eyes widened. “With Jack missing?”
“Creadmore will look after both you and Beatrix.” Creadmore was loyal—he had been Father’s butler for twenty years. He would ensure the family was safe. But Helena’s ingenuous question reminded Lucy that she could not look for Jack for the two wretched weeks she had to spend with the duke. “I will write every day, Helena,” she promised impulsively. “I’ll send letters by footman or by the express.” Which would save her from having to explain a London postmark.
She was weaving a tangled mess.
But in two weeks, the debt would be paid. They would be safe. Then she could find Jack, and she would give him a kick in the breeches for all the trouble he’d caused.
As for her ruination and possible pregnancy ... she wouldn’t think of that now. She would give Jack an extra kick in his behind if she was expecting a child.
At least, she was certain Jack was alive and safe. He always ran away when he got into trouble. It had driven Father mad. Now it was going to do the same to her.
Late in the night, but before dawn began to touch the sky, he walked to his sister’s grave.
Sinjin flicked up the collar of his greatcoat and stalked through the cemetery, toward the massive crypt that held his sister’s coffin. He carried a bouquet of roses.
He had lost all his family except Emma when he had been nine years of age. The dragon slayers had found him, had taken him in and raised him. With his father dead, he had become the Duke of Greystone. But the only title that had mattered to him had been that of dragon slayer. Wreaking vengeance on dragons had helped him survive the pain of losing his parents, his younger brother, and his other two sisters.
Emma had never been able to heal. She’d always been lost in a sort of make-believe world. She had believed she had fairies for friends, and she would not even speak to anyone but him.
Emma had been made into a vampire by the dragon slayers, just as he had been. When she was as old as he was, when he had been turned, he had insisted she be given immortal life.
All members of the dragon slayers clan were given immortality. Their souls were taken and their bodies were made stronger by the transformation. As vampires, they were almost invincible. Emma should have lived for eternity. But Emma had fallen in love with a forbidden man—a dragon. She had run away with him. Other dragon slayers had hunted the man down and destroyed him. After she had lost her husband, Emma had gone mad. She had destroyed herself. She had walked out into the sunlight, had screamed with agony as the light burned her to ashes and dust.
With her death, he had lost everyone in his family—except Emma had a child. And when she had killed herself, she had left her son alone, without parents.
Sinjin pulled open the door to the crypt, ducked his head, and stepped into the dark. It was pitch dark, but as a vampire, he could see easily. Emma’s cool marble sarcophagus stood in the middle. Her likeness was carved into the top. On it, with her marble eyes closed and her sculpted hands resting on her chest, he could imagine she was still alive and she looked this way, as though she was merely sleeping. But all that was inside the coffin was a small pile of dust.
His heart cold, he laid the roses on top of the marble hands. “I know James is safe, Emma,” he said aloud, into the quiet of the tomb. “I will have him home soon. I promise.”
And he would. James was the only family he had left.
He had to ensure he acquired Lady Lucy Drake’s trust. After that, he could question her, and try to find clues to where James was being held by her family. If he could coax her to trust him, he would be able to slowly break through the defenses she carried as a shape-shifter and see into her thoughts.
But before dawn, he would try one more time with her brother, Jack.
One of his servants had brought him word this evening: they had discovered where her damned brother was hiding.
Maybe the Earl of Wrenshire would be more forthcoming with his information when he found out what his sister was willing to do to save him.
Her trunk was packed. Lucy swiftly tied her bonnet ribbons beneath her chin, her gloves tucked beneath her arm.
She was ready to go—to run for the carriage before she lost her nerve—when the front door opened, the scent of smoke whirled in, and one of her investigators bowed, gave her a crooked smile, and said softly, “I have findings to report, my lady.”
She led him into the study, which would have been her brother’s room if Jack had not disappeared, and sat at the desk. Arching her brow, she waited for her investigator to begin. He doffed his beaver hat and gave her another grin, looking relaxed and devilish. A former Bow Street Runner, Mr. Armstrong did not look like the sort of man who respected the law, but he reputedly took cases without payment or hope of reward when he felt justice should be served.
He had agreed to find her missing brother and accept his payment later. Lucy suspected it was because the handsome, dark-haired man admired Helena.
“I believe I’ve traced the last movements the earl made before he disappeared, my lady.” Armstrong drew a notebook from a deep pocket and flicked the pages with his black-gloved hands. “At eight of the night, the earl left his club and proceeded to—” He stopped abruptly, then ran his fingers around his collar. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but the rest might not be suitable for a lady’s ears.”
Lucy sighed. “You cannot shock me, Mr. Armstrong. I assume it was either a seedy gaming establishment or a brothel.”
“Indeed it was a combination of both, my lady. At midnight, he took his leave and visited several gaming halls.”
She arched a brow. “Several? Could he not lose enough money at one?”
She didn’t expect an answer but to her surprise he gave her one. “It appears he was not engaged in deep play but in the pursuit of a duke,” he said.
“A duke? And this was on the night he disappeared?” Normally her brother stayed out all night, but returned in mid-morning, where he would collapse in a drunken stupor on his bed. But on that particular day, he had not appeared. He had gone out the night before and he had not come back. “Which duke?” Though, really, what other duke would it be?
“The Duke of Greystone,” Armstrong confirmed. “They encountered each other in a tavern near the London Docks. According to several witnesses, they left together.”
“They did?” And the wretched duke had said nothing about it. Did he know what had happened to Jack?
“I take it, my lady, you wish to know what they spoke about? They were overheard.”
“Yes, of course I do!”
“They spoke of the duke’s nephew. The duke accused the earl’s father of kidnapping his young nephew.”
5
The Pleasure Room
The Duke of Greystone possessed an enormous house on Upper Brook Street—one crafted of severe gray stone and rows of sparkling windows. A footman in sapphire-blue and silver livery escorted her past the drawing room in which she had first encountered
