Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 1) (10 page)

Evelyn swung back around to see a pair of broad shoulders moving away through the crowd. Damn the man. She would have to speak to him about his annoying habit of walking off before finishing a conversation.

Lifting his chin and tilting his head, Mr. Sutherby continued, “I believe that screech is the call for the cotillion.”

Dancing was the last thing on her mind but what choice did she have? Besides, it would give her a moment to collect her thoughts.

When Mr. Sutherby took her hand, she felt nothing. She could have been holding a dead fish, as even wearing gloves it felt cold and limp. The swapping of partners brought a momentary reprieve. Thank the Lord she’d not agreed to a waltz.

“So what takes your fancy?” Mr. Sutherby asked as they came to meet in the middle of their group.

“My fancy?”

“Tomorrow. Would you rather a stroll in the park or perhaps you desire mental stimulation and would prefer a museum?”

“I … I.”

Mr. Sutherby offered a smile so wide it looked as though someone had sewn the apples of his cheeks to his earlobes and the thread had proved to be far too tight.

“I know. It is a difficult choice. We could always do both.”

They rejoined the circle, and Mr. Sutherby pranced away next to her, the shiny buckles on his shoes almost touching his knees.

“I think a stroll in the park,” she said, as there would be plenty of people wandering about. Tomorrow, she hoped her mind would be a little clearer. Mr. Sutherby deserved the truth and Evelyn knew she would spend a sleepless night contemplating the dilemma.

“Splendid. I shall call for you at two.” He offered his arm as the dance ended. “Come, I’ll escort you back to your aunt. Then I shall go and hunt down Charlotte as I’m sure she’s off causing mischief somewhere.”

Aunt Beatrice was engaged in an animated conversation with Mr. Hartwood whose compassionate nature gave her aunt the opportunity to regale a long-winded account of her dreadful accident.

Evelyn’s attention wandered, and she surveyed the crowd looking for Alexander Cole. It took a moment for her to locate him. Now that stories of his disfigurement had proved to be untrue, she expected to find him surround by eager guests desperate to know the truth behind the tale.

But he was alone.

Propped up against the wall near the terrace with his arms folded across his chest, he radiated hostility. But like the night she’d seen him sitting on the bench, her heart went out to him. Why she should care about the man, was a mystery to her. All she knew was that she wanted to talk to him, to try her damnedest to make him smile.

Perhaps if he told her his reasons for disliking Mr. Sutherby it might make it easier to reach a decision. Perhaps if she spent more time in his company it might help her to understand why his voice caused her body to glow, why his touch ignited a fire so deep inside.

With that thought in mind, she moved towards him.

Chapter 10

Alexander could not bear to spend another minute in the packed ballroom. The rank smell of sweat mingled with a trace of vinegar and perfume from those who still wore powder, invaded his nostrils. The stench was so potent he only drew shallow breaths.

Besides, he could not watch that fop Sutherby skipping and hopping about the floor again like a hare come breeding season. The fool disappeared through the crowd with Miss Bromwell on his arm, and Alexander clenched his jaw so hard he was in danger of cracking his teeth.

When Alexander entered Melbury’s ballroom, he had known what to expect.

People stared at his face, shocked to find no visible sign of the monster hidden within. People whispered and tittered, inventing tales to account for his absence, more tales to account for his attendance. Some dared to approach, eager for the coveted place of being the first to hear his explanation. But one cold, hard stare sent them scurrying back to the hole they’d crawled out of. After an hour, they’d grown tired of watching him, some other on dit taking their fancy.

Although not everyone had lost interest in him.

He’d noticed the two gentlemen lingering in the alcove. They followed him around the room, hovering in any place that gave them an optimum view. He knew of them. Viscount Markham was the older of the two, perhaps thirty. The Marquess of Hartford, known simply as Devlin, was renowned for his skill with a sword. They met his gaze with an air of arrogance and Alexander’s palms itched at the thought of thrusting them both up against the door and wringing their necks.

Needing to find a distraction, he pushed away from the wall and exited through the double doors leading out onto the terrace. The cool night air felt fresh against his face, and he inhaled.

The sound of light footsteps padding across the floor behind him caused him to turn.

“Alexander,” Lady Montford breathed softly. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you. I thought you would never return. And then there was that dastardly story about your accident. I’ve spent two years mourning your handsome face.”

His gaze drifted up to the mass of copper curls, down the line of her elegant throat to the exposed curve of her bosom. It was a body he knew well, a body he’d taken many times before.

A body he had no desire to see again.

“How’s your husband?” he said not bothering to hide his contempt. The man spent more time with his horses than he did his wife. Not that she complained.

“Monty? Oh, always away, always busy. You know how it is.”

“And your lovers?”

“Satisfying,” she replied trailing her fingers along her collarbone.

“I know you wouldn’t accept anything less.”

She stepped closer, removed her glove and placed her palm on his chest. “I will happily push them all out of bed for you, Alexander. It’s been so long I’ve forgotten how good you feel.” Her gaze dropped to the fall of his breeches. “Although I’ve not forgotten how skillful you are.”

Alexander glanced down at her bare hand. He felt nothing. There was no urgency to claim, no desire to thrust home, no eagerness to
give pleasure.
His chest felt empty, his cock flaccid.

He stepped away, letting her hand fall. “I’m not the same man you remember.” Lady Montford would run for the hills if she knew what he was and it took all his effort not to frighten the conceited grin from her face.

“All the more reason to rekindle what we had. The first time with a new lover is always so exciting. But then we’ll have the added bonus of knowing how to please.”

Alexander sneered. “I’ve given up rutting every female I come across. There’s something rather tasteless about it.”

“Nonsense. Just hearing you say
rutting
has me all aroused. I think you’re deliberately teasing me.”

Before another word was uttered, Evelyn Bromwell strode out onto the terrace and came to an abrupt halt. Her smile faded as her cheeks flushed crimson and she averted her gaze.

“Forgive me. I … I did not mean to disturb you.”

She turned and marched back into the ballroom.

“Miss Bromwell, wait.”

Lady Montford caught his arm as he set off in pursuit. “Why didn’t you say you have a newfound penchant for virgins? I may have tried a different approach.”

“Nothing you could say or do would tempt me to accept.”

With no time to waste, he ignored the lady at his side and yanked his arm free. Amidst the crush, he managed to catch up with Miss Bromwell near the dance floor.

“Miss Bromwell.” When she failed to turn around, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into his chest. “God damn, woman,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Will you wait.”

Upon hearing his curse she swung around, and he released his grip. “It is rude to leave a lady alone on a terrace,” she sniped. “I suggest you go back and tend to her needs before someone else does. Besides, I was looking for Mr. Sutherby.”

“No. You were looking for me.”

Just being in her presence was like drinking a magical elixir. Every part of him thrummed with excitement. Every part of him throbbed, desperate to be near her, to touch her, to lie her down and cover her with his naked body.

“I was not looking for you,” she reiterated.

She turned away from him again and pushed through a group of people. When he followed, he realised they were standing amidst the group of dancers, a hundred pairs of eyes focusing on their next move.

Damn it.

Alexander pulled her into his arms, his hand settling on her waist in the hope of joining the other couples dancing the waltz.

“What are you doing?”

“I have no intention of making more of a spectacle than I have already. You will dance with me, Miss Bromwell, and you will damn well smile when you do.”

He didn’t give a fig what they all thought of him. But he would not have her name sullied. Giving her no other option but to take his hand, he guided her around the floor.

Like a naked flame to a barn full of dry straw, he felt desire ignite so swiftly he almost mistimed his steps. Holy hell, his whole body burned from just the feel of her fingers. He knew that she felt it too. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath. Then the pulsating started. The pleasurable ripples radiated from her palm, shooting into his, running up his arm and down his leg until he felt dizzy with it.

What the hell was happening to him?

“You feel it, don’t you?” she suddenly said. Her ethereal blue eyes were alight with pleasure. “It is like a river of fire flowing through my veins. Tell me what it is.”

He shook his head and swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

Tiny furrows appeared on her brow. “In my naivety, I thought … well, I imagine this is what desire feels like.”

He thought back to all the moments in his life when he had been desperate to bed a woman. He thought back to all the moments when he’d spilled his seed and growled with satisfaction.

“It feels like desire … but something deeper, something different.” It was as though they were two halves of one whole. The merest touch reuniting them, bringing them together as it was always destined to be. But he could hardly say that to her. He would keep his damn mouth shut. Those sorts of dreams and whimsical fantasies were not for the likes of him.

“So we both feel it?” she clarified.

Alexander moistened his lips. “Yes, we both feel it, Miss Bromwell.”

When he met her gaze, she was staring at his mouth. “If we were alone, would you try to kiss me?” she asked. “I need you to be truthful. I need to understand why I feel this way with you and not with Mr. Sutherby.”

At the mere mention of the man’s name, the heavenly feeling subsided, and his anger surfaced. “Do we have to discuss Mr. Sutherby?” He had noticed the gentleman watching him twirl her around the floor; his sickly smile replaced with a scowl.

“I’m to walk in the park with him tomorrow, at two.”

There was no need to say any more. Mr. Sutherby would make her an offer of marriage, and she would give him her decision.

He glanced at the faint bruise still marring her cheek and the urge to protect her grew fierce. “Do you know what you will say?”

“You were right when you said I don’t love him. But marriage is about more than love.”

“Is it? To my mind, it should be about nothing else.”

Miss Bromwell laughed. “That is easy for you to say. A lady must consider financial support and her husband’s ability to provide a secure future.”

“Are you saying you would choose stability and wealth over love, Miss Bromwell?”

“No. I’m saying there is more to it than deciding whether or not you love someone.”

“But how do you know Mr. Sutherby is everything he professes to be?” A pang of guilt hit him in the chest. In that regard, he had no right to judge. “For all you know, his mop of hair could be a wig that he wears to hide the fact he’s bald.”

Alexander could not shake his suspicion of Mr. Sutherby. He had been so concerned for Miss Bromwell’s safety that he’d spent the last two nights trawling about from rout to ball in the hope of finding her. Numerous hosts had given a disgruntled snort when they noticed him leaving after a few minutes.

“How do I know you’re not wearing a wig?” she said with a giggle.

Alexander raised a brow. “You would have seen me take it off when I stripped to go swimming.”

Her face flushed, and she bit down on her bottom lip.

“And in answer to your question,” he continued, “if we were alone, I would want to kiss you.”

Wanting to and doing so were two entirely different things. Once his mouth touched hers, he knew he would struggle to control the urges of the man and the monster.

She gripped his hand a little tighter, and the pulsating returned. “If we were alone, I believe I would allow you to.”

It sounded like a challenge, a deliciously tempting challenge. Damn it all, he’d been selfish all of his life. Why couldn’t he be selfish now?

“I’m not the sort of man an innocent lady should kiss,” he said trying to dismiss the thought of her moist mouth, of her fingers running through the hair at his nape.