Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood 2)

"No. I'm fine," she said shuffling back in the chair as she patted down the stray strands of hair. "But if you need blood then please do not wait for me."

There had been moments in the last four years where he had imagined being so open about his horrendous affliction. Grace did not really understand the full depth of his depravity. Would she think differently if she knew a woman had infected him? Would she think differently if she knew it was not really an illness but more an evil curse?

"Did you visit the shop in Piccadilly?" he said, dropping into the chair opposite her.

"You were right. It is an apothecary." She gave a sorrowful sigh. "For a moment, I'd almost forgotten how dreadful the morning has been."

Elliot sat forward. "Dreadful? How so?"

He had persuaded himself it was nothing to do with him if she chose to go gallivanting about town. While no one could deny desire sparked between them, there were no promises made, no expectations. However, he could not hide the sudden shot of panic.

Grace thrust forward, the movement surprising him. "Oh, Elliot. Caroline is with child. I'm convinced of it."

"With child?" he repeated for fear he'd misheard. "You discovered that at the apothecary?"

"The Hodges mentioned in her diary is a Mrs. Hodges. She has a room above the shop. I think she is related to the proprietor and sells suppression pills which …" Grace swallowed deeply, and he noticed her bottom lip quiver. "If taken, they can cause the loss of a child."

Sitting back in his chair, he dragged his palm down his face. He had heard of such things before. When one had a relaxed attitude to sexual liaisons, it was to be expected.

Elliot did not have to worry about fathering a child. His affliction rendered him incapable.

The taunts and jibes of the golden-haired devil had left a permanent imprint in his mind. Even when he had bowed his head and refused to look at her, still she yanked him up by his hair and continued to berate him.

Feeling a burning need to rid himself of the memory, he shook his head and tried to concentrate on the kind, beautiful lady in front of him.

"You don't know that she has taken these pills," he said in an attempt to offer comfort.

"Evelyn thinks that Mrs. Hodges would have noticed the similarity between us. The fact she made no mention of it could mean Caroline changed her mind."

Elliot nodded. "It is a possibility." He did not wish to attempt to predict the workings of a woman's mind. And with Grace's thoughts being so abstract he could not tune into them, either.

"Evelyn said we need to find out who fathered the child, who pays the rent on Caroline's house. She thinks I need to let people know who I really am. She's going to secure invitations to the most popular balls." She was speaking so quickly he had to concentrate just to make sense of it all. "When people learn I'm Caroline's sister, we hope the gossips will be eager to offer information."

"Well. You've certainly been busy," he said, not knowing which part of the plan to protest against first. "Do you think it wise to reveal your identity? After this has all settled down, you may wish to come to town on occasion."

Her eyes grew wide, the corners of her mouth turning down in disdain. "I hate it here. The ballrooms are packed with fakes and frauds. They are full of people who hide behind a feigned persona and wonder around in a bid for others to tickle their fancy."

Elliot folded his arms across his chest. "You'll find that wherever you go. It is the way of the world."

"It is not my way."

For some reason, her comment roused his ire. Perhaps because he felt as though she was judging him. Perhaps because he was tired of talking and desired a more pleasurable way to spend time in her company.

"Forgive me for being blunt, but did you not construct a feigned persona when you married Henry Denton? You were hardly being true to yourself then."

Her expression grew solemn, the brilliant light banished from her countenance. She bit down on her bottom lip before sucking in a breath. "It is hardly the same. I believed he cared. What I did, I did for the sake of others, not out of vanity or some over-inflated notion of my own worth."

"Does being a martyr make you any less of a fool?"

As soon as the words tumbled from his pathetic mouth he wished he could reclaim them. He could have ripped the dress from her back and administered twenty lashes and the look she cast him would have been equally the same. His words must have cut deep, deep enough to draw blood.

"You think me a fool?" she said coming to her feet abruptly. "I can see you hide the devil's own tongue behind your godly persona. It is obvious you do not understand me at all, so I shall say good day to you, my lord."

She swung around, knocking into the arm of the chair. Despite offering a groan, she marched towards the door.

In any other situation, with any other woman, he would have opened the door for her and shouted good riddance. But it pained him to think she harboured ill feeling towards him. It pained him to think he would never know if their joining would be different from the whole of host of other women he'd bedded.

Most disturbing of all, he did not want to hurt her. He wanted her to look upon him as her hero, her champion in her fight against the enemy.