Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood 2)

"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 norma

lity. 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?"