Blood Secret. Sharon Page

livery escorted her past the drawing room in which she had first encountered the duke.

      Inside Lucy was ready to explode. And not with desire. Had Greystone done something with her brother? Had his words frightened Jack so much they had forced him to run? Had the duke hurt her brother over this bizarre accusation?

      How could her father have kidnapped the duke’s nephew? It was impossible. Father never would have done such a thing. The accusation was utterly insane.

      Was Greystone insane? He had not seemed so when she had ... oh God, when she’d had intimate relations with him. He had been astonishingly kind to her. He had comforted her about Allan Ferrars, soothing her, telling her she was brave. Had he done all those things while knowing what had happened to her brother?

      And she, the utter fool, had been seduced by his words and by his wonderful touches and the thrusts that had made her whole body quiver with pleasure.

      But then a memory struck her, one that made her halt on the stairs. She clutched the banister to keep her balance. Father had rescued children who were shape-shifting dragons. He had taken in many orphans or abandoned children, and had supported them, and helped them understand what they were. Just before he had died, Father had been distraught. There had been a child he had taken in ... one he said he had tried to protect ... but that he had failed to do so.

      How could that have been the duke’s nephew? Father only took in children who had no family or who had been cast off and rejected by their relatives.

      “Where is the duke?” she demanded of the servant, when they reached the stairs that swept up to the next story of the house. “Where are you taking me?”

      The footman bowed. “His Grace wished to meet you in the Pleasure Room.”

      “The what room?” She stared. The servant, an elderly man, with bushy gray eyebrows and crinkled blue eyes beneath his powdered wig, held his face without expression. He did not even blush.

      “It is a special room used by His Grace,” the man replied. He began to mount the stairs.

      “Indeed.” Lifting her hems, she followed, rolling her eyes. Only the Duke of Greystone, scoundrel and libertine that he was, could have a room of such a name. A normal gentleman would have a library, a study, and a bedchamber. He would not openly call a room the “Pleasure” Room.

      She had been a fool to come here and offer herself to him. The duke must have been laughing at her all the while.

      The footman stopped at the end of the hall, at double white paneled doors. “Do not announce me,” she said. She intended to take His Grace by surprise. Lucy threw open both doors and stalked inside. She planned to face Greystone and crisply ask, “What happened to my brother? You were the last person to see him.”

      But she was taken by surprise.

      There was one astonishing thing in this room she had seen before, but quite a few things she hadn’t. Dark paneling covered the walls. Glowing light came from a huge fireplace and tapered candles set in tall, wrought-iron stands. A large cheval mirror stood near a bench, reflecting the flickering candle flames. Strange wooden objects littered the room—stands and benches with ropes tied to them. A swing with a small velvet seat hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. And manacles also dangled from the ceiling. This room looked as though it had nothing to do with pleasure.

      “Lady Lucy. How delightful. You are early.”

      The duke’s voice flowed to her. He stood in front of the fireplace, illuminated by the glow. She had been trying to look everywhere at once, and not at him. As the day before, he was not wearing any clothes.

      But this time, when she saw him, her traitorous brain thought of what his body had felt like under her fingertips. What it had felt like when his narrow hips had been between her legs and his chest had been a wicked pressure against her naked breasts—

      Lucy crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to blush, to show any intimidation. “Your Grace, I have learned you spoke to my brother on the night he disappeared,” she said sharply. “He left a seedy tavern in your company, and then he has not been seen again. And you accused my father of kidnapping your nephew. That’s impossible!”

      Greystone plucked something off the mantel. He strode to her, at ease in his nudity. He held out a glass to her—a delicate glass with amber liquid within. Sherry. After what she had just said, he was offering sherry.

      “Your Grace, what happened to my brother?”

      He set the glass on one of the strange benches. There were chains attached to the legs. “And how did you learn of this, Lady Lucy?”

      “I hired a man to hunt for my brother. He has been missing for a week! He vanished after telling me about his debts to you. I feared—I feared he had done something foolish.”

      “Hurt himself?”

      “No—run away. Left England.”

      “Yes, your brother is the sort of wastrel who would do that.”

      “You have no right to say such a thing,” she flared. “What did you do to him? Did you injure him because he has not paid his debts?” Bothered, she looked down. He was now very erect, as though their argument aroused him.

      She glared into his eyes. “What did you do to him?”

      “I questioned him. Which is a better treatment than he deserves, since he would not tell me where my nephew is being held.”

      “That is madness. My family did not kidnap your nephew.”

      “They did. And you must be very well aware of the fact. So you tell me, Lady Lucy, where is the boy? Where is your family hiding my nephew, James?”

      “How could you think my family did such a thing? I do not know anything about your nephew. I am sorry if he is missing. I know how terrifying that is, since I have no idea what happened to my brother. But my family had nothing to do with his disappearance.”

      “Not true. They did, and I suspect you know where he is. It is a known fact that your family is a closely knit clan.”

      The way he looked into her eyes ... as though he knew ... but he couldn’t ...

      Unless her brother, Jack, had told him they were dragons.

      No, Jack would never do that. They had all been taught they must never reveal the truth.

      His Grace walked around her slowly. She stood her ground—until he came against her from behind. His erection poked her bottom through her skirts. She tried to step away, but his arms went around her waist. “You are being loyal to your family, and you are lying to me.”

      “I’m not!” Lucy half-turned to protest, and her lips almost touched his. Breathing hard, she turned away.

      “You hired a man to search for your brother. What do you think I did to find my nephew? I have sent two dozen men in search of him. But the reason I know your father took him, Lady Lucy, is because your father told me.”

      “It’s—it can’t be possible. My father would never have done such a thing. Why would he?”

      “I believe you know, Lady Lucy.” He breathed the words against her ear with his cool breath.

      “I don’t!”

      Sinjin tried to see into Lady Lucy’s thoughts. He could not, but her emotions flooded to him. Anger. Confusion. Frustration. Fear. Worry.

      Why the fear? Was she fearful because she might be caught in a lie? Or was she feeling great fear because she was afraid for her brother? He skimmed his hands up her stomach, to rest just below the generous curve of her breasts. She wore a fresh gown, a fetching one of ivory silk. She stiffened. Her heart thundered against his fingers. “Your father assured me James is safe. But he also assured me I would never see the boy again. Why, my dear, do you think I worked to ruin your brother?”

      “I—”

      “I