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

  “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.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Miss Bromwell said coming to stand at his side. “The Earl of Hale could not possibly allow gently-bred ladies to stay at an inn full of cockfighters. I’m sure he will be most happy to shelter us for this evening and on the morrow we shall send word to Mr. Sutherby.”

  “Mr. Sutherby?” Alexander enquired. “Who the blazes is Mr. Sutherby?”

  Miss Bromwell straightened her back and raised her chin. “Mr. Sutherby lives at Mytton Grange, a well-kept house a few miles from here. He is extremely sociable and well-mannered and will welcome us with open arms.”

  There was no mistaking the concealed insult. “He sounds like a perfect gentleman.”

  “He is the very best of gentlemen. Mr. Sutherby is to be my betrothed.”

  Chapter 4

  Evelyn could not decide if the Earl of Hale despised her, despised women, or despised people in general.

  He was rude, conceited and almost always angry. No wonder they made up stories about him being so hideous. Outwardly, his clear complexion revealed a strong, handsome face. His steel-blue eyes were captivating; his dimpled chin suggested a playful charm. Inwardly, he was the most abhorrent gentleman she’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Shaw demonstrated a level of hospitality one expected from her master and had brought a bowl of broth up to her aunt’s room. The woman still hovered in the background while Evelyn attempted to feed her aunt a spoonful of the vegetable soup.

  “I have never seen her look so pale.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, miss. The master knows what he’s doing, and if he says she’ll be right in a day or two, you can be sure of it.”

  “At least, one of us has some faith in him,” Evelyn said not bothering to hide her disdain.

  Mrs. Shaw shuffled forward. “I know he’s not an easy gentleman to converse with. I know he seems a little sharp, a little brash at times —”

  “Brash? He is downright rude.”

  “He doesn’t take kindly to visitors that’s all.”

  “Well, he’s in luck. I doubt he’s likely to receive any when he behaves like such a heathen.”

  The Earl of Hale had refused to ride back to his estate, Stony Cross, in the cart. Evelyn had sat and watched him stalk off through the forest, baffled by his constant sour mood. By the time they’d reached the old house, and a servant had come down to unlock the gate, the earl was already home hiding in his study.

  They’d received no welcome or assistance, no offer of food or hot water to bathe — nothing.

  “It’s complicated,” the housekeeper said cryptically. “He’s not what he seems.”

  The woman’s loyalty knew no bounds, which she supposed was a rather endearing quality.

  Evelyn placed the bowl on the table next to the bed. “People seldom are what they portray.” She walked over to the washstand, wrung out a cloth and came back to wipe her aunt’s cheeks.

  “Why don’t you leave her to rest? You could do with a wash and something to eat. There’s water in your room next door though it’ll be a little cool now.”

  Evelyn’s stomach gurgled in response at the mere thought of food. “What if something happens while I’m away?”

  “She just needs rest. I’ll pop in every ten minutes or so to check on her. Besides, you’re no good to her like that. She’ll need you fit and healthy.”

  Evelyn nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll wash and then nip back in for five minutes.”

  Mrs. Shaw smiled. “Come and find me in the kitchen when you’re done.”

  Evelyn spent ten minutes staring at her reflection in the mirror. The bruise on her cheek would take more than a week to heal, and she knew she’d still be finding knots in her hair come June.

  After scrubbing away the dirt and soaking her hands, she went to work on brushing out her hair. She must have spent an age on the task and Mrs. Shaw knocked to see if she still wanted supper.

  “Do you happen to have any spare pins?” Evelyn asked. “So I can put up my hair.”

  “There’s no one here who’d use such things.” Mrs. Shaw scanned Evelyn’s loose hair, a smile touching the corners of her lips. “There’s no one here to fuss neither, so you can come down as you are.”

  Mrs. Shaw led her downstairs, to the room with the broken window, which had since been temporarily repaired with a piece of wood. “You sit here in front of the fire and get warm, and I’ll bring your supper to you.”

  Despite the golden glow cast from the fire and an array of candles, the room felt dark and oppressive. It was like walking into Lucifer’s inner sanctum, and she peered about the room expecting to find the disagreeable earl lurking somewhere in the shadows. Thankfully, she was alone. And so she settled into the wingback chair, removed her boots and tucked her feet under her legs.

  Mrs. Shaw brought in a simple platter of meat, cheese and bread. Either the earl had reduced the monthly allowance or he’d insisted the guests were not to be spoilt. Perhaps he feared they would try to prolong their stay, and he would be forced to be civil. Grateful for even the smallest morsel, Evelyn tucked in.

  “Would you like more logs on the fire?” Mrs. Shaw said, placing a glass of wine on the low table in front of the chair.

  Evelyn looked up at her in surprise, wondering if the earl knew his housekeeper had raided his cellar. “No, I’m quite warm. Thank you for the wine.”

  “You’re welcome, miss. Well, I best go and check on your aunt.”

  With that, the woman left her to her supper.

  Despite the warmth radiating from the hearth and feeling content after supper, Evelyn still struggled to relax. The wine helped, the full-bodied claret was rich and soothing, and she curled up in the chair as her lids grew heavy. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little snooze. Not after the stressful events of the day.

  Had she known she would dream of the earl, she would have taken a needle and thread and sewn her e
yelids to her brow.

  No one could predict their dreams. Some dreams were dominated by a series of images, often fragmented, yet richly vivid. In this dream, she was still sitting in the chair, aware that the earl was in the room. Although she couldn’t see him as everything appeared to be black.

  She felt his presence beside her, felt him take a lock of her hair between his fingers, heard him inhale. She felt his gaze drift over her face and body, leaving a warm trail in its wake. Then the soft pads of his fingers stroked her cheek with a level of tenderness she did not expect from such an odious being. When his thumb caressed the line of her lips, she woke with a start.

  The gentleman responsible for her racing pulse was sitting in the chair opposite, his gaze dark and brooding as he stared at her over the rim of his wine glass.

  “You’re sitting in my chair.”

  Evelyn tried not to look flustered, but she felt hot, breathless. “You … you had no trouble finding another.”

  “If you want to sleep, you have a room upstairs.”

  A blush rose to her cheeks at the thought of him watching her in slumber. Why hadn’t he called Mrs. Shaw to wake her up? Why had he stayed to watch? Probably to annoy her, or give him a justifiable cause to complain.

  “I was not sleeping. I was simply resting my eyes.”

  He snorted and cradled the glass closer to his chest, the light from the floor-standing candelabra casting a glow over the deep-red liquid. “It is the same thing.”

  “I’m sure you would argue with me no matter what I said.”

  He took a sip from the glass, his gaze never leaving her. “Perhaps.”

  Evelyn refused to be intimidated by his penetrating stare. What did it matter if he was mean and abrupt? There was a much more considerate man residing a few miles away. “I shall need to send word to Mytton Grange. Mr. Sutherby is expecting us.”

  “Ah, Mr. Sutherby, your perfect gentleman. It has been taken care of. I expect his reply first thing.”

  The conversation felt awkward, the atmosphere tense. He gave nothing of himself — no hint of warmth or emotion, no clue to the man hidden beneath the austere facade. In his desperation to be rid of her, he’d already written to Mr. Sutherby. This may well be the last time she’d see the Earl of Hale and the thought gave her the courage to be bolder.

  “Well, I shall certainly be glad to leave. I have never spent time in the company of a gentleman so rude and unfeeling.”

  “Unfeeling?” he said with a snort. “Did I not just save your aunt from death’s door? Was I not the one who stitched the wound?”

  Evelyn was still baffled as to why such a cold man had taken the trouble. “I’m certain your motives were purely selfish.”

  The earl sat forward. “How so?”

  “Because you wanted to be rid of me and thought it the quickest way, or for some other reason I haven’t quite fathomed.”

  “You’re right on both counts. I do want rid of you, for reasons I do not care to go into.”

  Evelyn gasped at his blunt reply. The man had no care for the feelings of others.

  “What happened to you, to make you like this?” she said waving her hand at him.

  He took a long, slow sip of wine and licked the residue from his lips. “You would not believe me even if I told you.” His gaze drifted past her shoulder to stare into the distance, and she thought she saw pain and anguish reflected there. After a moment, he shook his head and said, “Has Mr. Sutherby made you an offer of marriage?”

  Why on earth should she divulge anything about herself when he insisted on being so insular? But she felt the need to fill the uncomfortable moments of silence, and when she spoke, she forgot her heart was pounding.

  “He has broached the subject with my aunt and made it clear that is his intention. I believe he will ask me tomorrow when I meet his sister.” The weird feeling surfaced again at the thought: a prickling sensation irritating her shoulders, causing her to shiver.

  “But you’re not sure you want to accept. You’re struggling with what you think you should say and what you want to say.”

  Evelyn’s mouth fell open at such an insightful response, and she snapped it shut. Were her feelings so obvious to others? If the earl could see it, then so would Mr. Sutherby.

  “Mr. Sutherby is a handsome, kind and generous man,” she said. “A lady would be foolish not to admire such qualities.”

  The earl narrowed his gaze. “But there is something missing, something more that you want.”

  “What more is there?”

  He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Oh, I think you know.”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked the question.”

  “Because you have suppressed your true feelings. Tell me. Tell me what you really want.” His gaze became more intense, more focused, his voice a seductive whisper that sent tingles through her body. “Tell me what it is you dream of when you’re alone at night. Tell me. Tell me now.”

  Evelyn felt the heat building in her stomach, making a slow ascent, filling her chest. She felt lightheaded and giddy, the aftereffects of too much wine. The warmth flooding her body banished all of her fears and concerns, and her thoughts were filled with dreams of love. She found she couldn’t keep the words at bay. Now the dam was open, a torrent of suppressed emotions rushed to the fore.

  Tell me.

  The words echoed through her mind, dragging a confession from her lips.

  “I … I dream of a man who loves me above all else,” she began, feeling suddenly light and free as if she were floating. “I dream of a love so deep I would rather die than live without it. I long to feel the physical ache only true love brings. I dream of a man who is my friend, my companion, my lover. A man whose touch soothes my soul and ignites a passion —”

  “Enough,” he said, his voice firm, commanding. “Enough.”

  Tiny white lights flashed before her eyes, and she blinked rapidly as the heat ravaging her body subsided. When her vision cleared, he was watching her, his sinful gaze penetrating her soul.

  “Sorry, what was I saying?” she asked, her mind still addled.

  “You said Mr. Sutherby was handsome and kind but that you don’t love him.”

  Evelyn put her hand to her throat as if the action would somehow eradicate the words. “I … I did not say that. I did not say anything about love.”

  “Yes, you did. You believe Mr. Sutherby falls short of your expectations.”

  “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?” she said shooting up out of the chair, gripping the arm to steady her balance. She did not want to accept the truth in his words. It was easier to carry on pretending everything would work out fine, to pretend she could learn to love a good man. What was there not to love? “Are you so eager to be rid of me that you would call me a liar?”

  His gaze swept over her. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  She knew she was overreacting, but the need stamp her doubts and worries into the ground surpassed all else. “If you insist on arguing with me, I am going up to bed.”

  “Do you think running away will solve your problem?”

  “Perhaps I’m tired, tired of listening to advice from a man who barely lives in the real world, a man so cold and detached he may as well be dead.”

  Evelyn slapped her hand across her mouth, shocked at her disrespectful outburst. All this talk of Mr. Sutherby had left her nerves in tatters, and the earl had a way of bringing out the worst in her.

  The earl did not look offended. He simply raised his glass and said, “Then sleep well, Miss Bromwell. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a rather interesting day.”

  Chapter 5

  Evelyn gave a disgruntled sigh, plumped her pillow and cuddled into it. Sleep often eluded her. Her mind always chose the early hours to mull over the day’s events and the day had certainly given her a tremendous amount to contemplate.

  Although she was loath to admit it, the earl was right. She did not love Mr. Sutherby.

/>   It was a complicated dilemma.

  Was it silly and naive to imagine one must love a man with all of their heart before agreeing to a lifelong commitment? Then again, perhaps marriage was the solid foundation needed for feelings to blossom and grow into the sort of love that lasts forever. Of course, it helped if the gentleman was kind, well-mannered and polite.

  Her thoughts were drawn to the earl. His dark, oppressive mood made her angry, made her feel frustrated and confused as she struggled to try to understand him. Yet he had managed to peer into her soul as if it were an open window. One glance and he knew the fears and doubts hidden inside. Mr. Sutherby did fall short of her expectations. She didn’t love him, and there was a vital ingredient missing.

  Damn the earl for interfering.

  Damn him for being so perceptive.

  Feeling the need to find a distraction, she climbed out of bed, rummaged through her luggage, the small trunk having been retrieved from the wreckage, and put on her wrapper. There was not much she could do in the middle of the night. But she’d sit and comfort her aunt who, despite being weak and lethargic, had regained consciousness.

  The earl had been right about that, too.

  Evelyn eased the door away from the jamb and crept out. For some reason, she stepped left instead of right, lured by the sight of the moon’s reflection shining through the window at the end of the hall. She’d spent many a sleepless night staring up at the moon. The vision created a stillness within, a feeling she belonged to something infinitely bigger, and it made her feel at peace.

  Her feet carried her to the window before her mind conjured the thought, and she drank in the sight of the silver sphere set against the inky-black sky. Lost in thoughtful contemplation, she didn’t notice the earl at first. He stepped off the gravel path and walked towards what would have once been a decorative garden. The overgrown topiary spilled out onto the path, the water no longer flowed from the spouts on the fountain and the rose bushes were scraggy and unkempt.