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

by Adele Clee

  But Alexander was no gentleman.

  Evelyn moved to the river’s edge and dipped her toe into the murky water. Good heavens, it was so much colder than she expected, but she refused to turn back now.

  When she’d gone upstairs to bed, it hadn’t been her intention to strip naked and splash about in the river. But she’d spotted the moon shining brightly in the night sky, and her thoughts had drifted back to Alexander Cole.

  No matter how hard she tried, she struggled to understand him. The cold, cynical manner he portrayed was so opposed to the man who had sketched such a pretty portrait. Even his parting comment, where he’d explained the folly of living a lie, suggested a deeper level of concern for her welfare.

  That’s why she’d come outside, to try to understand what motivated him, to try to understand the lure of swimming naked on a moonlit night.

  Finding the courage to continue, she sat on the bank and slid slowly into the water, clutching onto a grassy mound as she had no idea of the river’s depth. Luckily, it only came to her elbow, and she shivered as she walked out into the middle and the cold water lapped around her waist. Holding her body rigid and her arms tucked into her sides, she ducked down until it covered her shoulders, suppressing the urge to curse as loud as she could.

  The freezing water penetrated her bones, making her skin tingle as the blood pumped rapidly around her body in protest. She thought it best to keep moving and so swam a few strokes towards the opposite side.

  “Is Mr. Sutherby so lax in his hospitality that he has failed to provide water to wash?”

  Startled by the sudden intrusion, she tried to stand up, splashing water over her face as she lost her balance.

  “Who … who’s there?” She turned and almost shot up out of the water when she noticed the gentleman sitting on the bank. Remembering she was naked, she clutched her arms to her chest as a way of preserving her modesty.

  With her mind quickly thawing from the shock, the arrogant tone struck a chord of familiarity. “Lord Hale? Is it you?”

  He stood and moved to the water’s edge. “I was passing and thought you’d fallen in.”

  She felt a flush rise until her cheeks burned. “But … but you live miles away.”

  “I often walk at night. I suggest you keep moving else you’ll catch your death. I’ll wait here in case you get into any difficulty. Unless you want me to help you out.” He bent down and offered his hand.

  “No!”

  “You complained about my hospitality. At least, I provided warm water to bathe.”

  “You’re not funny and as I recall it was Mrs. Shaw who tended to our needs.”

  The earl seemed different, less angry, less agitated and he sat down on the grass. “Please, continue with your ablutions. I’ll just wait here.”

  “Go away,” she cried, her temper overshadowing her embarrassment. “I can’t get out with you sitting there gaping.”

  “Then you should have thought of that before stripping off your clothes, eager to partake in a midnight swim.”

  What a hypocrite!

  “And you never feel the urge to partake in such things, my lord?”

  He gave an indolent wave. “Do I look like a man who enjoys swimming in cold water?”

  She ducked down and waved her arms about in a bid to keep warm. “What, you’ve never stripped off all of your clothes and left them on a bench near a fountain? You’ve never swum naked in the middle of the night?”

  It was too dark to gauge his reaction fully and after a brief silence, he said, “You saw me?”

  Evelyn gave a satisfied smile. “I saw everything. I’m afraid I struggle to sleep and often wander about at night.” As she spoke, her teeth began to chatter, and her limbs grew stiff. “I need to get out before I’m struck down with cramp.”

  “I’m not stopping you. After your declaration, I think it only courteous you allow me to watch.”

  What had happened to him in the few hours since she’d left? She much preferred bantering with this gentleman than arguing with the moody earl. “You surprise me, my lord. I didn’t think the word courteous was part of your repartee. Now turn around while I get out. And no peeking.”

  Evelyn swam to the bank.

  “I’ve seen plenty of naked women. One more won’t make a difference.”

  “I’m sure you have. Now turn around.”

  He sighed, stood up and turned his back to her.

  Placing her palms on the bank, Evelyn tried to push herself up. Damn. She appeared to have lost all the strength in her arms, and her legs felt numb, too.

  “With all the huffing and puffing, I assume you’re struggling to get out. Perhaps now you’ll thank me for waiting.”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  She tried again but slipped back into the water.

  “Would you like a hand?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you propose to get out?”

  Weary from the effort, Evelyn decided to concede. What other choice was there? “Very well. Give me your hand. But close your eyes.”

  He came closer to the water’s edge, offered his hand and closed his eyes. With no option but to trust him, she placed her palm in his, and he wrapped his fingers around her hand.

  That one innocent touch sent her world spinning in a tizzy of raw emotion. The tingling radiating from his palm shot up her arm, flooded her chest, forced her to gulp a breath.

  With brute strength, he pulled her out and when her feet were safely on the grassy verge she stood and stared at him. With his eyes closed he looked so peaceful, so breathtakingly handsome, yet his ragged breathing revealed an inner frustration. Still gripping her hand tightly, he opened his eyes. But he did not glance down.

  The look of longing she saw there made her heart ache, her nakedness a mere trifle compared to the intimate way he was able to strip away all the barriers to reach her soul.

  She closed her eyes then, for her own protection as they were a gateway he could easily access. When he pulled his hand away, she opened them to see him stride over to the trees.

  “Get dressed,” he barked over his shoulder, anger evident in his tone.

  Evelyn was not offended by his sudden coldness. She could feel his torment, feel his fear. A connection had grown between them, a familiarity too complicated to define.

  Fear engulfed her, too.

  How could she consider a proposal from Mr. Sutherby when her mind was so muddled? How could she consent to be another man’s wife when she could think of nothing other than Alexander Cole?

  Chapter 8

  Nothing could erase the past. Nothing could change what he had become. That’s the thought he kept replaying over in his head while he waited for Miss Bromwell to dress.

  Yet he could not fight the instant connection he’d felt upon taking her hand. Or shake the feeling that their paths had been destined to cross. Perhaps it was a form of punishment? He’d seduced many women, not caring for any of them. Why should he care now when his condition made it impossible for him to act?

  Punishment was the wrong word, he decided, it felt more like torture.

  Alone and sheltered, he could have taken Evelyn Bromwell. He could have drunk from her, drove into her hard and deep, over and over, made her forget it had ever happened.

  A beast would have done exactly that. Yet, he could not behave like the animal he’d fought so hard to suppress. Besides, there was something more to this frisson of excitement he experienced upon seeing her, an inexplicable need to look beyond carnal pleasures in the hope of finding a richer treasure.

  Feeling her presence at his shoulder, he turned and scanned the dishevelled sight.

  “I’d pray Mr. Sutherby doesn’t see you like that else he’ll be retracting his offer.”

  She brushed the stringy tendrils back off her shoulders and pulled at her dress as the fabric clung to her damp body. “He hasn’t made me an offer, not yet.”

  “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time,” he replied,
not wishing to reveal what he’d heard. “I’ll walk you back to the house. In case, you faint from exposure to the cold and get eaten alive by squirrels.”

  She chuckled. “Squirrels?”

  “The area is overrun with them,” he replied without raising a smile. Although when she glanced nervously over her shoulder, he had to purse his lips.

  He chose not to help her over the stile. To touch her again would be a mistake and he could feel her assessing gaze drifting over his face.

  “You didn’t tell me what you were doing out here,” she said, “and before you say anything, I don’t believe you were out walking.”

  After preaching about the wisdom of telling the truth, he had no option but to be honest. “I came to spy on the Sutherbys. I don’t like them. They are so affable they make me want to spew on my boots.”

  She chuckled again. “There’s nothing wrong with kindness. Perhaps you should try it.”

  “It is overrated. Besides, was not my rescuing you from a freezing river an act of kindness?”

  “I suppose so. But why are you so concerned about disliking the Sutherbys? I thought you disliked everyone.”

  “Not everyone,” he said glancing down at her. “I like Mrs. Shaw.”

  Miss Bromwell smiled. “You’re lucky to have her. I don’t know how she puts up with your vile moods and tantrums.”

  He knew how lucky he was. The old woman had been an angel in a time of desperate need. When he’d eventually found his way home to Stony Cross, she knew instinctively all was not well with him. It had nothing to do with his filthy clothes and unkempt hair. He’d fallen into her arms and sobbed. It hadn’t taken much to confess his sins, to explain the thirst that controlled him. She’d stood by him, would never abandon him, despite his faults and weaknesses.

  As they approached the house, he thought he saw the shadow of a figure in the upstairs window.

  “I’ll leave you here,” he said not wanting to alert anyone to his presence. “Next time you decide to go swimming in ice-cold water, I suggest you find a place where someone can hear your cry for help.”

  When he turned to walk away, she called out to him. “Do you think you’ll be out walking tomorrow night? Will you come to spy on the Sutherbys again?”

  There was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. She wanted to see him, and the thought brought a slight sliver of hope. “That sounds like an invitation, Miss Bromwell.”

  She struggled to look at him. “Make of it what you will.”

  He did not know what to make of it and so inclined his head and bid her good night before marching off across the lawn. He’d be a fool to meet with her again.

  But then he’d been a fool most of his life.

  The next day passed in a whirlwind. Alexander spent most of his time secluded in his study, sketching, thinking, and feeling. He’d recounted the events of the previous night so many times his head felt as though it was filled with lead.

  Just when he’d made the decision not to return to Mytton Grange, a voice in his ear reminded him there were too many coincidences to simply ignore. Miss Bromwell struggled to sleep at night. She enjoyed swimming naked in the moonlight. Well, she hadn’t really enjoyed the experience but she would if she swam with him. She was the only person he knew who ignored his temper, the only person capable of banishing the feeling of utter hopelessness.

  When wallowing in his selfish mood, he imagined relieving the physical ache that consumed him. In creating such lurid fantasies, he convinced himself she could heal his affliction — that he would one day walk the earth as a mortal man.

  Consequently, the need to understand this power she had over him, coupled with the desire to dissuade her from making a mistake with Mr. Sutherby, was the driving force behind his decision.

  At nine o’clock he set out for Mytton Grange. Would Miss Bromwell be waiting for him? Would she have made her excuses to her host? Or during a leisurely picnic had Mr. Sutherby managed to win her affections?

  Alexander spent the rest of the walk trying to pretend he didn’t care and felt relieved when he crossed the bridge, as he was done with thinking.

  As with everything in life, there were positive aspects to negative situations. The predator inside made him more attuned to his surroundings, being able to gauge residual imprints of thoughts and feelings long after an event. The more profound the initial feeling, the easier it was to tune into it.

  When he climbed the stile and crossed the grass, he was hit by a sudden wave of panic, his mind sensing chaos, desperation. His head shot up in the direction of the house, and he broke into a jog as the need to discover the source of such anguish gripped him.

  Although the hour was late, he expected to see the faint glow of candlelight radiating from one of the many windows dotted over the facade. But the house sat in complete darkness. He raced around the perimeter, peering through every window hoping to spot a sign of life. But the house was as desolate as his forsaken heart.

  The carriage house and stable block were also deserted yet he examined the stalls, scoured the shadows for clues as to their whereabouts. As Alexander exited the block, he caught sight of someone creeping out of a building at the far end.

  “You. Wait there!”

  Upon hearing Alexander’s cry, the figure rushed towards the stone entrance, tripping over his feet and landing face down on the cobbles beneath the arch. Alexander caught up with him and yanked him up by his collar.

  “I didn’t mean no ‘arm,” the man cried dropping the leather bridle to the ground as though it was burning his hands. “I was just taking it for cleaning that’s all. I was gonna bring it back.”

  “I’m not interested in what you’re doing. I want to know where I can find Mr. Sutherby.” Alexander released the man as a gesture of goodwill. “Don’t think of running as I’ll catch up with you.”

  The man gulped as he surveyed the breadth of Alexander’s chest. “He’s gone. They’ve all gone, gone to London first thing this morning.”

  “London? Why?”

  “I don’t know.” The man shrugged. “All I know is, he let us all go without notice and he ain’t even paid us since he’s been ‘ere.”

  “When you say all of you, do you mean the stable hands?”

  “All the help. Even the housekeeper. Sent all the horses back to Mr. Blake, too.”

  Plagued once more by a strange sense of foreboding, Alexander tried to shake it. “Did Sutherby say when he’d be back?”

  “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.

&nbs
p; 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?