Page 10 of Charming Artemis

She set the cups down on a table in the corridor but did not miss a single step. She continued on at his side. When he made to turn toward the gentlemen’s withdrawing room, she tugged at his sleeve. “Adam has vodka in his bookroom. It is your best chance of getting that stain out.”

“An expert in hard liquor, are you?”

She sighed in obvious frustration. “I am attempting to help you, though why, I don’t know.”

“Guilt?” he suggested with theatrical innocence.

“The inevitable result of being an exceptionally wonderful person.” She pushed open the door to her brother-in-law’s bookroom. “It is a burden I am learning to bear.”

Artemis never did stop performing, even when her audience of one had no interest in the theatrics. The red liquid on his front had begun dripping on his trousers as well. His clothes were ruined, and he looked an absolute sight. He would do best to focus on that difficulty and formulate a logical approach to addressing it.

Artemis made directly for the liquor cabinet and pulled open the doors. “Look about and see if you can’t find a towel or a rag or something of that nature.”

It was not a bad suggestion. Still, he felt foolish pulling open drawers and searching for something to help him clean himself up. “This is ridiculous.”

“That is my brother-in-law’s favorite word,” she said. “It makes your presence in this room feel very appropriate.”

“You are a young lady digging about in a liquor cabinet whilst I rummage through the drawers of another gentleman’s private room. I can see very little about this arrangement that is appropriate.”

“Are you always this tedious?”

He took a calming breath. “I am simply being rational.”

She turned around, a glass bottle in her hand. “I’ve found what I was looking for. Have you?”

He located in the drawer of the desk a neatly folded cravat of whitest linen, no doubt one kept there should His Grace find himself in need of a change of neckwear. It would be utterly ruined after this. “If the duke asks, I’m telling him that destroying his cravat was your idea.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “He’ll rant a bit at me, but I exhaust him far too much for him to do more than that.”

“So you have that effect oneveryone.”

“I will have you know I was told only yesterday that the Season would be an utter waste without me in it.”

“Peopleareknown to lie in social situations.” He dabbed at his front with the soon-to-be-ruined cravat, trying to soak up some of the raspberry shrub. Bumbling Charlie was making a mull of things again. His brothers would never let him hear the end of this if they discovered his current state. “Lud, Artie, this has soaked all the way to the skin. I’ll never clean it all up.”

“Ludis not an appropriate word to use in front of a lady,” she said, her nose a bit in the air.

He could not even begin to soak up the liquid on his shirtsleeves. His jacket and waistcoat made it impossible. “I cannot believe this,” he muttered. He tossed the cravat on the desk and yanked off his jacket. “I am still a student, you know. I haven’t loads of money at my disposal to replace ruined clothing.”

“Quit being so dramatic, Charles. You haven’t even attempted to clean the stain.”

He took up the cravat again and pressed it firmly against the wide, deep-red splatter. “I look like I’ve been shot.” The color seeped into the bright white of His Grace’s cravat.

“Was there a second cravat in that drawer?” Artemis asked. “I can’t exactly pour vodka all over you.”

“Why not?” he said dryly. “It would be in keeping with tonight’s pattern.”

She tipped her head and eyed him with raised brow. “Wouldn’t thetonbe shocked to know that Lord Lampton is not, in fact, the most dramatic of the Jonquil brothers.”

He pressed a dry section of the cravat to another place on his waistcoat, but that simply drove home the damp state of his shirt beneath. “I cannot believe this.” He tugged at the buttons of his waistcoat. He’d not manage to dry out anything if the bottommost layer was soaked.

“Hand me your waistcoat.” She held her hand out for it. “I’ll see if I can get some of the red color out.”

“We’re back to pouring vodka on my clothes, are we?”

“I’ll try to find a rag or another cravat lying around, though I’d be surprised if I can.”

He yanked at the knot in his own cravat. It had managed to escape with only a few tiny splatters of red. He pulled it off and tossed it to her. “Might as well use this.”

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