Page 69 of Charming Artemis

“Do you not want me to?” If she truly hated the name, he’d stop using it. But though it had begun as a way to irk her, he’d come to like having a pet name for her.

“Only one other person ever called me anything other than Artemis. I suppose I’m simply not used to it.” She didn’t sound upset. “Not anymore, leastwise.”

He was making progress with her hair, but there was so much of it. “Who else called you by a different name?”

“That is a very long story.”

“Well, you have a lot of hair,” he said. “We will be here for a while.”

“You won’t laugh?”

Never in his wildest imaginings would he have thought that Artemis Lancaster had any uncertainties or vulnerabilities. Yet, for the third time in short succession, she had hesitated to tell him something because she feared being laughed at. He was discovering she was not nearly as unshakably, arrogantly confident as she went to great lengths to appear.

He set down the comb and scooted around so he knelt on the bed a bit beside her and a bit in front of her. He took her face gently in his hands and held her gaze. “I’ll make you a promise right here, right now, Artemis Jonquil. I will not ever, ever laugh at you.Withyou, yes, but neveratyou.”

“Thank you.” Emotion clogged her voice. “And thank you for helping with my hair.”

“Thank you for not cutting it off.” He slipped his hand back enough to slide his fingers along one of her thick ringlets. “That would’ve been an absolute tragedy.”

Artemis blushed, something he thought he’d never see her do. She was proving full of surprises.

Charlie resumed his earlier position and took up the comb once more. It was an odd thing to feel heroic about, but he did.

“What was this other name that someone used to call you?” He resumed his work on her tangle of hair.

“Princess,” she said.

That sounded like a name given to a young girl. “How old were you?”

“I was very little.”

He’d thought as much.

“I went with my sisters to Heathbrook one day, and I was separated from them. Our village isn’t large, but I became hopelessly lost. I plopped down against the outside wall of a shop and cried. A gentleman saw me there. He asked me why I was crying, and when I explained, he promised to help me find my family.”

A kindness that warmed the heart.

“He held my hand, and together we walked up and down every little lane and peeked into the shop windows. When I grew discouraged and teary again, he sat with me and told me I didn’t need to be afraid, that he would keep me safe.”

“You were fortunate to have found him.”

“More than fortunate,” she said. “I consider it to have been a miracle. I was so lonely—not merely in that moment but always. My sisters took care of me, but I needed something more than that. I needed a parent to love me and show me that I was worthy of being loved. His kindness was my first taste of that.”

“And he called you Princess?”

“He did,” she said. “And when I asked if I could call him Papa, he wasn’t shocked or disgusted. And he didn’t laugh at me.”

“Did he live nearby, then?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I went to Heathbrook regularly after that, watching for him. I saw him four more times over the next two years. Looking back, I suspect he was passing through the area, not a resident of it.”

A realization washed over him. “He is the one who gave you your handkerchief.”

The tiniest of nods. “On that first day, when I was crying.”

“That is why you treasure it.”

There was so much more depth to her than she ever let on.

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