Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 1) (20 page)

There had to be an explanation.

“What time was this?” he asked pulling out his watch. He’d heard the first call from her at about four, some three hours ago. Luckily, the thick blanket of cloud acted as a barrier to the sun’s powerful rays but still he’d been forced to wait and pace the floor for hours until it had almost set.

“Her maid said she went out into the garden just before three. No one thought to check on her, not in her own garden.”

“And now it’s seven,” he muttered to himself. “Did she have any plans for the evening … dinner or the theatre perhaps?”

Mrs. Penrose frowned. “But we were to take supper with you, my lord. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, of course.” He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “Did she give any indication she had made any plans for the afternoon, perhaps with friends?”

“No. I invited her to Vauxhall, but she said she was going to have a warm bath. I was worried she’d caught a chill.”

Guilt flared as he recalled the cool night air breezing over her naked body.

“If she was out in the garden then perhaps someone saw her leaving through the mews,” he said still feeling like the worst of rogues.

“Why would she leave the house without telling anyone? She’s never done anything like this before.”

“Begging your pardon, madam,” the maid said stepping forward from the shadows. “But it might have something to do with the letter she received.”

“Letter?” Mrs. Penrose screeched. “What letter?”

The maid curtsied. “I never mentioned it before, madam, what with it being a private matter. A boy delivered it and waited for a reply.” The girl sniffed and her bottom lip quivered. “I didn’t want to cause Miss Bromwell any trouble.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this before?” Mrs. Penrose tutted. But on witnessing the girl’s distress, patted her on the shoulder. “Never mind, Katie. You were not to know.”

“Where is this letter?” Alexander asked.

“It might be in her room, my lord.”

Mrs. Penrose threw her arms in the air. “Well go and get it. Under the circumstances, I'm sure she’ll understand the need for us to read it.”

The maid bunched her skirt and raced up the stairs before returning promptly, flapping the paper with delight as though waving a flag at a royal procession.

Mrs. Penrose unfolded the paper and proceeded to read it. She stopped, looked up at him and narrowed her gaze.

“What is the meaning of this, my lord?” the woman said not bothering to hide her displeasure. “How can you stand there and feign ignorance?”

What the blazes was she talking about?

Alexander snatched the letter from her hand and ignored her shriek and look of horror. His gaze darted to his name signed fraudulently at the bottom of the missive.

“Bloody hell,” he said, unable to suppress his frustration as he continued reading. He silenced her aunt’s muttered objection by raising his hand.

“Well?” she asked when he’d finally finished. “What have you to say?”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Penrose, I did not write this letter,” he said almost thrusting it in her face. “Why would I need to see Miss Bromwell when you had already invited me to supper? As I mentioned last night, I had a prior engagement and could not possibly have met with her today.”

“Then what dastardly deed is this, my lord?” she implored. “And if you’re ignorant of it, why arrive here as if the Devil were chasing your heels?”

What the hell was he supposed to say? He could hardly tell the woman that he’d heard her niece calling to him by way of a silent plea. That no matter where she was, he was connected to her now — for always, forever.

“Because I have recently discovered the depth of Mr. Sutherby’s deviousness,” he said, angry with himself for not mentioning it to Eve when he had the chance. “The gentleman has no money and cannot pay the rent on any of the properties he’s leased. His creditors are all but hammering on his door. Hence, his intention to marry Miss Bromwell and claim her sizable inheritance.” He chose not to divulge the truth behind Sutherby’s relationship with Charlotte or whatever her blasted name was. “Hence, his bid to compromise her in the garden.”

Mrs. Penrose stared at him, her mouth hanging open. “But there is no inheritance. I mean, Evelyn has an income of a few hundred pounds a year, but she received it immediately upon her parents’ death. She will inherit nothing more when she marries. The manor and all the surrounding land was entailed.”

Alexander brushed his hand through his hair and scratched his head. “Then why does Sutherby think she’s an heiress?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, Sutherby must have written the letter. He is the only other person, other than Lord Markham, who knows what happened in the garden last night.”

“But what would he hope to achieve by it? Do you think he intends to demand a ransom?”

Alexander had no idea what the man was capable of. But the longer he stood conversing with her aunt, the longer Eve was alone with Sutherby.

“Whatever Sutherby’s plan, you must trust me to find your niece and bring her home safely. I would like to keep the letter if I may.”

Mrs. Penrose nodded. “You have saved us both on occasion, my lord, and I trust you will come to her rescue again.”

“I assure you, I will not return without her,” he said grabbing his hat before heading out of the door.

Mounting his horse, Alexander’s first thought was to ride directly to Sutherby’s house on Half Moon Street; although the man would have to be an idiot to take Evelyn somewhere so close to home. Sutherby must have hired the carriage he used to transport Evelyn to some unknown destination. With his finances in such a sorry state, the act was a sure sign of desperation.

And desperate men did desperate things.

An image of Evelyn lying bound and gagged flashed through his mind, and he clenched his jaw as he dug his heels in and raced towards Elliot’s house in Portman Square.

When he eventually found Evelyn, he would need a carriage to bring her home. When he found her, he would need someone to stop him from ripping the scoundrel’s throat out.

As Alexander rode into Portman Square, he found Elliot standing on the pavement next to his carriage, examining his pocket watch beneath the light of the lamp. He looked up and gave Alexander a nod before dismissing the liveried footmen. With numerous gestures to the crest on the door, his coachman climbed down from his box.

“I need your help,” Alexander panted not bothering to jump down from his horse. He glanced at the carriage. “You’re not going out?”

“I’ve been waiting,” Elliot said putting his watch away. “I knew you’d come. And the only place I'm going tonight is with you.”

The coachman rolled out two pieces of cloth with metal brackets sewn onto the ends and proceeded to cover Markham’s crest by clipping them onto the doors.

“How did you know I’d be coming?”

Elliot threw his hands up and shrugged. “Usually, I struggle to hear people’s thoughts when I'm not in the immediate vicinity. But for some bizarre reason, I could feel your pain. I’ve been pacing for the last hour, wondering what the hell was going on. I told Gibbs to ready my carriage, yet I have no notion where we are going.”

“Miss Bromwell is missing.” Alexander steadied his horse, the animal sensing his agitation. “She received a note, supposedly signed by my hand.”

“But you think it was Sutherby.”

“Who else? I should have put an end to all of this last night.”

Elliot smirked. “You mean you did not tell Miss Bromwell the news when you called on her again?”

“Well, no.” He was an idiot, a selfish fool. He reached into his coat pocket and removed the letter. “Here, read this.”

There was a moment of silence before Elliot blurted, “But she met him almost five hours ago.” The trace of panic in his voice hit Alexander like a hard blow to the stomach. “They could be anywhere. On the road to Scotland, heading towards the south coast … anywhere.”

Alexander felt the blood drain from his face. Finding them would be an impossible task, he knew that, but he would just have to follow his instincts.

“I’ll meet you at Sutherby’s house on Half Moon Street,” Alexander said, folding the letter and putting it back in his pocket. “I doubt he’ll have taken her there, but we may find some clue as to his intention.”

Elliot nodded. “Very well. I think we know his motivation is money. He’ll not harm her, not when he sees her as a commodity.”

“Am I supposed to feel reassured?”

“We’ll find her,” Elliot said firmly. He glanced at Alexander’s horse. “I’ll call a boy to stable your horse.”

“That won’t be necessary. I prefer to ride.”

“What’s the matter? Frightened I might bite you.”

The words were said in jest, yet he felt a frisson of fear at the memory of the devil woman’s closed carriage, fear that quickly turned to anger. “In my haste to find Miss Bromwell, I’ve not sated my hunger this evening. There’s every chance I’d drain you dry. Now, shut the hell up and follow me to Sutherby’s.”

They entered the house using the same method as the previous night. As they stood in the kitchen, the image of Sutherby’s naked buttocks balancing on the edge of the table flashed into his mind, and he kicked the blasted thing in a bid to release his frustration.

“Be quiet,” Elliot whispered, hitting him on the arm.

“Why?”

“What if you’re wrong, and Sutherby comes down and finds us in here. Despite covering my crest, someone will have noticed us coming in.”

“I’m not wrong, and I don’t give a damn who notices us.”

Alexander stomped off through the basement and climbed the stairs to the ground floor. He was rummaging through the desk in the study when Elliot entered.

“Other than an old newspaper, there’s nothing in any of the rooms down here. They feel cold and desolate as though no one has lived here for months. Did you find anything of interest in here?”

“Not a blasted thing. All the drawers were open. I found some letters, but nothing relating to Sutherby. If that’s even his name.”

Elliot folded his arms across his chest. “Did Sutherby have any friends here in Town? Perhaps we could find them and torture them for information.”

Alexander shook his head. “Not that I know of.” He was not adverse to torture, not where Sutherby was concerned. “I’ve only ever seen him with his sister, or his lover or whoever the hell she is.”

“At least we know Miss Bromwell is not here. I do not feel any remnants of her presence. But then you would be a better judge of that.” Elliot paused, narrowed his gaze and glanced up at the ceiling. “However, I believe someone is here. Listen.”

Alexander stared at a point in the far corner of the room as he honed his senses. The faint melody resonated through the house: high-pitched humming accompanied by the odd string of words. The country tune was barely audible, and he crept over to Elliot and led him to the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s coming from the room above the study,” he whispered, jabbing his finger up and to the left.

“Sounds like a woman’s voice,” Elliot said moving up a few steps and peering through the balusters. “The chamber door is closed.”

Climbing stealthy to the top, they padded across the landing to stand outside the door.

It was definitely a woman, although she sounded far too cheerful to be Evelyn. They listened for a moment but heard no one else.

“Perhaps it’s Charlotte Sutherby?” Elliot whispered.

They heard splashing and the slow trickle of water. Elliot’s hand hovered over the door handle.

Alexander grabbed his wrist. “Wait. If I … if I lose control, I need you to stop me. If you see my eyes darken. If you see me flex my jaw …”

Elliot smiled. “Trust me. Based on what I expect to find beyond this door, I believe I’ll be the one losing control. If you see me unbutton my breeches, then you’ll know it’s time to act.”

Chapter 21

Alexander followed Elliot into the room. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but instinct told him it wouldn’t be Evelyn. The shocking sight caused them both to stop abruptly.

“You took your time,” Charlotte Sutherby said. She was standing in a small tin bath with her back to them, her honey-gold hair draped over one shoulder as she massaged soap all over her naked body.

The scene left him cold, but he could hear the wild, chaotic train of Elliot’s thoughts. Feeling tension emanate from his friends body, he could only imagine his physical reaction to the enticing vision.

The lady bent down and swished her cloth in the water before ringing it out over her neck and shoulders, offering a pleasurable hum at the sensation. In the muted light, her silhouette appeared softer, her skin bathed in a peachy-cream glow.

“Bloody hell,” Elliot whispered.

“Well?” she said, “Did you do what I asked? Did you call on Miss Bromwell and offer an apology?”

When neither of them answered, she glanced casually over her shoulder. The ear-piercing shriek made him wince, and the woman almost jumped out of the tub in shock.