Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(91)

He opened the door to his bedroom and saw at once that he’d run out of time after all.

Artemis was gone.

Chapter Nineteen

The burning coal in Lin’s hands turned into her own dear brother, Tam. He jumped from the phantom horse he rode and as his feet touched the earth he once more was mortal.

Tam grinned up at Lin. “Sister! You’ve saved me, but now you, too, must leave the wild hunt in order to live once again.”

Lin looked from her brother’s joyful face to that of the Herla King, but he avoided her gaze, his eyes already set on a ghostly horizon, resigned to his eternal chase.…

—from The Legend of the Herla King

Artemis slipped out the back door of Wakefield House, what few belongings she had clutched in a pathetic soft bag in her hands. She hesitated, panic beating at her breast. She had to leave—leave right now while she could, when Maximus wasn’t before her, tempting her with everything she hoped for and could never have—but she had no idea where to go. It didn’t seem right to seek Penelope out—not after what she’d done with Maximus. And she certainly couldn’t ask Lady Hero or Lady Phoebe.

The door opened behind her and she braced herself. Not again. Oh, dear God, she wasn’t sure she could go through this all over again with Maximus. She felt as if a part of her soul had been torn out, the wound bleeding, slow and steadily, somewhere internally.

But the voice that addressed her was feminine.

“My dear.”

She turned to see Miss Picklewood regarding her with deep compassion. “Can I be of help?”

And for the first time in her life Artemis Greaves burst into tears.

MAXIMUS STRODE FROM the front of his house and called for a horse. This was all he had left, it seemed: revenge. Well if that was so, then he intended to complete his task quickly and with the most amount of blood possible.

In minutes he was trotting down the street.

Havers Square was indeed not in a very fashionable area of London. The house itself was an old half-timbered affair, though not nearly as broken down as something found in St. Giles. Maximus dismounted and gave a small boy a shilling to watch his horse. Illingsworth apparently rented only the top two floors of the house, and luckily he was at home. Maximus was shown up the stairs and into a cramped sitting room by an elderly maid who simply left him there without a word.

Maximus turned, inspecting his surroundings. The room had been furnished with a mishmash of furniture, some of which had been expensive at one time. The dirty grate wasn’t lit, probably as a cost-saving measure, and the two framed engravings upon the wall were cheap.

The door to the sitting room opened.

Maximus turned to see a man in a frayed green banyan, stained on the front with something that might be egg yolk. He wore a soft cap on his head and was unshaven, a patchy ginger beard straggling up a thin face with cheekbones so sharp it looked like the skin of his face was pulled too tight over them.

“Yes?” Illingsworth asked warily.

Maximus held out his hand. “I’m Wakefield. I wonder if I might ask you a few questions?”

Illingsworth stared at his hand, perplexed, before taking it. His palm was damp.

“Yes?” he repeated.

Evidently his host wasn’t going to offer him a seat.

Maximus reached into his pocket and took out the pendant. “Thirteen years ago you lost this in a wager to John Alderney. Where did you get it?”

“What…?” Illingsworth leaned forward to peer at the pendant. He reached for it, but Maximus closed his fist without thinking.

Illingsworth looked up at that. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because,” Maximus said, “this pendant was part of a necklace that belonged to my mother.”

“Ah.” Illingsworth had a knowing look that Maximus didn’t like. “Pawned it, did she?”

“No. She was robbed of it the night she was murdered.”

If he hadn’t been watching, Maximus might’ve missed it: a subtle shifting, a slight widening of the eyes. In a second it was gone and all Illingsworth’s face revealed was wariness. “I was a fifteen-year-old schoolboy thirteen years ago. I assure you, Your Grace, that I had nothing to do with your mother’s lamentable death.”

“I never said you did,” Maximus said. “I merely want to know the man you got this from.”

But Illingsworth shook his head, pacing quickly to the fireplace. “I’ve never seen that gem before in my life.”

His manner was too casual—the man was lying. “John Alderney says otherwise.”

Illingsworth laughed, but it was a brittle, cawing sound. “Alderney was a fool at school. I can’t imagine age has improved him any.”

He turned and faced Maximus, his gaze frank and steady.

Maximus contemplated him. Illingsworth knew something—Maximus could feel it in his bones—yet if the other man refused to tell what he knew, there wasn’t much he could do. He made a decision and pocketed the pendant. “You’re lying.”

Illingsworth started to protest.

Maximus cut him off with a sharp movement of his arm. “I could beat it out of you, the name of the man who gave this to you, but I have a certain dislike of violence. So I’ll make you a bargain: I’ll give you a day and a night to tell me who it is. If, at the end of that time you haven’t given me what I want, I’ll ruin you. Take what little you have from you. This house, your clothes, whatever else you might hold dear. By the end of the week you’ll be begging in the gutter if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”