Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 1) (24 page)

“Blood!” She shot out of the chair.

“Calm yourself. We drink animal blood. I am not about to sink my teeth into your vein and drain the life from you.”

Evelyn’s hand flew up to her throat. “I-I should hope not. Have you ever … ever—”

“Killed anyone? No. We may look abhorrent when we feed naturally, but we are not savages, Miss Bromwell. Sutherby caught Alexander off guard that is all. His need to protect you was what drove him to act as he did.”

When he’d sat on the bed, she had sensed the rage burning within. But he’d kept it at bay, showed only concern for her, his voice soft and tender.

“Mr. Sutherby provoked him,” she said, wishing she could throttle the man for his interference. “He attacked Alexander with a knife.”

“Uncontrollable anger is often a trigger. It is the point where animal instinct overtakes rational thought.”

Evelyn considered his words. She would probably fly into an uncontrollable rage if she’d been slashed with a blade. Discussing things so openly made it all seem less terrifying, and she owed Lord Markham a debt of gratitude. “You are a good and loyal friend, my lord.”

He scoffed. “Such a good friend, I have left him alone in his greatest hour of need.”

The thought of Alexander all lost and alone caused guilt to flare.

“Then you must go to him,” she said walking over to Lord Markham and placing her hand on his sleeve. The gentleman stared at her fingers as he sucked in a breath. “He needs you more than I.”

“I cannot leave you here alone. Heaven knows what sort of characters hover in the shadows.”

“Pay the wench to sit with me, just for a few hours while you attend to Alexander. The only thing I ask is that you assist me in returning to London.”

His gaze turned sharp and curious as he rose from the chair. “You know, I have the ability to make you forget. I could make you forget what you saw.” He sighed. “But then Alexander would always know the truth of it, and I doubt he would embrace you as before.”

Her mouth felt dry, her heart palpitating in her throat. Lord Markham was right. Alexander would always know she had broken her promise. He would always know her love came with certain conditions, and it would never be the same as before.

“There is another answer to your dilemma,” Lord Markham continued. “I could make you forget you ever met him. He would be a stranger to you. It is what he has asked me to do.”

Alexander wanted her to forget him?

It was as though someone had reached down into her soul and ripped it right out of her. He could make her forget everything. There would be no memory of Alexander stripping naked for his swim, of the way she had reacted to the magnificent sight. There would be no memory of the beautiful sketch, of their glorious kiss in the orangery.

She’d forget the feel of his body when he moved inside her.

She’d forget what it felt like to love him.

“No.” Her word was barely more than a whisper. “No. Promise me you won’t do it. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget any of it.”

Lord Markham exhaled. “I shall make the arrangements with Mr. Harlow. I shall ask that his wife sit with you in here until I return. You will lock the door and not permit anyone else to enter. Is that understood?”

Evelyn nodded.

“When I return, we will leave immediately for London.” He pulled out his watch and examined it beneath the candlelight. “You must understand, the nature of our circumstance cannot become public knowledge. I will speak to Alexander, but ultimately I must do what I feel is appropriate.”

“I would not breathe a word of it to anyone. You must trust me in that.”

Lord Markham had the look of a man who trusted no one.

“Give me two hours,” he said moving to the door. “And lock this behind me.”

Mrs. Harlow was a short, stout woman with ruddy cheeks, and hands so dry and chapped they left a dusting of flaky skin over her brown dress.

“Your brother is mighty worried about you,” she said, settling down in the chair by the fire. She folded her arms across her chest to support her drooping bosom and appeared grateful for the opportunity to take a much-needed rest. No doubt, Lord Markham had paid handsomely for the pleasure.

“My brother,” Evelyn said trying not to smile. “Yes, he is most attentive.”

“It always comes down to family in the end. We all need someone to offer support and guidance. More so, when you’re just getting ready to fledge the nest.”

Oh, she’d taken that first leap; she’d fluttered her wings and soared through the air, carried on a breeze of resplendent pleasure. Only, her wings were not as strong as she’d thought and she had come crashing back down to reality.

Mrs. Harlow was right. Everyone needed support at some time. Aunt Beatrice had been there for her when her parents had died, and she couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to be alone.

Alexander had suffered, too. Only he’d had no one to turn to. And so he had shut himself away from the world and barred the door to all visitors.

After her bitter betrayal, she doubted he would ever smile again. And he looked so handsome with laughter flashing in his eyes. The thought brought to mind his reaction to her tipping pond water over her head, to the way his eyes twinkled as he picked algae from her hair.

Another wonderful memory that would crumble to dust if Lord Markham wished it so.

“Never mind, miss,” Mrs. Harlow said mistaking her forlorn expression. “You’ll soon be on your way home. You’re brother said you’ll be leaving for London this very night.”

Soon she’d be in London and then thousands of miles away in India. Poor Aunt Bea must be so worried. Her thoughts turned to the man responsible for causing her misery. She’d not even thought to ask what had happened to Mr. Sutherby.

“Some ladies don’t like to travel in the dark,” Mrs. Harlow continued, “not through the forest.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the dark. I find it peaceful, magical almost. I always struggle to settle at night. If I had my way I would sleep away the day.”

Mrs. Harlow narrowed her gaze. “Well, all folks are different I suppose.”

The night is my home. It is where I belong.

Alexander’s words flooded her mind. The night was where she belonged, too. But she had let him down. He would never forgive her, never trust her again.

Perhaps she could try—try to understand him, to help him, to love him.

Hope blossomed in her chest.

Any life without him was not a life worth living. She had to be with him. She would give up her days to slumber, spend her nights in his company.

She would give up everything for him.

A tap on the door disturbed her dreams and Mrs. Harlow eased out of the chair and answered it. Evelyn heard her muttered protests and groans of discontent.

“I’ll be but a few minutes,” she said, already halfway out of the door. “Someone’s asking for a hot supper, and I swear that girl’s never set foot in a kitchen her entire life. Now lock this door behind me.”

As Evelyn turned the key, she was suddenly hit with a deep pang of sorrow, a heart-wrenching sense of anguish. It wasn’t her own pain she was feeling.

Eve.

The word resonated like an ear-piercing cry. He needed her.

“Alexander,” she whispered, her trembling fingers unlocking the door. “I’m coming.”

Chapter 25

“You let Sutherby go!” Alexander thrust his arms behind his back for fear of lashing out. “What the hell were you thinking? The man deserves to swing for what he’s done.”

“Well, I didn’t
just
let him go,” Elliot said with a mischievous grin. He picked up the glass from the side table and sipped the blood. “I used a little mind magic. He’s probably wandering the woods looking for fairies. I convinced him his life was dependent upon rescuing a hundred and he’s only got a week to achieve the task.”

Alexander paced back and forth in front of the fire. Being back at Stony Cross reminded him of Eve. Her presence lingered in the hallways, in his parlour, in his study. When he’d ventured into the garden, his mind conjured her image watching him from the upstairs window, and he called out her name in his grief.

“And you think that a fitting punishment for kidnap and whatever else he intended to do?”

“I was thinking of Miss Bromwell’s precarious reputation,” Elliot said with a hint of frustration. “She’ll be ruined if word of this gets out. Besides, someone had to tend to Sutherby’s wound. Someone had to ensure he remembered nothing of how he came by it.”

Alexander brushed his hand through his hair. “And for that I’m grateful. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I left you there with him. I didn’t thank you for dealing with his coachman.” The only thing on his mind had been the look of sheer terror on Eve’s face. He’d felt her fear like the slash of a sword, slicing through his stomach, his guts spilling out onto the floor.

It was his fault. He should have told her before. He should have controlled his urges.

“You were not thinking clearly
then
,” Elliot said draining his glass and slamming it down on the table, “and you’re not thinking clearly now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know little of love.” Elliot’s dandified wave and curled lip conveyed disdain, as though the word was foreign to his repartee. “But I know Miss Bromwell believes she loves you deeply. Yet still you would have her forget you. Are you certain there is no hope of helping her to understand? Can you not—”

“You saw her face,” he said picking up the poker and prodding the fire. “She despises what I am. To her, I will always be an abhorrence, a distortion of all that is normal and natural.”

“Those are your words, not hers.”

“They are true all the same. She could never love me as she used to.”

He wished he could go back to the time when all he felt was anger and bitterness. He wished he had no knowledge of love’s beautiful ache. Self-pity was not a quality he admired, yet he could not help but grieve for all he had lost.

He twirled the iron rod between his fingers and thrust the handle at Elliot. “If you want to help, you can start by driving this through my heart, or what’s left of it.”

In a sudden fit of rage, Elliot seized the poker and shot to his feet knocking Alexander to the floor with a punch to his chest. “You want to bloody well die,” he spat, “then let me put you out of your misery.” The point of the poker dug deep into Alexander’s skin, and Elliot put his boot on his chest to keep him on the floor.

“Do it,” Alexander cried, his heart too weak to protest. “I have nothing left to live for.”

“Know this,” Elliot said, his face red and distorted in his rage. “Miss Bromwell does not want to forget you, and I will honour her wishes. Know that she will always remember the love you shared. Her nightmares will be haunted by the image of a monster. She will always know what you have forsaken, know that you’re a coward.”

Elliot’s taunts failed to penetrate his shield of despair.

All except one.

“You promised me you would make her forget, that you would erase her pain.”

“I did not promise you anything, Alexander. But know that in your absence, I will pursue Miss Bromwell. Perhaps I will take her to Bavaria and beg the golden-haired goddess to turn her.”

“No!” The word sounded like a howl as he unleashed the wrath of the devil inside. He felt his fangs protract as his vision sharpened. Drawing all his strength, he writhed and kicked out as Elliot struggled to contain him.

Elliot threw the poker to the floor and stumbled back. “This is who you are. The sooner you learn to accept it, the easier your life will become.”

“I should rip your throat out for your callous remarks.”

“But you won’t,” Elliot said with a smirk.

Alexander stepped back, feeling disgust for the beastly image he knew marred his face. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

Stalking away without another word, he marched through the house and out into the garden. The fresh night air failed to bring the usual relief, and so he wandered over to the bench, flopped down and let his head fall into his hands.

Now he knew all his efforts to occupy his mind during the long, lonely nights had been for naught. Nothing would fill those hours now. Whenever he sat at his easel, he would think of her. Whenever he glanced at the moon’s reflection glistening upon the water, he would recall the night he’d watched an angel swim. The scent of cherry blossom would remind him of the intoxicating taste of her skin, of the night she gave herself to him.

“Alexander.”

Just to torture him all the more, his mind conjured the sweet sound of her voice. The soft timbre was more beautiful than any musical arrangement he’d ever heard, and he closed his eyes and tried to imagine it again.

“Please, Alexander. I know I’ve hurt you, but give me a chance to explain.”

His eyes flew open as he felt a hand on his shoulder, the warmth rushing to his heart in a desperate bid to stoke the burnt debris.

“Eve.” He shot up and swung around, forgetting his teeth still overhung his bottom lip, that his eyes were not the blue she remembered.