Trials of Artemis Read online

  Miss Walters laughed her full throaty laugh again. "Undoubtedly. Only an eccentric spinster can hope to sail through the park in a high flier of her own. What would an earl do with such a wife?"

  Gideon shook his head. "What indeed?"

  Her expression changed, becoming once more the prim and serious young woman he was used to seeing. "I was wondering, " she said, "how many properties you have?"

  Gideon's eyes narrowed and he felt his jaw clench. At last, his wealth was appealing to her regardless of what else she might say. "Quite a few," he said tersely.

  "Can't you be more specific? That's rather careless of you. How would you know if a solicitor or steward was siphoning funds off of one of your properties for their own purposes?"

  “Be careful where you tread, madam. You border on insulting me.”

  “Indeed I thought that I outright insulted you. But how else to pry the pearl from the oyster? It rarely yields to sweet whispers.”

  Glancing at her again he saw that she had an eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smile on her lips. Vexing wench.

  “Are you suggesting that I have been withholding of information?”

  “You certainly haven’t been forthcoming.”

  “In my defense I don’t remember any sweet whispers either.”

  “Touché. But certainly you expect me to be at least curious.”

  "You want an accounting then? Very well. There are fourteen properties in all. Two townhouses in London, I currently reside in one and lease the other. I also have townhouses in Bath and York. The primary manor attached to the earldom is Kellington Hall in Kent. The remaining properties are in Cornwall, Staffordshire, Cumberland, Wales, Scotland and Italy."

  "You have a property in Italy?"

  Gideon looked over to see that the cheeky chit was scribbling it all down in a tiny journal that she must have pulled from her reticule. "Yes, I have an estate in Italy. Would you like an inventory of the furnishings?"

  "Do you know that?"

  "No, I'm not going to give you a bloody inventory of the furnishings. Why are you writing all this down?"

  "I'm working on a project."

  "What project could you possibly have that requires an accounting of my properties?"

  She gave him a mischievous smile. "Since I must break our engagement I thought to find you a proper wife."

  Gideon nearly drove the curricle off the road. "You mean to find me a what?" he asked, his voice rising in surprise and, if he was honest, horror.

  "A proper wife. It's actually harder than it looks."

  "I don't want a wife!"

  Miss Walters clucked her tongue and looked down at her journal. "It's becoming ever clearer that you desperately need one. How much family do you have?"

  "What?"

  "Family. Sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins. A mother you might be hiding somewhere."

  "My mother has passed on, thank you very much. And I don't have any siblings."

  "I should have guessed that."

  "You intrusive little beast."

  "Yes, you're clearly an only child."

  Gideon hauled back on the reins, pulling the conveyance to a sudden and somewhat unpleasant stop. "Let me assure you that you can stop working on this project you've thought to assign to yourself," he hissed, trying to keep their conversation private from the young tiger riding behind the curricle. “If I’m not to marry you, an outcome I assure you that I wish to avoid more with each passing minute, then I am certainly not going to marry some horrid creature from the Marriage Mart no matter how many of them you dream up as possibilities!”

  "Well," she said with a resigned sigh. "It's obviously very necessary. You have cousins then?"

  Her impassive response to his ire only served to make him more agitated. "Of course I have cousins!"

  "Any that you're close to?"

  "I have a more than passing acquaintance with one or two. You are the most pigheaded person of my acquaintance."

  Her only response to his insult was to raise a brow at him. "You're going to be quite a trial for some poor woman. It will take her two years just to divine whom to invite to Christmas."

  "There's no point in inviting anyone for Christmas and I don't want you to find me a wife!"

  She patted his arm in a way that was more patronizing than consoling. "You're turning red, Giddy. That can't be good for you."

  "Stop calling me Giddy!"

  "Did you know that you're easier to rile than a bear? I have my own reasons for calling you Giddy and they have nothing to do with irritating you."

  "Fine, then, what are they?"

  She smiled, enjoying his irritation. "Perhaps some day I shall tell you."

  "If we both live to see that day."

  “Perhaps we should move on before we gather too much more notice on this path?”

  Gideon took a moment to look around and realized that there were others about during this somewhat fashionable hour. No one had stopped to stare outright that he could see, but surely the earl and his fiancée having what could be politely referred to as a tiff on a public avenue was going to be whispered ear to ear this evening. Taking up the reins again he set the horse off at a smart pace.

  Her voice rose over the sound of the wheels to ask, "And then that would be which cousins you are on speaking terms with?"

  For the next quarter hour Miss Walters pestered him with more questions than any journalist he had ever come across during his time in politics. She wanted to know about his family, his duties in Parliament, the status of his various homes. To his relief she tucked away her journal when they finally arrived at the park and he was now willing to race anyone if it would make her to hold her tongue. She was an intrusive, irritating busybody and he hoped that she would tire of this supposed project. The only thing worse than marrying Miss Walters herself would be to cope with the endless procession of candidates she was likely to parade in front of him. He would reject them all outright. He didn't want to marry. He wouldn't marry unless he had to. He would grant Miss Walters she was innocent in this whole debacle. While he had been planning a rendezvous with the luscious Lady Spencer, she had been planning to read Thucydides... in the original Greek. She didn't want to marry any more than he did. Perhaps that would be the way to stop her infernal project. Perhaps he should suggest that he find the perfect husband for her! Although who that perfect husband would be he couldn't begin to fathom. Someone with a good deal of patience, he would wager. Enough to weather her stubborn streak and her busybody tendencies. And someone kind. He couldn't say why, but as he studied her profile he thought she would bloom under the influence of a kind man. In fact someone like Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin. The idea had merit, really. She could make a splendid duchess, if a bit lowborn for the role. Quince had his faults but he was infinitely kind and patient. Perhaps he wouldn't tell her that he knew the perfect man for her but would just get them together and let nature take its course. Now that he had a mission of his own it was much easier to ignore how irritating her little project was going to be until she let the idea go.

  Chapter Six

  Although he didn't race at quite the speeds she had hoped for, the outing had been a refreshing change to her usual London entertainments. Jack braced her hands on Harrington's shoulders again as he hoisted her out of the curricle. His hands at her waist were warm and firm, even through his gloves and her layers of muslin. She thought that his fingers lingered a bit longer on her ribcage than was absolutely necessary and, come to think of it, she still had her hands resting lightly on his arms. The moment seemed to stretch between them, his dark blue eyes gazing down unblinking into her own. Finally he seemed to come back to himself, clearing his throat and stepping back. He bowed over her hand. "Miss Walters."

  "Jacqueline," she replied. "Or Jack if you prefer."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Since you say this isn't-"

  "A real engagement, I know. But I think we could be friendly at least. And others will expect us to indicate so
me level of... intimacy."

  His hand tightened very briefly on her own, then he released her and stepped back. "Then until we meet again, Jacqueline."

  Jack found herself unreasonably disappointed that he chose to use the more formal version of her name even though it made sense that he would do so. She nodded. "The Yancey ball then?"

  "Indeed. I shall see you on Friday."

  Jack made her way slowly up the steps to her front door, her energy substantially less than it had been before the carriage ride. Once inside, she watched Harrington set off down the street in his curricle. She wasn't sure quite what made her feel dispirited but decided to divert herself with the project of finding him a wife. She pulled the small journal from her reticule and drifted upstairs, flipping through the pages.

  Gideon had been brusque and churlish for the last two days, although he wasn't sure why. He was fairly certain that if he didn't finish dressing soon that his valet would bolt in fear and the man was normally unflappable. He had half-expected Quince to put in an appearance again, but perhaps the duke felt Gideon had finally got on with things and didn't require any more nudging. Hopefully he could count on the duke to make an appearance at tonight's ball, however, so that he could put Miss Walters in his path. That was most likely why he had been surly the last two days, impatience on getting the two of them together. The sooner Quince realized Miss Walters was a perfect duchess for him the sooner that Gideon could slip off the marriage noose himself.

  It was too bad, really, that he couldn't involve Miss Walters in his scheme to marry her off as she was the type to throw herself into projects with enthusiasm. Honestly, he wasn't sure that anyone else knew as much about him as she now did. He frowned into the mirror and watched his valet uneasily shift back a few steps. Gideon sighed. Had his black moods really been so dire? Black moods had certainly been plaguing him much more often since the beginning of the Walters problem. Not one to torment his employees he schooled his expression into a more benign mask before he turned his mind back to what was bothering him. Certainly he must have someone close to him who knew him as well or better? But he couldn't think of anyone. His servants were probably the closest, having known him from the crib. Some were an encyclopedia of his family relations and knew more about his family than he did himself. His school chums, like Quince, didn't know much about his family and perhaps even less about his properties, other than the ones he used for entertaining. Upon reflection he found it oddly disturbing that his nearest and dearest began and ended with family retainers. One overly inquisitive accidental fiancée was making him think about things he hadn't before, and was fairly certain he’d never wanted to. With one final look at his cravat and a nod to his beleaguered valet, he set off for the Yancey ball. On time, of course. He was quite done with having to apologize to Miss Walters.

  He was here already. Jack wasn't quite sure how she knew as she entered the large townhouse and queued up for the receiving line, but she could feel it like an electric current below her skin. He was here but she couldn't see him yet with her limited view of the ballroom. The front hall was crowded and hot, a welcome change from the frosty night outside. She fanned herself and surreptitiously looked around, both to take in her surroundings and to search for the earl.

  The Yancey townhouse was quite grand, easily ten times the size of the Walters’ more modest townhome, and had been recently redone in the Egyptian style. Jack thought that all the black lacquer and gold must get tiresome after a time. She was partial to the classic, settled look of their own home. Some of their rugs were threadbare in places but each one had family history, starting with the ancestor who had brought it back personally from Turkey or India. She sincerely doubted that these pieces had been brought back from the desert by one of the Yanceys. After making her curtseys to Lord and Lady Yancey she was free to venture onto the ballroom floor. She still hadn't seen Harrington but nearly walked into his friend, the duke, in her distraction.

  "Good evening, Miss Walters," he said, bowing over her hand.

  She blushed and curtsied. "My apologies, your grace."

  "Were you perhaps looking for someone?"

  "I was... that is..."

  He smiled at her flustered response. "Am I early enough to hope to have a dance with you?"

  Jack nearly strangled herself in the effort it took to not laugh in his face. She lifted her wrist to offer her completely blank dance card.

  "I have intercepted you upon arrival, I see. Perhaps the second waltz?"

  "I would be beyond pleased, your grace."

  The duke managed a self-deprecating smile as he scribbled his name on her dance card. "Don't be too pleased. I've chosen a waltz since I think the two of us should talk."

  "Oh... I..."

  "And here is the man of the hour now. How are you, Giddy?"

  The earl bowed to the duke, then over Jack's hand. "I'm passable Quince. I see you have already asked our lovely Miss Walters for a dance."

  "Indeed. I predict you should claim yours before she is overtaken by dance partners."

  Jack couldn't help the amused smile. "Yes, I can see they will be shoving you out of the way soon."

  Harrington took up the pencil and dance card. "The second waltz Quince?"

  "Yes, I thought the lady would want to save the first one for you."

  "Yes," he said, meeting Jack's eyes for the first time. "She usually does that."

  Jack felt herself blushing again. She wasn't used to being fussed over like a tasty treat lain out between two dogs. They weren't fighting over her precisely, but they were circling and more interested than she was used to. She didn't think that the duke was interested in her per se, but more likely investigating what she meant for Harrington. As for the earl, she felt he constantly sent out mixed signals. Denying any interest in marriage, especially with nagging bluestockings, then giving her looks that reminded her of his hands moving over her. Perhaps he was just a thoroughgoing rogue and couldn't help himself from looking at any woman as though she were a flavored ice on a hot summer day. She longed for a library and some Greek or Latin texts to interpret. Something quiet and sane and removed from this world of emotions and unknown motivations.

  A new voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Walters, if I could beg you for the pleasure of a dance?" She found herself looking at a major, resplendent in his regimentals. He had sandy hair and warm brown eyes.

  "Of course," she heard herself responding.

  After sending her and Harrington a self-satisfied smile, the duke strolled off towards the card room. Shortly thereafter Jack did find herself deluged with men requesting a dance. Harrington stayed nearby, looking grimmer and grimmer as her throng of suitors increased. She lost count of how many glasses of wine he had taken from passing footmen and wondered how he still looked sober as a preacher. The orchestra was beginning the song for the first dance and her partner, the major, appeared to lead her out on the dance floor for a country reel. Looking back she could see that Gideon had an oddly flat and sullen expression but she soon lost sight of him in the swirl of dancers.

  Gideon had a mind to find Quince and tell him to go to hell. At first delighted to see that the duke had, of his own volition, shown some attention to Miss Walters, that delight turned sour as he realized Quince had known that his own attention to the girl would guarantee her a list of suitors for the evening. Gideon didn't want just anyone stealing Miss Walters from him. It needed to be someone who deserved her and would treat her as she deserved to be treated. And by that he meant kindly and with consideration, not with the abuse he sometimes thought of heaping on her for her stubborn ways. He didn't have time to vet every baron, military man, and younger son that was dangling over her hand this evening. What if this continued? What if some sot with a pretty face and smooth manners swayed her on a night when he wasn't in attendance? What then? That was just the sort of man that couldn't be trusted. Someone too smooth on the surface, while beneath they were a roiling mass of entitlement and rage. He didn't l
ike the idea of having to face down some idiot to save Miss Walters from herself. Even if she weren't his fiancée he could hardly let her be taken in by a man like that, and he knew much better than she how common those men were in Society.

  He stared down into his glass and wondered how many of them he had polished off while waiting for the first waltz to begin. His stomach had soured from the wine and the errant path of his thoughts. It wasn't unreasonable, he didn't think, to want Miss Walters to at least make a practical choice in husband. If she didn't think she wanted to be married at all, then certainly it shouldn't be too hard to keep her away from the reprobates that would sniff around her skirts. He heard the final strains of the dance immediately preceding the waltz and struck out across the ballroom to claim her hand from the obnoxious fop who was still bowing over it.

  Chapter Seven

  When Harrington arrived to claim the first waltz Jack was fairly certain she heard him growl at the man who had just led her through an English country-dance. She raised a brow but he merely swept her up into the steps of the waltz as soon as the music started.

  "Yes my evening has been splendid, thank you for asking," Jack said tartly.

  Harrington looked down at her, furrowing his brow. "What?"

  "You're being beastly but I will ignore it for now and pretend that you are the picture of grace."

  "Count on you to call me beastly when I haven't said anything yet."

  "Your face speaks volumes."

  "Why should I enjoy having my fiancée spinning around the floor with every Tom, Dick and Harry of London?"

  "I wondered how much wine you drank and I see the answer is quite a bit."

  "That doesn't negate the fact that you've been hanging on the arms of a good number of men this evening. Some of dubious character, no doubt."

  "You mean like now?"

  "Don't try to distract me with your wicked tongue."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. I’m sure you realize, of course, that you could have reserved at least a second dance for yourself without causing gossip.”