It was just after nine o’clock in the evening when Artemis arrived back at Cadogan Square. Even though she and Dominic seemed to have called a truce after their tense exchange in Ashburn’s library, there were long periods of strained silence on the journey back to London. Horatia, who’d decided to return too, had done her best to make conversation, but at best, it was stilted. When Artemis alighted from Dominic’s carriage, she’d simply farewelled him and Horatia rather than invite them into her aunt’s house. But she had promised to speak with Dominic on the morrow.
“She’s in her bedroom,” said Aunt Roberta without preamble as soon as Artemis set foot in the drawing room.
“How is she?” asked Artemis, pulling off her gloves and bonnet and dumping them on a chair. Trepidation tripped through her when she took in her aunt’s slightly disheveled appearance—lace cap askew, iron-gray hair sliding from its pins, no jewelry at her throat or upon her fingers. Such a look was completely out of character even for this relatively late hour. “What’s Gascoyne done?”
Aunt Roberta absently patted Bertie who sat beside her on the sofa. “She won’t say precisely, though I fear that the blackguard has stolen her virtue,” she said in a voice that was weak and frail rather than brimming with self-assurance. “But it’s even worse than that, I’m afraid.”
The barely restrained fear inside Artemis bolted clean away. She had to inhale a lungful of air before she could make her voice work. “Please speak plainly, Aunt Roberta.”
Her aunt gestured at a pile of newspapers beside her crystal bowl of sweetmeats. “Take a look for yourself. It’s on page seven in the gossip…I mean the ‘social’ column of the London Tatler. The whole family’s reputation is ruined.”
Oh no.
Artemis picked up the infamous scandal rag and flipped to the page her aunt had indicated. And then her heart stuttered and all but stopped.
Miss P.J. of C. Square forsaken by the Dastardly Duke’s nemesis!
But who will have the last laugh?
She couldn’t bear to read any more than that. “How did this happen?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger.
Aunt Roberta shrugged. Her wrapper slipped down her arm, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I have no idea. Whenever I try to talk to Phoebe, she bursts into tears. But I’m sure she’ll speak with you. She sent for you after all.”
Artemis started toward the door but as she reached for the handle, her aunt spoke again. “I don’t blame you, you know. In case you were wondering. You did try to warn us.”
“How very gracious of you,” returned Artemis over her shoulder. “It’s just a pity that neither of you believed me until it was too late.”
***
Artemis found her sister slumped in an armchair by the fire. And she was in an even worse state than Aunt Roberta.
Her cheeks were pale, but her eyes and nose were red. Her brown hair hung in limp tangles about her sagging shoulders, and in one hand she clutched a linen kerchief.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Phoebe murmured, then sniffed. “I wasn’t sure if you would, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, Phoebe.” Artemis rushed to her sister’s side and gathered her into a hug. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. And of course I was going to come home as soon as you messaged me.”
When she drew back, she sank onto the ottoman at Phoebe’s feet and took one of her sister’s pale hands in hers. “Aunt Roberta has shared a little about what’s happened. If you want to tell me more, I’m here to listen.”
Phoebe nodded and a sigh shivered out of her. And then a tear slid down her cheek. “It’s not fair, Artemis. All I ever wanted to do was marry and have children, and I’ve been waiting for so, so long. But now that will never happen. Who will have me now?” The expression in her eyes was nothing but haunted. “What if I’m with child?” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “Every time I think about it, I feel sick.”
“Are you sure that he—”
“Yes, he did, Artemis. I’m not stupid,” Phoebe snapped, making Artemis jump. And then she immediately looked contrite for her outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. None of it is.”
Apprehension squeezed her chest as Artemis asked gently, “This question may be difficult for you to answer, Phoebe, but Lord Gascoyne didn’t hurt you, did he? Force himself on you?”
Phoebe sniffed again and then dabbed at her red eyes. “No, no he didn’t. Well, it hurt a little when he first… When he began to, you know… I’d expected it to though. But that’s not the worst part.” She lifted her chin. “It’s the betrayal and the humiliation and the fact I was such a gullible little fool that stings the most. Because I wanted to do it with him after he told me that he adored me, and of course, he knew a lie like that would work. We were at a rout at Lord and Lady Everton’s, and when he asked me to meet him in the gardens, I did. I was so swept up in the moment. I was in love, and it was all so wild and wonderful and exciting and romantic, and I thought that he loved me—” She broke off and drew a shallow breath. “Have you seen the London Tatler?”
“Yes. Aunt Roberta showed me the article.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t know what possessed me. To follow him to his club and to make such a public to-do that it all ended up in that horrid paper. When he didn’t respond to my messages the day after the Evertons’ rout, or the next, I was just so desperate to see him again. His silence confused me. I was so certain that he would be here on the doorstep, first thing in the morning after we…” A crimson blush stained her cheeks. “I thought he would ask to speak to Aunt Roberta and then seek a private audience with me to ask for my hand. But when he didn’t, I sent him a message. And then another. And then I thought that perhaps some horrible, pernickety servant at Gascoyne House simply hadn’t passed my messages on. Hetty swore she delivered all of them. But it turned out that wasn’t the problem at all.
“Late yesterday afternoon, one of the footmen told Hetty that his master was avoiding me and that if I went to his club, Brooks’s in St. James’s, in the early evening, I might catch him. So I did.” Her eyes glinted and her mouth flattened. “When I confronted Gascoyne in the street before he went inside, he laughed at me and claimed that the mere idea of someone like him, a viscount, marrying someone like me, was delusional. That he’d never cared for me. That it was all in my head. We’d had our fun, but now it was time for both of us to move on.”
Fury gripped and twisted Artemis’s gut. The sick bloody bastard had said almost the exact same things to her a whole decade ago. Somehow, she managed to keep her tone even and relatively gentle as she said, “Someone in the street must have overheard your exchange and sold the story to the London Tatler.”
“Yes. I said I wasn’t stupid, but I am, Artemis. Gascoyne is a snake and a blackguard and a swine and a cad…” Phoebe’s voice cracked on a sob. “I hate him, Artemis. I hate him. But most of all, I hate myself. For being so weak and so naive and so needy.” And then her whole face crumpled, and she collapsed onto the arm of the chair in a storm of tears.
The sound of Phoebe’s weeping was heartrending, and Artemis’s own vision blurred. She hated Gascoyne too, but other than giving him a verbal flogging, she had no idea what to do to make him pay for treating Phoebe so badly. So she simply stroked her sister’s back and murmured soothing words until Phoebe’s paroxysm of crying eventually abated.
Then she summoned Hetty and asked her to fetch a pot of chamomile tea and some toast, and once Phoebe was tucked up in bed and had fallen asleep, Artemis farewelled Aunt Roberta and then walked the short distance to Dartmoor House.
***
Dominic was replacing the crystal stopper on the whisky decanter when there was a knock on the library door. Bloody hell. He glanced at the longcase clock. It was nearing ten.
“What is it?” he called. It had been a long, draining day, and he wanted nothing more than to sit before the fire, dram in hand, until the alcohol did its job and blunted all his sharp edges. Until he stopped thinking about Gascoyne and what he’d like to do to the sodding prick for all of the damage he’d done and the pain he’d caused over the years.
Until he stopped yearning for Artemis. Christ, if she would have him, he’d be the happiest man alive.
And then, as though the Lord above had answered his prayers, the butler opened the door and announced, “Miss Jones to see you, Your Grace.”
Dominic immediately put down his tumbler and crossed the floor, his legs devouring the distance between them in a handful of strides. “Artemis.”
Her face was pale, and there were shadows beneath her dark-brown eyes. And he just knew in his gut that Gascoyne had ruined her sister. Forcing himself to smother his simmering anger and to maintain a calm exterior, he added, “I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow.”
“I know,” she said grimly. “But I needed to talk to someone about Phoebe and Gascoyne, and I didn’t think you’d mind if I dropped by at this late hour.”
“Of course not. Here. Take a seat.” He gestured toward the fireside. “I just poured myself a whisky. I take it you’d like a sherry?”
“Yes, please.” She cast him a grateful smile, and when she claimed his favorite chair again, he didn’t complain. In fact, he rather liked it.
No, it was more than that. He loved it. Artemis belonged in his favorite chair in his library. In his bed and by his side. As soon as this business with Phoebe and Gascoyne was effectively dealt with, he’d somehow make her see that she could trust him. That she could be happy with him. That choosing to be his wife and duchess and, if she wanted it too, the mother of his children, wouldn’t be a mistake.
Once Dominic was installed in the opposite wingback chair, and they were both nursing their drinks, he said, “Tell me what’s happened. All of it.” And Artemis did.
By the time she’d finished, he was filled with so much glacial fury that he felt as though his blood had all but frozen in his veins. His hands had formed into fists on his thighs, and his resolve was harder than freshly forged steel that had just been plunged into a bucket of ice-cold water.
His mind was crystal clear.
“Dominic?” Artemis’s voice was laced with hesitancy. “What are you thinking? I have this horrible feeling I’ve just made a terrible mistake by confiding in you. Please promise me that you won’t do something rash and ridiculous to punish Gascoyne. Like calling him out.”
Dominic made himself smile but suspected the expression on his face was more of a grimace. “If I did decide to call Gascoyne out, it wouldn’t just be to avenge your sister’s honor. It would be for the callous, reprehensible way he treated you too, Artemis, when you were a debutante. And for all of the loneliness Celeste has had to endure because of his relentless campaign to socially destroy me. I can’t forgive him for any of that. I’ve had enough.”
She nodded. “I have too. But he’s not worth losing your life over. I certainly didn’t come here to ask you to take revenge against Gascoyne for ruining my sister. Both she and my aunt bear some responsibility in all of this too. I simply wanted to share what had happened.” Her voice softened. “Most of all, I didn’t want to shut you out.”
“I understand,” he said. “And it means a lot—more than I can say, in fact—that your first thought was to come to me.”
“It was.” She smiled, then put down her barely touched sherry as the longcase clock struck the hour. “Now that I’m reassured that you’re not going to turn into a slavering beast of retribution, I suppose I should go.”
“Yes…” She was right of course, about leaving. For the sake of appearances, she should return to Cadogan Square.
She rose and he followed her to the library door. “I can see myself out,” she began, but then Dominic caught her hand as she reached for the handle.
“Wait.”
She raised a quizzical brow. “What is it?”
“I…” He sucked in a breath. Beneath the ice-cold anger crystallizing his veins, he felt something else. Something hot and potent, surging through his blood. Hardening his cock.
Lust and longing and something else he dared not put a name to.
“I want you,” he said, his voice low and rough. And then he pushed her up against the door, crowding her in with his body, crushing her ridiculously full skirts with his hips and his legs. His mouth grazed hers. “Let me love you.”
Because he was going to call Gascoyne out, despite everything he’d just said to Artemis, and if this was his last night on earth and his very last opportunity to make love to this extraordinary woman, by God, he was going to make the most of it.
***
Let me love you…
Artemis’s breath quickened and her heart contracted painfully in her chest. Oh, what did Dominic mean by that? He meant “make love,” didn’t he? Not actually the “I love you” sort of love.
She had no more time to reflect on such an earth-shattering notion because Dominic was kissing her with such searing passion that all of her thoughts scattered like embers in the wind. His hands were cradling her face, and his tongue was in her mouth, stroking deeply. His hips pushed so hard against hers, she could easily feel his arousal, even through all of the layers of her skirts and petticoats.
She was aroused too and needed to lose herself. To feel something other than anger and anguish and dread. To experience something that was real and true and uplifting, which in her heart of hearts she knew she could find only with Dominic.
She burned for him so much that she was already hot and wet and slippery between her thighs. Her nipples were as tight and hard as pearls even before he cupped her breasts. When he skated his thumbs over those aching nubs and then pinched them through her bodice and corset, she moaned, rendered helpless with the strength of her own desire. “Take me,” she whispered hoarsely.
He lit her up so quickly, so effortlessly, that she couldn’t help but succumb to the fire blazing between them.
He growled his approval, then yanked the woolen skirts of her traveling gown up to her waist. “Help me take off these damn petticoats and drawers.”
And she did. At once.
As soon as the garments were pooling around her ankles, Dominic was on his knees, nudging her thighs apart, pressing his wicked mouth to her sex. His hands held her hips captive as his tongue delved between her folds, licking and swirling and tasting her wetness, tormenting her clitoris, driving her to the edge of reason. In no time at all, her knees were trembling, and she was gasping and gripping his head, holding on for dear life as he sent her hurtling into bliss.
But there was to be no respite from Dominic’s sublime assault on her senses. Before the aftershocks of her pleasure had subsided, he was climbing to his feet and unfastening his trousers. He ruthlessly raised one of her legs, notched the head of his rigid cock at her dew-slick entrance and, with one powerful thrust, seated himself inside her, all the way to the hilt.
Artemis’s core quivered around his hot, steel-hard length and she closed her eyes and clutched at Dominic’s shoulders. How could it be that she was ready to come again so soon?
“Look at me,” he commanded. His stormy gaze burned into hers as he began to drive into her slick heat, again and again. Harder and faster, making the door rattle with each exquisite incursion. One of his hands grasped her about the nape, holding her steady. And then his mouth was at her ear, whispering coarse, delicious, wicked words about how much he wanted her and her alone. How much he adored being inside her. How much he loved hearing her pants and sweet moans… And when he pressed a scorching kiss to her throat, Artemis shattered and broke on an ardor-drenched cry, pleasure engulfing her, carrying her heavenward in a great, pulsating wave.
Clinging to his neck, she buried her face in Dominic’s shoulder. Except for the harsh gust of his breath and the rise and fall of his chest, he’d gone completely still. And then he slid himself free with one hand, jerked his hips once, then twice and with a low, guttural animal groan, he found satisfaction too. As he pushed against her, shuddering and quaking and gasping, his seed coated her inner thigh.
“Artemis,” His whisper was harsh and raw, almost desperate as he drew back to look at her, and Artemis frowned.
Something about him—the stark expression in his gaze as it wandered over her face as though memorizing her features, the way his fingers brushed over her lips, then down her cheek, set off of a frisson of alarm. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly.
And when his mouth curved into a lopsided smile, and he murmured, “Nothing, nothing at all, love,” she didn’t quite believe him.
“Are you sure? Because—”
“I’m sure. I’m just tired and you must be too. You must go home and get some sleep.”
He pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and after wiping her thigh clean and tidying himself up, he helped her to put her attire back to rights.
“Good night, my sweet Artemis,” he said in a voice so soft and low and filled with tenderness it made her breath catch. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Then they exchanged one final light and lingering kiss before she quit the library and made her way down the stairs to Dartmoor House’s entry hall.
As Artemis donned her bonnet and pulled on her gloves, she had the distinct impression she was being watched, but when she turned around and looked back up the stairs to the first floor, there was no one there. At least she didn’t think so. It was difficult to see into all of the shadowy corners beyond the wooden balustrades. The night footman stationed by the front door certainly didn’t seem to notice anything.
Her fatigue and all of this horrid business with Gascoyne had clearly unsettled her. Her mind was playing tricks on her just like it had in the nursery at Ashburn Abbey.
Dominic was right.
She needed a good night’s sleep.