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.
“What … what the hell are you doing in here? How did you get in?” After numerous failed attempts to use her arms to protect her modesty, she crouched down, her gaze darting to the garment hanging on the door of the armoire. “Get out! Get out, I said.”