herself it was for Lee’s sake. If his uncle agreed to her proposal, they would never have to be parted and Lee could have all the advantages she would never be able to provide for him otherwise. Surely his mother would have approved, even if it cost Artemis her pride?
“What changed my mind? Why, you did, sir, by explaining your plans just now, so that I could see your gaining Lee did not have to mean I must lose him. Also, much as it pains me to admit, my sister did care for your brother. I do not believe she would want me to keep their son from you.”
“If I agreed to this arrangement, would you permit the lad to bear my family name?” The severe set of Mr. Northmore’s wide mouth warned Artemis this mattered a great deal to him.
Her tongue burned with the urge to refuse his presumptuous demand. Who were the Northmores, after all? Nothing but mushrooms—so called because they sprang up fast out of the dung. Her family had been in the first rank of British society for centuries. The third Marquis of Bramber had borne the canopy over King Charles I at his coronation. His grandson, Viscount Singlecross, had helped put down Monmouth’s Rebellion. Lady Lettice Dearing had been a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne.
Nothing but the thought of Lee’s stout little arms around her neck and the sweet gurgle of his laughter could have compelled Artemis to reply, “If you insist.”
“I do.” Mr. Northmore’s harsh tone made those two words sound like a threat.
Artemis refused to be intimidated. “Though I do not understand why it matters.”
His powerful hands tightened around the arms of his chair. “It matters because my nephew is the last of our line. I am determined to rescue my family from the brink of extinction and raise it to a place of prominence, from which it will never be threatened in future.”
That proved precisely what she had suspected—the man was nothing but a power-hungry social climber. Artemis strove to keep her lip from curling.
“Prosperity is no guarantee of survival, sir. Many a noble house has died out for lack of heirs.” The Dearings might soon be among them, thanks to this man’s brother.
“They haven’t enough good red blood.” Hadrian Northmore did not bother to hide his contempt. “Whatever our other faults, my family does not shrink from breeding.”
The man had already made her blush once, when he’d kissed her hand in the manner of a true gentleman. Now he did it again with a most ungentlemanly remark. Artemis had good reason to know the Northmores did not shrink from breeding—even outside the bounds of matrimony.
“Are we agreed, then?” Artemis hurried on. “You will provide for all Lee’s material needs, while I attend to his upbringing?”
“Not so fast, if you please.” Hadrian Northmore leaned back in his chair, resting his strong, jutting chin against his raised fist. “I foresee some difficulties with this proposed arrangement of yours.”
“Such as…?”
His narrowed eyes ranged over her in a way that made Artemis squirm. “An unwed lady living on her own—wouldn’t be proper, would it? The lad already has one strike against him, being born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“I always conduct myself with the utmost propriety, sir. I resent your suggestion that I would ever do otherwise, particularly with an impressionable young child in my care.”
If it were possible for her to stray from the path of strict decorum, a man like Hadrian Northmore might tempt her. That unwelcome thought shook Artemis to the solitary, sensible core of her being.
“I am not saying you would do anything improper.” His tone implied that he did not think her capable of it. “I am only saying it might appear so. Appearances matter to the kind of people I want the boy associating with once he’s older.”
It galled Artemis to admit the truth of that. Members of the ton could get away with the most despicable wrongdoing, provided they were discreet. Yet a perfectly harmless incident could bring down the full weight of society’s censure, simply because it had the appearance of impropriety. If anyone had seen her out on the heath yesterday in Hadrian Northmore’s arms, it could have ruined her reputation. If he were a gentleman, honor would have dictated he make her an offer of marriage.
That improbable notion sent her pulse into a skittish dance, which Artemis struggled to ignore. “I am certain I could find a respectable chaperon, if you felt it was necessary. Have you any other objections?”
Mr. Northmore nodded. “Such a handsome lady is bound to attract suitors, especially if she is in control of her young ward’s fortune. Where would it leave the lad and me if you decided to marry? I will not have some man I’ve never met in a position of influence over my nephew.”
Did he expect her to be flattered that he’d called her handsome? Hard as Artemis tried to dismiss the compliment, she could not. He’d tossed it off in such a blunt, careless way, as he might have declared the sky was blue or the grass green. For the third time in less than an hour, Artemis felt the blood rise in her cheeks.
“I am nine-and-twenty years old,” she replied, as much to remind herself as to inform him. “I have long been on the shelf. Even if some other gentleman were shortsighted enough to fancy me handsome, marriage holds no attraction for me. My nephew…our nephew is the only gentleman with whom I wish to share a home. Unless…”
The maddest idea possessed her, born of desperation in the face of Hadrian Northmore’s frustrating resistance. “Unless you were prepared to marry me…entirely as a matter of convenience, of course.”
For once the man looked lost for words. Artemis congratulated herself on that small victory. She hoped the threat of having to wed her would make the alternative, of merely employing her, more attractive.
Before he could recover his voice, she rattled on with counterfeit eagerness, “Such an arrangement would answer all your objections, would it not? I would be a perfectly respectable married woman with a husband working abroad. No one would raise an eyebrow over my living arrangements. And you would not have to worry that I might marry anyone else in your absence. Since neither of us is inclined to wed in future, it would create no encumbrance.”
As she spoke, Mr. Northmore’s dazed stare tensed into a scowl of profound concentration. Or perhaps it betrayed his deep aversion to the idea of marrying her.
Given their vast differences and mutual bitterness, that was quite natural and all to the good, Artemis told herself, disregarding a foolish pang of humiliation. She did not want to marry him either, not even as a pure formality. The greater his distaste, the more anxious he would be to accept a less drastic alternative.
Hadrian Northmore sprang from his seat and began to pace in front of the hearth, one hand tucked behind his back while he rubbed his chin with the other.
“You know, that may not be as daft a scheme as it sounded at first.” His words stumbled out in a disjointed mutter, as if he were trying to persuade himself.
Good heavens! He wasn’t actually considering it, was he? For the first time in her life she’d acted on an impulse and look where it had landed her.
“You are too polite, sir.” Artemis endeavored to undo the damage. “It is a ridiculous idea. I see that now. Let us think no more of it, I beg you.”
He
