Free Let the Night Begin by Kathryn Smith

study. Clarke was there, waiting in a chair in front of the desk, just asReign knew he would be. There was also a bottle of brandy and two snifters on the blotter. Clarke knew him too well.
    â€œA fair bit,” the man replied, reaching forward to pour the brandy. “I’m not sure if any of it will be helpful to you, however.”
    â€œIf it gives me any insight into my wife, it will be helpful.”
    Clarke smiled faintly, deepening several of the lines around his mouth and eyes. “So echoes the plaintive prayer of husbands everywhere.”
    Reign cocked both brows. “Spoken like a true, confirmed bachelor.”
    â€œI don’t expect to be anything but, since they won’t allow my kind to marry. Hell, after that mess with Wilde, I’m leery of approaching another man, much less engaging in a relationship.”
    â€œWilde ended up where he did not because he likes boys, but because he liked the wrong one. Queensberry took the relationship as a personal affront, and that’s what got Wilde in trouble.”
    â€œSo, as long as I never fall in love with the son of a marquess, I should be safe?”
    â€œExactly.”
    They shared a small smile and that was the end of the conversation. Reign appreciated the unfairness of Clarke’s plight. He just wasn’t sure he could understand it. He could understand that it wasn’t fair that vampires couldn’t go out in sunlight, but having sex with another man? That was beyondhim. Who’d want to lay with a man when there were such soft, supple, delicious women to choose from?
    Reign seated himself on the other side of the desk, in the thickly padded chair that molded to his body, engulfing him in hedonistic comfort. He lit a cigar without bothering to offer one to Clarke—his valet didn’t smoke—and took a drink from the crystal snifter as he braced the ankle of one leg on the thigh of the other.
    â€œAre you settled?” Clarke asked with a smile. It was a joke to him how Reign liked to have everything a certain way before they began a meeting. For Reign it was practice in maintaining a façade of humanity. Clarke wouldn’t find it nearly so amusing if that façade were to slip too far.
    â€œI’m good,” Reign replied. “What have you found?”
    Clarke slipped a pair of spectacles over his ears and opened a small, leather-bound book. “It is true that she became guardian of her nephew James Andrew Winscott Burnley upon the death of his mother, Rosemary. A carriage accident.”
    Reign knew that. “What of the boy’s father?”
    Clarke shook his graying head. “I could find no mention of him. I can look into the boy’s certificate of birth, see if it’s listed there.”
    â€œDo that.” If the father was still alive, he might be involved in James’s disappearance somehow. Especially if the man was looking for a little revenge against the woman who had taken his son. He could speculate until the dawn and still not be any closer to the truth. “What else?”
    â€œYoung Mr. Burnley was a good student at school, but was sent down on several occasions for usual boyish mischief.”
    No doubt Olivia gave the boy a good head-reading for that. “What of his friends and companions?”
    â€œHe had a large circle of friends in school, but for the last year he’s been spending more and more time with some young bucks from the upper classes.” Clarke consulted the pages before him. “Misters Binchley, Haversham, and Dashbrooke. I believe you know Mr. Dashbrooke.”
    Reign nodded. “Portly fellow. Bald. Tried to talk me into investing in some gold scheme in the Americas?”
    Clarke smiled, and Reign paused. Had he said something wrong? Damn, was Americas the wrong term?
    â€œYes,” Clarke replied. “That’s the man.”
    â€œDid anything come up about the boys or their fathers?”
    â€œNo. Only