by Deborah Hale
Was it possible he’d come to beg her pardon for what his reckless young rogue of a brother had done? To make some token gesture of restitution in the only medium he understood—hard cash? Though no amount of money could heal her grief or soften her resentment, Artemis was prepared to accept it for Lee’s sake.
That tantalizing hope wrought a shift in her perception of Hadrian Northmore. His towering height no longer seemed so threatening. His dark, brooding features looked rather attractive.
But when he answered her question, his reply ripped the breath from her lungs and set every nerve in her body on fire. “I want the child.”
Hadrian had not realized how desperately he wanted custody of his nephew until the lad staggered toward him.
The child did not look much like a Northmore with his fair coloring, plump cheeks and dimpled chin. But there was an appealing sturdiness about him. His boldness, energy and determination all proclaimed their kinship.
Perhaps Julian’s son had sensed it, too—pelting toward his uncle with the instinct of a fledgling returning to its nest, latching on to his leg with amazing strength for such a small creature. And how he’d resisted when his aunt tried to pull him away—stubbornly clinging to what he wanted, hanging on against overwhelming opposition! Once the battle was lost, he’d protested the injustice at the top of his lungs. But when that did no good, he hadn’t wasted energy whimpering or sulking. Instead he’d put the setback behind him and promptly gone to sleep, gathering strength for his next challenge.
Hadrian was determined to put up an equally resolute fight to claim his nephew. And he would not lose, for he possessed the strength and means to overcome the chief obstacle keeping them apart—Lady Artemis Dearing.
For all her slender, alluring delicacy, Hadrian did not underestimate his opponent. There was a glint of regal valor in her striking blue-violet eyes and a ring of icy antagonism in her dulcet voice. Though her haughty disdain stung, he could not stifle a grudging flicker of admiration for anyone with enough spirit to stand up to him.
After an instant of dazed silence, Lady Artemis fixed him with a glacial glare. “You may want my nephew all you like, Mr. Northmore. But you will never get your hands on him, of that I can assure you. I suggest you spare us both any further unpleasantness by going back to wherever you came from and leaving me to raise him in peace.”
With a contemptuous arch of her dark brows, the lady turned and walked away. This time she took care not to tilt her chin so high and risk tripping over the uneven ground. No doubt she wished to avoid repeating the indignity of being caught in the arms of a man she’d defied and insulted.
Hadrian would not have minded swooping to her rescue again, if necessary. He’d been unprepared for the rush of satisfaction that had surged through him when he’d clutched her and the child tight against his chest, saving them from harm. But if Lady Artemis thought she could dismiss him like one of her servants, she was very much mistaken.
He strode after her. “I can assure you, I have no intention of being so easily discouraged. I am accustomed to getting what I want and it will take more than a little unpleasantness to deter me.”
The lady stiffened when she realized he was following her, but she did not stop or glance his way. “Perhaps this is the first time you have hankered after something your money cannot buy, sir. My nephew is not a commodity for purchase. I would not consider parting with him for any sum you could pay.”
“In my experience, people who claim they cannot be bought are only trying to drive up their price.” Hadrian kept a sharp watch for her reaction.
It was all part of the bargaining process—bid, refusal, counteroffer, bluff and call. Success often depended upon the ability to predict an opponent’s next move or gauge his weakness. But Lady Artemis proved difficult to decipher. Her blatant contempt for him was so intense it masked any subtler reactions. It did not help that Hadrian found himself distracted whenever his gaze lingered upon her.
Searching her eyes for a hint of fear, he was lured to plunge into their bewitching depths. When he studied her lips for a tremor of uncertainty, he caught himself wondering if they had ever been properly kissed.
The lady shook him out of such wayward thoughts with a derisive sniff. “Clearly we move in very different circles. Even if I were so shamefully degraded as to consider peddling my own flesh and blood, you would be the last person to whom I would sell him.”
“You forget,” Hadrian snapped, “the boy is my flesh and blood, too. If we were in the Orient, their system of justice might compel you to give him to me as compensation for the murder of my brother.”
His words made Lady Artemis walk faster. “I count myself fortunate to live in a civilized society where an innocent child would never be so barbarously consigned.”
Was a system of justice based on restitution more barbarous than one that would hang a starving child for stealing food?
Before Hadrian could voice that indignant question, Lady Artemis pressed on, her speech broken by frequent gasps for breath. “Even if such ‘eye for an eye’ sanctions were applied in England, you would surely be the one to owe me compensation. My brother may have caused the death of yours, but he put both my brother and sister in their graves, as well as dragging our family through the mud.”
“The duel was your brother’s idea,” Hadrian protested. “I am certain if it had been left up to Julian, no one need have come to harm.”
Though he knew antagonizing Lady Artemis would only make it harder to gain custody of his nephew, Hadrian could not help himself. She’d had more than a year to come to terms with this sordid tragedy and carry on with her life. As far as his heart was concerned, his brother’s death might have happened only yesterday. With one vital difference…
It was far too late to hold a funeral, don mourning garb or perform any of the usual rituals that helped the bereaved make some sense of death’s profound mystery. Only by confronting Lady Artemis Dearing, in place of her brother and sister, could he purge some of the poisonous feelings that possessed him.
“What choice did my brother have?” She shifted her grip on the sleeping child. “He had to defend my sister’s honor against the man who had callously seduced her and got her with child out of wedlock.”
As they crested a bit of rising ground, the great house appeared like a stately dowager with all its lofty spires and gables. Hadrian knew better than to suppose he could follow Lady Artemis through the imposing gatehouse. What he had left to say, he must say quickly.
“Was that precious honor worth the lives of two men in their prime? Where I come from, a girl’s father or brother would give the fellow a sound thrashing, then haul the pair of them in front of a parson. By the time the babe was born, nobody would remember or care when it was begot.”
Something caused a hitch in the lady’s regal stride. Was she growing tired? Or had his barb found its mark?
“No doubt things are a great deal simpler where you come from. If families like mine took such a lax attitude to this sort of disgrace, it would be an open invitation for unscrupulous rogues to seduce their way into our ranks. No unwed lady of quality would be safe from their odious attentions.”
This time it was Hadrian’s step that faltered. “Are you saying my brother bedded your sister against her will?”
“Not strictly against her will, perhaps, but certainly against her discretion and the wishes of her family.” Her outraged tone warned Hadrian she would never permit wanton passion to lure her from the narrow path of propriety.
“You said Julian put your sister in her grave. Did she die in childbed, then?” Hadrian’s throat tightened. “If you hold him responsible for that, many a loving husband must bear the blame for his wife’s death.”
“My sister survived the birth, though it was difficult and certainly weakened her.” Lady Artemis kept her eyes fixed upon the house, clearly eager to reach the sanctuary of its imposing walls. “She died eight months later, her spirit broken by the consciousness
of how her innocent folly had brought shame upon our family and led to our brother’s death.”
Hadrian stifled a troublesome spark of sympathy for the dead girl. “So you admit it was her fault and not my brother’s.”
Lady Artemis cast him a sidelong glance of scathing contempt. “If you had any finer feelings, you might understand that people may bear an undeserved sense of responsibility, even when they are not to blame.”
The last thing Hadrian expected was for her offensive words to bring him an unaccountable rush of relief. No doubt it was the last thing she intended. “If my brother’s child is such a scandalous stain on your family’s reputation, I cannot understand why you refuse to give him up.”
Lady Artemis practically ran the last few steps to the gatehouse. Once beneath its stone archway, she turned to skewer Hadrian with a challenging glare. “He is all I have left, Mr. Northmore. I cannot expect you to understand how that feels. I will not give him to you to ruin his character with too much money and too little attention.”
Her accusation knocked the wind out of Hadrian. She was completely wrong about him not knowing the devastation of such a loss.
Perhaps sensing her advantage, Lady Artemis pressed on. “For his sake, go away and leave us in peace.”
Without waiting for an answer, she stalked off into the courtyard. The child stirred then and opened his eyes. Spotting Hadrian, he reached a small hand over his aunt’s shoulder toward his uncle.
“I am not going anywhere!” Hadrian bellowed after Lady Artemis. “I will do whatever it takes to get my nephew!”
Chapter Three
“Hush, dearest!” Half an hour after her confrontation with Mr. Northmore, Artemis had still not succeeded in quieting her nephew.
She’d tried feeding him, changing his linen, bouncing him in her aching arms until she feared they would be wrenched out of their sockets. Nothing had worked. After a year of caring for Lee day and night, Artemis recognized the difference between a hungry cry, a weary cry or an injured cry. This was one she had not heard often—a wail of bloody-minded vexation.
“Hush!” she begged him again, practically driven to tears herself. “This won’t endear you to Uncle Henry. He may toss us both out tonight and have done with it.”
She would give anything for an hour’s peace to review her limited options and decide what to do next. The sudden appearance of Hadrian Northmore had made an already desperate situation far worse. Despite her brave boast about never letting him have Lee, Artemis feared she might soon have no choice.
Even if she’d been willing to entrust Lee to one of Bramberley’s tenants, Mr. Northmore could easily bribe such people to give him the child. If she defied Uncle Henry’s orders and got them expelled from Bramberley, she had no money to provide for her nephew. Even if she could find work as a governess or companion to some ailing dowager, she would never be permitted to keep a child with her. Which would place her right back where she’d started.
Heaving a dispirited sigh, Artemis sank onto the nearest chair and took her nephew’s weight onto her knees. For a moment his cries quieted. Then he inhaled several deep, wet breaths and began to howl again.
“You must get your temper from the Northmores.” Artemis struggled to wipe his dribbling nose with her handkerchief. “Your eyes, too. They are the very same shade of gray as his.”
That should have not come as a surprise, but somehow it did—this intimate connection between the child she loved and the man she loathed. Was it possible Lee sensed it, too?
“You would go with him in a trice, wouldn’t you, ungrateful little creature? What would become of you then?” What would become of him? She’d been so preoccupied with venting months of pent-up frustration upon Hadrian Northmore, she had never bothered to enquire about his plans for the boy.
Now that she’d purged some of those dangerously intense feelings, Artemis found herself able to view the situation more objectively. Was it possible her interests and Mr. Northmore’s might not run altogether contrary? After all, they had one important thing in common—they both wanted Lee when no one else seemed to.
“I vowed I would do anything to keep you.” Artemis cuddled the crying child close and drizzled kisses over his tear-streaked little face. “And Mr. Northmore threatened to do anything to get you. Perhaps we need to find out just how far each of us is willing to go.”
Lee seemed to endorse her idea. Or perhaps he was only responding to her kisses and calmer tone of voice. His cries lapsed into a series of sniffling hiccoughs. Artemis rubbed his back while she talked through her plans.
“I cannot let Mr. Northmore know how desperate our situation is. I am certain he is the kind of man who would not scruple to exploit an adversary’s weakness. So I must act quickly, before he discovers mine.”
Summoned to the inn’s back parlor, Hadrian paused on the threshold. “Why, Lady Artemis, this is a surprise.”
Not only was he astonished that she’d sought him out after their hostile exchange the day before, she scarcely looked like the same woman he’d happened upon while scouting out Bramberley. If it had not been for her haughty manner and formal way of speaking, he might have mistaken her for a nursemaid taking his nephew for an outing in the fresh spring air.
Today she looked every inch the daughter of a marquis, from the toes of her kid slippers to the crown of her chip hat. A footman in full livery lurked beside the door. This was what Hadrian had pictured when Ford first mentioned Lady Artemis Dearing.
She acknowledged his greeting with a cool half smile. “Perhaps now you will understand how I felt when you appeared out of the blue yesterday, Mr. Northmore. After we parted, I had an opportunity to reflect upon our conversation and repent my incivility. I have come to apologize for any offense I may have given.”
Her speech was a model of polished courtesy, expressing all the proper sentiments. Hadrian did not believe a word of it. Given a choice, he would far rather receive pithy insults from the lady’s pretty lips than insincere apologies.
What had brought her here, then, if not genuine regret for the way she’d abused him yesterday? Was she hoping to scare him off with a show of grandeur?
“That is most gracious of you.” Determined to demonstrate he could play her game, Hadrian reached for her slender, gloved hand and lifted it to his lips. “I hope you will disregard anything I may have said in the haste and heat of temper.”
Speaking of heat, he could not forget the unwelcome spark that had crackled through him when her fingers brushed against his leg. Or when he’d caught her and his nephew in his arms. An echo of it kindled in his lips as he inhaled a faint whiff of lavender from her glove.
“Of course.” Her answer sounded a trifle breathless.
Hadrian glanced up to see a flattering hint of color blossom in her cheeks.
Her hand jerked back as if she feared he might bite off one of her fingers. “I was hoping we could discuss the matter you raised yesterday. This time without haste or temper, but calmly as civilized adults.”
Did she doubt him capable of calm discussion and civilized conduct? Though he’d made a show of accepting her apology, Hadrian resented the insults Lady Artemis had hurled at him during their first encounter. And he would never forgive her family for bringing about his brother’s death.
“I would welcome the opportunity.” Her sudden willingness to negotiate made him wonder if her position was as strong as he’d feared. “Where shall we talk?”
“Why not here?” Lady Artemis glanced around the rustic room with a massive brick hearth at one end. “I took the liberty of speaking with the innkeeper. He assured me we would not be disturbed.”
Anticipating Hadrian’s agreement, she seated herself on a sturdy armchair upholstered with horsehair.
“Very well.” Hadrian sank onto a matching chair opposite her. “By the matter, I presume you mean my intention to seek custody of my nephew.”
“Just so.” Lady Artemis hesitated, as if trying to decide how to begin.
“I am curious to learn more about your plans for Lee and to discover why you want him so badly. Have you no children of your own?”
The unexpected question made Hadrian flinch. He hated being reminded of that tiny grave in the Company cemetery at Madras. “I am not married, nor do I intend to be.”
Once had been enough to convince him marriage and a family were not his destiny.
“Then who would care for Lee, Mr. Northmore? I understand you have been very successful in the East Indies trade. Would you retire from it and settle permanently in England, as Lord Kingsfold has done?”
Hadrian shook his head vigorously. “I have fared well in the Indies, especially since moving my business to Singapore, but most of my fortune is invested in my company. I must return after Christmas when the East Indies fleet sails.”
Before he could answer her other question, Lady Artemis cried, “You would drag a small child half a world away from everyone and everything he has ever known?”
“Of course not!” Did she think he was mad? “The tropical climate is a scourge on European children. My partner’s young daughter seems to thrive on it, but she is an exception. My friend Raffles lost three of his four children to disease in half a year.”
He did not speak of his own bereavement. That was none of this proud lady’s business. “I would find someone trustworthy to care for the child here in England and see that he is given every advantage money can buy.”
Lady Artemis edged forward in her chair. Was she going to remind him what she’d said yesterday about all the things his money could not buy?
“I am vastly relieved to hear you do not intend to uproot Lee and take him off to such an unhealthy place.” For the first time since they’d met, she seemed to regard Hadrian with approval. “But surely you must understand why I cannot give up my sister’s son, a child I have cared for since he was born, to be brought up by strangers?”
