And a most suitable opponent.
He picked up Lady Penelope’s gloves and, unsmiling, saluted Miss Greaves with them. She bowed to him, equally grave.
Maximus turned to the house, thinking. He had no idea how he would do it yet, but he meant to best her. He’d show her that he was the master, and when she’d admitted his victory… well, then he’d have her. And he’d hold her, by God. His huntress.
His goddess.
Chapter Seven
If the Herla King’s wedding had been grand, the Dwarf King’s nuptials were magnificent. For seven days and seven nights there was feasting and dancing and storytelling. The cavern sparkled with gold and jewels, for a dwarf has a deep and abiding love of the treasures that come from the earth. So when King Herla at last presented his wedding gift there was a roar of approval from the dwarf citizens: he offered a golden chest, twice the size of a man’s fist, spilling over with sparkling diamonds.…
—from The Legend of the Herla King
“And his eyes glowed with a red fire as if he’d newly come from Hell itself.” Penelope shivered dramatically at her own tale
Artemis, listening to the story of their encounter with the Ghost of St. Giles for what seemed like the hundredth time, leaned closer to Phoebe and murmured in her ear, “Or as if he had a slight infection of the eye.”
The younger woman clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Would that I had been there to protect you from such a fiend,” the Duke of Scarborough exclaimed.
The gentlemen had just joined the ladies in the Yellow Salon after dinner, and the guests were scattered about the room. The ladies mostly lounged on the elegantly carved chairs and settees while the gentlemen stood. Scarborough had immediately crossed to Penelope and latched on to her side upon entering, while Wakefield was prowling about the perimeter of the room. Artemis wondered what his game was. Surely he should be waiting attendance on her cousin? Instead, when she looked over, his brooding gaze caught hers.
She shivered. He’d been somehow more intent since her little show of archery this afternoon. Perhaps that had been hubris on her part, but she’d been unable to pass up the opportunity. She wasn’t another London society lady. She’d grown up in the country, had spent long days wandering woods, and she knew how to hunt. True, her game had always been birds and the odd squirrel before—not predatory dukes—but the principle was the same, surely? She would stalk him, goad him, until he had no choice but to save her brother. It was a delicate maneuver: she wanted to suggest she was quite ready to reveal him, but at the same time if she actually gave away his identity as the Ghost of St. Giles, she lost all her leverage. A fine game indeed, but at least she’d accomplished the first movement:
She had his attention.
“That’s quite brave of you, Your Grace,” Artemis said, raising her voice as she turned to the Duke of Scarborough, “offering to fight the Ghost of St. Giles. For I noted at the time that the Ghost was a rather large man. Why, he was almost exactly the same height as—” She glanced about the assembled party as if searching for a gentleman of suitable height. When her eyes landed on Wakefield, he already had a wry expression. “Why, our host, the Duke of Wakefield, in fact.”
There was a fraught pause as Artemis held Wakefield’s narrowed gaze, before it was broken rather prosaically by Penelope. “Don’t be silly, Artemis. The Ghost was at least a foot taller than His Grace. Although I’m quite sure the Duke of Scarborough would have been able to defeat him.”
The last was a lie so obvious that Artemis didn’t even bother rolling her eyes.
“Certainly, His Grace would’ve been of better help than my brother,” Phoebe said, uncaring of her treachery.
“Phoebe,” Wakefield growled low in warning.
“Yes, brother dear?” Phoebe turned her blithely bright face to the duke, who was lurking like a tiger with indigestion in the corner. “You must admit that you did not show well with Scarborough yesterday.”
“His Grace, the Duke of Scarborough, obviously has many more years than I practicing his fencing.” Wakefield bowed to the other duke so gracefully that Artemis wondered if he’d really meant the insult to Scarborough’s age. “And you, brat, should show more respect to your elders.”
The teasing tone caught Artemis off guard. He truly did care for his sister, she reminded herself. He might be overprotective, but he loved Phoebe. The thought unsettled her. She was blackmailing this man. She didn’t want to think about the softer, more human parts of him.
She girded her loins and readied another salvo. “Did you really find the Ghost so monstrously tall? Truly, I thought he had the height and the physical bearing of His Grace. Indeed, were the duke a better swordsman, it might’ve been he we met in St. Giles.”
“But whyever would His Grace traipse about St. Giles?” Penelope asked in honest confusion. “Only ruffians and the poor go there.”
“Well, we were there, weren’t we?” Artemis retorted.
Penelope waved a dismissive hand. “That’s different. I was on a grand adventure.”
“Which nearly got you both killed, by the sound of it,” Phoebe whispered in Artemis’s ear.
“Come, my lady,” Scarborough said jovially. “Enough of this talk of scoundrels. You promised to sing for us, I remember. Will you do it now?”
“Oh, yes.” Penelope immediately brightened at the prospect of being at the center of attention. “I just need an accompanist.”
“I can play,” Phoebe said, “if I know the piece you’ll be singing.”
Artemis helped her navigate across the room to the clavichord.
“What would you like to perform?” Phoebe asked as she settled gracefully at her instrument.
Penelope smiled. “Do you know ‘The Shepherdess’s Lament?’ ”
Artemis stifled a sigh and found a seat. Penelope had a very small repertoire that consisted of rather sentimental and treacly songs.
Wakefield lowered himself beside her and she couldn’t help but stiffen a little.
“A miss, I think,” he murmured out of the side of his mouth as they watched Penelope tilt her chin very high and extend one hand. “You can do much better than that.”
“Are you challenging me, Your Grace?”
A corner of his mouth curled up, though he didn’t look at her. “Only a fool would provoke his nemesis. What in hell is she doing?”