Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (10 page)

She shrugged. “I took charge and
left my room. Of course, all I did was run to the kitchens — I was fairly
starving. But still the exhilaration was beyond compare.”

“So you escaped?” Pride swelled
in his breast.

A twisted grin tilted the corner
of her petulant lips. “I did, briefly. However, I still returned to my rooms.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” She sighed and changed the
subject. “What do you think of having a ball where only the gentlemen wear
masks?”

“Very creative.”

“Hmm. I think so, as well, but I
wouldn’t really know because I’ve never attended another.”

“You haven’t?”
Where did
Brigitta hail from?
He could kick himself for not having asked Jarvis this
question.

“No, I haven’t. I lived in the
village until, well, until recently when the baron proposed marriage.” Again
she released a long breath. “I had such high hopes.” She shook her head and
added, “Tonight I was going to apologize for my behavior, but I’m afraid it is
not to be.”

“Is that because the baron is not
here?”

“Yes. I can’t understand it. He
arranged this entire event and then doesn’t even attend. Perhaps he is ill, as
the previous gentleman suggested. But I assumed his constitution was made of
hardier stuff.”

“As did I.” Luke studied
Brigitta. Porcelain skin with a splattering of freckles highlighted her pale
blue eyes. Thick auburn high piled atop her head spilled ringlets about her
face. The desire to drape a ringlet around his finger and tug, wrapped itself
into his mind. He drew in a deep breath and tried to wish it away.

She pushed one aside and batted
her lashes innocently. “Sir, the music has ended.”

“Indeed it has.”

“Perhaps we should sit.”

“Is that what you’d like to do?”

She grimaced. “What I would like
to do is not in question; what I must do is. Let’s retire to my table, shall
we? There I would like for you to formally introduce yourself.”

Luke led her back to the table
while circulating a myriad of excuses and stalling tactics through his mind. It
was too soon to tell her his name. If she was from the village, she might
realize he was the true baron, and if she did, his deceit would be discovered.
He worried his lip, but his concern was for naught because her table was
occupied.

“Rector Morgan, how good to see
you,” said Brigitta, her tone of voice hinting at sarcasm.

Luke started to ease away, hoping
to use the distraction to escape telling her the truth, but Brigitta squeezed
his hand and drew him closer. The rector narrowed his eyes and Luke’s gut
clenched.

This wasn’t going to work out
well for anyone concerned.

Chadwick sipped at his drink and
took a seat at a whist table. He studied the uninspiring lot of players and
berated himself. Why had he not introduced himself to Brigitta? He should have
declared his identity and then angered her. The opportunity to secure funds for
the manse had been laid before him and he had allowed it to slip through his
fingers.

He sighed. Seeing Brigitta look
so beautiful had softened his attitude. At least for tonight, he wouldn’t use
her to rectify the estate’s monetary situation.

Chadwick straightened and a mischievous
grin tilted the corners of his lips. Perhaps all hope was not lost. Even with
the card room doors thrown open to the adjacent ballroom, the press of active
bodies made the view chancy, at best. But if Chadwick wasn’t mistaken, Rector
Morgan was in the process of accosting Brigitta and the stranger. Happiness
soared in Chadwick’s breast. If anyone could put his wife in a foul mood, it
would be the minister. Assured that he could relax, he again studied the table.
The players failed to acknowledge him and so he declared, “I need a partner.”

A lady with regal poise and
bearing cocked a brow and said, “Chadwick Andrews, is that you?”

“Ah, Lady Vonda. It is nice to
see you again. You are looking well.”

“As are you. I feared you wouldn’t
attend.”

Chadwick placed his glass of port
on the table and picked up the deck of cards. “And why wouldn’t I? This is my
home, after all.”

“But of course. It is just that I’ve
heard your brother doesn’t enjoy the social circuit and I feared perhaps you
felt the same.”

“Indeed, my brother has a dislike
for socializing with the London ton, but I find engaging in social activity
with any level of society intriguing.”

Those at the table drew in a
sharp breath. Chadwick inwardly rejoiced at his ability to affect their opinion
of his brother. Taking a chance, he said, “How about we make this game more
interesting?”

Lady Vonda coyly waved her fan
over her décolletage. “Sounds delightful.”

****

Brigitta tensed and pulled her
brother-in-law to her side.

Rector Archibald Morgan was a
hideous little man. Short in stature with bushy brows and a rotund middle, he
waddled and wheezed from place to place. His plume of gray hair rose in spikes
around his head. The coat of heavy brocade made him look like a small gorilla.

Other than an arched brow, he
made no other acknowledgment of her companion. She had seen him afford more
respect to a fly. This offended her greatly and she opened her mouth to say so,
but was interrupted by the rector.

“Baroness Stockport, how are you
enjoying this fine evening of merriment?”

“My felicity is great.”

“I am exceedingly glad to hear
it.” He drummed his fingers on the table and her companion made again as if to
rise, but she squeezed his hand and he resumed his position.

“Rector, may I assume you haven’t
stopped to speak to me for just this reason?”

He lifted his lip in a sneer. “You
are correct. I do have more pressing matters to discuss with you.”

“Very well, discuss,” she said,
wiggling in her chair and straightening her spine.

The rector hesitated, scratched
at the stray hairs on his multilayered chin, and cocked one brow. “I would
prefer to address you alone.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she
said.

“But—”

“Rector Morgan, if you wish to
address me, do so or be about your business. Can you not see the line of guests
waiting to speak with me?”

The rector looked behind him and
frowned. Indeed, a line of people had formed, but she knew not their true
purpose and fortunately for her, neither did Rector Morgan.

He scooted the chair back and
stood. “Very well, I will attend to my concerns at another time.”

She nodded. When he was safely
away, she shivered. Warmth surrounded her hand as her brother-in-law clasped
it. She relaxed and gave herself a moment to revel in the feel of his
comforting touch.

Frowning, he asked, “Who was
that?”

“
That
was Rector Archibald
Morgan.”

“And?”

“And he officiated at my wedding
to the baron.”

“I see,” he said, withdrawing his
hand and clasping his own together on the tabletop.

She scooted around and faced him.
“I do not think you do. The man is a lecher of the worst sort. Why, he
insinuated I should pay for the ceremony by spending a night in his abode!”

He drew back with a shocked
expression. “And what did the baron say to that?”

“The baron’s speech was decidedly
absent, much as he is right now.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Brigitta patted his hand. “I do
feel for all you who believe the baron to be such a wonderful leader. I fear
that one day, the baron will wake up and realize his entire kingdom is lost to
him, and wonder how it all happened.”

****

Chadwick frowned as the rector
stood and slithered away from Brigitta’s table. It troubled him that the
stranger appeared more upset than Brigitta. Did not the rector remind her she
was a married woman and shouldn’t be consorting with other men?

He scooted his chair back to
stand, but Vonda’s hand stopped him. “Surely you do not plan to leave in the
middle of the game, Andrews? I will be forced to forfeit and I don’t have to
tell you I don’t take kindly to losing money.”

Chadwick cleared his throat. “Of
course, we must finish the hand.”

The game ended with their
opponents the victors. Chadwick stared at the cards with awed silence.

“Andrews, you must pay them. I
left my purse at home.”

They stared at him and he felt
heat rise up his neck. Pulling his collar free, he tried to make a plausible
excuse. “Sorry, dear chaps, but I don’t carry coin on me when I walk about my
own home. Let me find Roland and he will settle my account.”

The men accepted the terms but
Lady Vonda was not to be mollified. “May I speak with you privately?”

Chadwick nodded, and they rose
together and found a secluded spot near the windows.

“Do not take this as disrespect,
but rumor holds you are in debt for quite a tidy sum. Therefore, I believe you
have no intention of paying those men.”

“My dear, do not concern
yourself. After tonight’s revelry, I dare say the gentlemen won’t even remember
that I owe them.”

“Andrews, you play a very
dangerous game.”

He curled his lip. “I do, and I’m
enjoying every minute of it.”

****

Luke scowled at the young ladies
pressing around Brigitta. She faced the overly dressed merchants’ daughters
with a pleasant smile and a kind word, speaking to them as she would to the
aged, and they placed their hands over their chests as if in awe of her wisdom.

Rector Morgan stood in a corner
and sipped at his glass, darting his gaze back and forth between the
fashionable debutantes and Luke, as if he were trying to place something
familiar about the masked man. Luke had not considered that guests attending
the ball, besides the staff, might recognize him. Discreetly, while Brigitta
was distracted, he slid from the chair and quit the room.

Outside, the stars twinkled and
the full round moon made it possible to see. Manicured paths led through the
garden, and Luke found the lake path and followed it. Lights glowed in the west
wing and Luke felt drawn there like a bug.

The old wing’s main entrance was
closed, as usual, but the small door leading into the morning room stood open.
Luke paused. All doors into the west wing should have been locked, and a
footman should have made nightly rounds ensuring they remained so. He narrowed
his eyes. Perhaps it had been assumed everyone would be at the ball and a guard
in an unused section of the estate would be unnecessary.

Hollow sounds echoed in the empty
halls. After his mother’s death, the west wing had been abandoned in favor of
the east wing, which housed the better furniture and boasted a sturdier
framework, having been built on a solid foundation rather than the ruins of
Stockport Castle.

Slipping through the halls, which
he’d run through as a child, brought on a melancholy he hadn’t anticipated.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. But no, he needed to know who was inside.

On his tiptoes, he passed an open
door. Light filtered through the cracks of the closed shutters, casting eerie
shadows across the empty room. He continued. The next door was closed. The only
light came through cracks in the door’s panels.

Luke edged closer and put his eye
to the wood. Moving from side to side, he worked to make out the interior but
to no avail. The crack was too narrow.

Next, he placed his ear to the
door. No sounds drifted to him. He leaned back. It seemed the only way to
discover what went on was to open the door and walk inside.

But when he turned it, the handle
rattled and fell into his hand. He stared at the object, unsure what to do
next, when the door slowly drifted open with an ominous squeak.

A plethora of lit candles,
ensconced on the walls and sitting in dishes that covered the floor and tables,
sent flicking light into the old music room’s edges but left the corners
darkened. Paper peeled from the walls, draping across the wainscoting and
dangling above the heavy furniture. Although the room wasn’t currently
occupied, it hadn’t been that way long.

Unpleasant odors of neglect
lingered, and Luke opened a shutter and fanned the air. Footfalls echoed in the
hallway and his heartbeat raced. There was no way out now. He slid into a
darkened corner and waited.

“Are you sure this is a good
idea?” asked Letta as she and Jarvis entered the room.

“They will not notice our
absence,” said Jarvis.

“But what if they call for us?”

“Why would they do that? They are
at the ball.”

Letta giggled as Jarvis buried
his head against her neck. She pulled away and skittered across the candlelit
room.

“I love what you’ve done with the
place,” she said, twirling in a circle.

Jarvis walked forward with his
hands out. Letta came to him and lifted her face. Their lips met. She broke
apart, her chest heaving.

“I still don’t know. Baroness
Stockport is very dependent on me.”

“As my master is of me, but we
mustn’t let that spoil the time we have together.”

“And in the west wing? You know
this area has been declared unsafe. What if something happens? We could be
trapped in here forever.”

Jarvis again eased closer and ran
his knuckle along her cheek. “My dear, you worry needlessly. Come here and let
me assuage your fears.”

Letta moved like a slithering
snake. She batted her lashes and swayed her hips.

Luke turned away. He’d walked in
on a tryst between his valet and Brigitta’s maid!

Backed into the corner, and
hidden by an ancient wardrobe, he was safe from discovery but at a loss for how
to extract himself from the situation. Perhaps if he made a noise or something.

Wind whistled outside and Luke
smiled. Could escape be that simple?

Jarvis spread a coverlet on the
floor and grabbed a bowl of fresh fruit from a nearby table. They settled on
the coverlet and Letta opened her mouth like a baby bird for its mother. One by
one, Jarvis dropped grapes inside. She moaned and Luke decided he could wait
not a second longer to enact his plan or else he would heave upon the floor and
give himself away.

Cheeks filled with air, he blew.
The candle closest to him flickered.

“What was that?” asked Letta,
sitting straighter.

“Just the wind. Lie back and let
me take pleasure in the sight of you.” Letta complied but continued to look
over her shoulder. Jarvis tapped her shoulder and she turned toward him and
opened her mouth to accept another grape.

Again, Luke drew in a breath and
pushed it out toward the flickering candle. This time it doused. Letta jumped
to her feet and skittered backward.

“That was not the wind, Jarvis.”

Jarvis stood and grabbed her
arms. “Letta, my dearest, I assure you we are perfectly safe and alone. Come
and sit with me, and I will distract you until you completely forget we are in
the west wing.”

Letta allowed him to lead her
back to the coverlet but this time she remained wary.

Other candles were farther away
and he would be forced to step into the open to reach them. Waiting until the
couple was otherwise engaged, he slipped his coat over his head and moved from
his hiding spot. With as much force as he could muster, he blew. Several
candles extinguished and Letta went into a fit of hysterics.

She jumped from her supine
position and ran for the door. Jarvis stumbled to his feet and ran after her.

Laughter bent Luke over but he
quickly recovered. Aided by the luminescent orb casting a bright light on the
manicured grounds, he watched through an open shutter as Jarvis and Letta raced
across the gardens. As he moved back into the room, something caught the corner
of his vision.

A shadowy figure stood below,
studying the west wing.