Artemis had been correct.
He was man enough to own it.
A bath hot enough to boil a frog was what he’d needed—the weightlessness of his body, the heat pulling the pain from his leg. It had been a week since his last swim, and he’d missed being immersed in water more than he’d known.
What a force of nature she was.
When she resolved to do as she pleased, good luck trying to stop her. She was spoiled and indulged in that way, as the daughter of a duke. But then, who wouldn’t want to spoil and indulge Artemis? It was that artlessness in her—that goodness, too.
Though Bran’s body was relaxing and finding a measure of peace within itself, his mind wasn’t.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
The past—their past together—wasn’t what they’d thought it all this time.
But hadn’t he suspected as much these last weeks?
And tonight suspicion had crossed the threshold of lingering doubt into concrete fact.
She knew he hadn’t taken the £20,000—and he knew she’d never any intention of marrying Stoke.
Which left a trail of lies that led back to a source that was clear—Artemis’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Rakesley.
A beauty of no minor renown, the woman was a duchess to her core—stylish, curated, and arrogant. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
The opposite of Artemis in every way.
That had been his foremost thought when he’d first seen the duchess at Artemis’s come-out ball. Where Artemis radiated effusive warmth, the duchess held herself at an arch and unyielding angle.
Even in looks they were opposites. Artemis held a lush dark beauty that wanted to overflow. The duchess had the bearing of an ice goddess, with her blonde hair and glacial blue eyes, not an ounce of excess to be found on her entire person, except by way of silks and jewels.
It had taken Bran the split of a second to understand such a woman wouldn’t welcome him as suitor to her only daughter, though as the son of an earl, he was an eligible match. A few months later, it had come as no surprise when she’d offered him £20,000 to abandon his pursuit of Artemis.
He’d refused the money outright with no small amount of scorn. What was £20,000 without Artemis as his?
There had been more, too.
That business of Stoke believing he would wed Artemis.
Bran had little doubt the duchess had been the impetus behind that, as well.
Did Artemis suspect the duchess’s role in those events of ten years ago?
That was tricky.
Goodness resided within Artemis, all the way to her core—and she believed others contained the same well of goodness, too. Her belief in that rascal Mr. Scunt was a case in point.
But one thing further he knew.
It wasn’t his place to tell her any hard truths about her mother.
However, his primary concern lay with two other points.
What had she believed of him all these years? That he was fickle and a scoundrel. She’d made that much clear.
But a second point kept pulling at his mind and prevented him from completely giving over to the pleasure of this bath.
What did this new information mean for them going forward?
