Seducing the Siren of Seven Dials (Secret Wallflower Society Book 4)

by Jillian Eaton

  But now, all at once and without quite knowing how it had happened, it appeared as if she was part of her own group. A society, such as it were. Made up of misshaped misfits who hadn’t fit any better into the circular holes that society carved out for them than she had.

  “All right,” she conceded. “I’ll go with you to see Helena and Calliope.”

  “Splendid!” Percy reached for a shawl and draped it over her shoulders before she opened the door and gestured for Artemis to follow her. “On the way, you must tell me all about when you tried to shoot Lucas.”

  “It was his fault,” Artemis said defensively as she climbed in the carriage.

  Percy grinned. “Of that, I haven’t any doubt.”

  “Let me see if I understand you correctly.” Calliope Maven, the Countess of Winchester and mother-to-be, rested her hands on her growing belly, gave an incredulous shake of her head, and said, “You’re really Lady Amelia, the missing debutante who ran away three years ago, and you’re engaged to the Duke of Warwick?”

  Artemis sipped her tea. “Yes, that about sums it up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Helena demanded as she returned from the sideboard carrying a plate piled high with sugary sweets.

  Tall and fair, with fiery red hair that put Molly’s wig to shame, the Countess of Cambridge was by far the most outspoken of the Secret Wallflowers.

  “Because I had no reason to. I’ll take one of those.” Nabbing a macaroon off Helena’s plate, Artemis sank her teeth into the miniature cake and resisted the temptation to moan. Food prepared by a professional chef was something she’d missed while living in Seven Dials. Three day old tavern stew simply didn’t compare to freshly baked macaroons. And she hadn’t even gotten to the marzipan yet!

  Shaped and molded into little fruits complete with chocolate stems, the almond and sugar treats almost looked too good to eat.

  Almost.

  Springing out of her chair, she scooped a handful of them into a bowl as Percy, Calliope, and Helena continued to express their shock and amazement over what Percy had called “a real-life fairytale”.

  If by fairytale she meant that Warwick was the dragon and Artemis was the knight holding the sword, then yes, it certainly was a fairytale. A fairytale that would have a very happy ending once the dragon was successfully vanquished.

  In hindsight, Artemis wished she had kept quiet. But she’d found herself so swept up in the comradery of friendship that when Percy had delicately asked what had brought her to Greenwood Square in the middle of the night, she’d answered honestly.

  A mistake she was already regretting.

  “You’re not to breathe a word of this to anyone or I’ll have to stab you,” she said, employing her most threatening glare before she popped a faux pear into her mouth.

  Goodness, but it was delicious.

  “You’re not going to stab us,” Calliope said with a laugh. Then she paused. “Are you?”

  “Probably not,” Artemis allowed.

  The countess’s eyes widened. “Probably–”

  “She’s jesting,” Percy interrupted. “Aren’t you, Artemis?”

  Artemis disguised her grin by taking another bite of marzipan. “Yes. Murdering you here would be far too much trouble. Where would I put the bodies? In the broom closet? Terribly inconvenient.”

  “Indeed,” Calliope said faintly.

  “What I want to know,” said Helena, arching a brow, “is what you intend to do about the Duke of Warwick.”

  Artemis popped another marzipan, this one shaped like a plum, into her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Dabbed at the corners of her lips with a linen cloth. “Ignore him until he goes away. What sort of flowers were you thinking for your bouquet? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “I don’t care if I carry a handful of grass,” Helena said dismissively. “What do you mean you’re going to ignore him? You cannot ignore your fiancé.”

  “It’s worked for her this long,” Calliope pointed out. “And if he gets too close, she can stab him.”

  “Precisely,” Artemis agreed.

  “I believe what Helena is trying to say,” Percy put in, “is that if the duke is still persisting after all this time, then he clearly has no intention of being ignored. As I said last night, you are welcome to stay with Lucas and I for as long as you need. That goes without question. But surely you’d like to resume your daily activities without feeling as if you’re constantly having to glance over your shoulder.”

  “Warwick will give up,” Artemis said firmly. “He has to.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” asked Helena.

  As her appetite abruptly waned, Artemis set the bowl of sweets aside. Probably for the best, as stuffing her face with half a dozen marzipans in less than three minutes may not have been the wisest course of action. “Then I shall deal with him by whatever means necessary. I will not be dragged back to my old life, I’ve grown too used to this one.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I will never, ever marry the Duke of Warwick.”

  Chapter Seven

  He’d lost her again.

  Nearly six days had passed since Warwick had watched his fiancée disappear into a dilapidated factory and he’d seen neither hide nor hair of her since.

  After ordering his secretary to clear his schedule, not an easy feat with the start of the Season right around the corner, Warwick had gone through Seven Dials with a fine toothed comb. He’d found prostitutes, more gin bottles than he could count in a lifetime, and–of all things–a pet lion, but no sign of Artemis Bishop.

  Oh, there were plenty of people who knew who she was. It seemed his betrothed had managed to cultivate quite the reputation for herself these past three years, and he had only to mention her name to invoke either a flicker of fear or a flash of admiration.

  But no one seemed to know where she was.

  Or if they did, they weren’t telling him.

  Frustrated, Warwick spent most of a rainy Tuesday cooped up in his study, sifting through the pile of correspondence that had largely gone untouched for the better part of a week. By the time he surfaced the weather had cleared and it was well after dark. After sating his hunger with a cold slab of roasted beef pressed between two slices of bread, he excused his valet for the night, donned a hat and coat, and set off for Hyde Park.

  Norfolk Street was empty, the residents of Grosvenor Square having either gone to bed or gone off to the clubs, and Warwick strolled onto a narrow bridle path with only his own shadow for company.

  Come tomorrow morning, the neatly groomed trails would be fit to bursting with carriages, pedestrians, and reckless dandies racing on horseback; tonight, however, all was quiet and still, exactly the way he preferred it.

  The gravel lane was dark, the torchlights having long been doused and the moon hidden behind a thick wall of clouds, but Warwick had walked this way so many times that he could have safely navigated the path with his eyes closed. A short two-mile loop that circled around the edge of a large pond surrounded by trees, it was the perfect distance to get his blood pumping while simultaneously clearing his mind.

  He’d made it half way around when he saw him. The shadowed figure of a man, or at least at first glance he thought it was a man. Until closure inspection revealed that the slender figure tucked beneath the heavy folds of a black cloak was most likely a woman, and she was in a hurry.

  He considered dropping back and giving her the distance she wanted, if her quickened pace was any indication, but then he saw a long, tawny braid slip out from beneath her hood…and his eyes widened in recognition.

  Was it…?

  Could it really be…?

  “Artemis!” he shouted, and his pulse leapt when she momentarily froze…and then bolted.

  In Seven Dials he’d had a blasted time keeping up with her. The place was a maze of narrow tunnels and alleys that intertwined with no rhyme or reason. But here, on the outskirts of London’s largest park, there was no place his bride-to-be could run that he couldn’t
catch her. No place she could hide that he couldn’t find her.

  In less than ten yards his powerful stride brought him within striking distance. She was fast, he’d give her that. Damned fast.

  But he was faster.

  “Let me go!” she shrieked when he grabbed a fistful of dark cloak and yanked her backwards.

  Before she could shed the garment he grabbed her around the waist and they both fell to the hard ground in a tangle of limbs and sharp elbows.

  Hissing and clawing like a feral cat, Artemis flipped onto her back and brought her knee up in a blunt thrust that would have crippled him had he not deflected the blow at the last second by twisting to the side and taking the impact into his hipbone instead.

  “Not nice,” he growled, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while he withdrew his flintlock pistol from the inside pocket of his tailcoat with the other.

  Measuring only seven inches in length, the gun was strictly a precautionary measure. Warwick had never shot anyone before, and he didn’t plan to begin with his fiancée. But neither was he going to stand helplessly by while knives were thrown at his head.

  Straddling her with his thighs while trying not to notice how closely aligned their bodies were, he drew a deep, lung-expanding breath. “I do not want either of us to be harmed. If you can agree to behave yourself, I’ll let you get up and we can–”

  “Are you going to shoot me?” she whispered, her terrified gaze pinned to the pistol he held out to the side. “Please don’t hurt me. I promise I’ll do whatever you want. I promise!”

  Guilt twisted inside of him when her beautiful blue eyes welled with tears, making him feel for all the world as if he were a horrible beast. Which he was, of course. What sort of monster threatened a delicately-born lady with a deadly weapon? Disgusted with himself, he threw the pistol as far as he could into the bushes.

  “I would never hurt you, Artemis,” he said gruffly. “I was only trying to–buggering hell!”

  Without warning, the delicately-born lady turned her head to the side and bit him.

  His arm, to be precise.

  Right through two layers of clothing to the skin.

  Releasing a stream of curses, Warwick released her and sprang to his feet.

  Artemis did the same.

  “Were those even real tears?” he asked, glaring at her as he rubbed his arm. He wasn’t bleeding, but there was going to be one hell of a bruise there come morning.

  “What do you think?” she scoffed.

  Warwick snorted. “I think you’re a bloody she-devil who isn’t fit for civilized company.”

  Relief flickered in her gaze. “Then you finally agree we’re not fit for marriage.”

  “No.”

  She stared at him incredulously. “No?”

  His hands went to his hips as he studied his tempestuous fiancée. The furious flush of red in her cheeks. The glint of silver moonlight in her hair. The gleam of blue diamonds in her eyes. There was no doubt the woman was a hellcat. With a touch of madness to boot. But wasn’t he mad, as well, for having not already sprinted in the opposite direction?

  He’d chosen Lady Amelia because she hadn’t tempted him.

  What if he chose Artemis Bishop for the opposite reason?

  Warwick always thought a wife was something to be tolerated but largely ignored. A sacrifice required of a man who needed to live a respectable life and produce a legitimate heir. But what if…what if a wife could be more?

  More than an unwanted responsibility.

  More than a shackle around his leg.

  More than a means to an end.

  “I’d like to make a deal with you,” he said, and knew he’d struck the right chord when her lips pursed and her head tilted.

  “What sort of deal?” she asked with suspicion…and an unmistakable glimmer of interest.

  “I honor my agreements, and I’ve no plans to break our betrothal contract. But,” he said, holding up a finger when her jaw tightened, “I also do not have any desire to spend the rest of my years looking over my shoulder for fear of a knife being plunged into my back when I am least expecting it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, rolling her eyes. “There’s many more practical ways to commit murder than stabbing someone in the back.”

  Warwick wouldn’t have been surprised if most, if not all, people who were privy to such a macabre remark didn’t immediately cringe and withdraw. He didn’t know what the devil was wrong with him, but he found Artemis’s dark sense of humour only served to heighten his interest in her.

  Beauty, brains, and a warrior’s fortitude.

  Why hadn’t he seen all this before?

  Unable to help himself, he reached out and brushed a golden tendril off her cheek. She went absolutely still, like a wolf that didn’t know whether to accept the kindness of a gentle touch or snap at the hand that had offered it.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you, and I meant it.”

  Her eyes, wide and wary, met his. “No one thinks they’re hurting a finch when they keep it in a cage because it sings for them, but they are. I spent years singing whatever tune was required of me. I am not going to do it again.”

  “Is that what you think I’m trying to do? Put you in a cage?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He slowly lowered his arm. “Spend a month with me at Warwick Park. If, at the end of that time, you still want nothing to do with me, then I’ll let you go and I’ll never search for you again.”

  “Three days,” she countered.

  “Three weeks.”

  “Five days.”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Seven days and a thousand pounds when, not if, I walk away.” With a haughty toss of her head, Artemis extended her right hand. “Take it or leave it.”

  Warwick had never walked away from a challenge before, and he wasn’t about to start now. Clasping his fiancée’s small, slender fingers in a firm grip, he nodded. “You have yourself a deal, my lady.”

  She stiffened. “I am not your lady.”

  An arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not yet. Oh, and Artemis?” he said as she turned to leave.

  “What?” she snapped over her shoulder.

  “Leave the knives at home.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I don’t understand,” said Percy, her dark brow furrowed as she stood to the side and watched Artemis stuff her belongings into a battered leather valise. “What do you mean, you’ve struck a deal?”

  Tossing in a final pair of breeches, Artemis squeezed the valise shut and tucked it under her arm. It wasn’t heavy; given that she was only going to be away for seven days, she’d packed just a handful of clothes. All shirts, and pants, and two of her favorite waistcoats she’d had specifically tailored to fit over her breasts.

  She imagined the staff at Warwick Park were going to be in for a shock when she sauntered into their midst dressed like a man, but she didn’t care. The duke had brought this upon himself, and she was counting the hours to her arrival with a strange sort of delight.

  Not because she wanted to see Warwick again.

  That was ridiculous.

  She just wanted to win their bet, collect her money, and finally put this unfortunate chapter behind her once and for all.

  “It’s simple, really,” she informed Percy as she made her way downstairs to where the hackney she’d rented to take her to Warwick Park was already waiting. “I have to stay under the same roof as that man”–she didn’t want to say ‘fiancé’ out loud–“for one week, and then he’ll give me a thousand pounds and I never have to see him again.”

  “A thousand pounds?” Percy gasped. “That’s a fortune! Although for a man of Warwick’s wealth and stature, I suppose it’s only a mere pittance.”

  It may have been a pittance to the duke, but for Artemis it meant freedom. True, unencumbered freedom to do whatever she pleased and travel wherever she wanted. She wouldn’t h
ave to take jobs for Molly. She wouldn’t have to take jobs for anyone.

  If she combined the thousand pounds with the money she had already saved, she’d have enough to comfortably see herself through the next twenty years without having to lift a finger. Oh, she could still nick a painting here and there if she wanted to. But she wouldn’t have to. And that distinction made all the difference in the world.

  “Thank you for helping me when I needed it,” she told Percy. “I owe you and Lucas a favor.”

  The brunette gave a firm shake of her head. “As I said, friends don’t owe friends. And you are our friend, Art. Even though you have Calliope hiding all her knives.”

  Artemis grinned. “You know I was having a bit of fun.”

  “Yes, and so does she.” Percy paused. “I think, anyways.”

  Shifting her weight, Artemis gave her brown felt cap an absent tug. She wasn’t good at goodbyes, as evidenced by the way she’d fled from her parent’s house in the dead of the night. There was something about them that dug under her skin, like a splinter burrowing in. But after everything Percy had done for her, she owed the duchess more than a dismissive farewell.

  “Thank you,” she repeated. “I don’t know when, or if, I’ll see you again…but I…I want you to know that I am appreciative of your friendship.” When her throat tightened, she shook her head in annoyance. “I’ve never…that is to say, I’ve never felt part of anything before. That was one of the reasons I left my old life behind. I didn’t fit in there. But you and Helena and Calliope…you made room for me when you didn’t have to. You accepted me as I am. And I…I am grateful. That’s all.”

  “Dear Art,” Percy said with great fondness. “Can you not see that all of our broken parts make a whole? Without you, we wouldn’t be complete. Which is why I don’t want to hear any nonsense about ‘if’ you’ll see us again. You absolutely shall, and sooner rather than later, if you please.”

  Finding herself overcome with emotion, Artemis could only nod. “I’ll make sure to send word when I get to Warwick Park,” she said gruffly before she opened the door, admitting a sharp morning breeze that hinted of cooler days soon to come. “Goodbye, Percy.”