As with everything in life, there were positive aspects to negative situations. The predator inside made him more attuned to his surroundings, being able to gauge residual imprints of thoughts and feelings long after an event. The more profound the initial feeling, the easier it was to tune into it.

When he climbed the stile and crossed the grass, he was hit by a sudden wave of panic, his mind sensing chaos, desperation. His head shot up in the direction of the house, and he broke into a jog as the need to discover the source of such anguish gripped him.

Although the hour was late, he expected to see the faint glow of candlelight radiating from one of the many windows dotted over the facade. But the house sat in complete darkness. He raced around the perimeter, peering through every window hoping to spot a sign of life. But the house was as desolate as his forsaken heart.

The carriage house and stable block were also deserted yet he examined the stalls, scoured the shadows for clues as to their whereabouts. As Alexander exited the block, he caught sight of someone creeping out of a building at the far end.

“You. Wait there!”

Upon hearing Alexander’s cry, the figure rushed towards the stone entrance, tripping over his feet and landing face down on the cobbles beneath the arch. Alexander caught up with him and yanked him up by his collar.

“I didn’t mean no ‘arm,” the man cried dropping the leather bridle to the ground as though it was burning his hands. “I was just taking it for cleaning that’s all. I was gonna bring it back.”

“I’m not interested in what you’re doing. I want to know where I can find Mr. Sutherby.” Alexander released the man as a gesture of goodwill. “Don’t think of running as I’ll catch up with you.”

The man gulped as he surveyed the breadth of Alexander’s chest. “He’s gone. They’ve all gone, gone to London first thing this morning.”

“London? Why?”

“I don’t know.” The man shrugged. “All I know is, he let us all go without notice and he ain’t even paid us since he’s been ‘ere.”

“When you say all of you, do you mean the stable hands?”

“All the help. Even the housekeeper. Sent all the horses back to Mr. Blake, too.”

Plagued once more by a strange sense of foreboding, Alexander tried to shake it. “Did Sutherby say when he’d be back?”

“When we begged him to keep us on, he said he wouldn’t be coming back, not ever.”

What the hell had prompted such an action?

“The blighter borrowed a collection of poetry books that hold great sentimental value,” Alexander lied. “If he’s bloody well taken them with him, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I don’t know anything about no books. But the door to the kitchen’s always left open. If I'm caught in there, I’ll face the noose.” The man nodded his head towards Alexander’s immaculate attire. “Wouldn’t hurt if you went in and had a look for them.”

Alexander bent down and picked up the leather tack, thrusting it back into the man’s arms. “You’d better hurry home if you need to give this a polish.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Thank you, my lord, thank you,” he said, grabbing his prize and racing off into the night.

Accessing the kitchen through the herb garden, Alexander moved through the house. The rooms felt cold, from a lack of personal possessions as opposed to the temperature. Remnants of food, spare plates and cutlery littered the sideboard in the dining room. If he were one of the servants and had just been given his notice, he’d not have bothered to clean the place, either.

Sensing nothing to explain their abrupt departure, Alexander climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. A tremor of sexual tension hung in the air, and he burst into the master chamber, his fists clenched, as though expecting to see Mr. Sutherby forcing his attentions on Miss Bromwell.

The room was empty.

&nbs

p; The bed sheets were crumpled and strewn across the end of the oak four-poster. Cold, scummy water had been left in the wash bowl. He could smell masculine sweat, not the faint acidic scent that indicated poor hygiene but the fresher scent from overexertion. As he rounded the bed, he felt a weird concoction of emotions: desire and love mingled with indifference.

He felt no evidence of panic or fear.

It didn’t make any sense.

As he passed the window, he glanced out, noting the perfect view of the lawn and the stile. Had Sutherby seen him with Miss Bromwell? Was jealousy his motivation?

Forcing himself to move to another room, he knew the moment he opened the door that it was Miss Bromwell’s chamber. Her presence lingered in the room, warm, inviting. He could almost hear her chastising him for his vulgar manners, could almost feel the same intense ripples of pleasure he’d felt when his hand touched hers.

Again, he felt no traces of distress only confusion, which was hardly surprising given Mr. Sutherby’s impending proposal.

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