Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood 2)

A pang of sadness filled her heart.

Not just for her poor sister. During her conversation with Lord Markham, she had caught a glimpse of a kind and considerate man. She had confided in him, talked to him as a friend and he had treated her like a common harlot. When she returned home, she would study the diary, convinced she must have missed something. As despite his dissipated antics, she believed the reckless lord's protestations of innocence.

Finding no exit out of the garden and reluctant to step back into the ballroom, Grace made her way down a flight of stone steps leading to the basement door. Moving through the servants' quarters, she followed the corridor up to a service entrance and soon found herself out on the street.

Without a cape for protection from the chilly night air and no money to hire a hackney, she hurried along the pavement before coming to an abrupt halt at the crossroads.

With nothing to assist her but the muted light from the lamps, she scoured the streets looking for a familiar sign or building. Nothing captured her attention. Was it left and then right or the other way around? It had all seemed so simple earlier in the evening. She had been so desperate to get to the masquerade that she'd forgotten to make a mental note of the directions.

Mrs. Whitman would have a fit of the vapours if she could see her now.

What sort of lady roams the streets alone at night, she would say, dressed as though she's eager to be tupped at the back of the buttery? Only a naive fool intent on courting trouble.

Hearing raucous laughter spilling out onto the street behind her, she made the quick decision to turn left. She'd only taken a dozen steps when she heard the clip of heels charging along behind her. With her heart stuck in her throat and feeling a strange sense of foreboding, she picked up her skirt and ran.

"Caroline." The frustrated masculine voice called out to her. "Caroline. Wait. I only want to talk."

She didn't want to wait.

She didn't want to talk.

Fear gripped her again, and she wished she could close her eyes and wake up miles from this dreadful place.

The clicking got closer, the culprit's shoes striking the ground with efficient regularity. In the dark, she didn't notice the uneven stone. The loose-fitting gloves provided little protection as she lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. The pain of stubbing her toe was nothing compared to the burning sensation searing her forearms as she slid along the cold slabs.

It took a few seconds for her mind to catch up with her body. But when the large hand grabbed her wrist to pull her up, she cried out in pain as the determined fingers dug into the grazed skin.

"You're hurting me."

"Why are you running from me?" the gentleman said. Ignoring her plea, he swung her around to face him. "I just want to talk to you. I waited for over an hour at t

he theatre."

So this was Lord Barrington.

Dressed as an Elizabethan courtier with his white stockings and thick ruff, he towered above her, and she felt weak and minuscule in comparison. The grey flecks in his side-whiskers and the prominent lines framing his thin mouth suggested the man was much older than Caroline.

"I must go home," she said, almost losing her gloves as she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he took hold of her hands and refused to let them go.

"Look what you've done." He turned her arms over to reveal the thick pink welts flecked with blood. The lace frill at one elbow dangled loosely. "Why won't you let me take care of you?"

"Please, just let me go. We can talk tomorrow. I need to apply some ointment to the wounds, and it's—"

"You said you would consider my proposal. You said you would give me your answer." He was still panting from overexertion and his sickly sweet breath forced her to turn her head away to inhale. "I do not appreciate being made a fool of."

In theory, his words should have soothed her. Lord Barrington believed he was speaking to Caroline and evidently knew nothing of her disappearance. Yet his eyes held a wild, urgent look as though she was a juicy piece of pie and he couldn't wait to satisfy his slavering chops.

"I … I don't have an answer for you."

"Is it the terms? Do you wish to negotiate?"

Negotiate? He was not buying a horse or items of equipage. "I need more time."

"You'll give me your answer now," he growled jerking her closer. "I cannot spend another night wondering if I'll have you."

Panic flared.

She had no idea what this man was capable of.