Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 1) (3 page)

She stopped abruptly, her curious gaze searching his face as though scrutinizing every line, every detail. He knew why, of course. She’d been expecting a monster.

“Your face,” she continued, tilting her head. “There’s … there’s not a mark on it. Not even a blemish.”

He couldn’t help but smirk.

With a look of wonder, her gloveless hand drifted up towards his cheek, and he noticed her dirty nails and the cut that ran across one knuckle. Worst of all, he noticed the dried blood.

Sucking in a breath, he stepped back.

“Forgive me,” she said, dropping her hand and shaking her head. “I don’t know what came over me. I heard you were, that you were —”

“Disfigured.”

“That you’d been in an accident and had suffered —” She gasped and her hand flew to her chest. “The accident … our carriage has overturned, no more than a mile from here. I fear my aunt has received an injury to her head, and I need your help. Please, you must come quickly.”

Alexander shook his head. He could not be alone with her, not in the forest at night, not when there would be blood. “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

Her mouth fell open.

“There’s an inn a few miles along the road,” he added not knowing why he felt a sudden need to offer assistance. “My groom will escort you there directly. I suggest you leave now. It will not take long to prepare the horses.”

“But there’s no time. It will be too late. You must come now. ”

“I can’t help you.”

She turned away from him and muttered something about taking the wrong path. Hitting her clenched fists against her legs in protest, she swung back around. “Do you have kin, my lord? Do you have someone you care for, someone you would do anything to save?”

“I have no one.” The words were not said to incite pity, and he felt anger flare when her gaze softened.

Mrs. Shaw gave a weak smile and shuffled further back into the shadows.

The lady simply stared at him. “Well, there must have been someone once, someone you cared for?”

Alexander considered the question. He’d had a mother who lavished gifts and attention on her lovers, a father who appeared indifferent and a whole host of women he’d barely even liked.

“No,” he repeated, aware that his tone sounded cold.

“Oh. I see. Well, I do have one person who means the world to me, and she is currently lying in an upturned carriage, teetering on the brink of death.”

Alexander knew how it felt to waver between the two worlds, to feel the icy pull of death sucking him under while he struggled to cling on.

“And I would do anything to save her,” she continued.

“As I said, my groom will escort you to the inn. You’ll find a —”

“Why won’t you help me?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and he could feel her frustration. “Outwardly, you may not look like the monster everyone believes you to be. But a man with no heart surely hides a monster within.”

She looked shocked upon uttering the words, and his attention was drawn to the full lips responsible for forming them. If only she knew the truth lurking within her statement. It was the monster inside he was trying so desperately to keep at bay.

Refusing to accept his decision, she thrust her arm out and grabbed his sleeve. “Please, I implore you, my lord. You must help me.”

The touch of her innocent fingers caused the fire in his blood to rage. But it felt different. The urge to drink from her, to feel the thick, warm liquid coat his tongue and throat was tempered by another feeling — an obscure need to comfort and protect.

It rocked him to his core.

In the last two years, he’d never felt anything close, most human emotions being a distant memory. So why now? Why this particular lady? Perhaps he’d not lost everything, after all. Perhaps his humanity was still trapped inside the body of a beast, waiting to be released, waiting for an opportunity to reveal itself.

If he let this lady leave, he would never know.

“Very well,” he suddenly said, driven by an overwhelming desire to test the theory. “I will see what I can do.”

The lady gave a relieved gasp, which was nothing compared to Mrs. Shaw’s shocked expression as she hovered in the background.

“You will wait here while —”

“But I will need to show you where to go. It’s dark out. You’ll never find your way.”

Alexander did not need her help. He would have no problem following the scent of blood or the smell of death.

“I move too quickly. You will never keep up.”

“I will.”

“You’ll be a hindrance.”

“I won’t.”

“Stay here.” It was an order not a request, and he ignored her forlorn expression to take a few strides towards the door.

She rushed to his side and placed her dainty hand on his thin linen sleeve. “Please, my lord. What if it’s the last time I’ll see my aunt alive? What if I miss the chance to say goodbye?”

Alexander should have felt indifferent to her exaggerated display of sentiment, yet something deep inside him stirred. He could not argue with her logic or motive, and he found he admired her persistence.

If only someone had fought for him with such passion. If only someone had thought him worth saving.

“If you fall behind, I will continue without you.” His words were deliberately blunt, harsh even. “We will need to cut through the forest on foot. It can be treacherous enough by day.”

She raised the hem of her gown a fraction to reveal a pair of sturdy brown boots and then gave a satisfied grin. “These will suffice.”

Mrs. Shaw stepped forward. “I’ll pack some water, bandages, a needle, and thread. Come, miss, you can wait for the master in the kitchen.”

Some five minutes later, Alexander strode out of the herb garden, through the alley of overgrown topiary to the door in the boundary wall, aware that his quarry tottered behind him in a bid to keep up.

He stopped as his hand curled around the iron ring on the door. “I’ll be quicker on my own,” he said, offering her one more chance to change her mind.

“I’m coming with you.”

The wooden door scraped along the ground as he forced it open and he raised the lantern to light their way.

“Be careful where you place your feet and stay close behind. If you fall, I won’t carry you.”

They made their way through the forest, the crunching and cracking underfoot breaking the uncomfortable silence. She tried to suppress a groan when she almost stumbled, and he resisted the urge to offer assistance.

“How did you get in?” He asked the question purely to prevent his solitude from being disturbed by another unwelcome intruder.

“The gate was locked,” she said pausing to catch her breath, “so … so I climbed a tree and dropped down over the wall.”

“Wearing a dress?”

“I had no other choice.”

“How did you know where to come?”

“My aunt said that the Earl of Hale lived nearby. I assume you’re him.”

“I am.” Or he had been once. Now he was but a fragment of his old self.

No doubt her aunt was the one who’d told her the tale of his scarred face, and she’d come to the house believing she’d be greeted by a monster. The lady certainly had courage in abundance.

“Wait,” she said, and he swung around to find her leaning back against a tree trunk, her hand covering her heart. “I think … I think we’re going the wrong way.”

Alexander lifted the lantern higher, purely for effect. “No, we’re not.” He imagined her inquisitive mind trying to establish how he knew the way. Her aunt must have lost a fair amount of blood as the potent smell hung in the air, drawing him closer. “It’s this way.”

She simply stared at him, her silver-blue eyes peering through the darkness like bright stars in the night sky.

“You knew the gate was locked,” he continued by way of an explanation. “Therefore, you took the lane at the fork in the road. I doubt you’re capable of running more than a mile, so I have a reasonable idea where I'm going.”

She raised her chin in acknowledgement, and they continued through the forest. Despite snagging her dress on bracken and dead branches, she kept moving, radiating a level of determination he found admirable.

When they found themselves out on the road, she barged past him and stopped in the middle of the path, thrusting her hands on her hips as she searched left and right. Eventually, she pointed to the left and said, “It’s this way.”

She didn’t wait for him but lifted her gown an inch and ran through the darkness, her torn cloak billowing behind her. Alexander followed, choosing to hang back rather than race on ahead.

“I think that’s the carriage,” she said, calling to him over her shoulder as a monstrous shadow appeared in view. “Aunt Beatrice. I’m here.”

The carriage lay on its side, but there was no sign of the horses or the coachman. The lady tried to climb the wreckage in an attempt to reach her relative.

“Here, let me try,” he said tugging at her cloak for fear of touching her.

She stepped down and took the lantern. “Quickly. You must hurry.”

He wedged his foot between the spokes of the mangled wheel lying crushed under the weight of the carriage and vaulted up before dropping down inside.

“Is she alright? Tell me she’s alive! Tell me all is well.”

“At least give me a minute to look,” he shouted with some frustration.

Alexander placed his fingers to the woman’s neck. “She’s alive.” Although her pulse was weak and she had yet to regain consciousness. He ignored the blood, the sight causing a pang deep in his belly. Rolling the woman into his arms, he stood and lifted her closer to his chest, shuffling her up over his shoulder so he could use his hands to climb out.

It was not an easy task.

“You’re going to drop her.”

“I am not going to drop her. If you’re so worried why don’t you put the lantern down and help me, damn it.”

“There’s no need to curse and shout. I am only …”

Her attention was drawn away, and he followed her gaze to the cart clattering into view further along the road.

Without a word, she ran forward and held the lantern high in the air. “Stop, please we need your help.”

There were two men in the cart, one being the innkeeper, Fred Harlow, and the other he assumed was their coachman.

The cart stopped directly in front of them, and the men jumped out.

“I’m sorry, miss, for going off and leaving her,” the other man said. “I took the horses and went to get help.”

Fred Harlow came up to the carriage. “Do you need help, my lord?” he said, failing to hide his surprise.

“If you could take her arms, I think that would be best. We’ll lie her down in your cart so we can treat the wound to her head.”

“As you say, my lord.”

The men carried the old woman to the cart and used a stuffed sack as a pillow while Alexander examined the cut. “It will need a few stitches before you can take her anywhere. Hopefully, after a few days’ rest, she’ll be up on her feet.” When no one volunteered for the task, he turned to the lady. “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“I assume you have one.”

“It’s … it’s Miss Bromwell.”

“Miss Bromwell, you will climb into the cart and hold your aunt’s hand while I stitch her head. If she wakes and is startled, I fear I’ll do more damage.”

“Do you even know what to do?” she said as she climbed up opposite him. “Have you done this sort of thing before?”

“Would I attempt it if I didn’t?”

She sighed when she looked at the old woman, took the ghostly pale hand and brought it to her lips. “Don’t leave me, Aunt Bea. Don’t leave me here alone.”

Alexander swallowed. The overpowering scent of blood made it more difficult for him to concentrate and the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach sent his thoughts into disarray.

“Just hold her still while I sew.” The quicker he got on with it, the quicker he’d be rid of them.

Miss Bromwell ignored his harsh tone and sat through the whole procedure without looking away once. She continued to stroke the woman’s hand and whisper endearments while he covered the wound with a bandage.

Alexander glanced down at the innkeeper. “There, all done. Take it steady on the way back and you’ll need two to lift her into bed.”

Fred Harlow shook his head. “There’s no room at the inn for them tonight. What with the cockfight in Brier’s field and the road closed near Setley, we’re having to put ‘em up in the barn.”

Alexander jumped down and pulled the man to one side. “I’m sure you will find somewhere suitable. I shall make it worth your while.”

Fred threw his hands up. “You can’t expect me to turf folk out their beds at this hour. Their coachman says they’re on their way to Mytton Grange. If you send word, I’m sure they’ll come and take ‘em off your hands.”

Alexander gave his most stern frown. “Are you saying you won’t help me?”

“What can I do? I’ve already given up my own bed.” Fred sighed. He stared into Alexander’s eyes and then said, “I suppose I could see if anyone minds sharing.”