Duke of Midnight

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  “Yet you persist in ignoring them.”

  “I do what I think best for my mission, Your Grace, and between the Ghost and this new fellow, Old Scratch—”

  “Who?” Maximus knew his voice was too sharp, but he’d heard that name before: the drunken aristocrat in St. Giles who had been robbed—he’d said his attacker was Old Scratch.

  “Old Scratch,” Trevillion replied. “A rather vicious highwayman who has been hunting in St. Giles. He’s much newer than the Ghost.”

  Maximus clenched his jaw as he glared at the man. A little over two years ago he’d caused the 4th Dragoons to be outfitted and brought to London to assist in the veritable war on gin in London. He’d handpicked Trevillion himself, for he wanted an intelligent, brave man. A man capable of making important decisions on his own. A man resistant to both bribes and threats. But the problem was that the same qualities that made the dragoon captain excellent at his job also made him damnably stubborn when he saw what he perceived to be a lawbreaker in his territory. Trevillion had been near obsessed with the Ghost almost from the start of his mission.

  The irony of having his own nemesis in his pay was not lost on Maximus.

  Trevillion shifted, clasping his hands behind his back. “You may not be aware, Your Grace, that the Ghost of St. Giles broke into Bedlam last night, assaulted a guard, and effected the escape of a murderous madman.”

  Ah, of course Trevillion would be interested in the matter. Maximus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers before him. “What do you propose I do about it?”

  Trevillion looked at him for a long moment, his face perfectly impassive. “Nothing, Your Grace. It is my job to capture and detain the Ghost of St. Giles so that he doesn’t do further harm in St. Giles or, indeed, the rest of London.”

  “And this latest event will somehow help you capture him?”

  “Naturally not, Your Grace,” the captain said with grave respect. “But I find it interesting that a footpad that usually is to be seen only in the same place he is named after ventured so far east as Moorfields.”

  Maximus shrugged, feigning boredom. “The Ghost has been, I believe, sighted at the opera house near Covent Garden. That is outside St. Giles.”

  “But very close to St. Giles,” Trevillion replied softly. “Moorfields is clear across London. Besides, that particular Ghost retired two years ago.”

  Maximus stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have made a study of the Ghost of St. Giles, Your Grace,” Trevillion said with the calmness of a man announcing that it looked like rain. “By examining the movement, actions, and minute physical dissimilarities, I have come to a conclusion. There are at least three men who play the Ghost of St. Giles.”

  “How…” Maximus blinked, aware that the captain was silently watching him. The man Trevillion sought—the man who could expose Maximus’s secret—lay four floors below them at this very moment. He pulled himself together and frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.” Trevillion clasped his hands behind his back. “One of the Ghosts was much deadlier than the other two. He often wore a gray wig beneath his floppy hat, and he had a tendency to not worry about his own safety—more so even than the others. I believe that man retired this summer. One Ghost never killed, as far as I am aware. His hair was his own, a dark brown, and he wore it clubbed back. I have not seen him for two years. Most probably, given his occupation, he is dead. The third is still quite active. He wears a white wig and he’s ferociously adept with the sword. I consider him the original Ghost since he was the first I ever saw—on the night that the old Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children burned to the ground, he helped with the apprehension of the madwoman known as Mother Heart’s-Ease.”

  Good God. For a moment Maximus could only stare at the man. He’d been the one to capture Mother Heart’s-Ease.

  Fortunately Trevillion seemed to take no note of his speechlessness and was continuing. “It is my theory that it is this last Ghost—the original Ghost—who broke into Bedlam last night. The madman the Ghost liberated must be someone very important to him.”

  “Or the Ghost is a madman himself.” Maximus pulled a stack of papers forward as if ready to dismiss the other man. “Again, I don’t see how this matter is of importance to me.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Maximus looked up sharply at the dragoon captain. “Explain.”

  It was Trevillion’s turn to shrug. “I mean no offense, Your Grace. I merely observe that the Ghost appears to have much the same interests as you. He patrols St. Giles, often accosting thieves, footpads, and those engaged in the gin trade. He seems to have the same obsession with the gin trade that you yourself have.”

  “He’s also rumored to be a murderer and a ravisher of women,” Maximus said drily.

  “And yet just a few months ago I interviewed a woman who said the Ghost saved her from ravishment,” the dragoon captain said.

  “What’s your point, Trevillion?”

  “No point, Your Grace,” the captain said smoothly. “I simply seek to keep you apprised of my intentions.”

  “Consider your report complete, then,” Maximus said and began thumbing through his papers. “If that is all, I have business to attend to.”

  The dragoon captain bowed and limped to the door, closing it softly.

  Maximus immediately dropped the papers and eyed the door. Trevillion was treading too close for his taste. The polite but pointed questions, the intelligent remarks, all led to a man near to discovering his secret.

  Always supposing Trevillion didn’t already know that Maximus was the Ghost.

  Maximus sighed in irritation and pushed the thought from his mind to focus on his papers, for he hadn’t lied: he did have business to attend to. His secretary had left several letters to be read and signed as well as a report on his land in Northumberland to be read and considered.

  Those matters took up the rest of the morning before Philby, his secretary, arrived for further consultation. Maximus ordered luncheon brought to his study so that they could continue to work with the maps spread over the desk and floor. Craven appeared at the study door midafternoon to give a single shake of his head before disappearing again. Maximus bent over his work, trying not to brood on the man lying unconscious in his cellar below.

  Supper was a makeshift meal as well, since Philby and he had run across a complicated bit pertaining to the inheritance of a tiny tract of land hardly worth the bother at all if it didn’t give access to a coal mine.

  It wasn’t until nearly nine of the clock that he looked up again, and that was because of a commotion in the hall, boisterous enough to be heard even at the back of the house.

  Maximus stood and stretched. “That’s done for the day, I think, Philby.”

  The secretary nodded wearily and began gathering the maps as Maximus strode out of the study.

  He could hear Phoebe chattering before he saw her and rounded the corner to find her piling her hat and gloves in Panders’s arms as Belle, Starling, and Percy milled about her feet. Maximus eyed the dogs with a raised brow. Usually they stayed at Pelham.

  “I trust your trip was uneventful,” Maximus said in greeting as Percy attempted to knock him down.

  Phoebe turned from pulling off her gloves. She was an affectionate little thing and she flung herself at once into his arms. “Oh, Maximus, it was quite fun with Artemis along!”

  And he looked over his sister’s shoulder to see Artemis Greaves with Bon Bon the dog in her arms, regarding him gravely.

  “MISS GREAVES,” THE Duke of Wakefield said as Phoebe stepped back from his arms. “What a surprise.”

  It’d only been little more than a day since she’d last seen him, yet the shock of his presence before her shook her physically. He was so commanding. So vital. This man—Maximus—had gripped her and kissed her with such an intense passion she’d felt as if she were drowning, helpless and wanton and wanting more. Now he stood before her and she had so many ques
tions to ask—and she could utter none of them.

  “Your Grace,” Artemis murmured, dipping into a curtsy as Bon Bon wriggled in her arms. “I trust the surprise is not an ill one.”

  She set the elderly dog down on the floor and he ran to nip affectionately at Percy’s legs.

  “Don’t be silly, Artemis.” Phoebe laughed. “And you, Maximus. You mustn’t be quite so stern. You’ll scare Artemis away and I won’t have that. She’s only just come to stay.”

  “Stay?” Maximus arched one intimidating brow.

  “Yes.” Phoebe linked her arm with Artemis. “Lady Penelope said that as Cousin Bathilda had to go tend her ill friend, she would lend me Artemis as companion. Wasn’t that awfully nice of her?”

  “Unusually so,” Maximus murmured with a sharp glance at Artemis. “And she sent her little lapdog as well?”

  “I’m the one who usually looks after Bon Bon,” Artemis said, smoothing her skirt. Did he want her gone? The thought brought an unexpected pang of hurt to her breast. “I thought he could do with a change of scenery and Penelope agreed.”

  “It would seem so.” He inclined his head, his expression neutral. “And whose decision was it to bring up the greyhounds and Percy?”

  “Mine, of course,” Phoebe said brightly. “I think they get lonely when we leave them at Pelham.”

  “Mmm.” Maximus murmured noncommittally.

  “We’ve made all sorts of plans on the drive home,” Phoebe chattered on. “I thought we could attend the theater at Harte’s Folly and go shopping and perhaps see the fair.”

  Maximus’s mouth thinned at that. “I’ll accompany you on the first two, but the last is out of the question.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “Phoebe.”

  The single word seemed to signal defeat to the girl. Her bright smile wobbled a bit before she caught it and continued, “Anyway, we’ll have a wonderful time while Artemis is here. I just sent the maid upstairs to have the pink room freshened for her, and I ordered tea. Would you like to join us?”

  Artemis half-expected Maximus to decline—Phoebe had indicated in the carriage that he often kept much to himself even though they shared the same house in London.

  But Maximus inclined his head. “I’d be delighted.”

  He offered his arm to Artemis and she laid her hand on his sleeve, taking advantage of Phoebe turning to talk to the butler to lean close and whisper, “Where is he?”

  He shook his head minutely. “Later.”

  She bit her lip. The drive up to London had been near agony, trying to be bright and cheerful with Phoebe, and all the while worried and wondering about Apollo.

  “Please.”

  His deep brown eyes met hers. “As soon as I can. I promise.”

  It was illogical, but his words of assurance warmed her. She knew that if Apollo’s health were dire, he’d take her straight to her brother. As it was, they needs must endure tea and cakes first.

  Maximus held out his other elbow to his sister, and he led them both up a curving flight of stairs with a gilded rail with the dogs following merrily behind. At the top, immediately facing the stairs, was a grand salon. Pink painted doors were ornamented with bas-relief-carved vines picked out in gold. The salon itself had a soaring ceiling, intricately painted with gods floating foreshortened on billowy clouds. Artemis tipped back her head, studying the scene.

  “The education of Achilles,” Maximus murmured in her ear.

  Well, that explained the centaur.

  “Must we have tea in here?” Phoebe was muttering on the other side of him. “I always feel like I’m on a stage. The blue sitting room is much more comfortable.”

  Maximus ignored his sister’s complaints. “Mind the table there. Mrs. Henrys had it moved whilst we were in the country.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe carefully skirted the low, marble table with his help before sitting on a rose settee. Bon Bon jumped up to sit beside her, his mouth open in a wide, doggy grin.

  Artemis took the seat opposite her, and the greyhounds settled at her feet.

  “I do hope your business in London was very important,” Phoebe said severely. “It quite spoiled the party at Pelham when you left so abruptly. Everyone was calling for their carriages this morning.”

  “I’m sorry if I caused you distress,” Maximus replied, looking rather more bored than sorry as he leaned against the ornate black marble mantle near them. Percy wandered over and flopped down on the hearth with a gusty sigh.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. “It’s not my distress you should be worried about. Lady Penelope was quite put out, wasn’t she, Artemis?”

  “She did seem a little, er, miffed,” Artemis said cautiously.

  “Was she?” Maximus looked at her, his eyes sardonic and intimate.

  “Well, she was until the Duke of Scarborough took it upon himself to console her,” Phoebe said. “You ought to watch out for him, dear brother. Scarborough will snatch her out from under your nose.”

  “I’ll worry about that when Scarborough’s income increases by another tenth.”

  “Oh, Maximus,” Phoebe said, her mouth turning down.

  The maids entered at that moment, so Phoebe was forced to swallow whatever she was about to say.

  Artemis watched as the tea things were set on a low table between them, along with trays of cakes and small, savory treats.

  “Will that be all?” the head maid asked Phoebe.

  “Yes, thank you,” Phoebe replied and, as the maids trooped out again, turned to Artemis. “Would you like to pour?”

  “Of course.” Artemis leaned forward and began assembling the tea.

  “I know it isn’t my place, Maximus,” Phoebe began slowly as she offered a piece of cake to Bon Bon, “but I can’t help but think that you deserve better than a wife who weighs your worth down to the ha’penny.”

  “Shall I have a wife who values not the importance of money—particularly my money?” Maximus asked lightly as he accepted his dish of tea from Artemis. His hands made the dainty dish look like a thimble.

  “I would you had a wife who valued you instead of your money,” Phoebe snapped back.

  Maximus waved an impatient hand. “It matters not. My money is from the dukedom and while I live I am the duke. One might as well sever my heart from my chest as separate me from my title. We are one and the same.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” Artemis asked low.

  Both Phoebe and Maximus looked at her as if startled by her voice, but it was only Maximus that Artemis concentrated on. Maximus and his unfathomable deep brown eyes.

  “Yes.” He answered without hesitation—without even stopping to think about it, as far as she could see.

  “And if you didn’t have the title?” she asked. She shouldn’t talk to him like this in front of Phoebe—it revealed too much about their peculiar relationship—yet she needed to know his answer. “Who would you be then?”

  His mouth flattened impatiently. “Since I do have the title, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Humor me.”

  He opened his mouth, shut it, frowned, and then said slowly, “I do not know.” He glared at her. “Your question is silly.”

  “But telling, nonetheless,” Phoebe said. “Both in the answer and in the inquiry.”

  “I will take your word for it,” Maximus said, placing his dish of tea on the tray. “But I have more important matters to attend to. If you’ll allow me to borrow Miss Greaves, I’ll show her the house and instruct her on her duties as your companion.”

  Phoebe looked startled. “I thought I’d do that in the morning.”

  “You may show Miss Greaves your rooms and whatever personal things you want done tomorrow, but I have a few special instructions I want to make clear tonight.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “Phoebe.”

  The girl slumped. “Oh, all right.”

  Maximus’s lips twitched. “Thank you.” He looked at the dogs sternly. “You lot stay.”

 
Artemis rose at his nod and bid Phoebe good night before following him from the room. He immediately mounted the stairs to the third floor.

  “Was that necessary?” Artemis asked low as she trailed him.

  “You do want to see your brother, don’t you?” he inquired rhetorically.

  “Of course,” she said tartly, “but you needn’t have made it sound as if I were Phoebe’s keeper and that you have special instructions about her.”

  He turned at the top of the stairs, so suddenly that she nearly ran into him. She halted a bare inch away, aware of the heat of him, the anger that seemed to always boil just beneath the surface.

  “But I do have special instructions for you,” he said with simple clarity. “My sister is all but blind. Since you have inveigled your way into being her companion, you might as well act as one. I expect you to keep her safe. To deter her from her more dangerous outings, to make sure she doesn’t exceed what she can do without her sight, to always take at least one footman, preferably two, whenever you venture forth from my doors.”

  Artemis tilted her head, studying him. His concern was real, but it also must be nearly stifling for Phoebe. “You find an afternoon at the fair too dangerous?”

  “For one such as she, yes,” he said. “She might be easily lost in a crowd, easily shoved or jostled. There are pickpockets, thieves, and worse at the fair. A gently bred lady of means who cannot see is an obvious and easy target. I will not have her hurt.”

  “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.”