Or, she wouldn’t tell him, it wasn’tpreciselywhat he was thinking.
“Then what was it?”
“Mother became aware of our,erm, dalliance.”
Rake’s hands formed into fists at his sides.
Never a good sign.
“And?” he growled.
“She didn’t approve of the match.”
His eyes searched hers. “There’s more.”
“There is.”
The words hung unadorned in the air between them.
“And you’re not going to tell me.”
“I’m not.”
“What can I do to help?”
Oh, Rake.
Was there a moreRakequestion he could have asked?
“There’s nothing you can do, brother. This is between Bran and me.”
Reluctantly, Rake nodded. “In that case, I’ll offer you a piece of unsolicited advice.” Artemis braced herself.
“Don’t let Mother bully you.”
Her brow lifted. “Bullyme?”
But Rake wasn’t finished. “Your life is yours, Artemis. Everything Lord Branwell said about you tonight is true.” He hesitated, considering his next words. “Those things are not true of Mother.”
Artemis’s mouth wanted to gape open. She didn’t let it.
“Mother has her good qualities,” he continued. “She’s loyal, for example. But it’s all completely on her terms and—it must be said—ultimately in service to herself.”
Mother … a bully.
She’d never viewed Mother from that angle, but now that Rake suggested it …
No.
Mother had gone about matters imperfectly—and still did in many ways—and harbored an entrenched set of prejudices, but she always had her daughter’s welfare at heart.
“Whatever or whomever you choose, sister, I’ll support you,” said Rake. “You know that, correct?”
A lump formed in Artemis’s throat, and all she could do was nod, nearly undone as she was by a sudden flare of emotion.
Rake angled forward and gave her a parting kiss on the cheek, then was gone.
And she was left alone with her thoughts—and her past.
