Maximus looked up to find that the other man had leaned near, his muddy brown eyes glittering with threat. Maximus held his gaze and began backing away.
Something changed in the other man’s eyes.
He lunged, fast for such a big man, his whole weight hitting Maximus in his middle. Maximus went down, Kilbourne on top of him, as the chain screeched across the floor. The viscount heaved himself up, his right arm pulled back, rage masking his features. Maximus thrust with his right palm while at the same time kicking out. He missed the other man’s balls but kneed him in the belly. Kilbourne’s breath whooshed out and Maximus shoved him off as hard as he could.
He scrambled back, out of the reach of the chain.
For a minute the only sound in the cellar was the panting of both men.
Maximus looked up.
Kilbourne was glaring at him, and there was no need for words or writing to know what the other man meant. For a moment Maximus wondered if this was the last thing those three men had seen that bloody night: Lord Kilbourne with a feral look of violence on his face.
He stood. “Whatever happens, be assured that I’ll take care of your sister.”
Kilbourne lunged. He was already almost at the end of his chain, so the additional movement merely brought him to his hands and knees. Still, he glared at Maximus steadily and Maximus knew that if the other man had been free, he’d be fighting for his life right now.
He turned away. He couldn’t blame the viscount. If it had been Phoebe and someone had seduced her… His hands clenched. He ought to feel guilt, he knew, but all he felt was an odd, poignant sorrow. If only things were different. If only he weren’t the Duke of Wakefield.
He straightened his shoulders. But he was the Duke of Wakefield. He’d assumed the title because of his own stupidity and cowardliness. To give up his duties, his standards, as the duke would be to let his father’s death mean nothing.
His father had died for him, and he owed him the best stewardship of the dukedom possible.
Maximus shook his head and concentrated on the matter at hand. Kilbourne claimed that Alderney had lost the pendant to him.
Obviously he needed to question Alderney.
ARTEMIS HADN’T SEEN Maximus since she’d left his bed this morning. She couldn’t help brooding on that fact even as she made her way to a table laden with tea and cakes that afternoon. Overhead the sun was brightly shining as ladies mingled and drank tea in Lady Young’s garden. Lady Young was holding a small party, presumably to show off her autumn garden—though the only flowers Artemis saw were some rather bedraggled daisies.
The sad fact was that there wasn’t much reason for her and Maximus to be together during the day. Not if they didn’t want to arouse suspicion, that is. She supposed that if she became his official mistress then he might spend more time with her during the daylight hours. Maybe. And in return she would no longer be welcome in places like this.
Well, that was depressing.
“Miss Greaves!”
The hearty voice of the Duke of Scarborough made her turn around. He strolled toward her with Penelope on his arm. “Well met, well met indeed!”
“Your Grace.” Artemis sank into a curtsy.
“Whatever are you doing here, Artemis?” Penelope looked around eagerly. “Is Wakefield here as well?”
“Ah, no.” Artemis could feel guilty heat flooding her cheeks. “It’s just Phoebe and me.”
“Oh.” Penelope pouted, seemingly unaware that the elderly duke beside her had wilted a bit.
“Er, I was about to retrieve a dish of tea for Lady Penelope,” Scarborough said. “Would you like one as well?”
Artemis made sure to smile at the man. “That’s very kind of you, but I was going to get two dishes—one for me and one for Phoebe. I’m sure you can’t carry all that—”
“But of course I can.” Scarborough puffed out his chest. “Please wait here, ladies.”
And he was off as eagerly as a knight errant.
Penelope watched him go affectionately. “He really is the most charming gentleman. It’s just too bad…”
Artemis sighed. If only Penelope would see Scarborough as a worthy suitor. He seemed perfect for her cousin in every respect save age. If Penelope turned her sights on Scarborough, then maybe she wouldn’t be nearly so hurt when the inevitable happened and Artemis’s own liaison with Wakefield came to light. Of course that wouldn’t solve Artemis’s own problem—Maximus would just find another heiress of noble birth and sane family to wed.
She was pulled from her depressing thoughts by Penelope leaning forward as if in confidence. “I can’t think what the Duke of Wakefield has been about. No one seems to have seen him since his return to London. I know he has his silly parliamentarian duties, but the man must have social rounds to make as well.” Penelope bit her lip, looking vulnerable. “Do you think he’s lost interest in me? Perhaps I ought to do something daring again. I’ve heard Lady Fells rode in a horse race last week—astride.”