Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(21)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Her words were a trifle belated as Phoebe had already settled on one side of her while Artemis had taken the other.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said sweetly. “I was just telling Miss Greaves that I do hope all the ladies of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children can join me at Harte’s Folly when we return to town.”

Miss Royale blinked at this information, but politely replied, “I don’t believe I’ve heard of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.”

Phoebe opened her eyes wide. “Haven’t you?”

Artemis privately hid a smile as Phoebe began expounding on the St. Giles orphanage and all the good works it did for the most vulnerable of children. She glanced up as she did so and saw Wakefield, still strolling with Lady Penelope and Lord Oddershaw. His face was creased in an irritable frown.

What had Lord Oddershaw said to him?

MAXIMUS WOKE FROM dreams of work unfinished and bloody tresses shining dully in the moonlight. He’d been awake until well past two of the clock in polite argument with Oddershaw. Maximus didn’t mind the intrusion of politics into his house party, but he didn’t like the other man’s insistence on bringing up the matter when Maximus had been in the garden with Lady Penelope. But, although Oddershaw was an uncouth blowhard, he was also an important political ally in order to build a strong backing for Maximus’s newest Gin Act.

Thus the dreary duty of debating the man into the small hours.

He rose and quickly donned his old coat and boots and strode through Pelham to the back of the house. Even having slept later than usual, he met only a few servants, and they were well trained enough to simply bow or curtsy without speaking as he passed by.

Mornings were the one time of day that he kept to himself.

Outside, he strode around Pelham in the direction of the long stables. Usually the dogs were waiting for him in the stable yard, eager for their ramble, but today the yard was empty.

Maximus frowned and set off for the woods.

The sun was already up as he crossed the wide south lawn, and the sudden darkness of the canopy when he entered the woods made him blind for a moment. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again she appeared before him like some ancient goddess, calm and otherworldly, standing under the tall trees as if she owned them, his dogs at her side.

Percy broke the moment first, naturally, rushing from Miss Greaves to him, muddy and excited. A small, formerly white dog darted out from behind her skirts, barking madly as it chased after Percy.

“You’re late today, Your Grace,” Miss Greaves said, almost as if she’d been waiting for him.

Foolish notion. “I talked long into the night with Lord Oddershaw,” he said. “Is that Lady Penelope’s dog?” He looked down at the dog sniffing around his ankles. He didn’t remember ever seeing the animal so muddy—or so active.

“Yes.” She fell into step with him as easily as if they’d been doing this for years. “What were you talking to Lord Oddershaw about?”

He glanced at her. She wore a brown dress he’d seen innumerable times on her before and he remembered her wardrobe with its three dresses: two for day and one for evening balls. “We discussed politics. I doubt a lady such as yourself would be interested.”

“Why?”

He frowned. “Why what?”

“Why wouldn’t a lady such as myself be interested in your political discussion, Your Grace?” Her tone was perfectly correct and yet somehow he thought she was mocking him.

As a result his voice might’ve been a trifle brusque. “It had to do with canals and a proposed act of my own to eradicate the gin trade in London amongst the poor. Fascinating stuff, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. “What do canals have to do with the gin trade?”

“Nothing.” He picked up a stick and threw it rather overhard for Percy, not that the silly spaniel minded. The dog took off, barking joyfully, as Lady Penelope’s pet tried gallantly to keep up. Apparently the odd pair had become friends. “Oddershaw is angling for me to back his act opening a canal in Yorkshire that will benefit his mining interests before he’ll throw his support behind my Gin Act.”

“And you don’t want to support his canal?” She picked up her skirts to step over a tree root and he saw the flash of her white ankle. She’d taken off her shoes again.

“It’s not that.” Maximus frowned. The intricacies of parliamentarian politics were so twisted that he didn’t often like to discuss them with ladies or men uninterested in politics. Everything built upon another thing, and it was rather hard to explain the entire tangled mess. He glanced again at Miss Greaves.

She was watching the path, but she looked up as if she felt his gaze and met his eyes, her own impatient. “Well? What is it, then?”

He found himself smiling. “This is the third canal act Oddershaw has proposed. He’s using Parliament to line his pockets. Not”—he shook his head wryly—“that he’s the only one doing it. Most, I suppose, want laws that’ll help themselves. But Oddershaw is rather egregiously open about it.”

“So you won’t do as he wishes?”

“Oh, no,” he said softly. Grimly. “I’ll back his damned act. I need his vote and, more important, the votes of his cronies.”

“Why?” She stopped and faced him, her brows knit faintly as if she truly wanted to know about his political mechanisms. Or perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps she wanted to know his mind.

Or his soul.

“You’ve been in St. Giles,” he said, turning to her. “You’ve seen the desolation, the… the disease that gin causes there.” He took a step closer to her without conscious thought. “There are women who sell their babies in St. Giles for a sip of gin. Men who rob and kill just to have another cup. Gin’s the rot that lies at the heart of London, and it will bring her down if it’s not stopped. That damned drink must be cauterized like a festering wound, cut clean out, or the entire body will fail, don’t you see?” He stopped and stared at her, realizing that his voice was too loud, his tone too heated. He swallowed. “Don’t you see?”

He stood over her almost threateningly, yet Miss Greaves merely watched him, her head slightly cocked. “You’re very passionate on the matter.”