Luke clasped it reluctantly. Again they slid onto the dance floor and she melted into his arms. As they waltzed, she said, “I should never have let you bring me back inside the estate.”
He continued to glide. His heart felt as if it had jumped into his throat as he struggled to find an appropriate response.
She said, “However, I must say the midnight adventure did spur me to embolden myself.”
“How so?” he asked, clearing his throat.
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.
Chapter Thirteen
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 tha
t 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.
Chapter Fourteen
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.
Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse Page 9
