Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (11 page)

Brigitta allowed herself to enjoy
the company of the younger ladies gathered around her. Full of life and
exuberance, they made her laugh and wish she hadn’t had to rush through her
childhood, spending most of it on the road traveling and neglecting to make
lifelong friends.

The couples finally drifted to
the dance floor and Brigitta realized her brother-in-law had escaped without
giving his first name. Hurt squeezed her chest and she sniffed to hold back
tears. Why had he left her without a word? Perhaps he had decided flirting with
his sister-in-law was an act in folly.

Sipping her drink, she studied
Rector Morgan and Roland. The two of them had been thick as thieves since her
marriage to the baron. She remembered the day with regret.

Brigitta had been full of hope. After
a few days of constant wooing, the baron had proposed. Shocked, she had asked
for an explanation, but he had only said she was what Stockport needed.

Her heart had soared at the
thought of helping the villagers, and she had agreed to become the mistress of
the Stockport estate. She would use her position to ensure the baron knew the
concerns of his people. For what better way to know the ills that haunted your
community than to hear from one who had suffered through them?

But for all her thoughts, dreams,
and planning, none of it had come to pass. Married by Rector Morgan in the
parish church with Roland and a servant as witnesses, she had been immediately
separated from the baron and escorted to her own suite of rooms. When she
questioned about seeing her husband, she had been repeatedly told she would see
him when it was deemed necessary.

The abhorrent behavior had caused
her little concern. The baron was a man with many responsibilities. Determined
to be a good wife, Brigitta had refused to be a burden. But after three days
had passed and she received no word, she’d feared she had enacted some form of
harm upon the baron and that was why he refused to see her. More days had
passed and no word came; she’d wondered if perhaps the entire affair had been a
dream. A pleasant dream where she lived like a princess, but was really a
prisoner.

Then had come the day when she
had been allowed to see her husband. She had been escorted to the grand
staircase and asked to descend. Even her clothing had been chosen for her on
that illustrious day. She’d obeyed every order down to her slipper choice. And
when she had walked onto the landing and seen the baron opposite her, she had
smiled with wonder and pride. But he had sneered and looked at her with
disgust, claiming her attire was inappropriate and he had changed his mind. She
then had been reprimanded and sent promptly back to her rooms.

This had become a habitual
occurrence. She would wait on the landing, he would stop halfway down the
staircase, stare, and snarl, and then she would be escorted away. For the rest
of the day, she would stew in her room before deciding she would do better the
next time, which of course never happened.

She sighed. She really should
have escaped when she’d had the chance. From the garden, all she would have had
to do was cross the overflowing creek and run into the village. Surely someone
there would have provided her with shelter.

Brigitta frowned. Until now, she
had never realized the people around her might not be inclined to assist. Earlier
that evening, a serving girl had dropped a tray, and men and women had stumbled
over her but offered no assistance. And then a footman had brought food to the
table, and the guests had protested it wasn’t enough.

Admittedly, the people in
attendance at the Stockport Ball would not be the same people who would aid her
escape. Those would be of an entirely different variety.

She gnawed her lip and thought of
Jewel. In her darkest hour, the neighbor had refused to help her.

All these thoughts begged the
question, if she reached the village, what then? She couldn’t hide there
forever. Roland would send footmen, whether for his own sake or the baron’s,
Brigitta could only conjecture.

Bleak reality set in. Her current
form of existence could be all there was left for her.

Brigitta downed her drink in one
gulp and grabbed another from a passing tray. The second drink, amber in
nature, burned like liquid fire as it descended to her stomach. She fanned her
flushed face.

Voices rose over by the servants’
entrance. Letta, her maid, with her gown draped half off her shoulder; her hair
mussed, and her lips puffy, stumbled into the room and plowed into Roland. She
gestured wildly with her hands. Brigitta and the other guests attempted to
stand and move closer, so as to understand the conversation. The room spun and
Brigitta fell back into her chair.

Through blurred vision, she
watched a group of men gather around Letta. Roland raised his arms and ushered
them out the door like an angry mob. Brigitta wished for the willpower to
follow, but someone clasped her arm and drew her from her chair.

“Come. I’m to escort you.”

Her head wobbled. “Where are we
going?”

“I’m to escort you to your room.”

Brigitta blinked rapidly. Candles
on the wall extinguished, leaving the room bathed only in the light of the
chandeliers. Women gasped. Men offered words of assurance, insinuating the
events of the evening were a scheduled part of the entertainment.

Blindly, Brigitta allowed herself
to be led from the room. She stubbed her toe against a chair. “Ow!”

“Must you make everything
difficult, my lady?”

The pain and surprise stopped her
and she asked, “Who are you?”

“Manny,” the footman answered in
a gruff whisper.

She groaned and resisted as he
urged her forward. No way was she going back to her prison. She wanted to enjoy
the rest of the evening’s planned entertainment. She grabbed a half-drunk glass
of brandy from a nearby table and downed it. Why should everyone else in the
room be allowed to have fun?

He grabbed her arm and tugged.
She fell. Her head bounced against something wooden and hard, and darkness
descended.

****

Luke had watched from the
entrance as Manny had attempted to draw Brigitta from the chaotic room. They
had passed a table and Brigitta had grabbed a glass full of brandy, downed it
in one gulp.

Astonishing feat, that
,
thought Luke as he smiled.

She had stared at Manny as if she
were confused. Understandably unsteady, she had tripped against a chair. The
lights had winked out, and she’d fallen and bumped her head against a table.
The
thunk
had echoed all the way to his location.

The frenzy created by the maid
had prevented those around Brigitta from helping if they had been so inclined.
He lit a small candle and shielded its rays with his hand. When he reached her
side, he said, “Manny, you must remove her before she is trampled.”

Manny hoisted her listless body
into his arms and cradled her against his chest. Luke led the way and thumping
footsteps followed. The trek wasn’t easy. Hysterical people cannoned into them.
Several bumped into walls and tables in their search of a candle. Voices cried
out. Then lights began to pop on in every part of the room.

Luke urged Manny forward and they
continued toward the stairwell. Letta’s paranoid episode, and the resulting
fear of ghosts, had enacted the chaos. Most of the men had left the ballroom to
search for the specter. Those few remaining tried to protect their wives or
dance partners during the blackout’s long minutes.

Finally secured within the
confines of his bedroom, Luke closed the door and Manny laid Brigitta on his
bed.

“Are you sure about this, my
lord?”

“Aye, Manny, I am. Please do not
say a word to Roland, Jarvis, or any other.”

“Your lordship, I must tell you I
did not agree with Chadwick’s duplicity.”

Luke patted the footman’s arm. “I
understand.”

“The girl is not bad.”

The footman’s concern for
Brigitta was admirable but Luke needed to secure his room. “Manny, go back to
your post and await my call.”

Manny bowed and left. Luke closed
the door and faced Brigitta. In the moonlight streaming through the windows,
she looked pale. A spot of dried blood covered her temple. He grabbed a rag,
dipped it in water, and cleaned the swelling wound.

The feel of her smooth skin sent
shivers racing along his arm. Shaken by his loss of control, he stood and
walked away.

Why did the young woman hold such
appeal? Admittedly, her wit and intelligence stirred his mind. Her kindness
toward others intrigued him. And her fear of imprisonment concerned him. But
was it enough to explain the protective, tender emotions she aroused within
him?

What had his brother been
thinking? If he had needed money, then he should have said so rather than
involve a stranger in family concerns. Now an innocent woman was wrapped up in
their business and Luke didn’t know if there was a way to remove her, or if he
wanted to.

****

Earlier in the evening, Chadwick
had followed the stranger as he’d left Brigitta’s table and the ballroom.
Discreetly, he had hidden and watched as the fellow entered the west wing
through the door carelessly left open. When the stranger had looked out the
window into the garden, awareness had dawned. The stranger was Luke.

Chadwick had fallen back against
the estate’s stone wall and cradled his head. Had Luke spotted him? Worse yet,
if Luke had attended the ball and danced with Brigitta, then he must also know
of Chadwick’s deceit.

No matter what he’d said to
Roland, he was worried about his brother’s reaction. In the past Luke had
frowned on his antics, but gave him little more than a slap on the wrist,
simply ordering him to stay close to the estate and keep his females away. But
if his brother discovered his ruse, then he would want to know the true
purpose, which would lead to the discovery of the mass amounts of coin he’d
lost in the Faro games. What would his brother do if he found out the coffers
were empty and the estate was headed toward bankruptcy?

Chadwick ran his hand through his
hair. Visions of his brother’s punishment flooded his mind. Luke could order
Manny to screw his thumbs to the family crest in the main hall. Or he might
hang him from a pole in the village and let the crows pluck at his eyes. The
possibilities were endless.

Chadwick had pushed off the wall.
He needed to rectify the situation before his brother did something rash.

He had followed Luke back to the
ballroom and watched as Manny had attempted to coax Brigitta out into the open.
Horror had assailed him when she fell and cracked her head. Anger had filled
him when Manny lifted Brigitta into his arms and carried her to his brother’s
suite.

Manny left the door cracked.
Surrounded by shadow, Chadwick peeked through the chink and watched his brother
battle with his demons. His own ragged emotions threatened to close his throat,
but he pushed them aside.

Luke would pace then gaze upon
Brigitta’s lifeless form before pacing some more. He cleaned her wounds with a
delicate touch then paced again. The fact that his brother was smitten with his
wife didn’t escape him.

After Luke made several trips
more across the room, Chadwick exhaled loudly.

Luke swiveled, jumped in front of
Brigitta’s prone form, and balled his fists before him in a protective manner. “Who
is there? I demand you show yourself.”

Chadwick pushed the door open and
stepped into the light. “It is only I, dear brother.”

“Chadwick?” asked Luke, like a
curse. He relaxed his posture.

“Yes. I hope you won’t mind the
intrusion.” Chadwick walked to the bed, rubbed his knuckles across Brigitta’s
cheek, and watched his brother from the corner of his eye with cunning. Luke bristled
at the action. Chadwick dug. “I came to check on my wife.”

Luke fisted his hands at his
sides and Chadwick twitched his lips, taking a perverse pleasure in causing his
brother pain.

“What do you want? Why are you in
my room?”

“You ask a lot of questions, but
I find I could ask some of my own. For example, why are you home so early? What
happened to returning with a wife? And why is
my
wife in
your
room?”

Luke shook his head and laughed
deeply. “We both know Brigitta is not your wife, so drop the ruse before my
patience completely wanes.”

Chadwick gulped and shrugged. “True,
the wedding was a farce, but to all those in the world we are married.”

“Correction, dear brother: to all
those in the world she is married to the baron, and that is me.”

“Ah, now we get to the truth of
the matter. You fancy yourself as rescuing Brigitta from my evil clutches.”

“Are you admitting you’re evil?”

“Only on the most basic of
levels,” said Chadwick as he lifted a strand of Brigitta’s hair and allowed it
to cascade through his fingers.

Luke sighed. “Chadwick, I no
longer want to play your games. Do me a favor and leave.”

“I don’t think so. After all, my
wife has struck her head and might need medical attention. I believe I should
stay close by to make all necessary decisions.”

Luke wrung his hands and Chadwick
delighted in his discomfort.

“I know why you’re doing this.”

Chadwick cocked a brow. “You do?”

“You’re trying to raise coin for
the estate. I assure you it is not necessary. We are well supplied.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, our investments are paying
nicely and the estate should run well for more years than you or I could live.
So why not give Brigitta her freedom?”

“That is an interesting thought,
but I vote no.”

“Chadwick,” Luke ran his hand
through his hair, “this silly feud needs to stop.”

“This is not a feud, dear
brother. Brigitta is my wife and she loves me.”