Page 33 of Charming Artemis

“You sound like Papa,” Oliver declared from somewhere behind him.

Charlie set his other hand on his captive’s other arm. She couldn’t have been holding a child, and Persephone had been the one with Hestia in her arms. This, then, was most likely Artemis. He reached up to where her head would be, and his fingers found a long, spiraling curl of soft, silky hair. No one’s hair curled with the abandon Artemis’s did. He stepped closer and caught the unmistakable aroma of earthy pine and citrus.

“Artie.” His voice, for reasons he could not identify, emerged in a whisper. And why, for heaven’s sake, was his heart pounding?

With his free hand, he slipped off his blindfold. He’d identified her correctly, of course, yet the sight of her was still surprising. He let the cravat hang limp around his neck and wrapped his arm around her, essentially a one-armed embrace. She wasn’t pulling away. He brushed his fingers over another of her mesmerizing curls.

Those startlingly green eyes of hers watched him closely. “You caught me,” she said a little breathlessly.

His mind emptied. He could think of nothing to say and couldn’t seem to force himself to pull away. He found he wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply hold her.Her.Artemis Lancaster, who had once declared him such a forgettable, dismissible person that even his own family took no notice of him, who had proven herself insincere and petty time and again, whom he’d been forced to marry.

What was happening?

“Papa!” Oliver shouted.

Artemis’s head snapped in that direction, a look of hopeful anticipation that disappeared almost instantaneously. A hint of disappointment passed through her expression but so quickly he almost missed it. Disappointment at seeing her brother-in-law? Who else could she have been expecting to see?

She stepped away from Charlie and looked to her sister. “Oliver will want nothing to do with us now that Adam’s here. Those two are inseparable.”

Oliver had, in fact, already begun running toward the small back terrace where His Grace had appeared. Hestia was lying rather heavily against her mother’s shoulder, likely mere minutes from falling asleep.

“I believe our game was coming to an end anyway,” Persephone said. She looked to Charlie. “Thank you for being so indulgent with them. You have made our visit a delight for both of them.”

“I assure you it was no sacrifice at all,” he said. “I hope they will visit often.”

“And I hope you will come visit us as well,” Persephone said. “Falstone is not terribly far away.”

“I do have a whole slew of new siblings I need to meet.” It was a more pleasant thing to ponder than the mystery of why he felt a tug toward a lady who did not share that pull, indeed one he didn’t even like, who didn’t like him in return.

“Perhaps we can convince everyone to come to the Castle for Christmas this year,” Persephone said. “They did the year Hestia was born, and it was delightful.”

Charlie nodded.

Artemis walked with her sister along the same path Oliver had taken, leaving Charlie alone. Alone and utterly, utterly confused. He stood rooted to the spot, watching his baffling wife. Some questions didn’t have answers, he feared.

The duke stepped off the small back terrace, Oliver held in his arms, and walked directly to Charlie, then motioned him onward. “Walk with me.” His Grace never did make a request that sounded the least optional.

Charlie obeyed. Oliver was not sleeping but looked quite as if he might follow his sister’s lead and drift off. The duke pulled a small carved horse, one a bit worse for the wear, from his pocket and gave it to his son. Oliver clutched it to himself, then rested more heavily against his father.

“Do you suppose we’ll have bread pudding again today?” Oliver asked, his voice quiet and sleepy.

“As this is Artemis’s house, I cannot imagine we will not,” His Grace said.

“Bread pudding is her most favorite.” Oliver’s declaration tapered off into a whisper, even as his eyes grew heavier.

The gentleman all of Society knew as the Dangerous Duke brushed a hand gently over his son’s hair, holding him as naturally as if he’d been a father all his life. Something in the gentle and easy way he interacted with his little boy put Charlie in mind of his own father.

He followed the duke to his father’s garden.

“I like this corner of your home, Jonquil,” the duke said.

“So do I. It reminds me of my father.”

The duke nodded. After the length of a breath, he looked once more at Charlie. “I am a member of the Royal Society.”

An odd and abrupt change of topic, but Charlie accepted it. “Are you?” Charlie had hoped to one day apply for membership. Intellectuals and academics from all areas of study made up its ranks. He’d not yet proven himself though. Considering the state of his career trajectory, he wasn’t likely to ever do so.

“It was suggested to me many years ago that I ought to join,” the duke said. “I do not attend as many lectures as some, but I’ve found the ones I have attended to be interesting and enlightening, for the most part.”

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