Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Iwill not do it,” Laurence swore. The Duke of Blackford stared coldly at his younger friend. In all his two-and-thirty years, he had never had such a request.
“Solomon,” he said, his tone full of warning, “there has to be another way.”
Solomon Rutley, the Duke of Wynter—and Laurence’s closest friend—shook his head, his piercing eyes glinting with determination.
“If we want vengeance for Annabel, this is how we get it,” Solomon stated firmly. “We destroy it from the inside out.”
Laurence sneered, appalled at the idea of going to the auction—to the place where his sweet sister had been sold two years ago. She had been lured by a man who, not long after purchasing her, would be responsible for her death.
“Unless you found out some new information at the masquerade you went to last week?” Solomon offered with a raised brow.
Laurence cast his green eyes down to the table, torn between disgust and guilt.
He’d gone to the masquerade to eavesdrop on gentlemen far too along in their cups to keep their debaucherous secrets to themselves.
Instead, he’d been too disgusted by the party itself, and had fled to the library to catch his breath.
That decision now weighed heavily on his mind because of what had occurred in the library and who had joined him.
At first, he’d assumed that she was just as willing as the other guests to indulge in such scandalous behavior, but he’d found her both intriguing and amusing as she shared her opinion and her reason for attending.
Still, he should not have kissed her. He knew that. Yet, when she’d told him that he seemed safe, it had softened his defenses remarkably. He didn’t know her, and knew he should not want to know her either, but their kiss…their kiss had unleashed unexpected passions he’d long forsaken.
“Well? Did you?” Solomon asked, bringing Laurence back to the present.
“No,” he said gruffly, pushing himself away from the table. “I told you that you should have gone instead of me.”
“It is no easier for you to pretend than me,” Solomon retorted, reaching into his leather satchel. Two plain, gray masks clattered atop the table. “But I had my own mission, and it is mine that has proven successful.”
Laurence sneered at them.
“You found us entry?” he asked grimly.
Solomon gave a curt nod.“We go in two weeks.”
Laurence’s toned abdomen twitched and tensed with disgust. It was not just his mind that rebelled against the auction. It was his body and his spirit that rebelled against the idea. But he knew he had no choice. Not after what had happened to Annabel.
“Fine,” Laurence gritted out. “I want this finished.”
The heavy, wooden door creaked as someone opened it from the other side, and a moment later Laurence heard his sister’s heels clack atop the stone flooring toward them.
“Put those away,” he whispered, shoving the masks toward Solomon.
Laurence turned around, using himself to hide the contents on the table as Solomon hurried to swipe the masks back into his satchel.
It took him a second, but Laurence schooled his expression into a warm smile as he faced his youngest—and now only—sister, Madalene.
His heart ached as he saw her; Blonde hair, green eyes, rosy cheeks.
She looked more and more like Annabel every day.
“What are you two scheming about?” Madalene asked, her tone playful as she cocked her head to the side curiously.
“Just the usual,” Laurence said, forcing his tone to sound casual as he shrugged his wide shoulders. He glanced over once and found the masks gone. He relaxed, albeit only a little, and leaned down to plant a kiss on his sister’s forehead.
“And what is it that you are doing interrupting our scheming?” he asked teasingly.
Madalene smirked as she glanced at Solomon, who had taken to leaning against the mantle of the fireplace.
“Are you staying for supper again?” she asked him.
Laurence noted Solomon’s grin was instant. He might have been in love with Annabel, but he adored Madalene as if she were his little sister.
“Are you inviting me, dear lady?” Solomon asked.
“You always have an invitation at our table,” Madalene said affectionately.
Solomon bowed his head in respect to her.
“And it is an invitation I will always accept,” he replied.
“Very good,” Madalene answered.
“Is that all you came in here for?” Laurence asked, his gaze dropping down to the letter she held in her hands.
“Such impatience!” she playfully scolded as she offered the letter to him.
“The new Earl of Highcastle has invited us to dinner to celebrate his inheritance,” she explained, as Laurence unfolded the invitation.
“Poor form, in my opinion. His predecessor only died a week ago and he hosts a party? Not only that, but it’s such short notice!
It is tomorrow. I believe we should decline.
It feels strange, sudden, and improper. In my opinion, if you want to throw a dinner party… ”
Laurence’s eyes fell on the name of the dinner host.
“Benedict Page,” he said aloud, interrupting his sister.
“How very rude of you, my dear brother,” she retorted, her disapproval reverberating through the room
Laurence threw her an apologetic glance before he hardened his gaze and turned to Solomon.
His friend looked back at him with equal intensity, and their silent conversation began and ended in a matter of seconds.
They had reason to suspect that Benedict had some sort of hand in organizing the auction, but he was a hard man to gain an audience with, as he spent most of his time in his home outside London.
“We should go,” Laurence said aloud after he and Solomon shared a subtle nod. “Help the new earl celebrate.”
Madalene made a face as she took the invitation back.
“But it is so inappropriate,” she argued. “The late earl’s daughter buried her father only a few days ago. This is a time for mourning, not celebration.”
“People mourn in all sorts of ways, little sister,” Laurence retorted. “We are going.”