Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 2) (14 page)

"We will discuss it with Alexander and Elliot. But I suggest you stop pretending that you're Caroline. I suggest we go out into Society and tell everyone you're her sister. You're a widow so no one will question your friendship with Elliot."

"But what will that achieve?"

"People love nothing more than gossip." Evelyn patted her hand. "I expect you will hear all sort of tales about her, some complete and utter lies but some truths, too."

"I do think Lady Sudley knows much more about it. I should like the opportunity to talk to her again."

Evelyn smiled. "That settles it then. I shall speak to Alexander and arrange for invitations to the most popular event this evening. With us being so recently wed, every hostess in London is happy to extend their hospitality to the new Lady Hale."

A stab of guilt hit her in the chest. "I'm sorry you're embroiled in all of this."

"Don't be. We would do anything for Elliot, and we will do anything for you."

Grace squeezed her hand. "Then I will need to call at Arlington Street to find something suitable to wear. And I should go and speak to Elliot and tell him what we have discovered."

"Would you mind dropping me off at Duke Street? Alexander will be pacing the floor wondering what's happened, and I may have to make a few calls."

"Of course." Grace nodded. "I won't be too long."

"Take as long as you need," she said offering a knowing grin. "I won't expect you back for hours."

The suggestive tone caused Grace's heart to skip a beat. She would just call and see Elliot, just to tell him the news. But then her mind decided to conjure an image of his soft lips, and the smell of sandalwood filled her head to tease and torment her.

When it came to Elliot Markham, she could not control the wild nature of her thoughts. Someone once told her that if you thought about something for long enough it would eventually come true. And so she spent the next few minutes dreaming about his sinful mouth, hoping his masterful hands held the magical ability to banish the ghosts of the past.

Chapter 12

Elliot lay sprawled out on his bed, his head cushioned by a mound of pillows. For the umpteenth time since returning home in the small hours, he imagined punching Alexander Cole until he had no fight left in him.

His fingers throbbed in frustration, which was a damn sight better than the throbbing ache currently plaguing his cock.

Before making Alexander's acquaintance, he had wandered aimlessly around from one social gathering to the next, looking for a way to relieve the boredom. Bedding women served as a way to suppress his ennui. It served as a way to punish the fair sex for the crimes of one golden-haired devil and one equally cold-hearted mother. It served as a way to prove he did not deserve the love of a decent woman.

Now, everything had changed, and he had to blame someone for his unstable emotions. Why not Alexander? The gentleman's caring gestures and soft words of endearment had obviously penetrated Elliot's hardened heart. Indeed, one could not witness his obsession with his wife and not feel slightly envious.

One thing was certain. He did not feel like himself when in Grace Denton's company. Never in his life had he taken a woman in his arms whilst still fully clothed. Nor had he ever felt the strange churning in his stomach when she'd rebuked his advances and darted from the kitchen up to her chamber.

She did make amends, though. By indulging in a rather surprising, rather salacious kiss in his carriage. It boded well for their joining. A deep, intense passion burned just beneath the surface, and he knew he possessed the skills necessary to release it.

Perhaps once he'd bedded her, these strange feelings would subside. Perhaps then he could get back to a semblance of normality. It was easy to convince himself he felt nothing more than physical desire when he wasn't staring into those perfect blue eyes or offering tender words of comfort.

The light rap at the door disturbed his reverie, and he called for the person to enter.

"Mrs. Denton is here, my lord," Whithers said solemnly. "I am aware you do not like to be disturbed, but she reassured me it was of some importance."

Elliot was wondering how she'd fared on her snooping expedition to Piccadilly.

"You may show her up," he replied. With the sun still high, his chamber was the only room where he felt comfortable. As long as Grace didn't come in and try to yank open the drapes.

When she breezed into his chamber, he stood to greet her. His affliction didn't render him an invalid even if he was held up like a prisoner in his room.

"My lord. Forgive me barging in here when you're resting," she said, her gaze drifting over his relaxed attire. He wore trousers, his shirt hanging loose and open at the neck yet she appeared more interested in his bare feet. "You have nice feet."

He couldn't help but chuckle at the odd remark. "As opposed to horrible feet?"

She waved her hand in the air. "Your toes follow a perfect arch and as such are more pleasing to the eye. It means you descend from the ancient Egyptians."

Elliot felt the same deep level of intimacy he always experienced in her company. Yet it only seemed to bother him when he tried to examine and analyse it. "Then I'm pleased. The Egyptians are a proud and noble race." He glanced down to the kid boots peeking out from beneath her walking dress. "But now I am curious to know from where you descend."

She gave him a coy smile. The brightness warmed his heart and made his cock twitch. "All in good time. The thrill of anticipation is a wonderful thing."

In his mind, he imagined taking each and every one of her pretty white toes into his mouth and sucking softly.

Bloody hell.

He needed to calm his racing pulse before he tore the clothes from her body in his eagerness to be near her.

"Would you care to sit?" He gestured to the seating area in front of the fire, and she shrugged out of her pelisse, removed her bonnet and gloves and placed them on the side table. "I can ring Whithers to bring some refreshment if you'd care for tea?"

"No. I'm fine," she said shuffling back in the chair as she patted down the stray strands of hair. "But if you need blood then please do not wait for me."

There had been moments in the last four years where he had imagined being so open about his horrendous affliction. Grace did not really understand the full depth of his depravity. Would she think differently if she knew a woman had infected him? Would she think differently if she knew it was not really an illness but more an evil curse?

"Did you visit the shop in Piccadilly?" he said, dropping into the chair opposite her.

"You were right. It is an apothecary." She gave a sorrowful sigh. "For a moment, I'd almost forgotten how dreadful the morning has been."

Elliot sat forward. "Dreadful? How so?"

He had persuaded himself it was nothing to do with him if she chose to go gallivanting about town. While no one could deny desire sparked between them, there were no promises made, no expectations. However, he could not hide the sudden shot of panic.

Grace thrust forward, the movement surprising him. "Oh, Elliot. Caroline is with child. I'm convinced of it."

"With child?" he repeated for fear he'd misheard. "You discovered that at the apothecary?"

"The Hodges mentioned in her diary is a Mrs. Hodges. She has a room above the shop. I think she is related to the proprietor and sells suppression pills which …" Grace swallowed deeply, and he noticed her bottom lip quiver. "If taken, they can cause the loss of a child."

Sitting back in his chair, he dragged his palm down his face. He had heard of such things before. When one had a relaxed attitude to sexual liaisons, it was to be expected.

Elliot did not have to worry about fathering a child. His affliction rendered him incapable.

The taunts and jibes of the golden-haired devil had left a permanent imprint in his mind. Even when he had bowed his head and refused to look at her, still she yanked him up by his hair and continued to berate him.

Feeling a burning need to rid himself of the memory, he shook his head and tried to concentrate on the kind, beautiful lady in front of him.

"You don't know that she has taken these pills," he said in an attempt to offer comfort.

"Evelyn thinks that Mrs. Hodges would have noticed the similarity between us. The fact she made no mention of it could mean Caroline changed her mind."

Elliot nodded. "It is a possibility." He did not wish to attempt to predict the workings of a woman's mind. And with Grace's thoughts being so abstract he could not tune into them, either.

"Evelyn said we need to find out who fathered the child, who pays the rent on Caroline's house. She thinks I need to let people know who I really am. She's going to secure invitations to the most popular balls." She was speaking so quickly he had to concentrate just to make sense of it all. "When people learn I'm Caroline's sister, we hope the gossips will be eager to offer information."

"Well. You've certainly been busy," he said, not knowing which part of the plan to protest against first. "Do you think it wise to reveal your identity? After this has all settled down, you may wish to come to town on occasion."

Her eyes grew wide, the corners of her mouth turning down in disdain. "I hate it here. The ballrooms are packed with fakes and frauds. They are full of people who hide behind a feigned persona and wonder around in a bid for others to tickle their fancy."

Elliot folded his arms across his chest. "You'll find that wherever you go. It is the way of the world."

"It is not my way."

For some reason, her comment roused his ire. Perhaps because he felt as though she was judging him. Perhaps because he was tired of talking and desired a more pleasurable way to spend time in her company.

"Forgive me for being blunt, but did you not construct a feigned persona when you married Henry Denton? You were hardly being true to yourself then."

Her expression grew solemn, the brilliant light banished from her countenance. She bit down on her bottom lip before sucking in a breath. "It is hardly the same. I believed he cared. What I did, I did for the sake of others, not out of vanity or some over-inflated notion of my own worth."

"Does being a martyr make you any less of a fool?"

As soon as the words tumbled from his pathetic mouth he wished he could reclaim them. He could have ripped the dress from her back and administered twenty lashes and the look she cast him would have been equally the same. His words must have cut deep, deep enough to draw blood.

"You think me a fool?" she said coming to her feet abruptly. "I can see you hide the devil's own tongue behind your godly persona. It is obvious you do not understand me at all, so I shall say good day to you, my lord."

She swung around, knocking into the arm of the chair. Despite offering a groan, she marched towards the door.

In any other situation, with any other woman, he would have opened the door for her and shouted good riddance. But it pained him to think she harboured ill feeling towards him. It pained him to think he would never know if their joining would be different from the whole of host of other women he'd bedded.

Most disturbing of all, he did not want to hurt her. He wanted her to look upon him as her hero, her champion in her fight against the enemy.

He wanted Grace Denton to love him.

Bloody hell!

He flew out of the chair, tried to shake away the last thought. As her hand gripped the handle, he rushed over to her, trapped her against the door with his body. Determined to convince himself his lustful loins had concocted the last thought, he focused on persuading her to stay.

"Forgive me," he whispered against her hair.

In her rush to leave, it had only just occurred to him that she had left her pelisse and bonnet on the table. She would have had to come back for them. If only he had waited. It would have saved him the humiliation of sounding so desperate.

"Why?" she muttered.

"I spoke out of turn. I did not mean it in the way you think." He inhaled the sweet smell of orange blossom; he let the heat from her body warm him. If he had his way, he'd bunch her dress up to her waist and take her there and then. Hard and quick against the door — to prove it would be the same as it had always been. To prove he would feel nothing.

But as she turned to face him, the pain in her eyes tore at his soul.

Her gaze drifted over his face and dropped to the opening of his shirt. "Why do I feel like hitting you and kissing you both at the same time?"

Relief flashed through him.

"You may hit me if you wish. As long as you kiss me with the same fiery passion."

What happened next would remain with him until the moment he took his last breath. As they stared into each other's eyes, he felt her hands move up under his shirt, felt tentative fingers brush over the muscles in his abdomen. When they moved up to his chest, he could hear the hitch in his breath, could feel desire burn through his body until he was ready to combust.

Take it slow, be gentle.