Artemis

By Jessica Cale

Actress Charlotte Halfpenny is in trouble. Pregnant, abandoned by her lover, and out of a job, Charlotte faces eviction two weeks before Christmas. When the reclusive Earl of Somerton makes her an outrageous offer, she has no choice but to accept. Could he be the man of her dreams, or is the nightmare just beginning?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094452029

Jessica Cale

Jessica Cale is a romance author, editor, and historian based in North Carolina. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in a place where no one understands his accent. She is the editor of Dirty, Sexy History and you can visit her at www.dirtysexyhistory.com.

Book preview

Prologue

1812

Apollo Rothschild sat in his box at the theater, his gaze fixed on the vision crossing the stage. It was the fifth time he’d seen Charlotte Halfpenny as Antigone, and she improved every night. Her conviction tempered with despair, she was the very picture of strength against the odds, a heroine sacrificing her own life to honor her brothers. More than once, he caught real tears sparkling in her eyes, brighter than any stars he’d had the good fortune to see.

He clung to every word she said, his heart breaking with her even as he admired her bravery. He had seen her in dozens of plays over the years, but this one was more moving, more acutely personal than the others.

After all, he knew a thing or two about honoring a dead brother.

Last of all shall I pass thither, and far most miserably of all, before the term of my life is spent. But I cherish good hope that my coming will be welcome to my father, and pleasant to thee, my mother, and welcome, brother, to thee; for, when you died, with mine own hands I washed and dressed you, and poured drink-offerings at your graves.

He felt the prickle of tears at the bridge of his nose and blinked them away. Though he had shed many tears for his family in the years they had been gone, it would not do for an earl to shed them in public, no matter how stirring the speech.

An ill-bred snicker distracted him from Charlotte’s final monologue. Irritated, he focused on the stage, entranced by the play of light and shadow on her remarkably expressive face. As she passed before a torch, the light illuminated her glorious red hair from behind like a stained glass Madonna.

"And now he leads me thus, a captive in his hands; no bridal bed, no bridal song hath been mine, no joy of marriage, no portion in the nurture of children; but thus, forlorn of friends, unhappy one, I go living to the vaults of death. And what law of Heaven have I transgressed?

Why, hapless one, should I look to the gods any more—what ally should I invoke—when by piety I have earned the name of impious? Nay, then, if these things are pleasing to the gods, when I have suffered my doom, I shall come to know my sin; but if the sin is with my judges, I could wish them no fuller measure of evil than they, on their part, mete wrongfully to me.

Amen, he whispered under his breath, drawing a gloved hand to dab a single tear.

A stirring behind him in the shared box interrupted his reverie and he was horrified on Charlotte’s behalf when his neighbors guffawed. He shot them his look of reproach that had been rumored to freeze running water.

Unperturbed, the chaps continued their conversation in lowered voices. Out on her ear. Marksby gave her a week, to hear some tell it. The future Lady Marksby’s none the wiser. He ought to put this one on a ship before she catches on and cries off.

Apollo’s spine stiffened at the mention of the profligate Baron of Marksby. It was common knowledge that Charlotte Halfpenny had been his mistress for some time. How the man had held her attention for so long was anyone’s guess. If all that was needed to engage a mistress was ready funds, Apollo would have tried to make off with Charlotte the first time he laid eyes on her in King Lear.

She won’t be here for long, unless she loses it. Talk is all well and good as long as it draws crowds, but they’ll send her on her way before she damages their reputation.

Apollo smirked to himself. The company was no stranger to scandal. Charlotte couldn’t do them any real damage short of attending court in the buff.

He sighed to himself as he pictured just that.

She’ll have to catch a new one, if she can. Won’t be long before everyone knows, one way or another.

Apollo frowned at the ominous tone to this statement, and the disturbance clung to him through the end of the play. As they stood to leave, he nodded to the gentlemen who had been gossiping. He lowered his voice. I beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help but hear your conversation. Has something happened to Miss Halfpenny?

They laughed good-naturedly and Apollo fought the urge to slap them. The younger of the two responded, She’s enceinte. He gave his eyebrows a lurid wiggle. Watch yourself, sir.

Indeed. Apollo cast a longing glance toward the empty stage. Seized with what was almost certainly a terrible idea, he collected his hat and went in search of his driver.

Chapter 1

There are two ways to look at everything. Charlotte paused for dramatic effect, curling blue fingers over the side of the bridge. All beginnings are endings in disguise. Place of arrival or means of escape; will I find my end at the bottom, or fall clear through the other side?

The wind swallowed her famous voice and carried it away, taking the last thing she had of any value. It was the ice in the air that had caused her voice to shake, she reasoned. She was far too cold to feel the fear lurking in her heart, insulated as it was by dread and resignation. It was too dark to see anything but a great growling blackness over the side, but the smell assured her she had reached the right place.

It’s only a river, she reassured herself, though the observation brought her little comfort. Ravenous beast or churning waves, it would swallow her just the same. Would it be better to drown or be devoured?

She turned to face her audience, but they paid her no mind. Not ten paces away, they shuffled their wings, dark feathers gleaming in the moonlight like polished knives as they pecked at a murky spot beyond. The play had been over perhaps an hour, and now she couldn’t even command the attention of crows.

Her laugh brought a welcome puff of warmth to her lips as she turned toward the river once again. The night was worse than cold, it was merciless, and it carried with it a dampness that seeped into her every pore, chilling her to her bones and invading her weary heart. Perhaps she would freeze before she could drown.

The bridge was as famous as she was, a dubious honor. The fastest way