She’d missed her opportunity.
She saw that now.
She’d missed her opportunity to tell him what she truly wanted—him … forever.
All you ever have to do is tell me what you want, Artemis … And I’ll give it to you.
Wasn’t he obliged to give her that want if she expressed it?
A reckless determination seized her. What was stopping her from having a horse saddled?
She could catch the carriage within the hour and she could speak her want and he would have to behers … forever.
It could be a terrible idea.
A gross manipulation.
Perhaps she should be ashamed for considering it.
Perhaps shewouldbe ashamed for acting upon it.
She didn’t care right now.
She was halfway across the library—her heart thundering within her chest and her feet sure with intention—when a knock sounded at the door.
Her sure feet came to a sudden stop; her heart yet thundered in her chest. It would be a servant. No one else would knock. She cleared her throat of any telling wobbles. “You may enter.”
The door opened, and in entered a footman, looking impeccably polished for a dawn errand, save the telling detail that his cravat was askew, which told of slumber hastily interrupted. “The duchess requests your presence.”
Artemis felt her brow gather. “Which one?”
Three duchesses presently resided beneath Somerton’s slate roof.
“The Duchess of Rakesley.”
“Which one?” she repeated. Two of those three duchesses were Rakesley.
“The dowager duchess.”
Artemis’s brow dug into her forehead.Mother?“What is the time?”
“Half seven, my lady.”
Alarm sped through Artemis. Mother shouldn’t be rising from bed for another four hours, at the earliest. “Is she unwell?”
Illness was the only reasonable explanation for why Mother would be awake and sending for her.
“Not that one can observe, milady.”
This exchange only grew more curious as it went on, and Artemis saw she had no choice—she must go to Mother.
A few minutes later, her hand was lifting to knock on Mother’s bedchamber door when she realized she was clad in naught but the robe she’d worn to go to Bran in the night. All she had to do was angle her head down and inhale, and she would be able to catch his scent lingering on her skin.
A sob caught in her throat, and she resolved not to inhale deeply—not until she was alone.
Her hand closed into a fist and delivered two light knocks.
A faint, “Enter,” sounded through the door.
