Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(44)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

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.”