by Adele Clee
The words drifted through her mind without provocation and no matter how hard she tried she could not dismiss them. Whenever Mr. Sutherby spoke, they popped into her head again, and she felt relieved when Mrs. Shaw entered to say her aunt was ready to depart.
Their luggage had been loaded, and Aunt Beatrice helped up into the carriage. The Sutherbys thanked the earl for his hospitality, but his cold reply sent them scurrying into their conveyance like mice fleeing a cat’s claws.
“Thank you for helping my aunt,” Evelyn said. The earl refused to see her to the door, and so they hung back in the dark hallway. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that you had no other choice.”
“I do not dwell on the past. It is done with, forgotten.” He stepped closer, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared into her eyes. “You may despise my blunt approach, but honesty delivers a short, sharp blow. To live a lie causes a constant pain that lasts a lifetime. Remember those words when you listen to what your kind, affable gentleman has to say.”
How did he know what she was thinking? How was he so perceptive to her needs? How was he able to see into her soul and understand her fears and doubts? She had an urge to reach out to him, too, to offer comfort. But she wouldn’t know where to begin.
Without another word — without a parting greeting or a promise to meet again — he dropped his hand and walked away from her, his sudden absence creating an empty feeling she could not explain.
Mrs. Shaw was standing near the carriage door, waiting to wave them off. “Now, you mind how you go,” she said. “I’ve packed a tincture for your aunt that should help take down the swelling. Just a spoonful before bed should suffice, and she’ll be as sturdy as a butcher’s block in no time.”
Evelyn hugged the old woman. “He’s lucky to have you,” she said nodding towards the house. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us.”
Mrs. Shaw batted Evelyn’s arm. “You’ll be making an old woman sob on the doorstep if you carry on like that.”
Evelyn smiled and moved to open the carriage door. She stopped and turned back to the housekeeper. “I know his title, but what’s his name? He never told us and he’s not the sort of man one asks.”
Mrs. Shaw returned her smile and then peeked back over her shoulder. “It’s Alexander Cole.”
Alexander Cole.
The name sounded familiar to her. A warm feeling flooded her chest as she repeated the words and she wondered what it would be like to be on such intimate terms with him that his given name would fall so gently from her lips.
Evelyn glanced up at the array of windows covering the facade, sensing his presence lingering in the shadows but seeing nothing. Despite everything he said and did, she felt comfortable at Stony Cross. Her mind was engaged with fanciful notions of tending the garden, of restoring it to its former glory. In her dreams, the sound of laughter and gaiety would echo through the cold, dark passages and Alexander Cole would smile not frown.
With a loud snort, she shook her head. Perhaps the accident had left her brain swollen, too tender. Perhaps she was desperately trying to cling onto any other thought rather than one involving her betrothal to Mr. Sutherby.
Alexander stood away from the window. As he listened to the sound of the carriage rattling down the drive, he tried to come to terms with the range of conflicting emotions plaguing him.
The first, most shocking discovery was that he wanted Miss Bromwell to stay.
Perhaps it had something to do with his mistrust of the Sutherbys. They appeared exactly as Miss Bromwell described: kind, friendly, well-mannered. Yet he had picked up threads of their thoughts, small fragments of feeling suggesting a discord between their words and their motives. In that respect, Charlotte Sutherby reminded him of the golden-haired devil who’d lured him away from the tavern. Even when Miss Sutherby flashed a coy smile and attempted to soothe him with her pretty eyes, he felt disdain burn in his belly.
He felt the same way about her brother. He couldn’t imagine the fiery-tempered Miss Bromwell being happy with a man like Mr. Sutherby. Maybe it was the reason his mind roused murderous thoughts when the gentleman brought Miss Bromwell’s bare hands to his lips.
Luckily, he’d fed his craving. Still, he contemplated ripping out their throats with his teeth even though the thought of drinking their tainted blood made him nauseous.
The next surge of emotion occurred when he’d heard her name — Evelyn — though he preferred to think of her as Eve. A daughter of God lured into sin by the Devil’s own beast. The thought conjured a series of lascivious images to flood his mind; her soft breasts squashed against his chest, her tongue dancing dangerously with his. Indeed, for the first time in two years, his cock had grown so hard he almost felt human, and he’d been forced to sit as far away from her in a bid to dampen his desire.
That thought led to another emotion, one far more damning — he actually cared what happened to her. It was the only logical conclusion he could draw from the tight feeling in his chest, from the stone-like lump in his throat. He’d thought all human emotions lost to him, buried beneath a solid block of ice. But he’d sensed the cracks appearing, felt the plates shift under his feet.
Perhaps Miss Bromwell was to be his salvation.
Although she truly would despise him when she knew what he was.
Mrs. Shaw’s discreet cough disturbed him.
“They’ve gone, my lord,” she said hovering at his side, “and Peter has followed them down to lock the gates. There’ll be no more disturbances.”
Alexander turned to face her and raised a brow. He had known the woman his whole life and knew there was something hanging on the tip of her tongue waiting for permission to burst out.
“You may say what you will, but do not expect a reply.”
She pursed her lips and then took a deep breath. “I know what you say about being in company, but you’ve spent a day with Miss Bromwell and survived. I’m sure if you started going about in society you could control your urges.”
“She survived, you mean. I did not ravage her neck and drain her blood.”
In Miss Bromwell’s company, he found his human emotions suppressed the animalistic appetite that clawed away at him. It would not be the case with others.
“One day is not enough time to make a calculated decision,” he continued. “I would rather a life of solitude than live with something I regret.”
“Why don’t you call at Mytton Grange and spend an hour with them, I’m sure —”
“I’m not spending another minute with the Sutherbys.” He could feel his rage returning.
“You’d have the perfect excuse as you could say you’re checking on Miss Bromwell and her aunt.”
“And what would you have me say when they offer tea? That I prefer something darker, thicker?”
“Miss Bromwell liked you,” she added with a hint of desperation in her tone.
“No, she didn’t. She thought me rude, arrogant and brash.”
Mrs. Shaw did not argue with his assessment. “Well, I still think you should go and check on her. That’s what a gentleman would do.”
Alexander put his hand to his stomach to show his displeasure at her comment. “That was a low blow. I ceased being a gentleman two years ago, as well you know. Next, you’ll be telling me to grow up and be a man. Well, how can I when I’m a bloody monster?”
He had lost everything that night in Bavaria. The memory was akin to a crippling disease ravaging his body, each visit gnawing away at all that was left of the man he remembered.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Shaw said, her face flushing.
Anger and resentment surged up to breach the surface. “Just leave me the hell alone,” he said striding from the room. Crossing the hall to his study, he slammed the door to stress his point.
Years of frustration always found an opportunity for release and his housekeeper knew to ignore his temper; she knew not to take offence at his churlish manner.
He didn’t need to be reminded of his humanity, of all that he had lost.
But what if the tenderness expressed in her face was the only thing creating the warmth in his chest?
What if he couldn’t recapture the likeness?
Alexander moved towards the desk, unlocked the top drawer and with careful fingers placed the sketch inside. Even after he’d locked it and relaxed back in the chair, Evelyn Bromwell continued to haunt his thoughts.
A strange sense of foreboding fell over him when he thought of her alone with Mr. Sutherby. Perhaps he could wait until nightfall and wander over to Mytton Grange. It would not be a social call. An hour or so hiding outside would give him an opportunity to study the situation, to discover if Evelyn Bromwell had accepted the hand of such an insipid gentleman. He may even uncover what secrets the Sutherbys were hiding.
Chapter 7
When the mantle clock struck nine, Alexander’s impatience could no longer be tempered. Since making the decision to investigate the Sutherbys house, he had struggled to focus on anything else, and his constant pacing had created a clean pathway on the dusty floor.
Mytton Grange was a manor house situated two miles north of Stony Cross. There were no tenant cottages, the only ones having been sold when the owner moved to Italy.
The quickest route took Alexander down to the fork at the end of the lane, to follow the road leading past the coaching inn before branching back up through the forest. The stone bridge crossing the river was in dire need of repair, but he navigated his way across the crumbling arch before climbing the stile bordering the manor.
The wind had settled, the night dry, the sky clear.
Drawn to the orange glow emanating from the tall window, he crossed the grass and peered inside to find Miss Bromwell, Mr. Sutherby, and his sister, seated around the fire.
A smoky haze hung heavily in the room, and Alexander plastered his back to the wall when Mr. Sutherby darted over to the window and yanked up the sash.
“I’ll have to get a boy to climb the chimney,” he said giving a small cough before sucking in the fresh air. “You’d have thought the agent would have had them cleaned out.”
Recalling Sutherby’s mass of golden hair, Alexander imagined shoving the gentleman up there in the hope the soot choked him.
“I’ll go and find some water,” Miss Bromwell said. He identified her assertive tone easily. “It’s best we put the fire out before the whole stack goes up.”
When she left the room, Charlotte Sutherby came to stand near the window and said with some impatience, “Well, have you asked her?”
Mr. Sutherby sighed. “No. I’ve not had a chance. When I asked to speak to her alone, she made an excuse about needing to settle her aunt. I get the sense she’s avoiding me.”
“Perhaps she’s ill. She hardly ate a thing at dinner. It can’t be anything else as she seemed quite taken with you when we were in London.”
“What if we made a mistake in coming here?”
“You needed to place a little distance between you. It wouldn’t do to make it too easy. Besides, a well-kept house such as this speaks volumes when one is considering marriage.”
Alexander suppressed a snort. If that were true, there wasn’t a woman in all of Christendom who’d consent to marry him.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Miss Sutherby continued as the door opened and Miss Bromwell returned. “What a gem you are, Evelyn, you’ve found Thomas. Throw the whole bucket on the fire, Thomas, before we’re smothered in a thick blanket of smoke.”
Alexander heard the flames crackle and sizzle in protest.
“Let us vacate this room,” Mr. Sutherby said. “We could retire to the library, and you could read to us, Charlotte.”
“Shall I light the fire in the library, sir?”
“No, no. Best not light a thing until they’ve all been swept out. And I suggest you leave this window open for an hour or two.”
“Forgive me,” Miss Bromwell interjected and he could hear the nervous hitch in her voice. He should have insisted they stay at Stony Cross. He should never have let her leave with Sutherby. “I think I’ll retire for the evening. It’s been a long day, and I still feel exhausted after the accident.”
“Surely you’re not going to leave me alone to listen to Charlotte’s ramblings?”
“Ramblings! I’ve been told I have just the right tone to recite poetry,” Miss Sutherby said. “But perhaps we should all retire. There’ll be plenty of time for conversation tomorrow. Indeed, we could take Evelyn riding and pack a picnic. You do ride, Miss Bromwell?”
“I do. Although —”
“Excellent. Do you hear that, Nicholas? We shall all ride out together tomorrow.”
When Miss Bromwell left the room, Alexander expected the Sutherbys to follow, but they hung back. They’d moved from the window, and so he strained to listen to the rest of their conversation.
“Must I do everything for you?” Miss Sutherby snapped. “Thanks to my intervention, you will have a few hours alone with Miss Bromwell. I shall feign a twisted ankle, making it impossible for me to accompany you on your picnic. It should be plenty of time to secure her hand.”
“What if she refuses?”
“Then you must persuade her. It’s not as though she’s had a better offer. And you are deliciously handsome.”
“You’re biased. Perhaps the earl has shown an interest in her. You saw the way she looked at him. They’ve obviously met before as she was far too comfortable in his presence. She didn’t even flinch at his rudeness.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Miss Bromwell is a darling, and the Earl of Hale is an ogre. The two do not go together.”
Alexander could not disagree with her statement. Although he was vastly more terrifying than she could ever imagine.
“Come, let’s go to bed,” Miss Sutherby continued. “There’s a lot to do tomorrow and a good night’s sleep will do wonders.”
They left the room, and Alexander slid down the wall into a sitting position while he contemplated what he’d heard.
Mr. Sutherby appeared a little more than desperate to press his suit. And his sister was prepared to do her utmost to help. For some inexplicable reason, Alexander felt a frisson of pleasure at the thought of Miss Bromwell’s reluctance to hear his declaration.
Something about the whole situation bothered him. Frustrated that he’d not managed to pick up the same conflicting feelings he’d experienced earlier in the day, he brushed his hands through his hair and looked up at the moon.
At night, he felt normal.
At night, he was no different from other men.
He was drawn to the moonlight like others were drawn to the sun. It relaxed him. It made the world come alive. The daylight had been taken from him, whipped from under his feet with one sinister bite and he’d been left to roam a world of darkness, lost to the night for all eternity.
Feeling a sudden need to return to the sanctuary of his home, he stood and made to depart. The shadow of a figure moving across the lawn at great speed rendered him frozen to the spot. The strides were purposeful, quick, determined. The woman, for she was too petite to be a man, knew where she was going.
It was Evelyn Bromwell.
He knew it like he knew his own name.
Where the hell was she going wearing nothing but a flimsy dress, and so late at night? Was she on her way to meet a beau for a midnight rendezvous? Was that the real reason for avoiding a conversation with Mr. Sutherby?
Hiking up the hem of her skirt, she climbed the stile, glancing once over her shoulder but failing to see him cloaked in the shadows. Curiosity burning in his belly, he made
a stealth-like pursuit to avoid detection, cowering behind bushes and darting behind a tree trunk.
When she reached the river, she stopped and scanned her surroundings before placing her hands on her hips as she looked up to the heavens. The moon appeared larger, brighter, its reflection slithering over the surface of the water. It called out to him, and he resisted the urge to reveal himself, to strip naked and plunge into the icy depths.
Under the light of the moon, he felt free; he felt like he belonged.
In an uncharacteristic moment of madness, Miss Bromwell suddenly stretched out her arms and twirled round and round, her loose chestnut hair billowing out until dizziness caused her to stumble.
Alexander moved to step forward, the desire to join her in her frolicking suppressed by the need to offer assistance. But Miss Bromwell just giggled, giving him a moment to think of a logical reason to explain his presence.
However, all logical thought escaped him when Miss Bromwell began fumbling with the buttons on her dress.
In the stillness of the night, he could feel the blood pumping through his veins; he could hear it ringing in his ears. Excitement, anticipation was something he had not experienced for such a long time — even in his human form he’d been cold and detached. Now the feeling swamped him, forced him to watch though he knew it was wrong.
A wave of white muslin shimmied to the ground, pooling around her feet. She wore no corset or excessive petticoats, just a simple chemise.
Alexander’s cock pulsed at the sight of her curvaceous outline, and he almost burst out of his breeches when the garment joined the puddle of discarded material.
Bloody hell!
Miss Bromwell stood a few feet away from him, the sight of her deliciously round derriere causing him to moisten his lips. Her skin had an incandescent sheen, a silvery essence that shimmered with a magical quality amidst the woodland setting.
What was he to do now?
He could hardly step out from the shrubbery and shout surprise. A gentleman should turn away and make a hasty retreat, the need to respect her privacy being the prime motivation.
