lover.
How deliciously wicked it sounded.
Lucas was determined to find a way for them to marry, but Percy was content to be a mistress. It allowed her the freedom she’d never had as a duchess, and while Society was positively beside itself, her friends were thrilled for her.
And their opinion was the only one that truly mattered.
On a cool summer morning, she found herself at Lucas’s door. They were going for a ride through the park before it became too crowded, and then joining Helena and Stephen, and Calliope and Leo, for an afternoon showing at the theater.
If there was a single thing Percy had been nervous about, it was how Stephen and Leo, both lords, would welcome a thief into their midst. She needn’t have worried. Sometimes she thought they liked Lucas more than she did, and the couples had been immensely enjoying each other’s company.
It also helped that Lucas had scaled back his criminal activity. Not wanting to endanger Percy in any way, he’d officially made all of his business dealings legitimate. He still helped clients find things they’d lost, but now he wasn’t the one stealing them in the first place.
Percy was inordinately proud of him, although she liked that he had retained all of the devilish qualities that had made her fall in love with him.
He was, and forever would be, her Devil of Duncraven.
Even if he wasn’t answering the door.
Frowning, she knocked again, and when there was still no response, she let herself in.
“Hello?” she called, turning in a circle in the foyer. “Lucas? Bessie? Anyone home?”
“There ye are, sweetheart!” Emerging from the kitchen with a rag slung over her shoulder and a brilliant smile wreathing her face, Bessie wrapped Percy in a long hug before she gave her an enthusiastic push towards the stairs. “Lucas ‘as been waitin’ for ye, he has. Up with ye, then. He’s in the attic.”
“The attic?” Percy’s brow creased. “What’s he doing in the attic?”
Bessie rolled her eyes. “Go an’ find out, silly!”
Percy climbed to the third floor. She’d only been on this level once before when she’d been searching for linens, and had quickly left after choking on all the dust. It really was a lovely space, with old beams, hardwood floors, and a large captain’s window that overlooked the Thames, but it desperately needed a good cleaning.
“Lucas?” she said cautiously as she pushed open the door. “Are you in here?”
“Wait a moment,” he called back. “I’m almost done.”
“Done with what? What are you–oh, Lucas,” she gasped, covering her mouth with both hands as the door swung the rest of the way open. Tears spray to her eyes. “What have you done?”
“I thought I told you to wait,” he scolded gently as he turned to face her. “Do you like it?”
Did she like it?
“I love it.” Unable to believe her eyes, Percy slowly walked up the easel Lucas had built her. There was a blank canvas resting on the lip of it, and a bookshelf filled with every brush and chalk and paint imaginable sitting beside it.
The dust was gone. The floors gleamed. The air smelled of beeswax.
And dreams come true.
Gathering her in his arms, Lucas kissed the top of her head as she continued to stare, awestruck, at what he’d made for her.
“I hoped you would,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It is perfect. You’re perfect. All right, maybe not,” she said with a watery laugh when she glanced at him over her shoulder and saw the face he made. “I suppose devils aren’t supposed to be perfect. But you’re close. You’re very, very close.” She paused. “What gave you such an idea? I’ve never mentioned my painting before.”
“It’s what you were doing, the night I first saw you. You were so happy.” His grip tightened. “I want you to be that happy, Persephone. For the rest of your life.”
“I am.” She turned in his arms. Gazed into his eyes. “I will be.”
And she was.
Artemis couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
As a woman who relied on her instincts for survival, she knew better than to ignore the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck when they lifted straight up. Or her belly when it tightened with uneasiness. Or the gooseflesh that broke out on her arms when danger was near.
The feeling had persisted for the better part of four days. She’d tried to shake it off, but her paranoia wouldn’t leave her. Nor could she discover what–or who–was causing it.
Some might have gone underground until the perceived threat had passed, but not Artemis. Three years ago, she’d made the decision to live her life on her terms, and she wasn’t about to back down now. Not after all the sacrifices she’d made. The tears she’d cried. The blood she’d spilled.
If there was a person foolish enough to challenge her, then she welcomed the fight. Let them come. She–and her knives–were ready.
Sauntering into the Fox and Bull to begin her shift behind the bar (she’d agreed to fill in for Smithy, who was nursing a broken arm after he’d broken up a brawl between a pair of drunken sailors the night before), she left the door open in the hopes the light breeze would carry out the stench of spilled ale and piss.
Picking up a rag from behind the bar, she dunked it in a bucket of gray water and began to wipe down the tables, humming a ditty under her breath as she worked. She enjoyed these moments when it was only her, the empty tavern, and the music inside her head. Soon enough, the regulars would begin spilling in, demanding their ale and their gin, but for now, all was quiet and calm, a rare thing to be found in the midst of London’s most crowded rookery.
“We’re not open yet,” she called over her shoulder when she heard the creak of a floorboard. “I can give you a tankard to go, but if you want a seat, you’ll have to come back at noon.”
“I did not come here for a tankard.”
Artemis froze.
She knew that voice.
That deep, cultured voice.
Casually slapping the wet rag over her shoulder, she slipped a hand behind her back as she turned towards the door. Before the man standing silhouetted in front of it could blink, or even so much as speak, she whipped out one of her blades and sent it flying through the air.
It landed, with a heavy thunk, in the wood two inches from his chiseled countenance.
“You missed,” the Duke of Warwick said mildly as he stepped into the tavern.
Swallowing hard, Artemis reached for another knife. “I didn’t miss. That was a warning. Now turn on your heel, and get the hell out.”
Warwick sighed and took a step closer. “Now, now…is that any way to greet your betrothed?”
The Secret Wallflower Society
I so hope you’ve enjoyed your time with Calliope, Helena, and Percy! I know I say this about all of my characters, but they were genuinely a joy to write.
I’ll be honest, I always planned on the Secret Wallflower Society being a trilogy…and then along came Artemis Bishop! Her story is a fascinating one, and I think you’re going to fall head over heels for the Duke of Warwick (who definitely gives off Mr. Darcy vibes).
Seducing the Siren of Seven Dials will be released this fall and will be available for preorder soon!
About the Author
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine on a farm and now lives in Pennsylvania on a farm. She and her husband have been blessed with three boys, all currently under the age of four, and a menagerie of pets including a rescued twelve-year-old Jack Russell mix, draft mule, Thoroughbred, mini-donkey and five chickens.
Jillian loves to hear from her readers, and can always be reached via e-mail at [email protected]
Domestic Abuse
If you or someone you love is suffering from domestic abuse, please reach out. Just like Percy, it is not your fault, you’ve done nothing to deserve it, and you are not alone.
#1-800-799-7233
Text LOVEIS to 22522