Miss Picklewood frowned.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Bathilda,” Maximus ground out. “One day more won’t taint Phoebe.”
Miss Picklewood’s lips pursed. “Very well. I expect one day won’t make any difference. Attend Harte’s Folly and then, my dear, it must be over.”
Artemis glanced at Maximus. He had his face turned, his teeth clenched so tightly she could see the muscle flex in his jaw. Their affair wouldn’t be over—he’d offered her a house—but she supposed as far as Miss Picklewood was concerned it didn’t matter as long as she was hidden away.
Artemis rose from the table, not looking at Maximus again. “You needn’t say anything more, Miss Picklewood, for you’re quite right. I can’t stay here with Phoebe. If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go begin packing.”
She walked to the door of the dining room with her head held high, but she still couldn’t help the small sob when she closed the door without anyone protesting.
IT WAS LATE when the door to the cellar opened. Apollo didn’t bother turning. He’d already been served his supper by the valet. Now he simply lay on his back, his arm thrown across his eyes and dozed.
But the footsteps that approached his bed were lighter than a man’s.
“Apollo.”
Artemis stood over him with a cloth bag in her hands.
He sat up.
“We have to hurry,” she said as she dropped the bag to the ground beside his cot. The bag clanked.
She bent and took out a mallet and a chisel. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to find these. I finally asked one of the stable boys and voila.”
She looked inordinately pleased for a woman who was risking herself for him. He scowled and wished he could swear. God damn it. Wakefield had seduced her—he knew it—and now she was going to risk the duke’s wrath. Where would that leave her if that bastard decided to throw her out?
“Well?” She set her hands on her hips. “I certainly can’t do it.”
He grabbed his notebook and wrote in it before thrusting it at her. She took the notebook, and he picked up the chisel and set it on the first link in the chain that dropped to the floor from the circlet around his ankle.
“Won’t the duke punish you?” Artemis read aloud.
He struck the chisel with a ringing clang.
Artemis lowered the notebook to look at him with exasperation. “No, of course not. You’ve been reading too many of those lurid pamphlets I used to bring you in Bedlam. I’m not even sure the stories they report are real. In any case, Maximus might be quite cross with me, but he’d hardly punish me. Really. The thought.”
He hit the chisel again before giving her a speaking glance and mouthed, pointedly, Maximus?
“I’ve already told you he’s a friend.”
He rolled his eyes. Artemis was lying to him for that bastard. He wished the duke’s skull was beneath the mallet. He struck the chisel for a third time as hard as he could. The link broke open.
“Oh, well done!” Artemis exclaimed and bent to help him work the broken link from the two still attached to the manacle around his ankle. “You’ll have to wrap that with a cloth or something so it doesn’t clink. I brought clothes.” She gestured to the bag.
He took the notebook from her and wrote, Why now?
She read his words and her face went carefully blank just before she smiled and looked back up at him. “I’ll be leaving Wakefield House soon and I wanted to make sure you were free before I go.”
Why was she leaving? What else was going on? Silently he mouthed, “Artemis.”
She pretended not to see. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
Troubled by her haste and his unanswered questions, he obeyed. He’d been given breeches and a shirt by the valet. Now he changed into the fresh clothes, which also included a waistcoat, coat, and shoes.
Everything was just a bit too small, including the shoes.
Artemis looked at him apologetically. “I got them from one of the footmen. He had the largest feet in the household.”