Maiden Lane [6] Duke of Midnight (15 page)

But when Maximus held out a song, Penelope sniffed and pointed out the female voice was for an alto and she sang only soprano.

For a moment there was a stir of alarm in the audience at the prospect of another solo by Penelope.

Then Phoebe piped up. “Well, then, I’ll just have to take the lady’s part. Really, it won’t do to miss out on Maximus singing, now that he’s agreed.” And before the
duke could escape she was beginning the opening bars on the clavichord.

Artemis clasped her hands together in her lap. No doubt Phoebe had wrangled her brother into singing merely to forestall another performance from Penelope. She had no expectations of any great talent, and by the restlessness of those about her, neither did anyone else. When this duet was over she meant to corner him and make—

The first notes rang out.

The masculine voice was low but clear, capturing the senses, running along the back of her neck like a caress, making her shiver in delight. Artemis very much feared she was gaping. The Duke of Wakefield had a voice to make angels—or devils—weep. It wasn’t the type of male voice currently admired—for the high, unnatural voice of the musico was the rage of London at the moment—but his was the sort of voice that would always seduce the ear. Sure and strong, with a vibrating masculinity on the low notes. She could sit and listen to a voice like this for hours.

The Duke of Wakefield seemed unaware of the stir his singing made in his guests. He leaned casually over Phoebe as he read the music he held in one hand, the other placed affectionately on her shoulder. And when they negotiated a particularly intricate passage together, he caught the grin Phoebe threw at him and smiled in return. Naturally, unself-consciously.

Almost joyfully.

If he’d never been the Duke of Wakefield, was this how he would have been? A strong man without coldness or the driving need to dominate and control? Loving and
happy
?

The thought of such a man was strangely alluring, but
even as she considered this phantom being, she caught the duke’s gaze and knew: it was the man as he was now—
flawed
as he was now—that she longed for. She wanted to clash with his dominating nature, wanted to run with him in the forest, wanted to challenge him, mentally and physically, to games of their own making.

And the coldness?

Staring into his autocratic eyes, Artemis wished with all her heart. If she could, she’d take his coldness and make it her own.

Transform it into a heat to engulf them both.

A
POLLO LAY IN
his filthy straw and listened to the boot heels of the approaching guards. It was too late for them to be making the rounds. The inmates of this dismal place had already been served a delicate meal of moldy bread and brackish water. The lights had been dimmed. There was no earthly reason for the guards to be here save in the name of mischief.

He sighed, his chains clinking as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. A new inmate had been brought in yesterday, a young woman, he thought. Due to the construction of the cells, he couldn’t see any of his neighbors, except for the cell across the way from his own. That was occupied by a man whose diseased skin bore a striking resemblance to lichen on a rock.

Last night the new female inmate had sung well into the wee hours, the words of her song quite vulgar, yet her voice had been beautiful and somehow lost. Whether she was truly mad or simply the victim of relatives or a husband grown tired of her, he had no idea.

Not that it mattered here.

Light glowed in the corridor and the boot heels stopped.

“Ave ye something for me, pretty?” It was Ridley, a man both muscled and mean.

“Give us a kiss, then.” And that was Leech, Ridley’s favored henchman.

The woman moaned, low and hurt. Whatever they intended for her was probably quite grim. A chain rattled, as if she were trying to scurry out of their reach.

“Oi!” Apollo shouted. “Oi, Ridley!”

“Shut it, Kilbourne,” the guard yelled. He sounded distracted.

“You’ve hurt my feelings, Ridley,” Apollo shot back. “Why don’t you come over here to kiss it better?”

No reply this time, save for a sob from the woman. There was the sound of rending cloth.

Damn it.

Once upon a time Apollo had thought himself a man of the world. A gentleman inured to the black sin that lurked in the depths of London. He’d drank and gambled and even purchased the favors of pretty women once in a while, for such were the pursuits of boys fresh from university and full of themselves. He’d been so innocent. So
naïve
. Then he’d come to Bedlam and found what true venality was. Here things that called themselves men preyed upon those weaker than they solely for the sport of it. Solely to laugh in the despairing faces of their victims.

He’d lain through too many nights unable to do anything about it.

But perhaps today he could divert the jackals from their chosen prey.

“Oi, Leech, are you sucking upon Ridley’s prick for
him?” Apollo made rude smacking sounds with his lips, leaning as far forward as his chains allowed. “That’s what you get up to when you’re lazing about instead of working, isn’t it? Do you like drinking his spunk? Bet he can’t get enough of your pretty tongue, Leech.”

“Shut his lordship’s mouth for him,” Ridley growled.

On cue Leech’s stubby form appeared at the mouth to Apollo’s cave, holding a short cudgel over his shoulder.

Apollo grinned and crossed his legs, as if lounging at some society lady’s salon instead of laying on reeking filth. “A good day to you, Mr. Leech. How kind of you to stop by. Will you be taking tea with me? Or is chocolate to your better liking?”

Leech growled. He wasn’t much for words, was Leech. Ridley had a tendency to do his talking for him. But Leech did have a sort of low intelligence, belied by his short, sloping brow. He didn’t bother coming close to Apollo, but stayed just out of the chain’s reach as he swung the cudgel viciously at Apollo’s legs.

There were rumors among the inmates that Leech’s cudgel had broken arms and even legs, but Apollo was more than ready. He pulled back his legs at the last minute and laughed up at Leech.

“Oh, no, no. That’s not how we play nicely.”

The wonderful thing about Leech was that he could be depended on. He made two more abortive swings before growing enraged and charging. Apollo caught a blow on his right arm that numbed it to the shoulder, but he was able to kick the cudgel from Leech’s arm.

The guard leaped back, scowling as he nursed his hand.

The woman was moaning now, steady and awful. The
hair stood up on the back of Apollo’s arms at the hurt animal sound.

“Rid-ley, oh, darling Rid-ley!” Apollo sang through gritted teeth. “Leech is sulking. Come out, come out and play with me, sweet Rid-ley!”

A foul curse came from the next cell.

“Rid-ley! We all know how tiny your prick is—can’t you find it without Leech’s help?”

That did it. Heavy boots stomping down the hall heralded Ridley’s approach and then the big man loomed into view, his breeches only half-buttoned. Ridley was six feet of pure nastiness: broad, heavy shoulders, thick arms, and a boulder of a head squatting between. The guard’s lip curled in what passed for a smile, and then Apollo realized his mistake, for behind him lurked a third man. Tyne wasn’t nearly as big as Ridley—few men were—but he could be just as vicious given the chance.

Tyne and Leech spread out, circling to attack him from his sides, while Ridley smirked, waiting for his cohorts to position themselves.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

“Now gentlemen,” Apollo drawled, standing slowly, “you know I haven’t made myself presentable. I’m not used to so many visitors this late at night. Ridley, why not send your cronies away and you and I can settle this over a nice cup of tea.”

Both Tyne and Leech attacked at the same time. Tyne aimed a blow at his head from the left while Leech ducked in and went for his middle from the right. Apollo caught Tyne’s fist on his upraised left arm. His right was still not working properly, but he was able to elbow Leech in the face, sending the smaller man flying into the wall.
Apollo half-turned to Tyne and backhanded the man with his left fist. Tyne staggered but remained upright, and Apollo was just about to follow with a kick when he realized his peril.

He’d lost track of Ridley.

His feet were yanked out from under him. Apollo’s head smacked the stone floor and for a moment he knew nothing but ringing light. When next he looked up, he saw Ridley, still holding the chains that bound his feet.

Leech staggered over, hand cupped over his bleeding nose, and kicked Apollo in the face. Apollo raised an arm—moving far too slowly, something was wrong—but Leech kicked him again, this time in the ribs. There was pain, but it was muffled somehow, and that should be causing him alarm, he knew. Apollo tried to curl into himself, protect his vulnerable middle, but Ridley yanked on the chains again, pulling his legs straight. Leech had his cudgel now, and was lifting it—

Ridley grinned, his hands fumbling at the half-opened falls to his breeches. “We’ll shut your mouth good and proper this time.”

No.

True fear sparked at the back of Apollo’s mind and he lurched up, butting his head into Ridley’s middle. The guard fell on his arse, yelling. Apollo thrashed, kicking, hitting anything he could connect with.

Something slammed into his head.

He glared blearily up. Leech’s goddamned cudgel. He’d take the thing away and beat the guard with his own weapon, by God.

Tyne stepped on his throat. Apollo’s lungs heaved. Once. Twice.

No air.

Thrice…

Blackness descended.

T
HE MORNING SUN
dappled the forest floor beneath his feet as Maximus tramped along the next day. He’d risen early, restless without his usual exercises in the London cellar. His work was in the city and he had an itch to return to it.

Courting a woman for marriage was a trying business.

Belle bumped her head under his palm as if in sympathy. Percy and Starling had already ranged ahead, but Belle liked to stay by his side.

Well, usually, anyway.

Her narrow ears suddenly perked and she was off, bounding gracefully through the underbrush. He could hear the other dogs yipping in greeting.

Ridiculously, he thought he could feel his heart beat faster. Despite their antagonism, despite her threats to his equilibrium, he wanted to see her, and right now he wouldn’t examine why.

In another few steps he made the clearing with the pond and looked about. He could see the dogs milling a quarter way around the pond—even Bon Bon was there—but he couldn’t yet see
her
on the path.

And then he did see her and arousal went straight to his cock.

Artemis Greaves was in the pond, as graceful as a naiad, her skirts bound up at her waist, standing thigh deep in the sparkling water.

How dare she.

He strode swiftly around the pond to stand at the shore nearest to where she was wading. “Miss Greaves.”

She glanced at him and if anything looked displeased to see him. “Your Grace.”

“What,” he said softly but dangerously, “are you doing in the pond?”

“I would have thought that obvious,” she murmured as she began moving toward the shore. “I’m wading.”

He gritted his teeth. The closer she came to shore the more milky white leg emerged from the water. It was soon apparent that she was bare from just below the juncture of her thighs all the way to her narrow feet. Her skin glistened in the morning sun, pale and vulnerable, wholly,
terribly
erotic.

As a gentleman he should look away.

But damn it, it was
his
pond.

“
Anyone
could happen upon you,” he hissed, aware at the back of his mind that he sounded like a prudish old woman.

“Do you really think so?” she asked, finally reaching the shore and stepping onto the mossy bank of the pond. “I doubt most of your guests usually rise before nine of the clock at the earliest. Penelope hardly ever emerges from her rooms before noon.”

She stood there, head cocked, as if she truly wanted to debate the morning habits of his guests. She’d made no move to lower her skirts. He watched a bead of water slide slickly down one rounded thigh, over the pretty contours of her knee, faster down the smooth slope of her calf to drip off one delicate anklebone.

He snapped his gaze up to her face.

She still looked merely curious, as if standing half nude in front of him was a completely acceptable way to start the day.

Good God, did she think him a eunuch?

He wanted to shake her, to scold her until she hung her head in shame. He wanted to—

“
Put down your skirts,
” he growled. “If this is your way of provoking me because of our disagreement, I’ll have you know it won’t work.”

“That wasn’t my intent,” she said calmly. “As I told you, I was simply wading for no other reason but the enjoyment of it. However, I do think you incorrect.”

“I…” He couldn’t follow her with her legs so alluringly exposed. “What?”

“What makes you think I can’t provoke you?” She arched an eyebrow and untied the knot that held her skirts up. They fell, shrouding her gorgeous legs to the ankle, and that
did not annoy him at all
.

“You’re not to go wading in my pond again,” he said.

She shrugged and picked up her shoes and stockings where they lay on the path. “Very well, Your Grace, but it’s a great pity. I should’ve liked to go swimming.”

She pivoted and glided up the path, bewitching bare ankles flashing under her skirts, leaving Maximus to imagine her swimming in his pond, gloriously nude.

All. That. White. Flesh.

For a second his mind seemed to stutter.

When he looked up again, she and the dogs were nearly into the woods again, her bottom swaying enticingly. He actually had to
trot
to catch up.

He glanced sideways at her when he did and saw her lips pressed firmly together.

“You know how to swim?”