Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(94)

Maximus whirled and strode up the path leading to the pleasure gardens and theater. Until now he’d mainly suspected Scarborough, but both Noakes and Scarborough were of an age. Too, they had—now that he considered the matter—a similar type of body. Average height, a very slight paunch, but athletic for their ages. The same build as Old Scratch.

Surely it couldn’t be that easy.

Maximus broke into a jog.

Someone shouted.

Maximus stopped and listened. There was music in the distance and the murmur of voices and laughter. This place had a myriad of paths, artistically lit so that there were darkened places perfect for romantic assignations. A man could very easily get lost here.

Something thrashed in the bushes to his right.

Maximus ran in that direction.

A man came rushing out, his head down, and hurried away without seeing Maximus. Maximus ran three steps after him before he was stopped by a cry.

“Help me!”

He turned and followed the voice, nearly tripping over a body.

He knelt and felt with his hands, finding a man. His chest was wet with a warm liquid.

“He’s killed me,” Illingsworth said. “He’s killed me.”

“Who?” Maximus demanded.

“I…” Illingsworth coughed with an awful dragging sound just as Maximus found the knife protruding from his chest.

“I told him you’d come to see me, that I’d tell you about finding that pendant in his desk drawer when I was a boy. I only needed a little money, not much. It isn’t fair…”

“Illingsworth, who was it?” Maximus demanded.

The other man’s voice was being overtaken by his wheezing breaths. “Not… fair. I’m family. He owed…”

Illingsworth shuddered and went still.

Maximus swore, holding his open hand over the other’s nose.

He couldn’t feel anything.

He stood, looking around. Illingsworth hadn’t said so in so many words, but it must be his uncle who’d killed him. If it had been Noakes, would he flee the pleasure garden or go to his theater box as if nothing had happened?

Maximus started for the docks.

Behind him there was a popping sound. He turned. A woman screamed.

He was already running toward the theater when he smelled it.

Smoke.

Artemis.

Chapter Twenty

The wild hunt was turning, preparing to race away into the clouds, but Lin had made up her mind. She leaned around the Herla King and stole the little white hound sitting before him on his saddle. King Herla grabbed for her and the dog, but his fingers caught only air. Lin had already leaped to earth, the little dog clutched to her breast.…

—from The Legend of the Herla King

“Is it true?” Phoebe asked Artemis, her sweet hazel eyes worried.

Phoebe had somehow managed to get Artemis away from the others, despite Miss Picklewood’s eagle eye. They were walking now in the lower corridor of the theater.

Artemis had been shocked when, instead of refuting her, the other ladies had seemed to come to a tacit agreement to simply forget the whole scene with Penelope. Indeed, Isabel Makepeace had made it a point to link her arm with Artemis’s as they’d walked to the theater box. Although, now that Artemis thought about it, Lady Hero had had a rather determined gleam in her eye.

A determined gleam very like the one in Phoebe’s face. Most of the time the two sisters looked dissimilar. Right now, though, anyone could see that they were related.

“I knew it,” Phoebe exclaimed when Artemis didn’t immediately answer her question. “My brother has seduced you.”

“I shouldn’t be talking about this with you,” Artemis said hastily. “In fact, after tonight, I doubt I’ll ever be allowed to have a private conversation with you.”

“Ridiculous!” Phoebe looked like a small, fierce nuthatch. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. This is entirely Maximus’s fault.”

“Well…,” Artemis began, because truth be told, it had been she who’d gone to Maximus’s bed, not the other way ’round.

Not that she could tell his sister that.

“I could throttle him, I really could,” Phoebe said. “He never even offered for you, did he?”

“No,” Artemis said starkly. “He didn’t. But I didn’t expect him to. I chose this, dear. I really did.”

“Did you?” Phoebe looked up with unfocused eyes, as if trying—and failing—to see Artemis’s expression. “Did you really? So you’d turn down my brother if he offered you marriage, is that what you want me to believe?”

“It’s just such a mess,” Artemis whispered.

“Do you love him?”

“What?” Artemis stared at Phoebe. “Yes, of course. Yes, I love him.”

“Then I really don’t see the problem,” Phoebe said with determination. “For it’s obvious he loves you.”

“I…” Artemis frowned, distracted. “How can you tell?”

Phoebe looked at her as if she were a half-witted schoolgirl. “My brother is the most contained man I know. He keeps the books in his library ranked by language, then age, then author, then alphabetically. He prepares his speeches for Parliament weeks in advance and makes sure to know exactly which lords will be attending and how they will be voting in advance. He’s never, as far as I know, kept a mistress—and before you comment, even a virginal younger sister like myself has ways of finding these things out. He’s fanatical about family and is so worried about my safety that he had bars put on my bedroom windows, presumably so that I wouldn’t, in a fit of absentmindedness, blunder into them and fall out.”