J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [799]
The male nodded and dabbed at his eyes. “She awoke from her slumbers feeling a certain disquiet and was advised to attend to her private quarters for her health. She was brought a meal at midnight and then another well before the dawn’s arrival. That was the last she was seen. Her evening quarters are upstairs, but she also has, along with the rest of the family, rooms underground. She often elected not to move down below with us for the day, however, and as we have access to her through inner hallways, we assumed she would be safe enough—”
The male choked up at this point. “How I wish I had insisted.”
Darius could very much understand the regret. “We shall find your daughter. One way or the other, we shall find her. Would you permit us to go now unto her bedroom?”
“Please do.” As the male nodded at his doggen, the butler came forward. “Silas will be pleased to escort you. I shall . . . prefer to wait here.”
“But of course.”
When Darius stood up, the father reached forward and snagged his hand. “A word, if I may? Between you and me.”
Darius acquiesced, and after Tohrment and the doggen left, the master of the house collapsed back into his formal chair.
“Verily . . . my daughter was of worth. Of virtue. Untouched by . . .”
In the pause that stretched out, Darius knew what the male was concerned with: If they didn’t get her back in that virginal condition, her honor, as well as the family’s, was in jeopardy.
“I cannot say this in front of my beloved shellan,” the male continued. “But our daughter . . . If she has been defiled . . . perhaps it would be better to leave . . .”
Darius’s eyes narrowed. “You would prefer her not be found.”
Tears sprang up in those pale eyes. “I . . .” Abruptly, the male shook his head. “No . . . no. I want her back. No matter the outcome, no matter her condition . . . of course I want my daughter.”
Darius was not inclined to offer support—that such a denial of his blooded child had even crossed the male’s mind was grotesque. “I should like to go to her room now.”
The master of the house snapped his fingers and the doggen stepped back into the archway of the study.
“This way, sire,” the butler said.
As he and his protégé were taken through the house, Darius scanned the reinforced windows and doors. There was steel everywhere, either separating the panes of glass or fortifying the stout oak panels. To get in without welcome would not be easy . . . and he was willing to bet that every room on the second and third floors was similarly well-appointed—as were the servants’ quarters.
He also measured every painting and rug and precious object as they ascended. This family was high up within the glymera, with coffers choked with coin and an enviable bloodline. Thus, the fact of their unmated daughter going missing affected more than just their heartstrings: She was a marketable asset. With this sort of background, a female of mate-able age was a thing of beauty . . . and social and financial implication.
And that was not the full extent of it. As with all such valuations, the converse was true as well: To have such a daughter ruined, either in fact or by rumor, was a taint that would take generations to even dim. The master of this mansion no doubt loved his daughter honestly, but the weight of all this distorted the relationship.
Darius quite believed that in the male’s eyes it was better that she come home in a pine box as opposed to breathing, but defiled. The latter was a curse, the former a tragedy that would garner much sympathy.
Darius hated the glymera. He truly did.
“Here are her private quarters,” the doggen said, swinging open a door.
As Tohrment stepped inside the candlelit room, Darius asked, “Have these been cleaned? Have they been tidied since she was herein?”
“Of course.”
“Leave us, please?”
The doggen bowed deeply and disappeared.
Tohrment