“I see.”
“Do you?” He didn’t move, but his sheer size seemed suddenly intimidating. “My sister is very dear to me. I would do anything to keep her from harm.”
“Even if your measures to keep her safe become a cage?” she asked gently.
“You speak as if she were like any other young girl her age,” Maximus growled. “She’s not. She’s blind. I brought in every doctor, every man of science, every learned healer from near and far, no matter the expense or trouble. I let them torture her with noxious medicines, all in the hope they could help her. None could keep her from going blind. I couldn’t save her sight, but I’ll be thrice damned before I see her further hurt.”
Artemis inhaled, his fervor both exciting and slightly frightening. “I understand.”
“Good.” He turned and led her down the hall. “These are my sister’s rooms.” He indicated a pale green door. “And here is the pink room where Phoebe wants you to stay.” He gestured to the next door down, which stood ajar. A maid hurried out, pausing only to curtsy deeply to Maximus.
Artemis peeked inside. The walls were covered in a deep rose-watered silk, lending the room its name. A canopied bed was bracketed by two carved tables topped by yellow marble, and the fireplace was surrounded by rose-veined marble.
“It’s delightful,” Artemis said truthfully. She glanced over her shoulder to the duke. “Are your rooms on this floor as well?”
He nodded. “Down this corridor.”
They turned into a passage and walked toward the back of the house.
“Here’s the blue sitting room—the one that Phoebe likes to use. And these are my rooms.”
The doors to his rooms were a rich forest green detailed in black.
“Come.” He led her to a small door paneled to look like the surrounding wainscoting. Behind it was a narrow staircase, obviously a servant’s stairs. They went down, spiraling into the dark, but Artemis followed him without fear.
Two floors below, and through a door cut into a stone stairs, he paused before a second door and looked at her intently. “No one must know he is here. I had to take him out as the Ghost. They’re looking for him.”
She nodded, her throat clogging. Four years. Four years he’d been locked up in Bedlam.
Maximus unlocked the door and opened it, revealing a long, low subterranean room.
“Your Grace.” It was the servant that Artemis had noticed at the dueling demonstration. He’d risen from a chair set beside a cot. And on the cot—
Artemis rushed forward, ignoring everything else. Apollo lay so still, his dear face made almost unrecognizable by dark bruises and swelling. What flesh that wasn’t maimed was very pale.
She fell to her knees beside him, reaching out one trembling hand to push the shaggy hair from his forehead.
“Craven,” Maximus spoke behind her. “This is Miss Artemis Greaves, the sister of our patient.”
“Ma’am.” The servant nodded.
“Have you called a doctor?” she asked without taking her eyes from Apollo’s face. She slid her hand over his unshaven cheek to his neck and searched. There. A flutter. The blood still beat within his veins.
“No,” Maximus answered.
She turned at that, her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“I told you,” he said patiently, his voice even. “No one must know.”
She held his gaze a moment longer before turning back to Apollo. He was right. Of course he was right. They mustn’t risk Apollo being discovered and possibly being forced to return to Bedlam.
And yet to see him like this and offer no care near killed her.
Craven cleared his throat. “I’ve been looking after his lordship, Miss. There’s not much else a doctor could do.”
She glanced at the man quickly. “Thank you.” She meant to say more, but something was caught in her throat. Her eyes stung.
“Weep not, proud Diana,” Maximus murmured. “The moon will not allow it.”
“No.” She agreed, swiping fiercely at her cheeks. “There’s no need for tears yet.”
For a moment she thought she felt a hand on her shoulder. “You may stay here with him for a while. Craven needs a respite in any case.”
She nodded without turning. She didn’t dare.
The men’s footsteps retreated and she heard the door shut behind them. The candle flames wavered and then stood still again.
Still, like her brother.
She laid her head on his arm and remembered. They’d been children in a family broken by madness and genteel poverty, left to run wild by parents with other cares. She recalled wandering the woods with him, watching him catch frogs in the tall grass by the pond. She’d searched for bird nests in the reeds as he fought dragons with fallen branches. The day he’d been sent away to school had been the worst of her young life. She’d been left with Mama, an invalid, and Papa, who was usually off on “business”—one of his wild schemes to repair their fortunes. When Apollo had returned for the holidays she’d been relieved—so relieved. He hadn’t left her forever.
She watched his chest rise and fall and remembered and reflected. All her life things had been taken from her: Apollo, Thomas’s affection, Mama and Papa, her home, her future. No one had ever asked her opinion, garnered her thoughts on what she wanted or needed. Things had been done to her, but she’d never had the chance to do things. Like a doll on a shelf, she’d been moved about, manipulated, flung aside.
Except she wasn’t a doll.
What she might’ve once had: a home, husband, and family of her own was gone now. She would never have them. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t decide to have something else.
That she couldn’t live her life as best she could. As best she wanted.
She could either spend the rest of her life being manipulated and quietly mourning what she’d lost, or she could create a new life. A new reality.
The candles had burned low when Craven opened the door to the chamber again. “Miss? It’s late. I can sit with Lord Kilbourne for the night while you go to bed.”
“Thank you.” She rose, stiff from sitting on the cold stone floor, and looked at the man. “You’ll let me know if he changes?”
“Yes, I will,” he said, and his voice was kind.
Artemis touched Apollo’s cheek and then turned to make her way up the stairs.
Up out of stagnation and despair.