She also missed her parents. Leaving them in the way that she had was one of her true regrets. Which was why, every year on her birthday, she penned them a letter and had it delivered anonymously. So at least they knew she was alive, and well, and thinking of them. Probably more than they’d ever thought of her, as she’d spent more time in the company of her various governesses than she ever had with her mother and father.
One thing she hadn’t missed?
Her egotistical fiancé.
How was it that they were even still engaged? As a duke, she assumed his power extended to terminating betrothal contracts if the bride in question was…well, no longer available. Why was a woman expected to understand the nuances of every social situation and react accordingly, yet a man couldn’t take a hint if it almost stabbed him in the eye?
“I suppose there were some secrets that I hoped would never follow me into this world,” she said, pressing her fingertips against painted windowsill. “But they have, and I’ve come for your advice on what I should do.”
“Marry him,” said Molly without hesitation.
Artemis glared at her mentor over her shoulder. “If I wanted to marry him I would have stayed where I was. I need know how to get rid of him. Preferably without committing murder, although I haven’t completely ruled it out.”
“If your duke–”
“He’s not my duke,” she interrupted.
Molly arched a brow. “As I doubt very much he’s come to the rookery to find a tailor, that makes him your duke. And your problem. If he hasn’t given up his search after all this time, what makes you believe that he will stop now that he has found you?”
Another fair point.
“He thinks I work at the Fox and Bull. I could hide out here until he gives up. There’s enough empty rooms and hidden hallways that he’d never find me, even if he came looking.”
“Your duke,” Molly repeated. “Your problem.”
As a genuine shard of hurt pierced her shell of armor, Artemis crossed her arms tightly beneath her chest. “You mean you’re not going to help me?”
Rising from her seat, Molly went to the door and opened it. “I am helping you, my dear. Even if it doesn’t appear so at this very moment.”
“Fine.” As she stared at the brothel owner in equal parts anger and bewildered disappointment, it suddenly occurred to Artemis that this woman was more of a mother to her than her own flesh and blood. Which made the cut of Molly’s betrayal slice even deeper. “I’ll figure it out myself, then.”
Molly smiled. “You always do, my dear. You always do.”
Chapter Five
“Do you hear that?” Sitting up groggily in bed, Percy wiped the sleep from her eyes and gave the man slumbering beside her a slight nudge with her elbow. “I think someone is here.”
“Tell ‘em to piss off,” Lucas grumbled, yanking the covers over his head. “It’s the middle of the night.”
As the loud knocking turned into even louder banging, Percy swung her slim legs over the edge of the mattress and reached for her cotton wrapper. “I can try, but I don’t know if they’re going to like that very much.”
“Wait.” Stretching his long frame across the bed, Lucas wrapped his arm around Percy’s waist and pulled her back into his chest. “You stay here,” he said, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “Let me handle it.”
On a sigh, she drew her knees up and watched her lover (no matter how many times she thought of him as such, it would never feel any less wicked…or wonderful) yank on a pair of trousers and slip a shirt over his muscular torso. She swallowed when he reached for his pistol, but didn’t say anything.
Not so long ago, any hint of violence would have filled her with paralyzing fear. But those days, while not forgotten, were behind her now. And she knew thr Devil of Duncraven could handle himself just fine.
After pressing a kiss to her temple, Lucas left their bedchamber, his steps as quiet as a cat.
Her fingers curling into the folds of the blanket, Percy waited in tense silence, her ears straining for any noise to indicate who might be at the door at such an hour. She hoped it wasn’t Calliope or Helena, her two dearest friends in the entire world. A midnight visit was not a sign of good news, and with Calliope carrying a child, she struggled to keep her mind from veering in the worst possible direction.
The knocking abruptly stopped.
Percy’s breath caught.
She heard the creak of a door, a muffled feminine voice, Lucas’s quiet reply, and then the sound of boots stomping across the foyer.
That did it.
She had to find out who was here.
Creeping down the staircase, she paused at the bottom and peeked around the corner. What she saw (or rather, who she saw) immediately unraveled the knot of tension that had formed between her shoulders and she sprang off the final step with enthusiasm.
“Art!” she cried, violet eyes sparkling at the unexpected–but not unwelcome–sight of the woman who had played a significant role in bringing Percy and Lucas together.
When she was the Duchess of Glastonbury, a title she still legally held but no longer recognized, Percy could have never imagined a scenario where she would keep company with thieves. Let alone be in love with one! Although, to be fair, since she’d moved in with Lucas she hadn’t witnessed a shred of criminal activity. He had made all of his business dealings legitimate. For her. She was more appreciative of his sacrifice than she was able to put into words, which was why she’d taken to showing him…much to his (and her) delight.
Artemis, on the other hand, was still very much involved in the underworld of smuggling, stealing, and heaven knew what else. Or at least she had been, the last time they spoke to each other.
But tonight Percy couldn’t help but note that Artemis, who was ordinarily the epitome of collected confidence, appeared…anxious. Jittery, even, if the way she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot was any indication.
“What’s wrong?” Percy asked, frowning.
“What’s wrong,” Lucas growled in her ear as he came around behind her, “is that you are supposed to be safely upstairs in bed, love.”
Tucking her head beneath his chin, Percy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not fragile any longer.”
“You’re the strongest woman I know.” He skimmed his mouth along the side of her neck, then pressed his lips to the top of her shoulder. “And there are other reasons I want you waiting for me in our bed.”
“Lucas!” she hissed, her face flushing. “We have company.”
“Our company was just leaving,” he said. “Weren’t you, Bishop?”
“Actually,” Artemis drawled, “I believe you were about to offer me a room.”
“The hell I was,” Lucas snapped, lifting his head.
“Oh,” said Percy, clapping her hands together. “Are you going to be staying with us? How smashing!”
“Not smashing,” said Lucas sourly. “The direct opposite of smashing.”
Ignoring Lucas, Artemis looked straight at Percy and said, “I’ve come into a bit of a…situation. I need someplace to stay. Someplace no one will think to look for me. I can pay for my board, if that is an–”
“Don’t be silly.” Slipping free of Lucas’s embrace, Percy went straight to the downstairs linen closet where Bessie, a longtime and trusted servant, had taken to keeping the pillows and blankets after Percy’s art supplies had slowly consumed all of the closet space on the second floor.
Lucas had turned the attic into her own personal studio, but it seemed every day he was coming home with a new box of brushes or barrel of paint, and who was Percy to say no to such sweet, thoughtful presents?
Room to store everything was becoming a problem, however, which was why Bessie had been forced to shuffle around the necessary household essentials.
“Here.” Turning a deaf ear to her lover’s protests, Percy grabbed a pillow and a heavy coverlet and passed them onto Artemis. “We’ve plenty of space, and you’l
l not pay a shilling for using it. Will she, Lucas?”
“I’d charge her twice the regular rate if it were up to me,” he grumbled.
“Then it’s a good thing it isn’t up to you.” Percy gave Artemis’s arm a squeeze. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep, and you can come with me to pay a call to Helena in the morning. We’re getting together to discuss the flowers for her wedding.”
For a moment Artemis appeared startled by the invitation, and then she smiled. “I…I’d like that. Thank you for your generosity. I am in your debt.”
“Friends don’t owe friends,” Percy said firmly. “You can take the third bedroom on the right. It’s been recently cleaned. If there’s anything else you need, do not hesitate to ask. You can stay with us for as long as you need to.”
“And for as long as you need to,” Lucas interceded, “she means one day.”
This time Percy did roll her eyes. “I meant exactly what I said.”
“Thank you,” Artemis said sincerely. Then her gaze flicked to Lucas, and a smirk twisted her lips. “Sod off, Black.”
With that, she went upstairs, leaving Percy and Lucas alone in the foyer.
“You’re a kind person with a kind heart,” Lucas said gruffly as wound his arms around Percy and gave her a light kiss.
She patted his chest. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same exact thing if I wasn’t here.”
“I damned well wouldn’t have let her stay for free. We’re thieves, love. Not saints.”
“I’m not a thief,” Percy pointed out.
Lucas grinned crookedly. “You’ve stolen my heart, haven’t you?” Then he sobered. “I’ve known Artemis Bishop for a long time. She wouldn’t have come here unless she was in serious trouble.”
“I agree. But whatever it is, we are her friends, and we’ll help her through it.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lucas said with a snort. “Did I ever tell you about the time she tried to shoot me over an emerald bracelet?”
Percy blinked, nonplussed. “Did you steal it from her?”
“Strictly speaking, she stole it first.”
“Well I don’t see any bullet holes, so there’s no harm done. I’ll talk to Art in the morning and see if I can find out what’s happened. But as long as she’s here, I’d like you to be on your best behavior.”
“Me?” Lucas lifted a brow. “I’m always perfectly behaved.”
“You’re an absolute scoundrel,” she corrected.
“Which is why you love me.”
Yes, it was.
Chapter Six
Artemis had not intended to come to the house of Lucas Black. He was the last person she ever wanted to owe a favor to. But after she left the brothel, it occurred to her–somewhat belatedly–that she had nowhere else to go.
While freedom was what she’d sought to attain when she left her old life, and freedom was exactly what she’d achieved, it had not come without a price. Namely, complete isolation. Not that she’d ever been much of a social butterfly as a debutante…but she’d had a few friends, acquaintances really. Still, they’d have offered their home for the night if she requested it, and the only discussion would have been if they should rise before eleven or after.
Relationships in Seven Dials, on the other hand, were far more…complicated.
Nothing was free.
And no one could be trusted.
Not even Molly, it seemed. Her oldest and most dependable ally in a world of cutthroats and thieves. Artemis still did not understand how her beloved mentor, her surrogate mother, had turned her away, and she bloody well wasn’t going to demean herself by asking. If Molly didn’t want to help her, then fine. She’d turn to any number of people who would. Except when she thought about it, when she really thought about it, Artemis realized that she didn’t have anyone to turn to.
And that had hurt almost as much as Molly’s betrayal.
So she’d gone to Lucas. A man who was neither friend nor foe, but stuck somewhere in that indeterminate gray area. She had known it would cost her both pride and money, but what other choice did she have? With Warwick nipping at her heels, there was a limited number of places he was guaranteed not to find her, and the private residence of another thief was one of them.
Word had it that Lucas had won the house with its peaked roof and blue shutters in a card game. Tucked away on a quiet street in the middle of Greenwood Square, it was the last place anyone would think to look for the Devil of Duncraven. Which made it the perfect hideaway for Artemis, as well.
Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling as dawn’s flickering light unraveled across the white plaster in a wash of pink and gold. To her surprise, she’d slept like a stone. A sign of both her mental and physical exhaustion...and, for once, being completely safe.
When her stomach grumbled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten anything for nearly twenty-four hours, she dressed herself in the same clothes she’d arrived in, splashed cold water on her face from a wash basin in the corner, and ran her fingers through her hair before plaiting it down the middle of her back.
As a lady, it had taken most of the morning (and three maids besides) to prepare her for the day ahead. In addition to the gown itself, there were petticoats and drawers and corsets. Stockings and ribbons and hats. Gloves and jewelry and hair pins. When Artemis was trapped in her chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror as her curls were yanked and pinned and positioned, she had envied the ease of men’s clothing. Pants and a shirt. A waistcoat and a jacket. No wonder they had time to start wars and rule countries. They didn’t spend half their lifetime getting dressed!
Now that she knew the comfort of trousers, Artemis sincerely doubted that she would ever wear a dress again. Not if it meant wasting hours of her day only to be unable to keep pace with a man unfettered by cumbersome skirts. Which was just another reason why she’d never make a suitable duchess, as gowns went part and parcel with the position. If Warwick could get that through his thick skull, she’d have no reason to hide from him.
A quick peek out the door ascertained that no one was in the hallway, but when Artemis made her way downstairs in search of a bite to eat, she discovered Percy waiting for her in the parlor.
“How did you sleep?” asked the brunette, her smile warm and welcoming as she poured two cups of tea. “Sugar or cream?”
“Quite comfortably, thank you. And a splash of milk, if you have it.” As she accepted her tea and blew a ribbon of steam off the top of it, Artemis found herself automatically referring back to the stiff, stilted good manners she’d employed when her peers still referred to her as Amelia.
It was the room, she decided. How long had it been since she was in a proper parlor? And having tea with a duchess, nevertheless! Except, even though she appeared the part in her lovely muslin morning dress with its intricate lace trim, Percy was as much a duchess as Artemis was a lady. Which was to say, even though the two women still retained their titles, they were as meaningless as leaves floating on the wind in the new lives they’d forged for themselves.
Although Percy still had the manners of a gently bred lady (much more so than Artemis), she’d changed in other ways.
When the two women had first met, the duchess had been a bundle of flighty nerves and anxious twitches. Percy had flinched at the sight of her own shadow. A strong wind could have blown her sideways. But now her eyes were brighter, her spine was straighter, and she radiated confidence as she moved gracefully across the parlor.
Could finding love really have made such a difference, Artemis wondered? For there was no doubt that Percy and Lucas adored each other. Their devotion was visible in every nauseating glance, every gag-inducing touch, every stomach-curling kiss.
Artemis had always been under the assumption that love, and marriage (their union may not have been recognized by the courts, but for all intents and purposes Percy and Lucas were married), were things to be endured, not celebrated.
Except Percy didn�
��t look as if she was suffering.
She looked…she looked happy.
The happiest Artemis had ever seen her.
“I was just getting ready to leave,” said Percy cheerfully. She glanced out the front window where a carriage was waiting, a beam of sunlight reflecting off its hard black roof. “Would you care to accompany me? Helena’s townhouse is a short ride from here.”
Artemis’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know if wedding flowers are really my forte.”
“Oh, they’re only an excuse to get together.” Gently but firmly taking Artemis’s cup, Percy set it aside on a table and then linked their arms. “Truth be told, I think Helena would be happy to be married at Gretna Green. It’s Calliope whose organized most of the wedding. And I know they’ll both be thrilled to see you. After all, you’re one of us now.”
Artemis had started to dig in her heels, but at Percy’s words she stumbled a step forward.
“I am?” she said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Of course,” said Percy, as if it were a commonly known fact. “And we can hardly have a meeting of the Secret Wallflower Society without all the members, can we? Which means you have to come.”
When Artemis had called Grosvenor Square home, she’d continually found herself on the outside looking in at all the other debutantes who seemed naturally drawn to each other, like fluttering moths around a pretty flame. She’d been envious at the ease with which they’d formed their little groups. Groups that never seemed to have room for her.
In Seven Dials she’d experienced a similar exclusion, although it was partly of her own making. As a thief with a target on the middle of her back, she’d seen relationships as an unnecessary weakness. The only real bond she’d ever formed had been with Molly, and look how that had turned out.
Seducing the Siren of Seven Dials (Secret Wallflower Society Book 4) Page 4