Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 1) (9 page)

“When we begged him to keep us on, he said he wouldn’t be coming back, not ever.”

What the hell had prompted such an action?

“The blighter borrowed a collection of poetry books that hold great sentimental value,” Alexander lied. “If he’s bloody well taken them with him, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I don’t know anything about no books. But the door to the kitchen’s always left open. If I'm caught in there, I’ll face the noose.” The man nodded his head towards Alexander’s immaculate attire. “Wouldn’t hurt if
you
went in and had a look for them.”

Alexander bent down and picked up the leather tack, thrusting it back into the man’s arms. “You’d better hurry home if you need to give this a polish.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Thank you, my lord, thank you,” he said, grabbing his prize and racing off into the night.

Accessing the kitchen through the herb garden, Alexander moved through the house. The rooms felt cold, from a lack of personal possessions as opposed to the temperature. Remnants of food, spare plates and cutlery littered the sideboard in the dining room. If he were one of the servants and had just been given his notice, he’d not have bothered to clean the place, either.

Sensing nothing to explain their abrupt departure, Alexander climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. A tremor of sexual tension hung in the air, and he burst into the master chamber, his fists clenched, as though expecting to see Mr. Sutherby forcing his attentions on Miss Bromwell.

The room was empty.

The bed sheets were crumpled and strewn across the end of the oak four-poster. Cold, scummy water had been left in the wash bowl. He could smell masculine sweat, not the faint acidic scent that indicated poor hygiene but the fresher scent from overexertion. As he rounded the bed, he felt a weird concoction of emotions: desire and love mingled with indifference.

He felt no evidence of panic or fear.

It didn’t make any sense.

As he passed the window, he glanced out, noting the perfect view of the lawn and the stile. Had Sutherby seen him with Miss Bromwell? Was jealousy his motivation?

Forcing himself to move to another room, he knew the moment he opened the door that it was Miss Bromwell’s chamber. Her presence lingered in the room, warm, inviting. He could almost hear her chastising him for his vulgar manners, could almost feel the same intense ripples of pleasure he’d felt when his hand touched hers.

Again, he felt no traces of distress only confusion, which was hardly surprising given Mr. Sutherby’s impending proposal.

Perhaps he should have been relieved at her sudden departure. Now, there was no need to spend hours contemplating all the ‘what if’ scenarios. He could return to his simple life, free from obligation.

But dreams possess a magical quality to rise above the mere wishes of men.

Dreams, once embedded into hearts and minds cannot simply be erased or forgotten. Thoughts of Evelyn Bromwell consumed him, as though the essence of the woman had found a way to seep into his blood, into the air he breathed. Despite his best effort, he knew he would not be able to function as he had before. He would not rest until he knew what had prompted the hasty departure, until he knew she was safe and well.

It would mean moving about in Society. If only for a brief time.

The thought forced him to consider what was at risk.

His life would be over if anyone discovered his secret. Although this was no life he was living. He was as good as dead. But how would he fair in a room full of people? Could he control the urges? Could he suppress the pangs wringing the muscles tight in his belly? Where would he find the blood he so desperately craved?

Mrs. Shaw would need to accompany him. It would only be for a day or two. Just until he had seen Miss Bromwell. No doubt, he’d stumble upon her and her beau strolling arm in arm through the ballroom. She would regale tales of their upcoming nuptials, her pretty blue eyes sparkling with delight. Anger would bubble away inside, forcing him to be rude.

After all, who would desire a monster when they could have a most affable, kind and handsome gentleman like Mr. Sutherby?

Chapter 9

“It feels so good to be out and about amongst company,” Aunt Beatrice said as she adjusted her turban until the feather dangled down over the scar at her temple. “If I had spent another day stuck in bed, I think I would have started talking to the walls.”

Evelyn surveyed the hordes of people crowded into Lord Melbury’s ballroom. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be somewhere quieter? I can make our excuses to Mr. Sutherby. Under the circumstances, I know he would understand. We could —”

“Heavens no,” her aunt exclaimed. “You’ve wasted far too much time tending to me. You need to be out in Society, and then everyone will know of your attachment to Mr. Sutherby.”

Evelyn tried to protest but struggled to get a word out. After feeling helpless and being cooped up like a chick in a nest, her aunt was chirping more than usual.

“Besides,” Aunt Beatrice continued, “I much prefer the noise and bustle of Town. At least, there’s no danger of being attacked by falling branches. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to ride through the forest again.”

For Evelyn, the opposite was true.

In Town, one could not swim naked in the moonlight or be rescued by a dark, brooding gentleman who found pleasure in being rude to everyone he met.

Aunt Beatrice put her fingers to her temple and winced. “Has Mr. Sutherby mentioned the reason behind such an impromptu departure?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Only to reiterate what he told us at Mytton Grange. He had an urgent matter of business to attend to and had no option but to return.”

“The man barely gave me time to finish my eggs. I didn’t even get a chance to crush the shell and you what that means — a whole a year of bad luck. In his impatience, I thought he might tear the spoon from my fingers and rap my knuckles.” She sighed. “And you know it’s not wise to travel on a full stomach. It causes all sorts of problems with my digestion.”

No one could have been more shocked at the sudden change of plan than Evelyn.

It was not the distress of having to pack their meagre belongings in a hurry or the sense of wild panic filling the house, that affected her. Lying awake during the early hours, her mind had been occupied with thoughts of Alexander Cole. Would he walk over to Mytton Grange again? Or would she be left alone in the dark, plagued by disappointment?

Well, she would never know.

The thought caused her throat to constrict.

“Although he has been most attentive to your needs,” her aunt continued.

“Who?” Evelyn said. Her aunt couldn’t possibly know that the Earl of Hale had rescued her from the icy depths of the river.

“Mr. Sutherby! Honestly, Evelyn, anyone would think you were the one who had injured their head. I said he’s been very attentive since our return. I suppose I can forgive him for causing my stomach cramps as he will soon be family.”

Evelyn shook her head and glanced over her shoulder. “Shush,” she whispered. “He has not offered for me and even if he does I’m not sure I’ll accept.”

“What? Of course, you’ll accept. There’s not a man in all of London more suited to you.”

Mr. Sutherby had spent the last two days trying to arrange a private meeting and Evelyn had used her aunt’s ill health as an excuse. But time had run out. With her aunt’s appearance at Lord Melbury’s ball, she’d have no choice but to listen to what the gentleman had to say. The thought caused a nervous flutter in her chest that shot up to her throat when she spotted Mr. Sutherby approaching.

“My dear, Miss Bromwell, you’re looking resplendent this evening,” Mr. Sutherby said after bowing gracefully to her aunt. He smiled wide enough to display a full set of white teeth. “Say you’ll dance with me. It’s been an age since I last twirled you about the floor.”

With a sudden urge to give the man an opportunity to ask his question in order to enlighten him of her feelings, she said, “Of course, Mr. Sutherby. I will mark you down for the —” She should have said the waltz, a dance more suited to intimate conversation. “For the cotillion.”

Mr. Sutherby inclined his head. “And perhaps you would like to join me in the park tomorrow? Or perhaps a trip to a museum? Charlotte will be happy to accompany us.”

Evelyn fell silent for a moment.

“Oh, she would love nothing more, Mr. Sutherby,” Aunt Beatrice interjected. “Wouldn’t you, Evelyn?”

Before Evelyn could answer, they heard a commotion on the far side of the ballroom. A sea of heads shot to the door leading out into the hallway, but with the dance floor being overcrowded, she struggled to see what was happening. She could hear gasps and whispers rippling through the room.

“No doubt, someone has fainted from the suffocating heat,” Mr. Sutherby said. “Melbury really should limit the number of people he invites to his gatherings.”

Aunt Beatrice nodded. “It’s only a matter of time before someone …”

Evelyn ignored them, their words lost amidst the strange sensations gripping her. The hairs on her nape tingled. The air around her buzzed, the vibration causing her breath to come so quick she struggled to swallow.

Eve.

The name drifted through her mind. No one called her Eve, yet she knew it was meant for her. She glanced at Mr. Sutherby and her aunt, who were still discussing the dangers of being trampled in a crush.

Eve.

Despite not knowing who called out to her or where the sound came from, she felt an overwhelming need to respond, albeit silently.

I’m here.

The instant tug hit her deep in her core, drawing her forward, her body moving first while her feet followed. One step became two, and then three as she pushed through the crowd determined to reach the unknown destination.

Around her conversations resumed. The guests regrouped, and the noise of laughter filled the room once again.

Evelyn saw him waiting near the door, ignoring the gapes and stares.

Alexander Cole.

Her hand flew to her heart, the only way she could stop it from beating right out of her chest.

His dark hair hung in a sinister wave over his brow, his gaze cold and unforgiving as he scanned the crowd. Wearing full evening dress: a pure white shirt and neckcloth teamed with a black long-tailed coat and breeches, he looked devilishly handsome and downright dangerous. He had the look of a man capable of ripping out another man’s heart with his bare hands.

When he saw her, his face remained expressionless. Yet his eyes radiated warmth, the temperature intensifying until the rays penetrated her dress, her skin, every muscle in her body growing limp.

He stepped forward and she waited for him to reach her, frightened her legs would buckle. “Miss Bromwell,” he said offering a respectful bow. “You’re here.”

“Lord Hale.” Evelyn curtsied, yet in her mind she imagined throwing her arms around his neck. How bizarre. “Either I am dreaming, or you have left Stony Cross.”

“I thought a trip might improve my mood.”

Evelyn smiled. “And has it?”

“No. Not until now.”

For some reason, she felt her cheeks flame, and she pressed the pads of her fingers to her face expecting to hear them sizzle. “Are you so intent on stalking the Sutherbys that you’ve followed them all the way to London?” she asked in a bid to disguise the effect his presence was having on her.

The corners of his mouth curved just a fraction. “I am not stalking the Sutherbys. I am here to see you.”

Evelyn swallowed as she found his directness oddly stimulating. “And what do you want with me, my lord?”

She was desperate to know the answer, desperate to know what had dragged him from his desolate prison.

“I came to Mytton Grange. It was obvious you’d left in a hurry.” He paused briefly. “I wanted to know if you and your aunt were well.”

She glanced at the crowd, meeting the shocked expression on numerous faces. Alexander Cole hated company. He had chained the gates to his estate to keep people out. Yet here he was in a packed ballroom, dressed in his finery, and all because he wanted to see if she was well.

“Why?” The word fell from her lips as she struggled to make sense of it all.

He lowered his head, and she was hit with his musky, masculine scent. “I do not trust Mr. Sutherby.”

She reeled from the answer, a rush of disappointment flooding her chest. What had she expected him to say? He was not the sort of man to make false protestations. She was not normally the sort who longed for a gentleman to drop to his knees and declare his affections.

“Then I was correct in my assessment,” she said a little coldly. “You are here to stalk the Sutherbys.”

He stared at her. His piercing blue eyes searched her face before his gaze drifted beyond her shoulder, and his mouth formed a scowl. “It appears your gentleman has come to claim you.”

Evelyn turned to see Mr. Sutherby approach, and she bit back an unladylike curse. “I had come to pay my respects to the Earl of Hale,” he said, “but I see he is otherwise engaged.”