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.: Chapter II :.

Charles Grey

"Poking Around"

. . .

"I'm afraid Earl Kingsley isn't in at the moment, Lord Grey." The stiff man, recognized as the household's footman, became a tail-coated blockade to the ajared double doors.

'Rude. Completely rude.' This man refused Grey any access inside. Of course, he would have been allowed in if he had said it was business from the Queen. But it wasn't. Partially. If he had said that then it would only raise suspicions and he wasn't one to always rely on the Queen's privilege. Grey figured that he should go about this plan himself. After all, he's been acquainted with Wynn for quite a bit of time. Earning Riliane's hand shouldn't be hard at all.

He only hoped that Wynn's obsessive blathering over his sister weren't blinded glorifications. Grey had heard tale from the man that this girl was "sweet", "well-mannered", and a "gracious little lady". All of which alerted Grey for a monotone marriage. Wynn's other fanatical bragging made him sick to his stomach. Speaking of which, he immediately took notice of the slight rumbling in his gut.

Moments and moments escaped and Grey had long ago given up trying to intimidate the servant. His focus shifted to the footman's colourless brow, around the leathery creases of his forehead, and up to his receding hairline.

'Damn. Why hasn't this guy retired yet?'

The old man finally yielded under Grey's scrutiny. "The master is out taking care of business. I believe he will be back within the hour, or the next."

"That's fine by me, I don't mind waiting around."

The man nodded and moved aside. The wrinkliest of frowns pulled at his mouth when the white-clad earl ambled through.

Grey wasn't surprised by this type of behaviour from the man. He knew he wasn't the footman's cup of tea and guessed that he probably preferred more dignified and proper company. Or in Grey's own words; boring. He'd rather not waste a kind word on people who wouldn't give him a decent time-killer, let alone the time of day.

"Would you like some refreshments, Lord Grey?"

Grey turned just in time to see the footman's frown flatten out. "Chamomile tea. And I have a bit of a sweet tooth right now, have you got anything?"

"Our chef just prepared spongecake with strawberry tart filling, topped with-"

"I'll take half of the entire thing."

"What?"

Grey raised a questioning brow. "Did I stutter?"

"Right away." The old servant thought he had momentary escaped Grey's clutches, turning to leave, until the earl began to speak again.

"Is Riliane Kingsley in?"

"The young mistress is upstairs, but she is not ready for company at the moment."

The footman left before Grey could ask anything else. When the footsteps disappeared into the hall, he stomped childishly and clenched his fists. That servant obviously lacked manners. The man didn't even show Grey to a waiting room!

"I'll just have to show myself around." He said stubbornly, leading himself up a crimson-carpeted staircase.

The Kingsley Manor certainly did not disappoint. The family owned the prospering Everlark Industries, so an extravagant abode shouldn't be of any surprise.

Whistling as he inspected the hallway, he noticed that each darkwood doorframe he passed had significant designs, and each one was slightly different from the last. It was as if the carvings told a story as you walked further. The rug lining the hall was very much in style this season, a deep red sporting earthy golden etchings. Like everything else he had seen in the mansion so far, it was free of any dust or grime. Even the chandeliers that hung far above his head looked as if they were polished daily. Grey couldn't help but compare the cleanliness of this manor to that of Phantomhive's, and that brat definitely had something to hide. Dogs often ran in packs, didn't they?

He was about to pass yet another set of deftly-crafted double doors until a faint sound tickled his ears. It was when he craned his neck, nearly twisting his back, to face the source that he noticed the doors were cracked open. Interest pulled his brow high and he quietly made his way to the crack and peeked inside.

What he saw definitely made this visit a little less boring.

A metal tub was placed on the bare carpet, in close proximity with the welcoming warmth of the crackling fireplace. Trails of soapy water dripped from the rims and darkened the already moist carpet below. A lithe body rested, submerged in scented water as black locks descended until the curls drowned. Grey couldn't see her face, not that it mattered. His gaze immediately flew to the bare white shoulders relaxing as the water washed away any unease. A leg, uncovered by neither lace nor silk, raised out of the water and was lathered with soap all the way from the knee until it dripped from the gentle swell of the ankle. This continued until nearly every inch(at least Grey imagined) of exposed, milky skin was soaked in fresh bubbles.

'My bride-to-be...?'

"Could you help me wash my hair? Sometimes it's a pain."

Grey blinked, wondering if he had breathed too loudly or had done anything that gave away his presence.

He opened his mouth to stutter an insincere apology when a black tailcoat was discarded onto the floor nearby. The maroon-haired man that came into view was left in his waistcoat and dress shirt. He pulled up a wooden stool behind the girl and rolled up his pale sleeves, later dipping his hands into the water to grope around for the dark hair straying about. When Riliane tilted her head back, enough of her hair fell out of her face to give Grey a profile of her lips.

"...Ahem..."

He spun around, doe-eyed as if he was child caught with his arm elbow deep in the cookie jar. He kept his cool enough to replace his widened eyes with a glare, frowning crossly. "About time."

The footman raised a brow. "I apologize for the wait, sir. Serving guests is usually the butler's job." His eyes flicked to the ajared door, and it was almost as if he was raising his voice high enough to be heard by the people behind it.

"You're Earl Kingsley's servant, not mine. Complain to him."

The nostrils of the footman twitched as he reconsidered the bullet he wanted to shoot back. "Right this way to the parlor, Lord Grey. Master Wynn has just arrived and is waiting for you."

As he trailed behind the footman, Grey couldn't help but linger on the pale pink lips he had seen just moments before. Then the image of the red-haired butler flickered. He'd heard plenty of tall tales of other women doing erotic activities with their butlers, however he didn't find this story to be very amusing.

. . .

"What brought you here, Grey?" Wynn Kingsley eased into his seat, spearing the strawberry on his plate and savoring the red flavor. He immediately went blankfaced with awe, watching the young albino wolf down his 4th slice of dessert.

"Uh...it's delicious isn't it? You know the chef may have made prepared it, but Riliane—"

"Oh yeah, that's who I wanted to talk about."

Wynn's dark brows furrowed in suspicion. He looked at the footman, who was earlier introduced as Richard, to give them a moment's privacy.

"What about Rilly?"

Grey subdued his hunger enough to set his plate down. The sudden, prying stare he gave Wynn went unnoticed, but his demeanor changed enough to signal that he meant some business. Wynn straightened up as well, unknowing of what to expect.

"How is it I've never even heard of, let alone see, this sister of yours?"

Wynn bit his lip as his eyes veered off to the side, an obvious tell that he was pondering around for a liable answer. "Riliane's health has always been feeble, ever since she was young. So she's rarely left the manor."

Grey nodded. "But now she's suddenly healthy?"

"Yes. Why the sudden interest in my sister?"

The door to the parlor opened, and both men looked up to see Damian smoothing back his dampened locks. His clothes were orderly, save for a loosened tie, but Grey recognize the muted colour of his hair from earlier. When Damian noticed the eyes on him, he simply grinned.

"Where is she?"

"Drying her hair."

Wynn frowned and pointed a look at Damian, who continued to sag his shoulders as he sauntered casually to couch's side. "I have a guest."

After a roll of his eyes, Damian's posture shot upright as if he were a tree brought back to life. His shoulders evened, and the laxed expression that usually marred the manor's sophisticated ambiance disappeared. It was as if the butler was replaced with another.

"Better." He heard Wynn mumble.

Grey guessed that this butler may have been quite new, perhaps an infant to the profession. There was nothing wrong with a rookie correcting himself at appropriate times, but there was something about this man that bothered Grey. It was a strong sense of deja vu that he couldn't place. It wasn't until another smile flashed on Damian's face that he also remembered the encounter from earlier.

'Is Wynn aware that this so-called angel of his was being such a tramp?'

"Grey."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What brought you to ask about Riliane?"

He smiled, one white-clad leg crossed over the other as he gave Wynn a look of nonchalance. "Well youth doesn't last forever, you see. I thought it was about time I get myself a fiancée." Grey threw a small glance over Damian, gouging for a reaction. Nothing but a simple twitch of his eyes that may have been a contained sign of surprise.

Wynn immediately stiffened, his eyes becoming comparable to the pearly saucers that held their cups of tea. "I...uh...you want to...y-y-y-ou you...WHAT?"

"Is—"

"WHY RILIANE?"

"...I've taken a look at some of the other chits debuting this year and I didn't like them. I figured, from the things you've told me about your sister—" the endless, obssessive, annoying fawning over your sister "—that she would be quite the lovely addition to my life."

Grey smirked as Wynn relaxed back into his seat, seeming satisfied. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Well, I have to say that I'm flattered but the choice isn't yours. You see..."

'Here it comes.' Grey mentally rolled his eyes as his lips pressed into a thin line. He could almost smell the flowers excreting from Wynn's voice.

"No man will ever be good enough for my darling sister~ And I want to do everything in my power to make sure she's well taken care of and happy~"

"Oh, but don't you think she'll get that with me?"

The flowers withered, and Wynn's voice had a sudden edge to it. "Charles. I'm flattered but Riliane—"

"Earl Phantomhive is a highly sought after target, and as he grows older he also grows more prone to danger. All because of a name, a title, that he is doomed to have his life in constant threat."

Grey smugly waited for a response but the room carried nothing but silence until he spoke again.

"Don't you think, because of your family's recent upbringing, that you would be the same? Yes, Wynn, you're quite the swordsman. You won't be as vulnerable as Phantomhive, but what of your dear sister? They say the fastest way to bring a big man down is to get him where it hurts."

"...and how do you think an engagement to you can help with that?"

"When there's a precious jewel in need of defending, you surround it with the strongest men you could find. How else do you think the Queen is protected? Speaking of which, my status as her secretarial officer can do some good when it comes to political protection."

Grey crossed his arms, being rather pleased with himself as he watched his words settle into Wynn's mind. The grandfather clock out of view dominated the reoccurring numbness in the room. Second after second ticked as Wynn hung his head in thought. He flexed his brow, bringing light to the worry-lines along his forehead, before scratching the back of his neck.

"...I'm...convinced. But...I'd like for you two to meet before I make my final decision."

"Can't I meet her now?"

"Yes...I suppose now is appropriate. Damian?"

"No." Damian's jaw unclenched enough to utter a simple response, deliberately leaving out any acknowledgment of respect. "Your expected company will be here within minutes. Now is not a good time."

. . .

As soon as the distance consumed Grey's carriage, Damian let the curtains drape together again. He turned menacingly to face Wynn, who looked at his feet like a child being shamed.

"You let him manipulate you."

When he got nothing but a simple scratch of the head in response, he stalked towards him. Each step reverberating in Wynn's head like an earthquake.

"You're going to just hand him your sister on a platter?"

"You can't deny the fact that he's right. Being an underground associate of the Queen is a dangerous job. I'm only thinking of Riliane."

"You and I are enough, we're perfectly capable of keeping her safe no matter how messy it gets."

Wynn shook his head and finally pierced Damian with his eyes. The hazel swirls now dimmed with a sudden grimness. "You know as well as I do that sooner or later, I won't be here."

. . .

The sky was already crestfallen with the first colours of night. Dusk was rapidly coming to a close as the clouds absorbed the sun's lazy hues. The journey to the Grey estate was a long, moody one. It was a five-hour carriage ride from the Kingsley estate, through the dead quiet country, across the noisy city, through more seamless countryside, and finally to his own inviting home. And he was alone for the entire ride. Grey didn't dislike solitude, there were just times where he preferred a person to mess with. Especially when something was constantly gnawing at the back of his mind.

Wynn had been too quick to usher him out the door, pushing Grey in a manner where simply throwing him out in a sack would have been more polite! He protested and made demands to meet Riliane, but they were canceled out by the butler's sudden concern for their impending guests.

'What kind of people were they expecting that Wynn became so eager to shove Grey out the door?'

The thought only added to Grey's suspicion, but he refused to believe that someone like that sister-complexed imbecile could conspire anything. The man was horrible at keeping a simple poker face. Every sign of emotion was plain as day and he didn't seem like the type capable of such a feat, let alone become a watchdog.

Without sparing the coachman a single glance or utterance of gratitude, he carried himself up the marble steps. He continued to brood in his own thoughts until one of the towering doors opened to greet him inside. Sitting in the front room expecting him was a woman who filled an earthly green gown rather voluptuously. Her cream-coloured hair was held together within a braided bun, save for the few curly locks about her face and the straight-cut fringe curtained above eyes that mirrored Grey's.

"Charles~" she smiled, absentmindedly fanning at her face.

"Good evening, Charlotte."

She frowned when Grey failed in mimicking her cheerful tones and continued to stare him down. "You look like you put your undergarments on the wrong way."

"No."

"Charles."

This was the only woman who could rip his skin and crawl right under. The only one who was capable of whipping him into shape and the only who could put him on his knees. This woman was none other than Chartlotte Grey, his older sister and the "gem of her generation". Though Grey had other nicknames for her such as "warden" and "dictator" as well as others he could never mention around her unless he wanted his tongue scrubbed raw.

"Did Stanford get get the information I wanted?" Grey retired to the plush armchair beside her and kicked his feet up onto the low table only to have them smacked away by Charlotte's fan.

"About that bakery in Preston?"

"Yeah."

"The name of that baker was Raeleigh' Evans."

"Oh yeah, that was his name."

"Yes, and he's dead."

"...What?"

"Stanford said that bakery burned down a few years ago."

Grey huffed as his back fell against the chair. "Damn, the pastries there were pretty good. What about the guy's daughter?"

"Oh, that one towns girl you used to talk about?"

"Yeah, you never forget a face like that, Charlotte."

"Well, it's best you soon forget then."

The conversation died momentarily and for the first time that day, Grey dreaded the silence. "...Why?"

"She went missing."