Slave to the Night (The Brotherhood 2)

"Remove your mask." The blunt words reflected his frustration. "I cannot hold a conversation with you when your face is obscured."

She hesitated before glancing over her shoulder. There were no other guests in the vicinity. With a sigh she turned back to him, her fingers trembling as she removed her mask.

In his mind, he had constructed a mental picture of Caroline Rosemond, expecting to see the exact same image. But he was mistaken. The similarity was unarguable, yet the face before him held qualities her kin could never hope to possess. She was not what one would call a striking beauty, but her countenance spoke of kindness, warmth, and affection. While she exuded innocence, the long lashes sweeping her peachy cheeks accompanied by full lips with a pronounced bow suggested an inner passion he felt compelled to pursue.

He could recall no other woman who appeared to be so delicate and so determined at the same time.

"Wh-what proof do you have?" Good God, had he just stuttered?

The lady lifted her chin. "Caroline made a note of it."

"Before the supposed event, I assume?"

"Well, yes. But—"

"Then you have no proof we actually met at all. My brother has recently married, and I have been occupied this last week with various family engagements. Ask her when you return home. Although I do not think she'll be best pleased to discover you've stolen her identity with the intention of snooping into her affairs."

A pang of sadness hit him in the chest — her pain not his own.

"I … I have not seen her for days," she suddenly blurted. "She went out to meet with you and did not return."

Elliot narrowed his gaze. "Surely you don't think I've got anything to do with it. I told you. I have no idea what you're talking about."

She sniffed and sucked in a breath. "I do not know what to think. But when you noticed me and assumed I was Caroline, I knew then you were not responsible for her murder."

"Murder! Why on earth would you think she's been murdered? She's probably been whisked away to Brighton by a lover and simply forgot to mention it."

"You're wrong." She shook her head vigorously, a stray tendril brushing her cheek. "She invited me to stay because I believe she had something important to tell me. She would never go away and leave me here alone."

In his cynical experience, women like Caroline Rosemond cared only for their own interests. She would bow to the whims of whichever gentleman paid her rent.

"Do you have access to this note?" If something truly had happened to Miss Rosemond, he did not wish to be embroiled in a scandal.

Struggling to meet his gaze, she glanced down as the apples of her cheeks flushed pink. "It is not a note. It … it was written in her private diary."

In the four years that he had lived with his affliction, in the years where he had hardened his heart to all sentiment, he had never felt a stirring of emotion in his chest. Yet the look of guilt etched on her face, the way her mouth curled down with remorse, touched him.

Spending so much time with Alexander and Evelyn had evidently softened his steely resolve.

"In times of trouble, we must do what is necessary to find the answers we seek," he said in a bid to console her.

When her tempting lips curled up into a weak smile in response, he suddenly felt like the richest of men.

"That was how I knew you had been on … on intimate terms with her."

"Trust me," he said with a snort. "I have never been on intimate terms with Miss Rosemond."

"But she mentioned your name and when you said you knew her, your words implied otherwise."

"I knew you were not who you were pretending to be. As I said, my intention was to shock so you would stumble."

She gave a resigned nod, and her shoulders sagged. "Oh, I see."

"I can't explain why she saw fit to write such things, but I ca

n assure you I am not a man who welcomes such complications."

"My sister certainly would be a complication in any gentleman's life." She sighed deeply. "I don't know where to turn now. I don't know what to do."