A Dark Heart by Margaret Foxe Read Free Book Online Page B

been
different. He wouldn't be bound to this place and the people under its roof in
so many complicated and unwelcome ways.
    Llewellyn House was located in the toniest street on Mayfair and took up
nearly half a city block, not counting the massive enclosed gardens stretching
behind it. The marble façade was built nearly a century ago in the bombastic
Baroque style meant to cow the lower classes into submission by its display of
wealth. And unlike many aristocratic families these days, the outward splendor
wasn't just a veneer. The House of Llewellyn had managed to retain its fortunes
through the social and economic upheavals that had rocked the Empire for the
past four decades.
    The earldom's survival was in large part due to the fact that its
patriarch was immortal. Rowan had maintained the family coffers of his descendants
from a distance for centuries. Now that Rowan had discreetly stepped back into
the role of Earl, the House of Llewellyn gleamed brighter than ever.
    And Elijah hated it. Even as a young lad, when he'd lived at Llewellyn
House for a year after the fire, before the old Earl had turned him over to the
Drexlers, he'd never grown accustomed to his aristocratic surroundings, so
clean and rich and alien after a life lived in squalor. He had indeed been
cowed by the wealth, just as had been intended by the original architects. And
as he'd grown up and continued to visit the old Earl, who'd insisted on
mentoring him, his feelings of inadequacy and alienation had never faded.
    They still hadn't. But now his rage and resentment overshadowed these old
insecurities when he was forced to visit. The secrets of its residents had cost
Elijah too much.
    At least Lady Christiana wasn't in town. He wouldn't have been able to
heed the Duke's summons had shebeen there, consequences be damned. It
had simply become unbearable to be anywhere near her, the temptation of her
blood – her body – too much to withstand, even when his
veins were coursing with morphine.
    After being greeted at the door by the butler, he took a moment to scent
the air, just in case she'd returned early, but he could find nothing but
months' old traces of her unique perfume in the air. Even that was enough to
send an unwelcome spike of lust through his body. Damn her.
    He followed the butler across the vast Italian marble floor of the entry
hall, done in a black and white checkerboard pattern, and into the bowels of
the residence. Eventually they arrived at the rear of the house's ground floor,
where the Earl's study overlooked the massive back gardens.
    The butler opened the heavy, ancient door but didn't accompany him
further, and Elijah couldn't help but feel jealous of the man’s easy escape.
He'd rather be in hell than have to deal with the two men who lounged inside.
    Well, Rowan was lounging behind his desk, nursing a drink, but the
Duke wasn't. Brightlingsea didn't seem capable of lounging. His massive,
towering body, clothed in rumpled black from head to toe, stood near a bay
window, surveying the gardens. And though most people would have assumed he was
relaxed, they would have been very wrong. The coiled tension in every muscle of
Brightlingsea's body was so palpable Elijah could feel it clear across the
room.
    When the Duke turned towards him, Elijah noticed the black circles under
his eyes, the growth of black beard on his chin, and the black scowl that
seemed permanently etched on his face. The scowl wasn't anything new, but the
clear signs of bone-deep fatigue were. Something huge was troubling the Duke,
for even his perfect Da Vinci heart couldn't erase the signs of strain.
    And Percy thought Elijah was broody. Ha . Percy had never
met the Duke.
    Brightlingsea's ancient, intelligent, and infinitely horrible amber eyes
studied him until his skin crawled. Even though every Elder had those eyes
– and he had inherited one of his own – the Duke’s were
distinctive. Darker. Scarier. As if they had witnessed things even Elijah