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Best friends blur the lines....just for a moment.
Why wasn't the presence of the blasted canopy the first thing he noticed, he wondered irritably. Even the walls were vastly different. They contained no windows and were papered in an expensive raised fabric containing an intricate design which looked soft to the touch. Almost as soft as the flooring beneath his feet which wasn't rug covered hardwood, but carpet.
The whole room was done in varying shades of crimson and obsidian. It stimulated the senses and left little to the imagination as to what purpose the room was designed to be used for. And that purpose had little to do with sleeping.
Where in Hades was he? And where in Hades was his sister?
Without another thought, Thomas burst through the door into the corridor beyond. He rushed down the hall, opening door after door looking for Tammy. When he finally came to the end of the hall he was forced to acknowledge that wherever his sister was, it wasn't here, in this overly huge townhouse with its subterranean chambers devoid of natural light. Thomas hurried to the grand staircase located right across from the entrance to the last bedchamber he'd searched. Halfway up, he came to an abrupt halt.
A man had appeared at the top. A man huge in height as well as breadth, with a wide brow, pitch black eyes and auburn hair tied back off a pale face possessing aristocratic features containing more than just a touch of cruelty and hardness. A man who's face Thomas had seen before. But not in person.
But seen it he had, he admitted to himself. Next to his own, just hours earlier, in the hand mirror which still lay on the floor of his room. As he'd never before made the man's acquaintance, he'd assumed the man was a figment of his imagination even going so far as to jokingly tell Tammy on the way to the ball that her magic hand mirror had shown her husband to him rather than her because it knew a male relative's approval was required first.
What he hadn't mentioned to Tammy was that "her husband's" lips had been pressed tight to Thomas's throat.
The man didn't speak, just stared down at Thomas. Unable to hold the piercing, cold gaze, Thomas's eyes dropped to the man's hands. One rested lightly on the railing while the other held a glass containing a sanguine fluid. Thomas had the most irrational desire to taste the liquid. Just to see if it tasted like it looked...to see if it tasted like...blood.
Disturbed at the train of his thoughts, Thomas drug his eyes back upwards. And was immediately hit with the impression that the man wasn't just seeing him, but that he peering into Thomas's very soul, seeing, understanding, dismantling all of him. Even parts of him that Thomas himself didn't understand.
Thomas took a step down and backwards, back the way he'd just come. "Wh-where am I? And where is my sister?"
"Safe," the man answered in a rumbling bass which was pleasing to the ear. A vague smile twisted his lips up slightly at the corners. "But you're asking the wrong questions, dear Thomas."
Thomas started, surprised the man knew his name. "I apologize, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. You are...?"
The Duke of Williamton. Thomas may not have known the man by sight, but he certainly knew him by name. The man was legendary for his genius with financial undertakings.
"Y-y-your grace," he stammered, dismayed not by title, but by the duke's menacing stance. Just standing there as he was, he was an exceedingly intimidating figure. "I'm sure you'll understand that I'd like to verify with my own eyes as to the safety of my sibling. If you will kindly tell me where she is."
Montford lifted his glass to his lips and took a long draw of the contents. "Safe."
Thomas's mouth watered. He'd never cared much for wine, preferring instead warmed brandy, but right now he was eager to taste the blood red liquid for himself. It looked delicious. And warm. And thick. And he fancied that he could almost smell its strong coppery aroma.
So involved in lusting after the wine, Thomas almost missed the duke's next statem