Chapter Nine
Artemis glanced past the viscount’s shoulder, and her mouth dropped open. The Duke of Dartmoor stood directly behind them, his expression thunderous. The air around them crackled with tension. Even the gaslights flickered.
Gascoyne’s hand fell away as he turned to face her unexpected champion. “Dartmoor,” he snarled. “This is none of your bus—”
“I beg to differ.” The duke’s cutting, steel-laced tone brooked no argument. It resonated with absolute authority. “Miss Jones clearly wants nothing to do with you. So I’d suggest you leave. Before things become…unpleasant.”
A muscle twitched in Gascoyne’s cheek. “Go on then. Have her,” he snapped. His ire-filled gaze flicked to Artemis. “Remember, I did try to warn you about him. Don’t blame me if—”
“It’s a pity no one thought to warn me about you,my lord,” returned Artemis coldly. “But there is something I can thank you for: I’m not as gullible as I used to be.”
“Despite all evidence to the contrary,” muttered Gascoyne through his teeth. Nevertheless, he turned on his heel and marched away from Artemis and the duke.
Well…Artemis attempted to inhale a bracing breath, but her corset restricted the movement of her ribs. Her heart was racing. Galloping. Whether her agitated state was a result of encountering Lord Gascoyne again, or the fact she was standing face-to-face with the Duke of Dartmoor, she couldn’t be certain.
She flicked open her fan and fluttered it as madly as Phoebe had been doing earlier. “Your Grace,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. Indeed, her wits were so scattered by anger and now sheer relief that she was surprised she could speak at all. “I–I must thank you for your timely intervention. I am most grateful.”
The duke smiled and tilted his head. “Think nothing of it, Miss Jones.”
“Oh, but it isn’t nothing.” Artemis found herself smiling back, and some devil in her made her add, “Indeed, if you hadn’t stepped in, I would have been forced to take drastic action myself.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I would have had to whack Lord Gascoyne’s knuckles with my fan.” She snapped the silk leaves shut for emphasis.
The duke’s eyes glinted with amusement. “A knuckle whacking. How positively brutal. Remind me never to get on your bad side, Miss Jones.” He offered his arm. “May I escort you back to the ballroom?”
“I…” She smiled as she placed her gloved hand on his forearm. “Yes, of course. That would be most kind.”
The duke led her toward the stairs. “I just wanted to reassure you that I only caught the end of your exchange with Lord Gascoyne,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not one to eavesdrop. I only intervened when I heard your raised voice and noticed that he wouldn’t release your arm.”
“Lord Gascoyne…” Artemis pressed her lips together. She didn’t really want to discuss such a personal, sensitive topic with a man she barely knew. But she also felt compelled to offer an explanation for the fraught scene the duke had stumbled upon. For some reason she’d rather not examine, the man’s opinion of her mattered. “I met him during my first Season a decade ago,” she said at last. “Not long before he proposed to Evangeline Gibbs. Of course, I haven’t seen him in years. And quite frankly, I never wish to see him again. He… Suffice it to say, he is not my favorite person.”
“I understand entirely.” Apart from the flicker of a muscle in the duke’s lean jaw, his expression was unreadable. “Actually, you might have heard that Gascoyne and I also have a testy relationship.”
“I have.” They’d reached the bottom of the staircase, and the hubbub of the ballroom surged toward them. “However, I should also add that I’m not the sort of person who listens to gossip eith—” Artemis got no further because all at once, she felt decidedly odd.
She clutched the duke’s arm as black spots clouded her vision and her head spun as though she’d danced a wild mazurka.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern filling his gaze.
“I’m…I’m not sure,” she murmured. “Actually, I feel a little faint.” Her chest was tight again, and perspiration trickled down her back.
“It’s probably all these deuced gaslights.” The duke nodded toward the enormous chandelier above them. “They suck all of the air from the room. If you can manage a few more steps toward those French doors, I recommend taking a therapeutic turn about the terrace.”
Artemis hesitated, but only for a moment. Rightly or wrongly, she was inclined to believe the gossip about the Duke of Dartmoor was nothing more than a load of malicious rot. She’d seen nothing to suggest he was a dangerous, perhaps even murderous man. If anything, aside from a handful of sardonic quips on the few occasions they’d met, he’d been nothing but chivalry personified. Tonight, he’d chased off Gascoyne for her. And even though he might not approve of her reading choices, that hadn’t stopped him from helping her to collect her scattered books in the middle of the pouring rain. Not only had he saved her from falling over when they’d collided, he’d then insisted that she take the hackney.
He’d also sought out novels that would interest his daughter. Would a man who did something so thoughtful really be capable of doing away with his wife? Was he actually a cold-blooded murderer?
Artemis doubted it.
Mind made up, she acquiesced to his suggestion.
Once they stepped outside and the cool night air enveloped them, Artemis began to feel better; the dizziness faded, and she could breathe freely again. Several other couples, who only seemed to have eyes for each other, were dotted about the terrace. Nevertheless, it was a risk to linger out here with others for too long, so with Artemis’s agreement, the duke led her down a short flight of stone steps into the garden.
“We’ll find somewhere quieter for you to recover,” he said.
Away from prying eyes…The inference, although unspoken, was clear, and Artemis appreciated that the duke understood the need for discretion. They’d already created a stir on the dance floor. If they were discovered out here alone together… Artemis shivered. The consequences, for her at least, could be catastrophic. As a confirmed spinster looking for a wealthy benefactress to invest in her college,compromisedwas a word she feared above all others.