Duke of Midnight

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.”



Maximus turned on the sputtered protests of innocence and outrage. They were a waste of time.



He descended the stairs again without the guidance of the elderly maid.



Outside, the boy was patiently waiting with the horse. “Good lad,” Maximus said to him. “Would you like to earn a little more today?”



The boy nodded eagerly.



“I need you to run a message for me.” Maximus gave the boy his address and the message to tell Craven, making him repeat it back word for word. Then he sent the boy out.



Maximus mounted his horse and made a show of riding away.



When he was out of sight of Illingsworth’s house, he dismounted and led the horse back around to an alley that had a view of Illingsworth’s front door.



There he settled down to wait and see what Illingsworth would do with his ultimatum.



“I KNEW THAT lovely shade of hunter green would exactly suit you,” Lady Hero said that night as they walked toward the theater at Harte’s Folly.



“Thank you.” Artemis glanced distractedly around the pleasure garden before reminding herself that Apollo would hardly be out in the open here. No doubt he’d found some place to hide behind the scenes.



She smoothed down the skirts of her new dress sadly. It had been originally started for Lady Hero, but when Hero had realized that she would be needing dresses of an entirely different cut very soon, she’d insisted that Artemis have it. The modiste had delivered it to the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children that afternoon, along with the two other dresses made specifically for her. Miss Picklewood had decided that the orphanage was the best place for Artemis to stay, just until she could journey to Miss Picklewood’s dear friend Miss White. It seemed that Miss White was in need of a lady’s companion.



Artemis sighed. She was grateful—truly she was—but the prospect of returning to her old life, even with a different mistress, simply made her depressed.



Or perhaps it was leaving Maximus that left her so despondent.



She looked down at the wonderful dress. Wherever would she wear it when she was accompanying an elderly lady in Bath? Perhaps she could sell it. She stroked it again, rather longingly. Of silk damask, the dress had a low, round neckline, edged with a tiny border of exquisite lace. The lace also decorated the full ruffles at the end of the elbow-length sleeves. The whole was simply sublime, and Artemis thought wryly that she’d never worn such a lovely thing in all her life.



She wished Maximus could see her in it.



Artemis looked around the sparkling pleasure garden in something like despair. Lights in tiny blown-glass globes had been strung from the fantastically shaped bushes and trees, creating a magical effect. She could already hear strains of stringed instruments floating in the air. The footmen were dressed whimsically in yellow and purple suits, some with lavender flowers or ribbons in their ornate wigs.



It was such a wonderful place, Harte’s Folly, and after tonight it would be lost to her.



Besides her, Phoebe, Lady Hero and her husband, Lord Griffin Reading, and Miss Picklewood, there was also Isabel and Winter Makepeace, her hosts at the orphanage, and Lady Margaret and her husband, Godric St. John. She didn’t know the gentlemen very well, but the ladies she’d considered her friends. They were all members of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. Penelope was a member as well, of course, but she hadn’t yet arrived.



But then Penelope was almost always late, Artemis thought a little wistfully.



Phoebe was chattering with her sister as they reached the theater and waited for everyone to come up from the dock—for Harte’s Folly was just off the south bank of the Thames, and the best way to reach it was by way of hired barges. Miss Picklewood caught Artemis’s eye and seemed to know her mood, for she had a look of understanding on her face as she inclined her head.



On impulse, Artemis bent her head to the elder lady’s as they entered the theater’s wide doors. “Thank you.”



“Oh, my dear, you have no need to thank me.” Miss Picklewood blushed. “I hope you know that I’ve never condemned you for your choices. Well do I know the peculiar loneliness of ladies such as ourselves.”



“Yes.” Artemis looked away. “I wish it could be otherwise.”



Miss Picklewood snorted. “It could if Maximus made it so.”



Artemis was about to reply when they were hailed by Lord Noakes, just entering the theater with his wife. “Miss Picklewood, Miss Greaves, well met. I wasn’t aware you were back already from the country, Miss Picklewood.” He glanced speculatively at Phoebe.



Lady Noakes’s pinched face looked nervous this evening as she clutched her husband’s arm.



Miss Picklewood, an old hand at social innuendo, merely smiled. “I’m simply stopping for a bit before returning to my friend. I do so love Harte’s Folly, don’t you, my lord, my lady?”



“Oh, indeed,” Lady Noakes twittered before glancing at her husband and abruptly falling silent.



Lord Noakes nodded easily. “But isn’t the duke escorting you ladies tonight?”



“We’ve no lack of escort,” Miss Picklewood said, gesturing to Lord Griffin and the other gentlemen now joining them with their ladies. “I fear that the duke had other things to attend to tonight.”



An odd, twisted smile crossed Lord Noakes’s face. “I hope he isn’t off chasing phantoms.”



Artemis glanced at him sharply. Was he somehow referring to the Ghost? Surely he had no way of knowing Maximus’s secret?



“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, we must to my box.” Lord Noakes bowed and ushered his wife away.



“What an odd thing to say,” Miss Picklewood murmured, her forehead crimped. “What do you think he meant by ‘chasing phantoms’?”



Artemis cleared her throat. “I’ve no idea.”



“Oh, here’s Lady Penelope at last,” Isabel Makepeace drawled in amusement. “Wretched creature to keep us all waiting.”



Penelope was making an entrance, naturally. She wore a dress of gold tissue and was escorted by the Duke of Scarborough. As she entered the crowded theater, she flipped open her fan, gazing languidly about.



Artemis felt a burst of fondness for her cousin. She was so vain, so mannered, but underneath she could be quite sweet at times. And Artemis had hurt her so badly without Penelope ever knowing. Well, at least she’d decided to leave Maximus. Pray Penelope never discovered the truth. Artemis smiled and held out her hand to Penelope as she approached. They hadn’t seen each other in days.