Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(61)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

She stopped short only feet from him. “What’s this?”

He might be half-starved, beaten near to death, and for some reason still unable to speak, but her brother had never had any trouble expressing his thoughts to her.

He rolled his eyes.

Then he looked down and started theatrically at the ball as if he’d never seen it before. The skittish movement was quite silly when made by such a large man.

Her lips twitched, but she stilled them. This was a serious matter.

“Apollo,” she said warningly, setting the tray on the bed next to him. The chain was long enough that he could easily reach a covered commode not that far away and the brazier, but nothing else. “Who did this? Maximus?”

He didn’t deign to reply, tearing into the bread before halting for a moment and then beginning to eat again almost daintily.

Artemis frowned at his odd behavior, but was distracted by the chain clinking against the stone floor as he shifted to reach for the teacup. “Apollo! Answer me, please. Why would he chain you?”

He gazed at her over his teacup’s rim as he sipped before shrugging and putting down the cup. He picked up the notebook that had been left on the floor by the cot and scratched something out with a pencil before handing it to her.

Artemis glanced at what he’d written.

I’m mad.

She scoffed, thrusting the notebook back at him. “You know you’re not.”

He paused, his fingers upon the little book, to flick his eyes at her, and she saw them soften. Then he pulled the notebook from her hands and wrote something else.

She sat beside him to read.

Only you, sister dear, think me sane. I love you for it.

She swallowed and leaned over to buss him on the cheek. At least he’d shaved. “And I love you, too, though you drive me half mad.”

He snorted and dug into the eggs.

“Apollo?” she asked softly. “What happened in Bedlam? Why were you beaten so badly?”

He took another bite, refusing to meet her eyes.

She sighed and watched him. Even if he was too stubborn to recount what had caused a boot to be thrust into his throat, she was glad that he was safe and had enough food.

She glanced again at the chain on his ankle. He might be safe, but he was chained like an animal again, and that simply wouldn’t do. “I’ll talk to Maximus. He’ll understand that you were wrongly accused and not mad at all.” She said it confidently, even though she was beginning to doubt that Maximus would ever change his mind. And if he didn’t? She couldn’t leave her brother chained here—it was little better than Bedlam.

He chewed, looking at her narrowly, and for some reason his expression made her nervous.

He picked up the notebook and wrote one word: MAXIMUS?

She could feel heat climbing her cheeks. “He’s a friend.”

He cocked a sardonic eyebrow as he scribbled, the pencil hitting the paper with an audible thump when he made the period. He must accord you a very good friend indeed to rescue me from Bedlam on your word.

“I suppose he thought it a good deed.”

He arched an incredulous eyebrow before writing, I’ve lost my voice, not my power of reason.

“Well, of course not.”

But he kept writing. I don’t like such closeness with a duke.

She lifted her chin. “Would you have me only associate with earls and viscounts, then?”

He bumped her shoulder with his, and wrote, Very funny. You know what I mean.

He was the dearest person in the world to her, and she hated to lie to him. Still, the truth would do nothing but anger him. “Don’t worry about me, darling. A duke would never be interested in a lady’s companion. You know Lady Phoebe is my friend. I’m here to act as her companion while her cousin, Miss Picklewood, is away. Nothing more.”

He stared at her suspiciously until she pointed out that his tea would grow cold if he didn’t finish his breakfast. After that they sat together in companionable silence as she watched him eat.

But she couldn’t shake her own words, for without meaning to she’d spoken the truth: a duke truly didn’t have any reason to consort with her. Maximus had never said anything about making their arrangement more permanent. What if he only wished to bed her for a few nights and nothing more? What would she do then? What they’d done made it impossible for her to live again as Penelope’s companion—even if her cousin never found out the truth. Artemis simply couldn’t deceive Penelope in such an awful manner.

Her actions had laid waste to her former life.

MAXIMUS FELT HIS heart beat faster that night as he made his way through the shadows of London dressed as the Ghost of St. Giles. It was as if he could no longer keep a raging beast inside. Nearly twenty years—more than half his life—he’d spent in this hunt. He’d not married, not sought out friendship or lovers. All his time, all his thought, all his soul was bent on one thing:

Avenging his parents. Finding their killer. Making the world somehow right again.

And tonight, now, he was as close as he’d ever been to failure.

It began to rain as if the heavens themselves wept at his weakness.

He paused, tilting his face to the night sky, feeling the drops run cold down his face. How long? Lord, how long must he search? Was Craven right? Had he done penance enough or would he forever toil?

A shout came from nearby, and without turning he ran into the night. The cobblestones were slippery beneath his boots, and his short cape whipped away behind him as if mocking his attempt at flight. The rain was relentless, but that didn’t stop the denizens of London from coming out. He passed two dandies mincing their way along, holding their cloaks over their heads. Maximus merely ducked to the side when one pointed and yelled. A horse shied as he passed, as if the animal knew the blackness blown over his soul.

More people up ahead. He’d come out too early.

Maximus darted to the right and grasped a pillar supporting an overhanging second story. He pulled himself up only to find himself face-to-face with a fair-haired child in a nightgown at the window. He paused, startled, as the child stuck a finger in her mouth and simply stared, then he began climbing again. The tiled roof was slippery, but he hoisted himself up and over the edge and began running. The rain beat down, soaking his tunic, making the shingles slippery, turning the world into a house of mourning.

Below, the people streamed through the rain, miserable and wet, while above he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, soaring through the air, risking with each jump a fatal fall to the ground.