Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood 1)

“Do you not worry he’ll talk, expose your secret?”

“Not at all. I’m afraid he has the memory of a trout and forgets things easily.”

Alexander nodded.

“Here,” Elliot said handing him both glasses. “Try the brandy. It may lighten your mood.”

The golden brown liquid shimmered in the glass. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d drunk anything other than blood.

“You’re looking at it as though I’ve distilled it myself in a dank cellar. Try it.”

“I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in two years. The first time I tried to eat, I spewed all over my boots. The stomach cramps were enough to prevent me from attempting it again.”

Elliot gestured to the chairs. Alexander drained the glass of animal blood and placed it on the side table before sitting down. He cradled the brandy glass, warming it in his palms as he contemplated lifting it to his lips.

“If you asked Miss Bromwell to drink blood she’d retch,” Elliot said throwing himself into the chair opposite. “If she sipped it over a period of time, she’d grow accustomed to the taste. I’m not saying you won’t need blood. You’ll need it every day. I’m saying it makes it easier if you can appear to enjoy the same pleasures as other gentlemen.”

“I have no need to concern myself with appearances. I have no intention of remaining in London.”

“What of Miss Bromwell? You have obviously crossed the bounds of propriety. Her scent radiates from you. I find the smell of a woman’s sated desire far more potent than blood.”

The words roused images of Eve writhing in his lap and in a bid to rein in his rampant thoughts he took a sip of brandy — just enough to wet his lips. It stung the sensitive skin, and he found the sweet aftertaste too overpowering.

“I don’t know what to do about Miss Bromwell,” he said, surprised that he’d expressed his feelings to a relative stranger. “I almost confided in her tonight. I almost told her what I am.”

“I don’t think that’s wise, not yet at any rate. Life has a way of revealing the answer to our complex dilemmas when we least expect it. I suggest we concentrate on Mr. Sutherby for the time being.”

“We?”

Elliot raised his glass in a toast. “We are brothers, Alexander, whether you choose to accept it or not. Your problem is my problem. My secret is safe only as long as yours is and you would be wise to consider the welfare of both Leo and myself when you make any decisions.”

He could not argue with Elliot’s logic. “You said we should concentrate on Sutherby. You think he will become a nuisance?”

“I know so. What the gentleman says is not what he is thinking. I believe he has convinced himself he is in love with Miss Bromwell. I sense a desperation in him, a conflict. And his sister, well, that is another problem entirely.”

Alexander jerked his head back in surprise. “I admit to finding Miss Sutherby somewhat pretentious, but I sensed nothing definable.”

“Then I am being overcautious. Just pander to my whims.” Elliot sat forward. “Drink up, we need to go.”

“Where?”

“To Sutherby’s residence. To see what we can discover. Sutherby has undesirable motives, and I’m not convinced he will simply walk away.”

Alexander stood and placed his brandy on the mantle. “Why should it concern you? Miss Bromwell is my responsibility.”

“I’m surprised you need to ask. You’re in love with her. If anything should happen to Miss Bromwell, you’ll rip the throat out of everyone you meet. That concerns me.”

What was the point of protesting? What was the point of denying the truth? He knew he was in love with Evelyn Bromwell. Why else would he have come all the way to Town to parade about from ballroom to ballroom?

“Very well. I agree to accompany you to Sutherby’s residence. Do you have a plan? Or are we to knock on the door and force

them to confess?”

Elliot stood and put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way in.”

They walked the mile to Half Moon Street, the fifteen-minute journey dominated by hilarious tales of Elliot’s most recent conquests.

“When she began honking like a goose, I thought I would have to anchor her down for fear she might flap her arms and fly off the bed.”