Intentions of the Earl (35 page)

“That’s not true,” Andrew interrupted
defensively. “I was at that ball.”

“What was I wearing?” she countered tartly.
She shook her head at his lack of response. “I thought so. You were
always trying to get me alone, and when you did, I fell right into
your trap. I believed your words about having feelings for me and
how much you cared for me. But now I know the real reason you were
reluctant to marry me, even after Alex challenged you to a
duel.”

“Indeed, a duel?” Gateway chimed in when she
paused.

Brooke’s eyes left Andrew and darted to
Gateway. “What I don’t understand is your part in this,” she said
stiffly.

“My part was simple really, I had something
your husband wanted more than you,” he said, shrugging. “Something
he wanted badly enough that he planned to bring on your ruin and
send you back to America on the soonest vessel.” He flashed her a
cruel smile that made her go pale.

Andrew’s mother let out a gasp, but wisely
closed her mouth when Andrew gave her a quelling look.

“You can give him whatever he would have
gained,” Brooke said with a sob in her throat. “I shall return to
my family and convince them to leave England without delay.” She
turned and fled the room.

Andrew ran after her. When he reached her, he
tried to pull her back to him. “Stop, Brooke, let me explain.”

“There’s no need,” she assured him, the tears
rolling down her cheeks betraying her words.

Andrew moved to stand in front of her, trying
to block her way. “There is a need,” he said softly.

She pushed his chest. Hard.

He didn’t budge.

She placed both hands squarely on his chest,
not caring that the dressing robe she wore fell open in the front
and revealed her naked form to his eyes. This time, she shoved him
with all her might.

Andrew was rather shocked when his body fell
backward and crashed into the banister, breaking it as it broke his
direct fall to the edge of the stairs. She had some muscles. For
being a girl, that is. He would have smiled about at the discovery
if he wasn’t in so much pain.

She took advantage of his misfortune by
grabbing her gown together and running toward the servant’s stairs.
She almost made it when he grabbed her waist from behind. “Would
you please just stop for a moment. I can explain everything,” he
ground out.

She faced him; her eyes were still filled
with fury. “For fear of having to repeat myself again, please
listen well, Lord Townson. There is no need. I understand
everything. I was present for most of that enlightening
conversation.”

“What did you hear?” he growled.

“Enough” she snapped. Her body was beginning
to tremble from sobs racking through her. “Now, would you for once
in your misbegotten life be a gentleman and release me.”

Andrew relaxed his hold on her and she
scurried to the top of the stairs, leaving him at the bottom.
“Where are you going?” he demanded softly when she reached the
top.

“I already told you,” she snapped. “Right
now, I’m going back to my family then back to America.”

“No,” he said coolly.

“No?” she echoed.

“No. I forbid it,” he said in a steely
tone.

“You forbid it?” she burst out, crossing her
arms across her chest.

He crossed his arms in the same manner. “As
your husband, I forbid you to leave this house.” His voice would
have made most people cower to his demands, but not Brooke.

“You are powerless over me,” she huffed
defiantly. “I will leave this house if I choose to. I will go where
I want and do what I want. You don't own me.” She ran down the hall
as fast as she could to seek shelter in her chamber.

Andrew took the stairs two at a time and ran
down the hall after her. But because of her head start, by the time
he reached her room, she was already safely inside and slammed the
door right in his face.

Moving his hand to the knob he found it was
locked. He made a fist and banged it on the outside of her door.
“Open this door right now!” he called through the door.

He didn’t hear any response and almost kicked
himself when he remembered how easily he could get inside her room.
With a shake of his head, he left her door and strolled to his
room. He walked over to the connecting door and turned the
handle.

It wouldn’t turn.

Not so easily put off, Andrew started looking
around for the key, he knew it was in there somewhere. He shuffled
some papers on his writing desk, not there. He looked around his
vanity, not there. Finding a cup-like object that held quills and
other miscellaneous objects, he turned it over, dumping the quills
and other odds and ends out, but the key was not there. The key had
to be there somewhere, he just knew it. That room had not been used
in so long there was no need to lock it, but surely the old earl
had kept the key around here somewhere.

He finally resigned himself to the idea that
the key was not close at hand and walked over to the connecting
door. “Brooke, unlock this door this instant or I will break it
down,” he yelled through the door. He wasn’t sure if that was even
possible, but she didn’t need to know that.

He waited silently for a minute, listening
for her response. He heard none. “Brooke, I’m serious. If you don’t
open up, I’m coming in.”

He stood quietly again, listening once more
for any noise, her moving, unlocking the door, crying, anything.
But he heard nothing. “All right, I’m coming in, you better move
back.”

He walked across his room, and with as much
speed as he could gain, he ran straight toward the door, hitting it
head on with his shoulder. He heard a cracking noise, but the door
was still firmly in place. Stepping away from the door he ran his
fingers over his now smarting shoulder that matched his equally
sore back and face.

Andrew decided this was not the best method
to enter the countess’ chambers and later today that door would be
taken off its hinges and burned. Looking around, Andrew spotted his
penknife lying on the vanity.

Fighting his irritation with himself for not
thinking to use it sooner, he pulled out the blade and stalked over
to the door.

In less than fifteen seconds he had the lock
picked and pushed open the door. He was expecting Brooke to scream
in surprise. He was expecting her to rage at him. He was even
expecting flying objects to be hurled at his head.

He was not expecting the room to be
empty.

He looked behind the wardrobe and dressing
screen, he peeked under the bed, she wasn’t anywhere. There nothing
out of place, and no sign of her. Turning in a circle he saw the
door leading to the hallway was slightly ajar. He walked over and
opened it up then looked up and down the hallway, but it was
empty.

He stormed back into her room and saw
something move through the window. Wanting to get a closer look, he
walked to the window, just in time to see Brooke tearing across the
lawn toward the duke’s carriage, clad in nothing more than his red
dressing robe.

Chapter 27

Andrew ran down the stairs and to the front
door as fast as his feet could carry him; all the while wondering
what had possessed her to take a ride from the duke.

He knew he couldn’t catch up with the
carriage on foot, he’d have to saddle his horse and run into her on
the road. He was almost certain she was going back to Alex’s where
she could convince her family he was an awful monster, which he
knew he was, then they’d leave and he’d never get another chance to
see her again. He had to catch up to her.

He reached out to open the front door and saw
the duke’s shadow from where he was standing by the window. A wave
of relief rushed through him knowing the duke had not been in that
carriage with her. Call it whatever you want: jealousy, possession
or love, it made no difference; something in him did not like the
idea of Gateway alone with her, especially with her only wearing
that little scrap of fabric.

“It looks like your luck just improved,”
Gateway drawled from behind Andrew’s back. “She’s gone. Now that
you’re free of her, I’ll give you your deed. A house is so much
better than a trollop for a wife anyway. They both require a bit of
money, but at least with the house, you know who inhabits it while
you’re away.” He cackled at his insinuation.

Andrew’s blood was thundering so loudly in
his ears he did not hear his mother shriek, “Benjamin Archer
Leopold Charles Robert Collins!”

All thoughts of rushing after Brooke fled his
mind and he took his hand off the door handle, spun around, and
without hesitation, brought his fist up to connect with the center
of Gateway’s face, creating a sharp cracking noise, followed by
loud thud.

He took a measure of satisfaction when
Gateway dropped to the floor like a lead weight and lay there in a
tangled pile of limbs, groaning in pain.

Andrew’s mother ran over to where Gateway’s
still form lay groaning on the floor. She bent over him to smooth
his hair back when she made a cry of distress.

“Why are you crying over
him
?” Andrew
growled, hauling her up off the floor.

She didn’t answer. She just glanced at
Gateway on the floor then to Andrew, her eyes full of unshed tears.
“Why can’t you two get along?” she cried, fighting Andrew’s grip on
her arm.

“Why should we?” Andrew countered, tightening
his grip. Then it dawned on him, his mother had said something
before he punched Gateway. He could have sworn it was Gateway’s
full name, but why would she say that? And how would she know it?
She was a recluse after all. He released his hold on her arm and
crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why did you call him by
his full name? How did you even know it? Since when have you two
become fast friends?” He bombarded her with questions, taking a
step closer to her with each one, causing her to back up until she
backed straight into a wall.

When she didn’t answer him, he started to
wonder what he was missing. What had she called him? Benjamin
Archer Leopold Charles Robert Collins; then it clicked,
Archer
, that was the name of his playmate in Essex.

“Who is he to you?” Andrew bellowed, making
her go pale. “Don’t deny that you know him on a personal level. I
remember playing with a little boy named Archer until I was about
five and he suddenly disappeared. There's no reason for you, a
recluse, to know his full name unless he is the same Archer I
played with. Now tell me what’s going on.”

“I need to sit down,” she choked out, holding
onto the corner of the table next to her for balance.

Andrew backed away a step to give her some
breathing room. Then taking her elbow in a firm grasp, he led her
over to the settee.

“May I have some water?” she asked meekly,
her hand patting the top of her chest.

Andrew stalked over to the carafe that was on
his desk, picked it up, grabbed a glass from off a nearby shelf,
slammed it down and carelessly dumped some water inside. When it
was half full, he snatched it up and thrust it in his mother’s
face. “Here,” he growled. “Will that be all? Or do you require
anything else before your grand revelations? Perhaps I should stoke
the fire, or get on my knees and rub your feet?”

“Your tone and sarcasm is quite unbecoming,”
his mother criticized.

Andrew ground his teeth. “Begin your tale,
madam.”

She tried to hold onto that glass of water
with all her might, but she could hardly grip it. Her hands were
shaking, and her fingers were slipping off the sides. She held the
glass in one hand, while wiping her free hand on her skirt to dry
off her sweaty palm; then transferred it to the other hand and did
the same thing. Her skin was still whiter than any table linen he’d
ever seen and the tears that were brimming in her eyes earlier,
were now on the brink of spilling out.

Taking mercy on her, Andrew walked to her and
carefully took the glass from her; he gently placed it on the table
and took a seat next to her.

“Leave her alone,” Gateway broke in from the
doorway, looking reconciled and considerably worse for the wear.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know, just leave Lizzie alone.”

“Lizzie?” Andrew repeated hollowly. He knew
his mother’s name was Elizabeth but he’d never heard anyone call
her Lizzie.

“No,” Elizabeth spoke up, rubbing her hands
up and down on her skirt. “Andrew is my son, I shall tell him.”
Fixing her gaze on Andrew’s chest, she said, “Benjamin, Archer,
Channing, Gateway or whatever you want to call him, is a relation
of mine.”

“A relation?” Andrew echoed. “What kind?” His
tone was full of disbelief.

“It’s complicated,” Elizabeth said with a
small smile. “Can we just leave it at that?”

Andrew looked at her as if she had just grown
an extra head. “No.” If Gateway was a “relation” to his mother,
that would make him one of Andrew’s relations, too. Just the
thought made him spring to his feet faster than sitting on a metal
spike would have. “No, we cannot leave it at that. If that
scoundrel is your relation,” he yelled, pointing an accusing finger
at Gateway, “that means he is also a relation of
mine
! I
demand to know. Now!”

“We’re siblings. Sort of,” Gateway said
uneasily.

“Siblings? Sort of? How can that be? You
either are or you’re not. Which is it?” Andrew asked, head snapping
back and forth from his mother to Gateway, who he just noticed was
holding a bloody handkerchief around his swollen nose.

“If one digs deep enough, they can find a
connection through our father, Robert Collins, the previous Duke of
Gateway,” his mother said without much emotion.

Andrew’s brow shot up so far it was almost
lost in his hairline.

“When Robert was younger he seduced a young
woman,” Elizabeth said uneasily before Gateway jumped up and cut
her off.