Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood 2)

All heads turned to look at Elliot.

His chest felt warm, his cock pulsed with the need to reward Grace for her caring comment. "It can be lonely at times," he heard himself say. They were words he had never uttered before, not in company, not even to himself. But he recognised the truth in them, knew they formed the basis of all his hidden fears. The need to be intimate with her, to drive away the debilitating thoughts, pushed to the fore.

Alexander must have sensed his torment as he turned to Grace and changed the subject. "Earlier, in the carriage, you said the evening was not entirely wasted. What did you mean by it?" Alexander clasped his hands behind his back again as he waited for her reply.

Grace looked up at him. "A lady approached me in the retiring room."

"It was Lady Sudley," Elliot informed.

"She expressed concern over the incident with Lord Barrington and enquired as to Lord Markham's involvement." Grace glanced at him, as she had not mentioned the lady had asked about him. "She studied my reaction with interest, studied my features. It seemed odd."

"More than likely, she's only interested in gossip." Alexander waved his hand in the air dismissively. "It's to be expected. But I'm certain they'll be talking about someone else tomorrow."

Something niggled away at the back of Elliot's mind. "I'm just surprised a lady of her standing would converse with a courtesan."

Alexander shrugged. "Perhaps being in the retiring room offered an opportunity too good to miss. To be the bearer of such a juicy piece of scandal would place her in an elevated position amongst her peers."

Appearing oblivious to their conversation, Evelyn tore her gaze away from the diary. "So, the night Caroline disappeared, she met with someone called Mark at nine o'clock." She turned to Grace. "She did leave in the evening?"

Grace nodded. "And she walked, so it couldn't have been too far."

Elliot sat forward. "Does she always walk the streets alone at night? Did you not caution her regarding such folly?"

Grace gave a resigned sigh. "No one can tell Caroline what to do. She makes up her own mind and never yields even when she's wrong."

There it was again, Elliot thought, the slight hitch in her voice. He suspected she had borne the brunt of Caroline's selfishness on many occasions.

"The ham could stand for Ham Yard or Hampstead Street," Elliot said, clutching at anything that meant shifting the focus away from his name. "But both of those places are too far to walk to at night."

Evelyn closed the diary and handed it back to Grace. "I think we need to go back before we can move forward. We need to build a picture of where she went before she disappeared."

Alexander folded his arms across his chest. "You mean you want to go shopping in Piccadilly."

"Snooping not shopping," Evelyn said with a grin. "And in the evening, you may go to a gaming hell."

"I am not half as excited as you are," Alexander grimaced.

Evelyn turned to Grace and patted her arm. "We'll leave mid-morning."

Grace offered a grateful smile and turned to Elliot. "Could I trouble you for one more thing this evening?"

She could ask him for anything, and he would gladly give it. His wicked mind conjured all sorts of salacious scenarios. The hard lump in his throat felt like nothing compared to the hard lump in his breeches.

"Of course," he said bowing his head.

"You have your carriage here. Would you mind escorting me to Arlington Street?"

Elliot's heart skipped a beat as he narrowed his gaze. "Not with the intention of remaining there?"

"No." She shook her head. "I think it prudent to be certain Caroline has not returned before we go racing around town on a fool's errand."

It was a logical request.

"If we find her lounging on the chaise, I swear I will not be able to curb my tongue or my temper."

Grace snorted. "If we find her lounging on the chaise, I'll be the first to hit her over the head with a chamber pot."

In truth, he did not feel anger towards Caroline Rosemond. Not for leaving her sister alone without saying a word, not even for writing his name in her blasted diary.