He scowled and wished he could swear. God damn it. Wakefield had seduced her—he knew it—and now she was going to risk the duke’s wrath. Where would that leave her if that bastard decided to throw her out?

“Well?” She set her hands on her hips. “I certainly can’t do it.”

He grabbed his notebook and wrote in it before thrusting it at her. She took the notebook, and he picked up the chisel and set it on the first link in the chain that dropped to the floor from the circlet around his ankle.

“Won’t the duke punish you?” Artemis read aloud.

He struck the chisel with a ringing clang.

Artemis lowered the notebook to look at him with exasperation. “No, of course not. You’ve been reading too many of those lurid pamphlets I used to bring you in Bedlam. I’m not even sure the stories they report are real. In any case, Maximus might be quite cross with me, but he’d hardly punish me. Really. The thought.”