Blood Secret. Sharon PageЧитать онлайн книгу.
“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.