Chapter Nineteen
Beneath a lowering, leaden sky, the train from London to Newton raced through verdant fields and scattered stands of trees. It was certain to rain.
Indeed, the atmosphere of gloom seemed to penetrate the Duke of Dartmoor’s private rail carriage where everything was veiled in a dull, gray light. The car had been divided into two distinct sections; the large front compartment was furnished with several luxurious settees and an elegant mahogany dining setting. The aftward compartment had been fashioned into a private study, complete with an ornate desk, a set of cabinets, and a cozy arrangement of leather armchairs and a sofa.
Even before they’d departed Paddington Station, Dominic had sequestered himself in his study to work on a particular pressing business matter while Lady Northam, Lady Celeste, Miss Sharp, and Artemis had occupied the front compartment. Well, Lady Celeste had taken over one entire corner of the carriage; she was lounging upon one of the settees, staring out of the window, watching the passing countryside in sullen silence. Beside her on a low table sat an untouched plate of sandwiches and petit fours and an unopened book—part one of Dickens’sNicholas Nickleby.
Artemis had never been an admirer of Charles Dickens’s work. The way he sentimentalized many of his central female characters, making them as pure as the driven snow, annoyed her no end. She’d rather read about a plain yet intelligent and resilient governess or flawed and passionate Cathy Earnshaw any day than perfectly sweet and noble Kate Nickleby or impossibly selfless Amy Dorrit.
Aware that several hours had ticked by and Lady Celeste had refused to have anything to do with her—well, other than utter a stiff greeting that had been prompted by Dominic when Artemis boarded the train—Artemis decided she had to dosomethingto bridge the yawning gap dividing her and the duke’s daughter. She’d been chatting pleasantly with the affable Lady Northam for most of the journey—who’d insisted Artemis call her Horatia within the first five minutes of Artemis entering her carriage—but the countess had since nodded off to sleep on the opposite settee. And Miss Sharp appeared to be entirely engrossed in her own novel—another tale by Dickens,Bleak House.
Artemis carefully pulled her careworn carpetbag from the overhead luggage rack, then removed two of her favorite novels—Jane EyreandWuthering Heights. And then she placed them on the table beside Lady Celeste. The girl turned her head and glanced at the covers. “I have a book,” she said, her manner dismissive.
“I know. But I thought you might find these titles a little more diverting.” Artemis offered her a gentle smile. “I don’t know about you, but I always find Dickens to be far too dogged in his sermonizing. I don’t disagree with some of his social commentary on the Church, evangelism, and charitable concerns, but I’d much rather read a sweeping love story any day.”
And then Artemis moved on to Dominic’s study. She’d had enough of being ignored by her fiancé. Appearances be damned. She wanted his company and a kiss.
She found him not at his desk but sprawled upon the dark-brown leather sofa. Even though it wasn’t even midday, his long fingers were wrapped tightly about a crystal tumbler that contained a deep amber-hued liquor. His head was tipped back, his eyes closed, but when the door shut behind her, he looked up.
And Artemis had to suppress a gasp. His expression was nothing but haggard. Indeed, she’d never seen him look so exhausted and rumpled. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and eyes, and there were bruise-like shadows of fatigue beneath the dark sweep of his lower lashes. Even though he regarded her through half-mast lids, his mouth quickly kicked into a smile.
“Artemis,” he murmured. “I was just thinking about you.”
“I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” she said, still hovering uncertainly by the door. He’d discarded his jacket, waistcoat, and necktie—they lay in a crumpled pile on another chair—and was only dressed in his shirtsleeves, braces, trousers, and bespoke leather shoes. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his strong forearms, and the way his shirt gaped open at the neck, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh and a scattering of dark hair in the gap between the undone buttons… Artemis’s pulse leapt but then she berated herself for blatantly ogling him.
“Not at all. I needed a break.” He scrubbed a hand through his already disheveled hair, then patted the spot beside him in invitation. “Come here. You’re too far away.”
She immediately joined him. “Did you get any sleep last night?” she asked softly, smoothing a stray lock of his silky black hair away from his forehead.
“Mmm, maybe an hour or two.”
“You work too hard, Your Grace,” she gently admonished.
“I won’t disagree.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Can I get you anything?” He raised his glass. “A drink? I know it’s probably too early for brandy, but I seem to have lost all track of time.”
“I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” she said with a smile. “If you can spare one.”
“I think I can spare more than one,” he returned, his voice soft and low. From between slitted lids, his dark-gray eyes gleamed with a carnal light.
He placed his drink on a nearby table, then turned his body to face her. Leaning in close, he cupped her jaw and his thumb brushed across her lower lip. “Dear God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her mouth, teasing her with the promise of what was to come. “Do you know how much I want you?”
“Why don’t you show me?” she whispered.
“With pleasure.” His kiss was gentle yet possessive, and Artemis immediately yielded to him, opening beneath his lips on a soft sigh, reveling in the strokes of his hot, slick tongue. He tasted of the sweet but fiery brandy he’d been drinking, and very soon Artemis’s head was spinning as though she were intoxicated. Drunk with desire.
Her hands rested against the hard, unyielding wall of his chest, and her fingers flexed against the linen; she wanted to explore the smooth, hot flesh beneath, to trace the crisp whorls of hair. If she could rip this shirt from his body, she would. But now was not the time and place for anything else. Not when there were others—Dominic’s daughter and sister and a governess—just beyond an unlocked door.
Perhaps Dominic had the same thought because all too soon, he broke the kiss and drew back. “That was just what I needed,” he said with a languid smile. “Thank you. And I’m so glad you decided to come. Not just for Celeste’s sake, but for mine. Ashburn Abbey…” He sighed and his fingers absently toyed with a lock of her hair that had come loose. “It holds such bittersweet memories for me. While part of me dreads returning, another part longs to be home.”
“I can’t even begin to fathom what you and your daughter have been through,” Artemis said. “It can’t be easy returning to the place where you lost your wife. The first time I met Celeste, she told me that you and Juliet loved each other very much.”
His smile was small, almost broken. “We did. That being said, it wasn’t the easiest of marriages. Juliet…” His voice trailed off. “Juliet was unwell at times, and despite the best of care…” He grimaced and reached for his drink. “I’m sorry; I’m sure you have questions about my first wife. I don’t mean to be evasive. It’s just that it’s difficult to talk about.”
Artemis’s heart clenched. Of course shewascurious about Juliet and what had happened to her, but she didn’t want to pry. Aloud she said, “If it helps you to talk about it, I will listen. And gladly. But if it causes you too much pain, I understand that too.”
He nodded. “Thank you. If I seem a little withdrawn and morose at times when I’m at Ashburn, you’ll know why. I’ve never been one to share how I feel about things, and in recent years I haven’t found anyone to—” His voice cracked, and perhaps to hide his emotion, he tossed back the remainder of his brandy in one large swallow. He dragged his hand across his mouth as he stared at the empty glass before carefully and deliberately putting it aside. “I will admit that I sometimes tend to reach for the demon drink to drown my sorrows. But more often than not, I throw myself into work to avoid dealing with anything that’s difficult or painful.” His mouth twisted, and Artemis wasn’t certain if his expression was a grimace or a smile. “There you have it. I’m not a particularly easy man.”
“I see a man who is not only hardworking and dedicated to his Queen and country, but a wonderful, caring father. But I do understand what you are saying. I’m not a particularly easy woman. I’m headstrong and far too brazen, and because of that, I have a tendency to rub others the wrong way.”