Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 2)

by Adele Clee

  When the gentleman touched her arm, Grace almost stumbled in her haste to step back. Jealousy flared, coupled with an overwhelming need to protect her. Elliot clenched his jaw in a bid to prevent his teeth from extending as he strode towards them, feeling a sudden urgency to intervene.

  Chapter 8

  "I still can't quite put my finger on it," Mr. Hamilton said tapping the aforementioned finger to his lips as his gaze lingered on her mole. His voice held a rich, seductive quality as though his words were not in accordance with the lascivious nature of his thoughts. "Is it the way you've styled your hair, I wonder? Or is it the air of innocence you're trying so hard to convey? There is definitely something different about you."

  Thank goodness the gentleman had had a fair few drinks.

  "You do not appear shocked to see me," Grace said, trying her best to use her sister's flirtatious tone. Although she lacked the teasing sway of the shoulders and the alluring pout that came naturally to Caroline.

  "I'm shocked you approached me that is all. I thought we were done with." He continued to peruse her from head to toe, his eyes gleaming as though they had the power to see through numerous layers of clothing. "But alas, you know I cannot fund the lifestyle you require. Not when I would rather spend my funds at the tables."

  "And so you choose gambling over love, sir."

  Her response seemed to puzzle him, and he narrowed his gaze.

  With a gloved hand, he touched the tips of his fingers to her upper arm and despite her shuffling back he did not break contact. "I think we both know love played no part in our … vigorous activities. I'm not saying no. I'm just saying I can't pay."

  Bile bubbled away in her stomach as she struggled to hide a look of contempt. What on earth had Caroline seen in this wretch of a man? She wanted to tell him she would sooner lie down with a leper. But to do so would be to imply money was the overriding factor in all of Caroline's liaisons and she could not bring herself to admit to something so dreadful.

  "You will have to give me t-time to consider all you've said." Nerves pushed to the fore as she tried to extricate herself from this awkward situation, which was all of her own making.

  "What is there to think about?"

  Grace took a step back, causing his fingers to fall from her arm. "I … I made a mistake. I thought … I thought …"

  "You thought what?" he said arrogantly. "You thought that I would fall at your feet like the rest of them. I told you. You're not worth a guinea."

  Grace choked back a sob as she struggled to maintain her composure. In her head, she imagined punching him on the nose. She imagined him crumpling to the floor, his starched cravat dripping with blood.

  When she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out.

  She felt a hand at the small of her back and turned to see Lord Markham's handsome face. Relief caused her shoulders to sag. As he studied her, she saw the muscle in his jaw twitch, saw anger flare in his vibrant green eyes, noticed the odd fleck of black.

  "Miss Rosemond. I believe ours is the next dance."

  Mr. Hamilton snorted. "Have you got a guinea to hand? I'm sure the lady has change."

  The air about them whirled with a wild, volatile tension; she knew Lord Markham was ready to release the devil's own fury.

  "Don't," she whispered placing her hand lightly on his arm. "It's not worth it. He's not worth it."

  Lord Markham tore his gaze away from Mr. Hamilton.

  "It will only draw undue attention," she added by way of an inducement.

  Lord Markham nodded yet his expression remained dark.

  "I thought you'd be at the card game, Hamilton," he said as he stared deeply into the rogue's eyes.

  "Card game?"

  "The one at the house in Bow Street. I hear Malesbury has a fortune to lose. I recall seeing your name on the list. Yes, I'm sure they're expecting you."

  Hamilton's eyes glazed over, and Grace thought he might stumble. "Bow Street?" he mumbled. "They're expecting me?"

  "They're expecting you now," Lord Markham reiterated his gaze intense. "You must not forget to knock on the window with three loud raps and shout the password."

  "Three raps and shout the password."

  Lord Markham leaned closer and whispered, "The password is down with the monarchy. I would knock on every window, just to be certain." When Hamilton stared at him, Elliot repeated, "Go to Bow Street. Knock on every window. Shout down with the monarchy."

  Mr. Hamilton nodded. "I … I had best be on my way."

  Astounded, Grace watched the man scurry away. "He seems set on doing exactly what you told him to. Is it some sort of conjurer's trick?"

  "The mind is often weak in certain individuals," he replied. "And as such, can be easily manipulated if you know how."

  Grace remembered feeling strange when she first met Lord Markham. When he asked her to recall what had occurred between them. "Did you try to use the same trick on me?"

  "Trust me. There is nothing weak about your mind. The insane often have the strongest minds of all."

  "Insane?" She batted him playfully on the arm. "At least Mr. Hamilton thought he was talking to Caroline when he insulted me."

  Lord Markham's eyes still burned with anger, and he glanced back over his shoulder. "Let us go somewhere more private and then I'll tell you why I'm so damnably annoyed."

  Without saying another word, he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her from the ballroom. The muscles bulging against the sleeve of his coat felt taut and rigid, ready to burst through the material without warning. She could have argued with his high-handed approach. But it would only draw unnecessary attention.

  He stopped at the end of a long corridor, the walls covered with paintings of men in long white wigs all looking as equally stern, all ready to condemn the guilty to the gallows.

  "What on earth were you thinking?" he said backing her into an alcove. "After what happened with Barrington, everyone will be talking about you. You cannot risk someone discovering your identity. I swear I almost ripped Hamilton's head from his shoulders for what he said to you. My heart is still racing. God help anyone else should make a derogatory comment as I don't think I can stop myself."

  Grace couldn't help but smile. Yes, he was extremely angry. Yes, she had been out of her depth with the likes of Mr. Hamilton. And yes, she was in danger of finding herself in another threatening situation. But it was what Lord Markham hadn't said that caused the corners of her mouth to curl.

  Grace put her hand to his cheek. "Thank you for caring."

  He blinked, looked shocked, completely taken aback. His ragged breathing slowed to a calmer rate, and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

  Struggling with her own overwhelming feelings, she lowered her hand.

  Lord Markham opened his eyes slowly, his heated gaze scorching her soul. "What are you doing to me?" he whispered.

  Feeling a little bolder she said, "I am using a part of my anatomy coupled with honest sentiment to incite a genuine reaction. What was it that touched you? Was it the feel of my hand or hearing the emotion behind the gesture?"

  He swallowed visibly. "Both."

  "Well, I think that proves my point, don't you? And I must say, I find you far more appealing when you speak from the heart."

  A sinful smile touched his lips. "Perhaps I should try it more often."

  Grace nodded. "I think you should."

  They simply stared at each other for a moment and she suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms, to feel his lips move over hers with genuine affection. Henry Denton had rarely kissed her. Even when inclined, it had amounted to nothing more than a peck on her cheek or the faintest touch to the top of her head.

  Anger threatened to flare.

  Why did everything always come back to her feelings about Henry?

  Perhaps she would never recover from the hurt and betrayal. Was every thought and action to be overshadowed by awful past experiences?

  "While you
r bawdy banter always leaves me cold," she said playfully, pushing all other feelings aside, "your honest reaction leaves me wondering if your skin tastes of sandalwood. If, despite your licentious nature, your lips are capable of moving softly and tenderly."

  She could only surmise that her frustration with Henry had caused her to speak so boldly.

  "Why spend your time wondering?" His wicked emerald gaze lingered on her lips. "Why not put me to the test? Use me to satisfy your curiosity."

  Grace had expected the logical part of her brain to dismiss the idea as ludicrous, yet she found herself intrigued by Elliot Markham.

  "I do not think it would do much for your reputation to be seen cavorting with Caroline Rosemond."

  "I would not be cavorting with Caroline Rosemond. I would be cavorting with you, Grace. I would be kissing you, sweetly, gently, savouring every single second."

  Excitement raced through her. A blazing fire settled hot and heavy between her thighs. The feeling was strange to her. She felt a little dizzy, as though she'd drunk too much punch at Christmas. And she was in danger of becoming lost in the moment.

  "Not here," she said, and the words came out more like a gasp.

  "Where then?" His chest rose and fell more rapidly as he moistened his lips.

  For some obscure reason, she imagined her bed at home in Cobham. Don't think about Henry, she thought, repeating the words over and over in her mind. But he was there again, hot and sweaty, heaving above her as she lay like a cold slab of marble, wanting to cry.

  "I can't." She bit down on her trembling lip, aware of his look of confusion.

  There was something wrong with her.

  She was not like other women.

  When he shook his head, she expected him to shout, to berate her for her inadequacy. "We need to get you home," he said, his tone revealing his frustration. "Evelyn and Alexander will be expecting us. We can talk about Evelyn's theory regarding the notes in the diary and decide what we should do next."

  Her heart blossomed at his reaction. He had not made her feel awkward or ashamed.

  "I need to use the retiring room." It would give her a moment to compose herself.

  "I'll wait for you here."

  She gave him a weak smile and headed down the hall to the room reserved for ladies to attend to their needs.

  The room appeared to be a less formal drawing room; the numerous dressing screens made it seem small and compact. The air was heavy with the sickly sweet smell of a variety of perfumes. She nodded to the two ladies standing in front of the large gilt mirror, only aware of their interest in her when she heard one of them call out her name.

  "Miss Rosemond."

  Grace groaned inwardly. She was tired of acting, tired of being anything other than herself. But she turned and smiled.

  "Good evening," was all she could think to say.

  One of the ladies stepped forward, her ebony ringlets framing a petite porcelain-white face. "May I offer my condolences on the terrible circumstance you recently found yourself in." Her tone lacked the sincerity her words conveyed and Grace grew suspicious of her motives. What terrible circumstance was she referring to?

  "Thank you," Grace replied, sensing the woman's desperation to reveal all she knew.

  "I'm afraid there were a few who witnessed Lord Barrington's poor pugilistic skills." The lady's dark brown eyes scanned her face, focused on the mole on her cheek as if it was a rare artefact in a museum. There was something distrusting about her countenance. Every look was more of an examination, an assessment.

  "Hopefully, the gentleman understands I have no wish to entertain him further."

  Grace tried to be as vague as possible.

  The lady smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "Lord Barrington is an oaf." She leaned forward and whispered, "But do tell all. I am curious to know of Lord Markham's involvement. Some say he is smitten with you."

  "Lord Markham is not the sort of man to keep a lover, as I am sure you're aware." Grace refused to offer anything more. "And smitten is a word foreign to his vocabulary."

  Grace had no idea how Caroline would react in conversation with women of such quality. Would a courtesan converse with well-bred ladies? In doing so, had she unwittingly revealed her secret?

  "If you will excuse me," Grace said and without further comment left the room.

  "Are you ready?" Lord Markham took a few steps towards her.

  "Just wait a moment. Pretend we are talking about something. I want you to watch the door and tell me who the lady is with the ebony ringlets."

  "Why?" A frown marred his brow while his tone carried a hint of concern.

  "Perhaps I'm paranoid. Perhaps the events of the last few days have addled my already weary brain. But I believe there is a lady in the retiring room who knows I am not Caroline. I have a feeling she knew so before even speaking to me."

  "Well, ladies are far more astute than gentlemen when it comes to noticing such things."

  Grace heard the door open behind her and watched Lord Markham take a discreet peek over her shoulder.

  "It's Lady Sudley," he continued. "And I do not mean any disrespect when I say this, but a lady of her standing would usually snub the likes of Caroline Rosemond."

  "I am not offended," she said with a sigh. "In the last few days, I seem to have grown accustomed to hearing slanderous remarks about my sister. Although I don't suppose they can be called slanderous when they're true."

  Lord Markham offered an empathetic smile but did not contradict her. "There is a difference between suspecting you're not Caroline and knowing so. The latter implies some level of involvement."

  "We will talk about Evelyn's theory and then decide what to do tomorrow." Tonight, she was done with thinking. She needed a clear head if she was to help Caroline.

  He removed his pocket watch and glanced at the time. "I said we would meet Alexander and Evelyn outside. We had better make our apologies and leave."

  She allowed him to escort her back to Evelyn's house on Duke Street. In the small confines of his carriage, she was conscious of him sitting in such close proximity, and she felt safe, protected. Evelyn sat next to her husband, smiling as her gaze shifted between them.

  But one terrifying thought overshadowed all others.

  Her fears had nothing to do with Caroline or Lady Sudley or whatever devious schemes were at work. The closer she became to Lord Markham, the more she knew that Henry Denton's presence still lingered within her. It tainted her blood, contaminated her memories, poisoned her future.

  She had to find a way to be free of him.

  She had to find a way to cleanse her soul.

  Chapter 9

  The constant rocking of his carriage on the uneven road did little to settle Elliot's chaotic mind.

  He had tried to listen to Grace's thoughts; he had tried to determine what it was that troubled her so deeply. Henry Denton's name had drifted into his mind, accompanied by feelings of anguish, loneliness and pain. The sins of a selfish husband had left a permanent scar, which he feared was still somewhat raw.

  In his mind, he imagined putting a comforting arm around her shoulder, drawing her into his chest where it was warm, safe.

  Elliot had never claimed to be an honourable man, not when it came to his sexual appetite. Indeed, half of him could think of nothing other than burying himself deep inside Grace Denton. To sate a physical need. To satisfy a curiosity.

  Half of him wanted to offer his protection, to ease her fears, make her happy.

  That's the part that terrified him, the part he struggled to understand.

  Evelyn cleared her throat. "If you're not too tired, we could look through your sister's diary, and I could tell you more about my theory."

  "No," Grace said with a sigh. "I'm not tired."

  Elliot cast Grace a sideways glance and knew from her demeanour that she was simply being polite. The last few days must have taken their toll. There were times when she appeared so confident, so controlled and determined
. But the times when she appeared lost, a little fragile and broken seemed to manifest more frequently as the hours passed.

  Of course, she only had a matter of days to uncover the mystery surrounding Caroline Rosemond's disappearance. He did not envy her the task of explaining her sister's demise to her mother.

  And he had not helped matters. His negligence had forced her to put herself at risk tonight.

  "I think we should focus all our efforts on helping Mrs. Denton discover what has happened to Miss Rosemond," he said with a level of determination he rarely expressed.

  Alexander raised a brow. "Then we will need to be open and honest. We will need a structured plan, follow some logical order." He focused his attention on Grace. "Forgive me, but you cannot go barging into ballrooms in the hope someone will unwittingly reveal information."

  "I'm sure she only did what she thought best," Elliot said feeling the need to come to her defence. He could berate her for her folly, but he'd be damned if anyone else could.

  "Lord Hale is right," Grace said fiddling with her fingers in her lap. "I was angry and frustrated, although the evening wasn't entirely wasted."

  The carriage rumbled to a halt outside the house on Duke Street.

  "Let's continue our conversation in the parlour," Evelyn added before turning to Grace. "Would you mind if we all examined the diary? I know you allowed me to flick through while Katie dressed your hair, but if you'd rather we—"

  "No, it's fine. We need to work together. Finding Caroline is what's important."

  There was the faintest trace of resentment in Grace's words, and Elliot wondered if she had spent her whole life pandering to her sister's whims and demands. If they discovered her sister had been gallivanting off on some wild jaunt, Elliot would string her up from a tree on the common and leave her as food for the crows.