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

  Doubt crept in when she came to the clearing, when she stumbled upon the huge, rusty iron gates. She could see the Elizabethan building at the end of the path — the home of the Earl of Hale, she presumed.

  The gates were locked.

  A thick chain had been threaded through the railings, making it impossible to open them. Judging by the amount of weeds sprouting out of the gravel, the entrance hadn’t been used for some time. The impression was one of neglect, of desolation, of utter hopelessness.

  Evelyn was not foolish enough to attempt to climb the gates, and the stone wall running along the boundary seemed too high.

  Surely there was another way in.

  She followed the boundary to the left for a few minutes until she came to a tree; its lowest branch overhung the wall. Bunching her dress up to her knees she climbed the tree, receiving a few bumps and grazes in the process. If only she’d not discarded her blood-stained gloves, she thought, as she lay along the branch and pulled herself across before jumping down into the earl’s estate.

  When she eventually reached the oak front door, it was dusk. With no sign of activity, she glanced at the twenty-or-so windows scattered across the facade. Not a single light shone from within. Each one looked dark and ominous, conjuring an image of its master’s disfigured face.

  Evelyn wrapped her fingers around the iron knocker and let it fall, the dull echo resonating along the hallway beyond. She waited for the clip of footsteps, for the rustle of keys.

  Nothing.

  Determined to muster a response, she knocked again, twice.

  Nothing.

  Evelyn muttered a curse. Her aunt lay bleeding to death, the coachman a lifeless lump. She’d run until her chest burned, until fire scorched the back of her throat. She’d fought her way in, her hands battered and bruised, her cape in tatters.

  The earl would welcome her in, even if she had to pound on the door until her fingers bled.

  Racing to the lower level window, she cupped her hands to her face and peered inside, moving to the next and the next until she’d worked around to the west wing.

  The first thing she noticed when she looked through the next window was that the fire had been lit. The bright orange flames roared within the stone surround.

  She saw him then — the maimed earl.

  He sat in a wingback chair, wearing a fine shirt and waistcoat, his head bowed as he stared into the flames. A mop of dark hair hung over his brow, his hunched shoulders reflecting his melancholic mood.

  Evelyn rapped on the glass pane, but he simply sat there as cold and as solid as a block of stone.

  An elderly woman entered the room, her stout frame and apron suggesting she was a housekeeper or cook.

  Evelyn tapped again. “Please, I need your help. Please let me in.”

  The woman caught her gaze and muttered to the gentleman in the chair, pointing to the window before throwing her hands up in the air.

  Without raising his head, he waved her away, refusing to look at her let alone listen to her plea.

  “Please,” she said banging the window with both fists.

  The woman shrugged before turning her back and leaving the room.

  Evelyn turned away in frustration, pacing back and forth while she decided what to do. She should have taken the other path. She would have been at the inn by now. She would have found help.

  Why wouldn’t he open the door? Did he think she’d be appalled by his face?

  Frustration turned to anger when she thought about her poor aunt, and she kicked the gravel along the walkway.

  Then she saw the stone. Smooth and oval in shape, it was small enough to fit in her palm, large enough for what she needed.

  Before rational thought found its way into her muddled mind, she picked it up and hurled it at the window.

  The sound of shattering glass was accompanied by a deep masculine curse.

  Chapter 3

  Alexander shot out of the chair, his gaze fixed on the stone lying amidst the shards of broken glass. Thankfully, the windows were stripped with lead, and only the bottom pane had shattered.

  Mrs. Shaw came scurrying in, wiping her hands on her apron. “I heard a noise, my lord. Is everything alright?” Her eyes widened when she looked to the window. “For all the saints, what on earth …”

  The lady was still standing outside, her hand plastered across her mouth.

  Alexander inhaled.

  He could smell her blood, just a hint, fresh and sweet.

  Swinging round, he turned his back to the window. “Get rid of her. Get rid of her now.”

  Mrs. Shaw gasped. “But she might be hurt, my lord, she might need —”

  “I don’t care what she needs.” And he didn’t. Other people’s petty trials were no concern of his. “Drag her away kicking and screaming if you have to. Just get rid of her … and find out how the hell she got in.”

  Pacing back and forth to stop his traitorous mind from considering any other option, he clenched his teeth and hardened his jaw.

  She was probably just another ogler come to see the hideous earl. He knew that’s what they called him. Perhaps she thought he needed saving. Perhaps she needed money and believed it was more preferable to lie with an ugly man than to suffer the pain of hunger writhing in her belly.

  The thought of hunger roused the faintest flicker of sympathy.

  Something forced him to turn back to the window: a tug in his chest, in his abdomen — but the lady was gone. A sense of relief coursed through him, accompanied by the familiar feeling of regret.

  Ignoring the broken glass scattered about the floor, he threw himself down into the leather chair and resumed the state of thoughtful contemplation as he continued to gaze into the flames.

  He heard the lady’s cries and protests resonate along the hall as Mrs. Shaw met her at the front door.

  “Wait, wait, you can’t come in. His lordship doesn’t take kindly to visitors.”

  “Do I look as though I’m here to take tea?”

  Alexander straightened. The predator in him was alert and ready to pounce — the man curious and inquisitive.

  “Come back here. Trust me. You won’t want to make him angry.”

  “Do I look as though I care? I have far more important things to worry about.”

  With those stony words, the lady burst in through the door, forcing him to jump up from his seat and face her while Mrs. Shaw waddled in behind.

  “I tried to stop her, my lord. I told her you don’t want company.”

  He raised a hand to calm his housekeeper.

  The lady strode up to him, coming to a halt a mere foot away. She wore no bonnet, and her chestnut-brown hair looked dull and shabby. Her left cheek was grazed, the skin red and swollen, the rest of her face smudged with dirt. Her filthy cloak didn’t look fit for a pauper. Yet, in spite of it all, her countenance conveyed strength, good breeding, and an unshakable resolve.

  “You must hurry,” she said not bothering with an introduction. “There’s been an accident … my aunt is … my aunt is …”

  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 re
ceived 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 Beatric
e. 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?”