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

Oh, God, she was going to start mumbling.

Lord Markham turned fully and focused his attention, gazing deeply into her eyes through the oval holes in her mask. The room appeared to sway, and she sucked in a breath to calm the flutter in her heart.

"Oh, I think you can," he said as the amber flecks in his green eyes grew more prominent. His gloved finger came to rest on her pendant, drifting seductively over the topaz stones. Grace shivered at his touch and his mouth curved up into a satisfied smile. "Tell me what you imagine occurred between us. Tell me."

Grace swallowed. "I … I won't repeat it."

He leaned forward, the smell of sandalwood and some other earthy masculine fragrance bombarded her senses. "Tell me." He dropped his hand as his greedy gaze dipped to her breasts bulging out from the neckline of her gown. "Whisper the words to me."

Little streams of light blurred her vision, forcing her to blink rapidly. Her mind felt fuzzy as though a dense fog had settled to obscure all rational thought. All she could think of was how it felt to lie naked with a man.

But not just any man — with Lord Markham.

Good heavens
.

Tiny beads of perspiration formed on her brow and she touched her fingers to her forehead as strange words unwittingly entered her thoughts.

But there was murder afoot. She was convinced of it. The thought gave her the strength to fight whatever weird and wonderful notion filled her head.

She was here for Caroline.

Nothing else mattered.

"I-I don't remember anything," she whispered, her breath coming short and quick as she dismissed the image of her eager fingers roaming over his muscular chest.

The muscle in his cheek twitched, and he jerked his head back with a look of utter bewilderment. Had no one ever refused his request? Knowing she had the power to knock the arrogance out of him, gave her the courage to be bold.

"Nor will I waste my time or imagination pandering to your warped sense of curiosity. If you're looking for someone to indulge your fantasies, I suggest you try …" Her mind went blank. Where do gentlemen find women to frolic with, other than at a ball? "Try the … the market."

It was the first thing that popped into her head. You could buy everything at the market, why not women?

Lord Markham's eyes widened. He screwed up his nose as though catching a whiff of a revolting smell. "The market?"

While her blood rushed through her veins at a rapid rate, it decided to take a detour past her cheeks, choosing her ears to convey her embarrassment. She could feel them swelling, throbbing and burning. If she were to touch them with wet fingers, they would most certainly sizzle.

"I am a viscount," he continued with an indolent wave. "I do not need to trawl the markets looking for someone to warm my bed, as well you know."

"Forgive me," she said, overcome with a desperate need to wipe the smirk off his face. "What else was I supposed to think when you have the mouth of a sewer rat?"

"This is an interesting game," he said showing no sign of offence. "I cannot recall the last time my mind was as stimulated as my—"

"I do not need to hear more of your vulgarity."

He put his hand on his chest and laughed. "My vulgarity? Have you cared to glance in the mirror? Your hair gives the impression that you've recently been tumbled. Your gown is far too small and at any moment, I am in danger of being blinded. Your lips are red and swollen from—"

"It is lip rouge," she said thrusting her hands on her hips. At least, she hoped that's what was in the silver cachou box. Their mother had often said such things were naught but selfish vanity to mask a weak mind. "And I have put on weight since I last wore this dress. There is nothing vulgar or lewd about any of it."

"Are you not a courtesan, Caroline? Do you not openly court vulgarity?"

Grace suppressed a gasp upon hearing her sister's name pass from his lips. She knew the depths of her sister's disgrace but saying it so openly made it seem so crude, so terribly heartbreaking.

"I am a lady, my lord," she said unable to control the anger that infused her tone, "and I ask you to have a care. I have tolerated your uncouth manner for long enough."

When he smiled, she knew she had made a mistake.

Lord Markham bowed. "Please accept my humble apology." There was not even a hint of sarcasm in his tone, and she felt a shiver race down her spine as she suspected her worst fear was about to come to fruition. "I'm afraid your deception forced me to blunt."

"My … my deception? Now you're speaking in riddles, my lord."

"Despite wearing her necklace, I think we both know you're not Caroline Rosemond. The question is, who the hell are you and what do you want with me?"

Chapter 2

Elliot watched the lady's lips move, but no words came out.

He had seen through her disguise almost instantly. Even a king's hosier with access to the finest silk stockings couldn't pad a corset sufficiently to make small breasts appear so deliciously soft and plump.

Indeed, he was still trying to determine whether he was so aroused by the lady's witty banter, he felt angry he'd not get the chance to bury himself inside her. Or, was he so angry with her for mistaking him for a fool, the need to command and conquer had caused desire to ignite.

Either way, anger and desire whirled around inside to leave him both frustrated and highly irritable.

"Let us find somewhere a little more private." He cupped her elbow, his grip firm as he steered her towards the terrace. "I am keen to hear your explanation."

"Where are we going?" she said tottering along beside him, and he could hear the nervous flutter in her voice. Caroline Rosemond would have offered a flirtatious remark, suggesting she was game for whatever vigorous pursuit he had in mind. Although there was always a price and he'd never been willing to pay.

"To find somewhere quiet, so we can talk."

The lady began mumbling to herself, her words softer than a whisper.

When he reached the doors leading out to the garden, she shrugged out of his grasp. "We can't go out there. What if someone should see us?"

"You forget. The majority of guests will assume you're Caroline Rosemond. Trust me. She would have no problem being seen alone in the garden with a gentleman."

She grabbed his sleeve and tugged it, forcing him to lean closer. A waft of orange blossom tickled his nose, the scent sweet and refreshing. "I think we have already established I am not Caroline. What if someone else sees through my disguise?"

"The only way that's going to happen is if you continue to grumble and complain. Hold your head up and walk like you're desperate to be alone with me."

What if he tries to kiss me?

Her silent question bounded back and forth in his head. It was the first coherent thought he'd been able to hone in on. "Don't worry. I'm not about to press myself upon your innocent lips," he added though he was tempted to see if she tasted as good as he imagined.

"I did not presume you would. But perhaps they are not so innocent."

"Of course not," he said suppressing a grin. He'd bet fifty guineas she would turn into a quivering wreck at the mere mention of anything more salacious than kissing.

He liked the way she puckered her lips when annoyed. It made a change from the sultry smiles and provocative pouts usually cast his way. When she'd squared her shoulders, she'd offered him another little treat. Although
little
was hardly the right word to describe such a plentiful display. They were soft, heavy and utterly magnificent.

"Are we to stand here all night gaping?" she said, and he shook his head in a bid to focus on the matter at hand. "People are beginning to stare."

Elliot glanced over her shoulder to find a sea of sparkling masks quickly averted. "No doubt the gossips are hanging on our every word. I suggest we move outside before we find ourselves depicted as ridiculous caricatures in the newspaper."

He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm before escorting her out onto the terrace and down the three small steps leading to the lawn.

"There's no need to sneak off in search of a secluded spot," he continued. Self-preservation was his only motive as he had no desire to fumble around with an innocent and this creature possessed such a sweet, beguiling charm even the Devil would question whose side he was on. "We'll just stroll around the perimeter. I do have my own reputation to consider, after all."

She scoffed. "From what I hear, it's a bit late to start worrying about that."

Somewhere, in a cobwebbed corner of his mind, he felt a stirring of disappointment. Why he should care what she thought of him was a complete mystery. After tonight, he'd probably never set eyes on her again. The memory would slowly fizzle away until he had no recollection of her sumptuous breasts and witty repartee.

"Are you going to tell me who you are?" He glanced at her vibrant hair, at the teasing mole on her cheek. "You're obviously kin to Miss Rosemond as the likeness is uncanny."

"Then you have answered your own question, my lord."

There was a brief moment of silence while he considered her need to be evasive.

"Are we to wander around aimlessly all night, trying to best the other by offering the wittiest quip?" Elliot smiled as he attempted to listen to her thoughts, but his own mind reflected the conflicting emotions of his body: an intense agitation mingled with the potent thrum of desire.

When she sighed, the sound spoke of anguish and sorrow. "You met with Caroline, two nights ago. I would like to know why. What did you speak of?"

Without warning, he stopped and pulled her round to face him. In her surprise, she sucked in a breath, and his gaze dropped to the smooth creamy swell.

"My private affairs are my own business," he said forcing his mind away from all libidinous thoughts. "But if it satisfies you, I have not seen Miss Rosemond for more than a week. And even then, we passed nothing more than the odd pleasantry."

"The odd pleasantry?" she repeated. "Are you usually so blasé about your conquests? I have proof you met with her."

Elliot was not in the habit of having his word questioned. Nor did he particularly like her accusatory tone.

"Remove your mask." The blunt words reflected his frustration. "I cannot hold a conversation with you when your face is obscured."

She hesitated before glancing over her shoulder. There were no other guests in the vicinity. With a sigh she turned back to him, her fingers trembling as she removed her mask.

In his mind, he had constructed a mental picture of Caroline Rosemond, expecting to see the exact same image. But he was mistaken. The similarity was unarguable, yet the face before him held qualities her kin could never hope to possess. She was not what one would call a striking beauty, but her countenance spoke of kindness, warmth, and affection. While she exuded innocence, the long lashes sweeping her peachy cheeks accompanied by full lips with a pronounced bow suggested an inner passion he felt compelled to pursue.

He could recall no other woman who appeared to be so delicate and so determined at the same time.

"Wh-what proof do you have?" Good God, had he just stuttered?

The lady lifted her chin. "Caroline made a note of it."

"Before the supposed event, I assume?"

"Well, yes. But—"

"Then you have no proof we actually met at all. My brother has recently married, and I have been occupied this last week with various family engagements. Ask her when you return home. Although I do not think she'll be best pleased to discover you've stolen her identity with the intention of snooping into her affairs."

A pang of sadness hit him in the chest — her pain not his own.

"I … I have not seen her for days," she suddenly blurted. "She went out to meet with you and did not return."

Elliot narrowed his gaze. "Surely you don't think I've got anything to do with it. I told you. I have no idea what you're talking about."

She sniffed and sucked in a breath. "I do not know what to think. But when you noticed me and assumed I was Caroline, I knew then you were not responsible for her murder."

"Murder! Why on earth would you think she's been murdered? She's probably been whisked away to Brighton by a lover and simply forgot to mention it."

"You're wrong." She shook her head vigorously, a stray tendril brushing her cheek. "She invited me to stay because I believe she had something important to tell me. She would never go away and leave me here alone."

In his cynical experience, women like Caroline Rosemond cared only for their own interests. She would bow to the whims of whichever gentleman paid her rent.

"Do you have access to this note?" If something truly had happened to Miss Rosemond, he did not wish to be embroiled in a scandal.

Struggling to meet his gaze, she glanced down as the apples of her cheeks flushed pink. "It is not a note. It … it was written in her private diary."

In the four years that he had lived with his affliction, in the years where he had hardened his heart to all sentiment, he had never felt a stirring of emotion in his chest. Yet the look of guilt etched on her face, the way her mouth curled down with remorse, touched him.