Bromwell’s company, he found his human emotions suppressed the animalistic appetite that clawed away at him. It would not be the case with others.
“One day is not enough time to make a calculated decision,” he continued. “I would rather a life of solitude than live with something I regret.”
“Why don’t you call at Mytton Grange and spend an hour with them, I’m sure —”
“I’m not spending another minute with the Sutherbys.” He could feel his rage returning.
“You’d have the perfect excuse as you could say you’re checking on Miss Bromwell and her aunt.”
“And what would you have me say when they offer tea? That I prefer something darker, thicker?”
“Miss Bromwell liked you,” she added with a hint of desperation in her tone.
“No, she didn’t. She thought me rude, arrogant and brash.”
Mrs. Shaw did not argue with his assessment. “Well, I still think you should go and check on her. That’s what a gentleman would do.”
Alexander put his hand to his stomach to show his displeasure at her comment. “That was a low blow. I ceased being a gentleman two years ago, as well you know. Next, you’ll be telling me to grow up and be a man. Well, how can I when I’m a bloody monster?”
He had lost everything that night in Bavaria. The memory was akin to a crippling disease ravaging his body, each visit gnawing away at all that was left of the man he remembered.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Shaw said, her face flushing.
Anger and resentment surged up to breach the surface. “Just leave me the hell alone,” he said striding from the room. Crossing the hall to his study, he slammed the door to stress his point.
Years of frustration always found an opportunity for release and his housekeeper knew to ignore his temper; she knew not to take offence at his churlish manner.
He flung himself into the chair, let out an exasperated growl loud enough to rattle the shutters, before closing his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze flew to the sketch of Evelyn Bromwell. Jumping up, he charged over to the easel and ripped the paper from the wooden clamp. The urge to tear it to shreds almost overtook the need to treasure it, to preserve it.
He didn’t need to be reminded of his humanity, of all that he had lost.
But what if the tenderness expressed in her face was the only thing creating the warmth in his chest?
What if he couldn’t recapture the likeness?
Alexander moved towards the desk, unlocked the top drawer and with careful fingers placed the sketch inside. Even after he’d locked it and relaxed back in the chair, Evelyn Bromwell continued to haunt his thoughts.
A strange sense of foreboding fell over him when he thought of her alone with Mr. Sutherby. Perhaps he could wait until nightfall and wander over to Mytton Grange. It would not be a social call. An hour or so hiding outside would give him an opportunity to study the situation, to discover if Evelyn Bromwell had accepted the hand of such an insipid gentleman. He may even uncover what secrets the Sutherbys were hiding.
Chapter 7
When the mantle clock struck nine, Alexander’s impatience could no longer be tempered. Since making the decision to investigate the Sutherbys house, he had struggled to focus on anything else, and his constant pacing had created a clean pathway on the dusty floor.
Mytton Grange was a manor house situated two miles north of Stony Cross. There were no tenant cottages, the only ones having been sold when the owner moved to Italy.
The quickest route took Alexander down to the fork at the end of the lane, to follow the road leading past the coaching inn before branching back up through the forest. The stone bridge crossing the river was in dire need of repair, but he navigated his way across the crumbling arch before climbing the stile bordering the manor.
The wind had settled, the night dry, the sky clear.
Drawn to the orange glow emanating from the tall
“One day is not enough time to make a calculated decision,” he continued. “I would rather a life of solitude than live with something I regret.”
“Why don’t you call at Mytton Grange and spend an hour with them, I’m sure —”
“I’m not spending another minute with the Sutherbys.” He could feel his rage returning.
“You’d have the perfect excuse as you could say you’re checking on Miss Bromwell and her aunt.”
“And what would you have me say when they offer tea? That I prefer something darker, thicker?”
“Miss Bromwell liked you,” she added with a hint of desperation in her tone.
“No, she didn’t. She thought me rude, arrogant and brash.”
Mrs. Shaw did not argue with his assessment. “Well, I still think you should go and check on her. That’s what a gentleman would do.”
Alexander put his hand to his stomach to show his displeasure at her comment. “That was a low blow. I ceased being a gentleman two years ago, as well you know. Next, you’ll be telling me to grow up and be a man. Well, how can I when I’m a bloody monster?”
He had lost everything that night in Bavaria. The memory was akin to a crippling disease ravaging his body, each visit gnawing away at all that was left of the man he remembered.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Shaw said, her face flushing.
Anger and resentment surged up to breach the surface. “Just leave me the hell alone,” he said striding from the room. Crossing the hall to his study, he slammed the door to stress his point.
Years of frustration always found an opportunity for release and his housekeeper knew to ignore his temper; she knew not to take offence at his churlish manner.
He flung himself into the chair, let out an exasperated growl loud enough to rattle the shutters, before closing his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze flew to the sketch of Evelyn Bromwell. Jumping up, he charged over to the easel and ripped the paper from the wooden clamp. The urge to tear it to shreds almost overtook the need to treasure it, to preserve it.
He didn’t need to be reminded of his humanity, of all that he had lost.
But what if the tenderness expressed in her face was the only thing creating the warmth in his chest?
What if he couldn’t recapture the likeness?
Alexander moved towards the desk, unlocked the top drawer and with careful fingers placed the sketch inside. Even after he’d locked it and relaxed back in the chair, Evelyn Bromwell continued to haunt his thoughts.
A strange sense of foreboding fell over him when he thought of her alone with Mr. Sutherby. Perhaps he could wait until nightfall and wander over to Mytton Grange. It would not be a social call. An hour or so hiding outside would give him an opportunity to study the situation, to discover if Evelyn Bromwell had accepted the hand of such an insipid gentleman. He may even uncover what secrets the Sutherbys were hiding.
Chapter 7
When the mantle clock struck nine, Alexander’s impatience could no longer be tempered. Since making the decision to investigate the Sutherbys house, he had struggled to focus on anything else, and his constant pacing had created a clean pathway on the dusty floor.
Mytton Grange was a manor house situated two miles north of Stony Cross. There were no tenant cottages, the only ones having been sold when the owner moved to Italy.
The quickest route took Alexander down to the fork at the end of the lane, to follow the road leading past the coaching inn before branching back up through the forest. The stone bridge crossing the river was in dire need of repair, but he navigated his way across the crumbling arch before climbing the stile bordering the manor.
The wind had settled, the night dry, the sky clear.
Drawn to the orange glow emanating from the tall
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