by Deborah Hale
The instant it shut, her knees gave way beneath her. She slid to the floor with her back pressed against the door. Wrapping her arms around her bent knees, she rested her forehead against them. As she expelled breath after shaky breath, Artemis strove to quell the tempest Hadrian Northmore had whipped up inside her.
First, the unexpected delight of his sensual touch and kisses. Such ravenous pleasure they’d unleashed before she came to her senses. Then the sickening humiliation to discover his delicious seduction had never been meant for her at all. She’d been nothing more to her husband than an inferior substitute for the woman of his dreams.
How could she have been so foolish as think otherwise for even an instant? Daphne had been the beauty of the family—everyone had said so. Everyone also said how opposite the Dearing sisters were in every way. If two decades of such remarks had left Artemis with any stubborn illusions that she was attractive or desirable, her first and only suitor had disabused her of them in the cruelest terms. Hadrian Northmore had only seconded his opinion.
Artemis would never forget the look of horror in his eyes when he’d opened them to discover her in his arms. As if that had not been degrading enough, he’d mocked her with repeated offers to bed her. She could not decide which sickened her most—that he was prepared to use her body to satisfy the lusts his dream siren had roused or the possibility that he had taken pity on his dowdy, love-starved bride to offer her a taste of the carnal delights she’d been missing?
Artemis fought back a sob of humiliated rage.
She’d refused his patronizing offers of seduction even though they secretly tempted her. Then the rogue had dared to boast of all the other women he’d dallied with. He had taunted her with his gloating certainty that she would one day beg him to take her into his bed.
How could she have deluded herself into thinking eight months of Hadrian Northmore’s company would be bearable? Artemis wallowed in self-recrimination, hoping it might distract her from memories of the yearning passion he had kindled. Would she have felt such intense hostility toward him, her conscience whispered, if she had not enjoyed his amorous attentions so much?
Chapter Seven
Had Daphne Dearing bewitched young Julian the way her sister threatened to bewitch him? That question preoccupied Hadrian late the next afternoon as he stared out the carriage window on the second day of their journey. Had the fine lady enticed his brother with protests of reluctance, while an arch of her lips or an ember in her gaze challenged and lured him to his doom?
Outside, spring rain pattered down on the green pastures of Cambridgeshire. Hadrian’s head ached fiercely, as it often did in damp weather. It did not help that his nephew had been wailing ever since they’d paused at the last tollgate.
“What ails the lad?” Hadrian growled. “Is he going to bawl all the way to Huntingdon?”
Artemis cradled the child in a protective embrace as if she feared his uncle might strike him. But when she spoke, it was in a tone of exaggerated politeness that set Hadrian’s teeth on edge.
“Children are apt to fuss when they feel unwell. I expect Lee is cold and hungry, and his digestion is upset from all the jostling. He has been taken away from his familiar surroundings and he is too young to understand why. On top of all that, he has been cooped up in this carriage with nothing of interest to see or do. I am amazed he has been in such good temper until now.”
Was she talking about their nephew or herself? Hadrian bristled. “We should reach Huntingdon in half an hour. We can put up there for the night. Will it be too much trouble for you to keep the child quiet until then?”
“The child has a name.” Artemis shot him a scathing glare, entirely at odds with her measured tone.
“So he does.” Hadrian resented the unwelcome excitement that sizzled through him when their eyes met. “I meant to ask you about it. What sort of name is Lee? It hardly sounds grand enough for a descendent of the Dearings.”
“It is short for Leander, of course.” She looked away, focusing her attention on the child, who seemed to be growing calmer. “After his uncle.”
Hadrian could scarcely believe his ears. “Named after the man who killed his father? That is obscene!”
His outburst made the child cry harder.
Artemis heaved an indignant sigh. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Me?” cried Hadrian. “He’s likely blubbering over that fool name.”
“It is a fine name. Leander was a Greek hero who swam the Hellespont.”
“Every night until he drowned—the fool.” Hadrian raised his voice to carry over his nephew’s howls. “If he’d had any sense, he would have got his hands on a boat. Or better yet, stayed clear of a woman he had no business with!”
“Like your brother?” Artemis snapped. “Is that what you would have advised him when he took up with my sister? Yet you condemn my family for discouraging Daphne from keeping company with him.”
She had a point, much as Hadrian hated to admit it. But he hadn’t been thinking of Julian and Lady Daphne. It was his marriage to Artemis that he’d assumed would be an easy paddle in a calm, shallow lagoon. Too late he’d discovered the water was deeper than he’d reckoned, with treacherous currents flowing beneath the surface.
Their hostile exchange did nothing to soothe the child. His face was so red that his plump cheeks looked like a pair of ripe apples. His shrieks pierced his uncle’s skull.
“Can you do nothing with him?” Hadrian demanded, furious with himself when the words came out sounding like a desperate plea.
Five more minutes of this and his brains would come pouring out of his ears!
“I?” The lady’s nostril’s flared and two livid spots flamed in her pale cheeks. “You are the one responsible for the poor little creature’s suffering, yet you expect me to quiet him so that you are not disturbed?”
She made him sound like an ogre. Was that how she saw him? His words and actions from the previous night rushed through Hadrian’s mind. Each memory struck his throbbing head a savage blow. He had taken shocking liberties. She might have excused those on account of his sleep-befuddled state. But he’d been wide awake when he made those impudent suggestions no gentleman should make to a lady.
While Hadrian struggled to think of something to say that might satisfy her, Artemis bundled his wailing nephew onto his lap. “See what you can do with him.”
She crossed her arms and angled her body away as best she could in the close space of the carriage box.
Her abrupt action shocked both Hadrian and Lee silent for a moment. In the boy’s case, it did not last. He gulped down several shuddering, tearful breaths to fuel a fresh bout of bawling, more earsplitting than before.
Not knowing what else to do, Hadrian looked the little fellow in the eye and spoke firmly. “That’s enough out of you, sir. Quiet down before you spook the horses.”
A firm approach had worked with the child last night. Today it only made matters worse. Lee’s cries took on a shrill, frenzied note.
Hadrian cast a pleading look toward Artemis, ready to promise her anything if she would pacify Lee. But all that met his gaze was a tight knot of rich, dark hair and his wife’s slender neck rising from the collar of her jacket. Several wispy curls had escaped from the severe upsweep to cluster at her nape. For a blissful instant, he could think of nothing but how he would like to graze his lips over her neck, nuzzle his cheek against it and inhale her scent until it made him dizzy.
Those delightful fancies blocked out the pounding pain in his head and his nephew’s deafening shrieks. He came back to his senses to find the child sniffling and hiccoughing, but otherwise blessedly quiet.
Artemis spun about to stare at them both. “How did you make him stop?”
The anxious set of her features told Hadrian she feared he might have strangled Lee while her back was turned.
“Nothing,” Hadrian muttered. “That is…I don’t know.”
“Perhaps it was your face.” She pulled a
calf-eyed gawk. Was that how he looked?
Lee glanced at his aunt and heaved a deep, wet gurgle, followed by another. Was the child…laughing?
“Make another face,” Hadrian urged her when the momentary distraction appeared to be wearing off.
“You make one,” Artemis snapped. “You were so anxious to stop him crying.”
No doubt she considered such larking about beneath her dignity. Though he had his share of pride, Hadrian was willing to play the fool if it promised to spare his throbbing head. Clicking his tongue to get his nephew’s attention, he thrust out his lower lip and crossed his eyes.
The lad responded with a hearty chortle. That encouraged Hadrian to screw up his mouth and waggle his eyebrows. Lee clapped his hands and laughed harder. It was such an infectious sound Hadrian could not resist joining in. Next he rolled his eyes while making a rude noise with his tongue. His nephew squealed with glee. The lingering film of tears in his eyes made them twinkle with quicksilver delight.
That egged Hadrian on to new heights of comical invention. Before long, they were both laughing so hard they could scarcely catch their breath. At some point, Hadrian noticed another thrill of laughter harmonizing with theirs.
While making another droll face, he stole a fleeting glance at Artemis. Her fine features were more animated than he had ever seen them. Her shapely lips were relaxed into an unforced smile. Her beguiling eyes sparkled with unexpected merriment. He had admired her sculpted alabaster beauty from the moment he’d first set eyes on her. But the way she looked now, her face alight with laughter, took his breath away.
At that moment the post chaise slowed to a stop.
“I wonder what’s the matter?” Hadrian handed his nephew back to Artemis, who reached out immediately to take him.
Peering out the carriage window, she answered in a tone of disbelief. “We’ve stopped at an inn. Can this be Huntingdon…already?”
He shook his head. “Not so soon, surely.”
But it was. Hadrian marveled how swiftly the last hour of their journey had flown by. To his further amazement, he realized the pain in his head had disappeared completely. As he arranged their accommodations for the night, he fancied himself afloat on a warm cloud of relief.
“Shall I hold this young fellow again tonight while you feed him supper?” he asked Artemis as they climbed the stairs to their rooms.
“Why…yes.” She looked astonished by his spontaneous offer of assistance. “I would appreciate it. Thank you.”
“Will you dine with me tonight?” he ventured, less certain of her answer. “I promise I will not fall asleep at the table, no matter how long you take putting this young gentleman to bed.”
“I could.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “If you wish.”
“I do.” He would drink coffee and not sit down until she arrived. That should prevent any repeat of last night’s unfortunate events. “We need to talk, you and I, without a certain small but vocal audience. Clear the air and all.”
Though Artemis gave a judicious nod of agreement, Hadrian pictured her donning invisible armor to protect herself against whatever he might try to inflict upon her.
Was there any hope his indomitable adversary might agree to a truce?
“Who would have thought your uncle could be so comical?” Artemis murmured as she lay beside Lee, stroking his hair to soothe him to sleep. “Or so knowledgeable about the classics. I was amazed that he knew the legend of Hero and Leander.”
She’d been affronted when Hadrian had used his knowledge to scoff at Leander’s gallant deed of swimming the treacherous waters of the Hellespont repeatedly to tryst with his beloved. But on reflection she could not deny the young man had behaved foolishly, tempting Fate again and again until it turned against him.
Something else she could not deny—there was a great deal more to Hadrian Northmore than she’d first thought. That did not mean she could let down her guard around him—quite the contrary.
With a shudder, she stirred from her troubled thoughts to find Lee fast asleep. Now she had no excuse to delay her dinner with his uncle. Since Hadrian had vowed to stay awake until she arrived, she might as well get it over with as soon as possible.
Pressing a soft kiss on her nephew’s brow, she reminded herself that she was doing all this for his sake—so they could remain together and so his future would be secure. It was what she wanted most in the world. Perhaps it was only fitting that such a precious boon should come at a high cost. Hadrian Northmore had not become a successful man of business by driving easy bargains.
When Artemis slipped into the parlor a moment later, she found Hadrian standing at the window with his hands clasped behind his back, staring down at the stable yard below. He turned toward her with a startled look, as if she had roused him from some deep, private thoughts. Thoughts about the woman of his dreams, perhaps?
He recovered his composure swiftly, arranging his features to look as if he was pleased to see her. Artemis knew better. He was only making faces, as he had at Lee this afternoon in the carriage.
“That was quick.” He nodded toward the room next door where their nephew lay sleeping.
Artemis nodded. “I thought it would take him much longer to settle after the state he was in this afternoon. Perhaps he tired himself out by crying and laughing so hard. I fear strong emotions have quite the opposite effect on me.”
She had only meant to think that, not say it aloud—especially not to Hadrian Northmore. After the dangerously intense feelings he’d provoked in her last night, she had hardly slept a wink. That might be why she could not mind her tongue properly now. As she moved toward the table, Artemis vowed to say as little as possible this evening.
“I, on the other hand, am like our nephew.” Hadrian sprang forward to pull a chair out for her. “I find strong emotions tiring. When my feelings are stirred up, I am more apt to…react excessively to the most trivial incidents.”
Once Artemis was settled at the table, he rang the bell to summon a servant. Then he took a seat across from her. “Has that ever happened to you?”
His question startled her almost as much as his bewildering kiss the previous evening, and for almost the same reason. It was such a private subject—one might say intimate—to speak of one’s deepest feelings. She had seldom discussed such matters with anyone, not even her sister, who’d been her closest confidante.
However, like his kiss, Hadrian’s candor had a seductive effect that lured her to respond in kind. “I never thought of it in that way. But since you mention it, I suppose it has.”
“I believe you will agree we’ve both had our feelings wrought up of late.”
The corner of her lips arched, quite against her will. “That is a masterpiece of understatement.”
His features crinkled into a wry, reluctant-looking grin that might have mirrored hers. “So we have found a bit of common ground at last.”
Before she could decide how to reply, the waiter arrived, carrying a large tray laden with covered dishes. Artemis was grateful for the interruption as well as the food. Overwrought emotions might play havoc with her sleep, but they did not spoil her appetite.
The waiter set all the dishes on the table, then whisked off the covers, releasing succulent aromas to waft through the small parlor.
“Our compliments to the kitchen,” said Hadrian. “This all smells very good. I will ring if there is anything else we need.”
Artemis could not decide whether she was sorry or glad he had dismissed the servant. This meal would be awkward enough without an audience. On the other hand, having someone else present might keep Hadrian from delving into private matters.
Once the waiter had gone, Hadrian reached for the nearest dish. “Will you have some loin of pork?”
“Please.” Artemis held out her plate, relieved to be talking about something as harmless as the food.
He helped her to a generous portion of meat. “Veal pie? Asparagus? Batter pudding?”
&n
bsp; “A little of everything, if you please.”
He filled her plate. While his hands and part of his attention were occupied with the task, he spoke in an offhand way, as if making polite table talk. “I had no idea traveling with a young child could be such an ordeal.”
“I tried to warn you.” Artemis could not resist the urge to remind him.
“So you did.” He gave a rueful shrug. “But you’ll soon discover I do not make a habit of heeding naysayers. If I had avoided every undertaking someone warned me might be difficult, I would never have made my fortune.”
Though she still wished he had heeded her in this instance, Artemis could not suppress a grudging flicker of admiration for his tenacity and strength of will. All her life she had let her actions be guided by the wishes of others. Wedding Hadrian Northmore over her uncles’ objections had been her first real act of rebellion and she was not convinced she had done the right thing.
Hadrian handed Artemis her well-laden dinner plate, then proceeded to fill his. “If the rest of our journey is as bad as today, heaven help us all.”
Artemis nodded as she took a bite of succulent roast pork. One benefit of traveling with Hadrian Northmore—she had not eaten so well in months.
“Do you reckon we can put our differences aside for a few days?” he asked. “Can we work together to keep young Lee in good humor for the rest of our journey?”
Part of her wanted to point out that he was responsible for this situation, and to ask why she should share the consequences. But blaming Hadrian would not keep Lee from screaming all the way to Durham. “A short while ago you said we had a bit of common ground and you were right. Our nephew’s welfare should be our greatest mutual concern. I fear I have been guilty of forgetting that.”
“Something else we have in common.” Hadrian paused in the act of filling her wineglass. “If we keep on at this rate, it may soon be hard to tell us apart.”
“I am certain there will always be plenty of differences between us.” Was that such a bad thing, though? She and Daphne had been as different as could be yet they had always got on well together. “For instance, I am prepared to admit when I’m wrong.”
