Chapter Eighteen
Dominic sloshed cognac into a crystal tumbler with a hand that was none too steady. “Would you like a brandy too?” he called over his shoulder to Artemis. Like a cat, she’d quite unrepentantly claimed the best spot before the library fire—his favorite leather wingback chair—and he knew he wasn’t going to get it back. Strangely, he didn’t mind. “Or there’s sherry,” he added. “I know it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon, but given the circumstances, I do think a drink is in order.”
“Sherry, thank you. And I agree, drinking something alcoholic is very appropriate. Tea certainly won’t do the trick.”
Dominic repaired to the fireside with their drinks and then slumped into the matching chair beside hers. “You did the right thing, sending word to me straightaway,” he said after he’d taken two sizable slugs of his cognac.
Artemis winced. “Morton said you were in some sort of board of directors meeting.”
“Yes, but nothing is more important than my daughter and her safety. If you and Miss Sharp hadn’t discovered what Celeste was planning…” Dominic dragged a hand across his mouth and shook his head. “Christ, I can’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if she’d run off with that boy.”
Guilt sliced deep, straight to the bone as he drained his glass and then discarded it. “It’s all my fault,” he said, his voice ragged and raw. “She’s lonely because of me. Because of what happened to her mother. Because I couldn’t stop…” His hands clenched into fists on his thighs. Artemis didn’t need to witness his verbal self-flagellation. Besides, he didn’t wish to revisit his far-too-painful past right now. “If my reputation wasn’t so stained with mud, Celeste would have friends. She wouldn’t be seeking affection from an entirely unsuitable, virtually penniless boy.”
Artemis reached out and touched his arm. “I can see you have both suffered, and continue to suffer, immensely. And I will continue to do what I can to help. How was Celeste when you left her?”
After Dominic had confronted Celeste about her plans to elope with the dance master’s nephew, she’d erupted into a violent storm of tears and had fled to her rooms. “Inconsolable,” he said grimly. “Especially after I declared that she would have to return to Ashburn Abbey because she couldn’t be trusted not to ruin herself. I did learn that Yvette, her maid, is the one who’s been passing notes between Celeste and Moretti, so she’s in tears too. Miss Sharp made Celeste a sleeping draught to try and calm her down, but she tossed it across the bedroom.”
“Ah, that was the crash I heard,” said Artemis.
Dominic grimaced. “I suppose she’ll eventually cry herself to sleep.”
“I would offer to go and see her, but I imagine a visit from her stepmother-to-be wouldn’t be well received. Besides, I’m not very good at dodging flying objects. Unless you have a shield or a medieval helmet I could borrow. Perchance, there is a suit of armor lingering in a shadowed corner of Dartmoor House?”
“I wish I did becauseImight very well need it.” Dominic sighed heavily. “But, honestly, you’ve done more than enough already in such a short time. I’m nothing but impressed and grateful, even if my daughter isn’t.”
“I’m happy I could help.”
The library’s longcase clock marked the quarter hour and Dominic contemplated replenishing his cognac. But he had much to do before he quit London—there was no way in Hades that he was going to send Celeste back to Ashburn on her own—and he needed a clear head. It didn’t help that an insistent pounding had begun in the vicinity of his left temple and alcohol would surely make it worse.
He rubbed his forehead and Artemis frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
“It’s only a headache,” he said. “I’ll live.”
Artemis rose and moved behind his chair. “Nonsense,” she murmured. “Let me help.” Her cool fingertips touched his temples, massaging gently, applying just the right amount of pressure, and almost immediately the tension in his muscles started to ebb away.
He closed his eyes and groaned. “Good God. Where did you learn to do that? You have precisely one hour to stop.”
She laughed softly and transferred her attentions to his scalp, her talented fingers kneading and stroking. “I suspect you’ll be asleep within ten minutes. Perhaps five.”
Dominic didn’t doubt it. The woman’s touch was magical. He let his head drop against the back of the chair and allowed himself to revel in the luxurious feeling of being taken care of. It seemed like forever since he’d been indulged like this. Most of the mistresses he’d engaged in the past—professional courtesans—were all business and he’d never been one to linger long in their company. Those relationships had been purely transactional and carnal. He’d never been interested in cultivating any sort of intimacy. His battered heart, his scarred soul, wouldn’t allow him to.
But this…with Artemis. It was different.
Oh God, he was in a bad, bad way. The fortified walls he’d built around his heart after Juliet had died were in danger of being breached, of even crumbling completely, yet he could do nothing butwallow.
If he didn’t stop Artemis’s ministrations very soon, hewouldfall asleep.
Or worse…fall in love.
He caught one of her hands. “Come here,” he said gruffly and pulled her across his lap. She came willingly, settling into his chest as though she belonged there.
He rested his forehead against her temple, inhaling her delicious fragrance—roses and vanilla, and something else that was entirely Artemis. “You smell good,” he murmured against her ear.
She chuckled softly. “So do you.”
He raised his head and captured her jaw. “Come with me. To Dartmoor. Let me show you Ashburn Abbey. It will only be for a week. I’m sure your family and friends can spare you.”
Her mouth curved in a smile and mischief danced in her dark eyes. “You’re more determined than me to create a scandal.”