Blood Secret (7 page)

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Authors: Sharon Page

Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica

BOOK: Blood Secret
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7
The Hunt
S
he had done the most intimate things with this man—she had let him make love to her in the most shocking and scandalous ways. That, she’d had the courage to do, but speaking to him as they sat across from each other in a carriage? Suddenly it was impossible. And being in such a confined space with the Duke of Greystone felt like the most awkward thing in the world.
Lucy folded her arms in front of her chest. Her neck ached from the ramrod stiffness of her spine, but the duke looked far more pained than she. He was slumped in the corner, his head thrown back, his eyes shut. Harsh lines ringed his mouth. He kept making grumpy, growling sounds, like an angered bear.
“What is wrong?” she ventured. “Is it worry about your nephew? I am—I am sure he must be all right.” He must be—surely Father could not have done anything else. “I am sure Father would take the best care of him.”
“Are you?”
How could he make love to her, coax her to do such naughty things, smile at her while he did, then speak with such ice?
She knew why—it was this horrible thing he believed her family had done.
“Yes,” she answered swiftly. But her father’s tears and his words—
I failed a child
—rang in her head. She didn’t know the truth, but she feared the worst, and it made her sick with guilt and horror.
“What of my brother?” she asked, and the silence seemed to shatter like fragile ice on a pond. “Was he all right? Did your men tell you anything about how he is faring?”
Greystone stretched out his legs, and lifted a brow. “You are worried about that worthless scoundrel? Lady Lucy, you are foolishly and unnecessarily sentimental. Your brother is hiding in a brothel. I assure you he is fine. Very fine, though perhaps a bit tired.”
Something about the way he spoke ... “Did you see him? You said your men found him, but you speak as though you have seen him for yourself.”
“Indeed. I visited him last night. I wanted him to tell me where my nephew is being held. He refused.”
Lucy swallowed hard. “You don’t seem like the sort of gentleman who takes a refusal in stride. What did you do?” Her voice rose as her panic did. “Did you hurt him? Torture him? Kill him?”
“My dear, I would not be taking you to the brothel if I had either hurt or destroyed him. What would be the point? Also, he can’t help me if he is dead.”
It was true. “So you simply left him in the brothel when he would not help you?”
“That was my intention for the time being, while I determined the best plan of attack to make him help me.”
Oh dear God, she had been a fool. Greystone wanted to force her brother to speak ... and he had
her
alone in a carriage. “Are you planning to use me as leverage?” Her voice broke. Lucy began to laugh—laughter that turned to choking sobs. She regained her breath. “It wouldn’t work. And you can’t threaten to ruin me, can you? We’ve already done that. What are you going to do? Threaten to kill me. Perhaps he would let you—”
“No, he wouldn’t. You told me he saved your life once before.”
“I do not know anymore what he is capable of doing. He can hardly care about us all when he simply deserted us to live in a brothel.”
The duke’s brow rose. “He would hardly let you suffer.”
“I don’t know... . I do not know anymore... . He didn’t care if our sister was forced to marry an older, disgusting earl. He knew how afraid and desperate we were.” She took a shaky breath. Ice emanated from the duke’s glower. Softly, she asked, “Is your nephew like me? Can he change into a dragon?”
“Yes.”
Through narrowed eyes, he watched her. “So the truth now comes out. You do know your family took my nephew.”
“I do not.” But she sucked in a harsh breath. Could Father have believed the duke’s nephew was in danger? Perhaps he could have taken the boy, if he believed he had to protect the child. When Father took in abandoned children, it was to protect them from parents who thought them monsters, from villagers who intended to kill them, from dragon slayers.
But to
kidnap
a duke’s nephew ...
“Did my father speak to you about your nephew’s power? Did my father want to take your nephew to help him?”
“No, Lady Lucy.”
She waited for more explanation but he gave her nothing. “I—I thought perhaps my father insisted that your nephew should be with others of his kind. So we could help him adapt to the human world.”
“No, my dear. Such things were never discussed.”
Was he lying? Her father would not take a child unless he had no other choice.
“But you knew about your nephew’s ability to become a dragon?”
“Yes, I had witnessed it. It was unfortunate, but it could not be helped. And as a vampire, I knew exactly how to care for James. Your father did not take my nephew to protect him. It was entirely selfish motives that prompted your father to steal a frightened boy.”
“I am sure that is not true.”
“What you believe out of loyalty is of no consequence. Anyway, we have arrived. Shall we get out and find your brother?”
What she thought was of no
consequence?
“Why?” she demanded. “So you can threaten me in front of him?”
The duke sighed. “Of course not. So you can obtain the information from him. If you wish to leave here with your brother, that is what you must do.”
So he would not let her take Jack with her, unless he got what he wanted.
Apparently sleeping with the man had not made him feel anything for her. He spoke as dispassionately as he would about lint on his coat. Lucy pursed her lips as the carriage door opened, then his footman helped her down the steps. To think she had liked this rogue’s kisses.
She whirled on him as he stepped down from the carriage. She stood on the sidewalk—of a not-quite fashionable street on the fringe of Mayfair. “What do you mean—if I want to leave here? What are you going to do? Kill me? Force me into captivity in the brothel? Hurt my brother?”
She’d expected he would look hard and cruel. Instead, the duke looked old, worn down, filled with pain. “Lady Lucy, if I have to keep you captive until I get the truth out of one of you, I will.”
He would not. She doubted he could keep her captive—in dragon form she was incredibly strong. Very strong, if she were fighting for her life.
She would find out about his nephew. But why had her father taken the boy? Had it been to protect him from his hard, unfeeling vampire of an uncle?
Lucy stepped over the threshold of the brothel into a beautiful foyer. A fountain bubbled in the middle and skylights bathed the sparkling water with moonlight.
Gasping, she turned in a circle, drinking in the elegance of this house of ill repute.
Her brother spent most of his nights in brothels like this, but she had never been in one. She had always imagined a whorehouse would be a house decorated with garish scarlet, filled with screeching women and drunken men.
This house was a beautiful white-stucco home, one of a row of elegant townhouses. Tasteful décor leapt to the eye—expensive furnishings, beautiful respectable paintings of nymphs in light and airy dresses, paneled walls. Two footmen respectfully bowed, murmuring, “Good evening, Your Grace. Madam.” They drew open two large black doors.
The duke grasped her arm and placed her hand on the crook of his arm. She tried to break free but he would not let her. She glared at him.
He leaned close and whispered, “Be careful, love. There are brothels that cater to vampires, demons, and shifters. This isn’t one of them.”
Her eyes must have gone huge—she felt the abrupt lift of her hairline as her brows arched high.
The duke drew out a small stack of notes—and pressed it to the hand of a youthful footman who waited respectfully by the brothel’s front door. “I am looking for Lord Wrenshire. I believe he has reserved a private room for several days.”
“His lordship specifically requested he not be disturbed.”
She wanted to smack her brother. The duke calmly withdrew a few more notes from his pocket. “I assume he was not as generous with his tips for your services?”
“Indeed he was not. If you will follow me, Your Grace—” With that, the young lad turned and strode toward a curved stair. They took that one up, followed myriad corridors until they reached a door painted a powder blue. The servant rapped. And rapped again.
“He’s probably asleep.” Lucy knew Jack—it was far too early for him to be up. Irritation made her slam her palm hard on the door. “Jack, get up and open this door right
now.
”
The servant looked as though his cravat was strangling him. “I beg your pardon, Miss, but the gentleman might not have come because he’s not—not decent.”
“My brother is
rarely
decent.”
The lock clicked and to Lucy’s shock, the door opened. The duke had his hand on the door handle. The door swung wide, revealing a room with a huge bed. And bodies in the bed. Arms stuck out from the sheets, and dangling feet. There must be four women in the bed.
Four women in the bed ... with Jack.
The duke grasped her shoulders. “You should wait outside.”
“You must be joking,” she gasped. “After what you did. After what you
threatened
to do to me—including keeping me a prisoner in here? Finding this particular scene is nothing.”
“My dear, I never threatened anything specific. Your vivid imagination ran away with you. I would never keep you a prisoner. Not a courageous lady like you. Your brother, however ...” He let his voice trail away as he tried to direct her away from the bedroom door.
“You said you would quite happily keep me captive.”
“My own private captive. And not here.”
She pushed his hands away. Anyway, now the shock had gone and she knew what she was seeing, she could tell her brother wasn’t in the bed. “My brother isn’t here, so it doesn’t matter what you planned to do with him.”
“So he isn’t. But I should make sure.” The duke moved quickly and effortlessly to the bed. One girl sleepily tried to sit up, gasping, “Oo—er, what time is it?”
The duke yanked the sheets back. Lucy saw four voluptuous females intertwined on the bed, heard the girls squeal and protest and try to grab the sheets. She saw the duke look under the bed before he relinquished the blankets and allowed the women to cover themselves.
She suspected he was trying to shock her. Or perhaps show her Jack’s true nature, in the hopes she would betray her family by telling him where his nephew was. She would tell—if she knew. She squared her shoulders and stalked to the wardrobe. She opened it—it had much the same scandalous sexual playthings in it, like whips and ropes, as the duke kept in his wardrobe. Regardless, Jack wasn’t hiding there.
She shut the doors. Greystone was looking behind the curtains and one of the prostitutes cried, “What are ye doing? Who are ye?”
“The Duke of Greystone,” came the deep, rumbling reply. “And a lady. What happened to Lord Wrenshire?”
The girl pushed tangled blond curls back. “ ’E’s not ’ere? Well, ’e was last night. ’E was in bed with all of us.”
Lucy stepped forward and faced the girl squarely. “I am his sister—”
The duke made a strangled sound, but she ignored him. She was too angry to care that these women now knew who she was. “I did not know he was here. I thought he was in trouble, lost somewhere in London. He has three sisters altogether and we have been all frantic with worry.”
“Well, that’s gents for you. Thoughtless.” Another girl extracted herself from the tangle on the bed. She jumped off the mattress to the floor. She wore a shift that was so translucent her dark pink nipples showed through. Red waves hung to her waist.
“Do you know where Wrenshire went?” Greystone asked. “To another room perhaps?”
The redhead shrugged. “He might have. Or he might have gone. He said he couldn’t stay much longer. That he could not stay in any one place for a long time anymore, in case he got caught.”
“Caught? By who?” Lucy glared at the duke.
He shrugged, palms up, with a look of innocence on his face. “Not me.”
She was not so sure, but she met the eyes of each girl. “Was my brother afraid of someone? Did he say who?” She knew they would not say if Jack was afraid of Greystone, but one of them might betray the truth with a nervous glance to the duke.
They all stared at each other. A brunette rubbed her chin. The redhead yawned and stretched and the other two, both blondes, shook their heads. “He didn’t say,” they all said, almost in unison.
Lucy could see the duke searching the room. There were no masculine clothes, though the scent of cigar smoke hung in the air. She went to the bedside tables and pulled open drawers. The four prostitutes peered at her, and she knew her neck was blushing scarlet, like her cheeks, but she kept searching. The drawers held nothing personal to her brother. There were velvet ropes, manacles, and ivory wands.

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