Sudden mortification had her whirling around and following Sir Abstrupus through corridors lined with the beautiful and the sublime, her feet picking up pace with every stride, loyal Bathsheba at her side.
Lord Branwell was correct.
It was none of her concern.
But that wasn’t what had her equilibrium so disturbed.
It was theperhapsshe’d spoken.
As if to soften the blow of her suggestion.
That man didn’t deserve her softness or concern.
He wasn’t a wounded creature under her care.
He was a complete entity unto himself, made of impermeable stone.
Hadn’t he proven himself as such ten years ago?
She would do well to remember it.
How else would she get through this supper?
The dining room was of a piece with the rest of the Roost—candelabra sporadically spaced about the room, beeswax candles providing a mysterious, shadowy atmosphere; moiré silk of the deepest plum overlaid with a silver fleur-de-lis pattern covering the walls; gargoyles perched in the four corners of the coffered ceiling, keeping watch over the proceedings with equal parts mischief and malice.
Artemis had already lowered into her seat before she realized it was only she and Sir Abstrupus, who had taken his seat at the head of the dining table in a chair that more resembled a throne.
Then she heard it—click … thud … click … thud …against distant marble tiles, growing closer with eachclick … thud.
The sound of Lord Branwell making his way toward the room.
One lighter step followed by one heavier step, the rhythm slow and relentless.
She darted a glance toward Sir Abstrupus, who sat watching her with a vague smile, uncharacteristically keeping his silence.
Click … thud.
She willed her hands not to clench, giving no outlet to the tension that coiled tighter within her with everyclickand with everythud.
Wouldn’t a servant assist him?
No.
That man didn’t want help. One only had to risk looking him in the eye to know that much.
It’s none of your concern.
A footman came to stand patiently behind the empty chair directly across from Artemis.
Of course.
With Sir Abstrupus at the head of the table to her left, of course Lord Branwell would be seated across from her for the duration of this interminable meal that hadn’t even yet begun.
Sir Abstrupus remained silent as Lord Branwell lowered into the chair, that vague smile still annoyingly spread across their host’s mouth.
Again, the question came to her—what was his game?
She’d been distracted from it, but now it returned with doubled ferocity.
