Page 31 of Tender Blackguard

Curiosity and something else flickered in her eyes. She didn’t reply right away as she seemed to search his features for something. But then her attention dropped to his mouth before falling to where his hand encircled her slim wrist.

Though everything in him wanted to keep her, he let her go.

Stepping away from him, she wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders.

Alastair instantly hated himself for allowing his impulse to override proper behavior. It couldn’t happen again.

He gave a respectful bow of his head. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, my lord,” she replied, but there was an added strain to her voice that made him wince.

It wasn’t until he was nearly to his bedroom that Alastair recalled a few details he’d failed to fully note when he’d knocked on his housekeeper’s door.

She hadn’t been awakened by his knock. It was clear she hadn’t even been abed. And he seriously doubted the woman was the slightest bit afraid of the dark.

His housekeeper’s sleeping habits shouldn’t be of any concern to him whatsoever, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were of some concern to him. And not just because there had been a moment tonight in Shelbourne’s garden when he’d distinctly sensed his housekeeper’s presence.

Of course she hadn’t been there. Couldn’t’ve been. But Alastair had been unable to get thoughts of the woman out of his mind, which had likely been the cause of his distraction, which had allowed him to come upon the other intruder without any warning.

He’d come to know Mrs. Evans as a firm and organized taskmaster. Though her youth was undeniable, her age did not negate her obvious experience and ability. Despite acknowledging that, however, he couldn’t ignore there seemed to be a slight incongruence between her presentation and the rare hints he’d glimpsed of her inner character. It was curious and suggested his housekeeper’s proper appearance and steady deference concealed a nature that was far less domesticated than she’d have people believe.

Still, it was stupid to even entertain the ridiculous possibility she’d been out and about, skulking through the neighbor’s garden.

Seeing her tonight, dressed in the plain white nightgown and woolen shawl instead of a dark, buttoned-up frock, with her pale hair draped over her shoulder in a messy braid rather than being tucked up beneath a prim cap, it was impossible not to see her as a pretty young woman deserving of his protection. That is, until the cagey look in her eyes had replaced the feigned sleepiness and her expression had shifted to one of contrived embarrassment.

It irritated him. Her tendency toward deception and concealment.

She was rather good, as well. Most people wouldn’t have suspected a thing in her manner. But to someone who’d spent his childhood studying his mother’s face for the slightest shift in mood which might result in a barrage of cruelty, Alastair wasn’t most people.

He tried to tell himself his concern was due to the level of authority Mrs. Evans held in his home. He couldn’t have a charlatan of any sort running his household. But he couldn’t deceive himself. The truth was far more personal.

The woman intrigued him.

Lark.

It was a name that haunted his dreams.

Going to her room had been a mistake.

Reaching his bedroom, he closed the door behind him and slowly went about his evening routine, minus the bath. Though he would have enjoyed a good soak, he didn’t want to ruin all the effort his housekeeper had gone to in tending his wound. He did, however, take the time to write down everything he’d observed and heard at Dryden’s party and then afterward when he’d gone to inspect Shelbourne’s empty residence.

He knew from his father’s writings that the original members of the brotherhood held an expectation that each of their positions within the sect would be passed down to their eldest son. Given, of course, the heir’s worthiness. The trick was in that the members were forbidden to discuss the brotherhood in any way with anyone outside of its calling. And that included their offspring. Each heir had to come to the brotherhood on his own.

He suspected Lord Lowndes was one such heir. Alastair needed them to believe he was another. Joining them was his best chance at gaining access to their secrets and their crimes.

Even with the proof of their perfidy and wickedness in hand, justice might be difficult to attain. The brotherhood had flourished for so many years because of the abundance of wealth and power possessed by each of its members, which allowed for endless bribes and security measures to ensure they were fortified against any attempts at exposing them or bringing their evil deeds to justice. Their strict rules of secrecy kept any one member from being very knowledgeable about the specific activities of the other members.

The only exception being their communal gatherings.

Lying carefully back in his bed, he closed his eyes and allowed the exhaustion to claim him. He hated having to don a façade of hedonistic rake and reveler in order to convince them he was one of them. But it would be worth it when he finally obtained justice for his mother. And countless other women like her who’d fallen victim to callous lords.

As his mind and body softened, visions slowly filtered through his mind—of Mrs. Evans ensconced in midnight shadows, stepping out from behind heavy curtains, wearing a billowing cotton gown with her pale hair falling in waves down her back. Her keen gray eyes peering at him through the darkness.

Peering through him.

It sometimes felt as though she could see the truth in his soul and read the thoughts in his head...and damned him for them. Just as he damned himself.

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