“I’ll help you. I don’t know anywhere near as many people in Society as you do, but between Philip and Crispin and Marion, there’s likely not a member of thetonwe can’t track down.”
Her arms wrapped around him as well. “I couldn’t bear for everyone to know about him. I’ll sound so pathetic. And he might be ridiculed for his kindness. I don’t want him to... to resent me the way you—” She stopped abruptly, but he knew what she’d been about to say.
He slipped his hand under her chin and gently raised her face to look at him. “I don’t resent you, Artie, though I understand your worry. I have the same one at times.”
“I don’t resent you,” she said. “I do wish this situation hadn’t been forced on us, but I don’t think we’re as miserable as we were at first.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, the touch setting his pulse pounding a bit. “I don’t think we could rightly even use the wordmiserable. We’re finding our way.”
“I’m glad.” Her voice emerged as little more than a whisper.
Charlie reminded himself to breathe, something his lungs had suddenly decided was optional. But looking into her emerald gaze, he found obeying those self-directed orders was difficult. So he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. The scent she always wore filled the slight space between them.
“I never have been able to sort your perfume,” he whispered. “I’ve tried.”
“It’s made from walnut blossoms.”
“Walnut.” He wouldn’t have guessed. “Wasn’t walnut one of your namesake’s symbols?”
Her hand moved to rest against his chest. “Most people don’t remember that about Artemis of old.”
He leaned closer. “I am not ‘most people.’”
Her fingertips tentatively touched his jaw. “No, you’re not.”
Her breath danced across his lips, an invitation he found himself unequal to ignoring. He brushed his lips over hers, a tentative touch, an unspoken question. She answered with a whisper of a kiss as well.
Bell-like chimes broke the moment.
“The clock.” Artemis pulled back. “The ladies will be leaving for the vicarage.” Her belabored breathing broke the words up a little.
He opened his eyes, trying to shake off the spell that had been woven around them. Her cheeks were as flushed as he suspected his were. She watched him, confusion and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a little longing in her gaze.
“They’ll think poorly of me if I don’t join them,” she said.
Unable to summon actual words yet, he simply nodded.
She slid off the bed but didn’t look away from him. “Thank you for fixing my hair.”
Again, he could manage only a nod.
“Charlie, I—” Her eyes lowered a moment. “I really am not miserable.”
“Neither am I,” he said quietly.
She looked at him once more, sincere pleasure spreading slowly across her breathtakingly beautiful face. Quick as anything, she spun about, snatched her bonnet from the wardrobe, and left the room with eager enthusiasm and that same lightness and authenticity he’d seen in her the day she’d first made the acquaintance of Mr. Digby Layton, authentic and open and sincere.
Watching her go, he realized that while he wasn’t entirely certain what to do with the feigned version of her she often put forward, the real Artemis Jonquil had, in short glimpses and encounters, stolen his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlie knocked at the doorof Philip’s bedchamber after the Jonquil ladies had left for the vicarage. Nothing short of his newly discovered affection for his unexpected wife could have pushed him to contemplate the course of action he was now undertaking.
Wilson opened the door, which was a spot of luck since Charlie’s request would involve the renowned valet.
“Is Philip in?” Charlie asked.
Wilson motioned Charlie inside. Philip was indeed there, as was Mr. Digby Layton. The three men present constituted quite possibly the most fashionable and dandified trio to ever grace Society. Oddly enough, that was precisely what Charlie needed.
