Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood 2)

"You have brought a woman into your home?" Leo whispered. "I thought you said women like Caroline Rosemond were not worth the effort."

Faced with the dilemma of telling Leo the truth, Elliot said, "Can you do something for me?"

Leo appeared surprised by the question. "Of course. You do not need to ask."

"If I write a note, will you take it to Alexander? I need Evelyn's help."

"Certainly. I take it you're not coming with me. The delights waiting in my carriage are no match for the skill of a seasoned courtesan."

Elliot glanced up at the ceiling, imagining a bathing scene unfolding. "What I have here is something far superior than even I can comprehend."

Chapter 5

Grace squinted against the brightness of the morning sun as she peered out through the heavy drapes. There were people already milling about outside. A milkmaid cried her wares in the square as she swung her pails on a yoke. A sweeper continued the fruitless task of clearing the street, a carriage disturbing his ministrations as it rattled by.

No one had called to wake her. Not even the smallest sliver of light had managed to penetrate the darkness. The absence of any scrumptious smells wafting up from the kitchen led her to believe she'd slept through breakfast.

Finding a clock on the mantle, she noted it was almost nine. Grace was used to keeping country hours and never slept past seven. Although it must have been well into the early hours when she finally stumbled into bed.

Recalling Lord Markham's fondness for rising late, she assumed it would be at least three hours before he made an appearance. It didn't seem quite right to be wandering around his house with him being absent.

Dressing quickly, she pulled the cord and waited for the maid. Responding to the light tap on her door, Grace was surprised to find a footman enter her chamber.

"I wondered if I could trouble a maid for some fresh water and perhaps some toast and tea as I fear I've missed breakfast."

The footman inclined his head. "There are no maids, madam. Lord Markham keeps a small, rather select staff and so I'm afraid I will be providing for your needs."

How odd. She had never heard of such a prestigious house having no maids. What about the beds and the laundry?

"Will you be taking breakfast in your room, madam, or shall I lay a place in the dining room?" Noting her hesitation, the footman added, "Here, mealtimes are rather informal affairs."

Grace smiled. She found Lord Markham's unconventional habits quite refreshing. The gentleman conveyed an air of mysteriousness. His dark brooding features implied a volatile, unpredictable temperament. Yet he had been far more considerate and attentive to her needs than she could have ever expected.

"Then I shall take my breakfast in here," she replied feeling a little more at ease.

When the footman left, she jumped back onto the huge bed and grabbed the diary from the nightstand. The grazes to her arms were still visible, though they had healed remarkably well overnight and caused not the slightest irritation.

The footman returned with a pitcher of clean water and two empty buckets and asked if Grace minded if he cleared away the bath tub. Some twenty minutes later, he returned with the breakfast tray, and she was finally able to concentrate on her task.

In the last two days, she'd scoured the notes looking for any indication as to where her sister may have gone. Perhaps starting at the beginning was not the best idea. Only last night, they had made an interesting discovery on the last page. Grace stared at the dot again as she bit into her toast. Had it not been for the indentation on the blank page she might have missed it.

Her sister wrote with a heavy hand, and so she ran the pad of her finger gently over the surface of the empty page in the hope of feeling any other marks pressed into the paper. The texture felt different near the bottom; to the naked eye, it was almost impossible to see anything.

Then she had an idea.

Rushing over to the fireplace, she rubbed her finger along the inside of the chimney-breast and smudged the soot over the marks on the blank page. Like a conjurer's trick, the words appeared before her eyes, practically rising off the page.

Caroline must have used the diary to lean on when she had written a note as there were no torn or missing pages. Grace could make out a string of words, nothing more. What she did see caused a sudden burst of panic.

I'm tired of the games and the lies … I want to end it all.

Grace struggled to catch her breath and her pounding heart felt ready to burst from her chest. Tears threatened to fall. Just spending one day as Caroline Rosemond had proved a horrendous ordeal. She gathered the diary to her chest and hugged it tight. If only Caroline would have confided in her.

Not knowing what to do. Not knowing what to think. She wished Lord Markham was awake. She needed to talk to him. He would know what to say to calm her; he'd apply his usual logical approach to the situation, and she'd be able to breathe freely again.

Pacing the floor for what felt like hours, she glanced at the mantle clock again. Surely it was later than eleven. Perhaps she should tap on his door. Given the severity of the information she had uncovered, it was unlikely he would mind.

Tucking the diary under her arm, she opened the chamber door and wandered to the other end of the landing. If she heard a sound coming from one of the rooms, she would know he was awake.