Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (14 page)

The urgency to find his brother
and Brigitta grew desperate.

The manse was quiet. He’d been
gone for two days. Surely by now his brother had come to his senses and
returned Brigitta.

Taking the stairs two at a time,
Chadwick burst into his brother’s room. This time he wouldn’t take no for an
answer.

A blast of cold air assailed him
and a shutter flapped nosily in the breeze. Instead of lighting a candle, he
stalked wordlessly to the bed. A frown tugged at his brow. The bed was empty.
Ashes covered the bottom of the cool fireplace.

Chadwick raised his hands to the
ceiling and screamed. Sheer agony and worry caused him to stalk about the room
like a caged tiger. He picked up Luke’s book and threw it across the room.
Pages tore and littered the floor.

Anger spent, he huddled against
the wall and allowed the last bit of his rage to seep from him. When he picked
up the torn pages, something sharp poked his hand. Narrowing his eyes, he
studied the substance in the wash of moonlight. Fortune had smiled on him once
again.

If she had not been used to
awkward stares, then Luke’s obvious appraisal would have made her nervous, but
as it was she funneled that energy into making her music better.

When the last note died away,
Luke was sitting on the edge of the nearest sofa with his elbows on his knees,
staring at her in awestruck wonder.

She placed her hands in her lap.
The intensity of his glare made her pulse race. Now she was worried. “Did I do
something to displease you?”

He shook his head. “What?”

“You are staring at me as if I have
done something wrong. I wondered if I displeased you. As of yet you have been
the perfect gentleman, but in honesty I am at your mercy.”

“No, you did not displease me.”

“Then perhaps you should stare in
a different direction. I feel like a bird and you are the cat.”

“I will comply with your wishes,
but know that if I wanted to devour you nothing would stop me.”

She gulped back her fear and
forced her false bravado back into place. “Now that we have the levels of
authority set, perhaps we can discuss what is on the agenda for the afternoon.
Apparently I won’t be leaving for the estate.”

“Why not?”

“Why, the rain, of course. I can
hardly be expected to run to the coupe in this deluge. I’m sure tomorrow will
be early enough to return.”

He walked to the window and
leaned against the sill. Staring at his back, she tried to decipher his
expression. He faced her, a smile lifting his lips. “What will you tell people
when you return?”

“Good question. I’m not sure. I
guess if I knew what had Letta so distressed at the ball, then perhaps I could
use it to my advantage. But the maid was twittering so and whispered, such a
detestable practice, that I couldn’t make out a word.” She paused before
asking, “Perhaps you know of the unusual happenings at the ball?”

“Ghosts.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, fighting
to hide her shock.

“Letta thought she saw a ghost in
the west wing.”

Horrified, she stuttered, “B-but
how could that be? The west wing has been closed since the baron’s mother
passed.”

“True.”

Brigitta covered her mouth. “You
don’t think the baron’s mother has returned and now haunts the west wing?”

Luke laughed and she pouted. “I
find that highly unlikely.”

Straightening herself upon the
bench, she picked up a page of sheet music and pretended to glance over the
notes, giving herself time to contemplate. After sliding the paper back into
place, she said, “No matter. Whether the ghosts are real or fake is not my
concern. The fact that Letta spread the nonsense through the estate, however,
does assist with my dilemma.”

“How so?” The smile in his voice
grew bigger as he strode closer and stroked the pianoforte’s gleaming
framework.

Brigitta watched his hands
perform the simple action, and fought her imaginings that the wood was her. She
looked away and cleared her throat. “It is quite simple, really. I will say a
ghost hid me in the west wing.”

“And what if the guests, and the
baron, have investigated and discovered no ghosts exist in the west wing?” He
leaned closer.

“Humph. Why should that matter?
The guests have no say, and the baron was indisposed and unable to attend the
festivities. The only one I will need to worry about is Roland. The nosy fellow
will no doubt have searched the entire west wing by now and since he didn’t see
me there, he will declare my theory implausible.”

“Roland?” The smile faded from
his voice and he pulled back.

Brigitta grew wary at the change
in his tone. Hesitantly, she said, “Oh, haven’t you met him? Naturally I
assumed he’d been in the household for a number of years, but perhaps I was
mistaken. Anyway, he is the butler and assists the baron in all matters which
the baron wants nothing to do with himself.”

Luke took a seat and crossed his
legs. “You don’t seem to think too highly of him.”

“Not in the least. He is the one
who kept me locked up in my room without exchanging my mattress.”

“You mean after your failed
escape?” he asked, cocking a brow.

“Precisely. What I can’t figure
out is why he was in the suite of rooms you brought me to. It seemed odd, but
Roland is odd, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

His frown eased away and he
seemed to relax. “No, what matters is whether you have a reason for your
lengthy disappearance.”

“Precisely.” Brigitta tapped her
finger to her forehead. “You know, I could say I fell and hit my head, which is
true, and you found me and took me to your home, which I assume is also true,
until I recovered. At which point I told you of my identity and you returned me
to the estate.”

He paused as if to sort out his
thoughts and when he did speak, he said, “I would prefer you not mention me.”

She gnawed her lip, disappointed
by his first less than gentlemanly act, and said, “B-but why?”

“I have my reasons.” He rose from
the chair and turned away.

Brigitta scrambled to her feet,
grabbed his arm, and yanked him around as hard as she could. His blank
expression angered her and she braced her hands on her hips. “I demand to know
why I can’t use your name. If I go back and it is found out later that I spent
two days in the company of an unmarried man, completely without chaperone, even
if you are my brother-in-law, why, the baron might divorce me.”

“There’s an idea.”

Hot breath hit her face as he
replied. His nearness caused her concentration to falter and her pulse to race.
Blinking rapidly, she said, “What?”

He placed his hands on her upper
arms, his grip tightening as he captured her mouth with his. She melted against
him, completely engrossed in the passion of the moment. Her heart skipped a
beat as his hand cupped the back of her head. He wound his fingers in her hair,
and guilt assailed her. Panicked, she pushed at his chest and kicked at his
shins. When he let go, she staggered back, stunned. Her legs weak, she fell
back against the sofa.

He breathed heavily, the sound
echoing in the room, as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t
have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Heat
flooded her cheeks as she realized the statement was a lie.

He eased to his knees beside the
sofa. “I must tell you something.”

The passion in his eyes spoke of
a life-changing secret and she placed her finger across his lips. “No, don’t
say it.”

“But I must!”

“No, I say!” She stood, faced
away from him, stroked her finger over her swollen lips, and ran from the room.

****

Luke buried his face in the sofa
cushions. What had he done?

The forced kiss, the attempt at
sharing his feelings? It was too soon. He should have proved the marriage
false, then confessed. He should have confronted Roland and made him tell
Brigitta about the phony wedding ceremony and subsequent phony marriage. And
yet, seeing her sitting there at the pianoforte, with her hair curling against
her creamy neck, had been more than he could take.

He sat on the couch and stared at
the empty fireplace. Damp, humid air crawled across his skin and he shivered.
He would need to gather wood. He also needed to prepare dinner, think of a
supper meal, and find a way to return to the estate by nightfall.

If he hadn’t just scared
Brigitta, he could have asked for her assistance, but he feared now it was too
late.

Struggling to his feet, he drew
on a cape and walked out into the seemingly incessant storm.

****

Chadwick squinted at Luke’s
floor. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he gathered the tiny rock-like
granules and went in search of Roland, who stood at the sitting room window, viewing
the deluge.

“Roland, I must speak with you.”

He didn’t spring into action as
Chadwick expected, but rather continued his observation of the weather and
said, “Sir?”

Chadwick rolled his eyes and
shoved the handkerchief in Roland’s face. Roland backed up, peered down his
long nose, and appeared to try and focus. Chadwick asked, “Do you know what
this is?”

Roland took it from him and
poured a sample into his palm. “It appears to be tiny rocks, sir.”

“Exactly. Now, why would you
think Luke’s floor would be covered in rocks?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You saw him the morning after
the ball, correct?”

“Yes, when I questioned him about
Brigitta.”

“Where did you see him?”

“When I saw him he was abed.”

“What was he doing?”

Roland squinted. “If I remember
correctly, he was reading.”

“And what time of night did you
say it was?”

“It was early morning. Naturally,
I assumed he couldn’t sleep because of the racket of the ball and the
subsequent ghost chase. I questioned him as you suggested, leaving out details
of Brigitta’s disappearance but dropping hints, yet he gave no indication of
having met with the lady.”

Chadwick paced the small sitting
room. The rocks he’d collected were from the lake alongside the summer house.
But the idea that Luke could have moved Brigitta there and returned to his room
so quickly was utterly preposterous. He stopped and asked, “Have you seen him
since?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Not at meal time or to give him
the mail?”

“No sir, the mail has been piling
up on his desk.”

He smacked a fist into his other
palm, then shook his bruised hand. “I must see Brigitta.”

Roland frowned. “Sir, I am afraid
no one has seen the baroness since the night of the ball.”

Chadwick gnawed his lip. So Luke
had taken his threat to heart and done something with Brigitta, so Chadwick
couldn’t prove him wrong.

Roland continued, “It was the
chaos. Letta ran in and declared she’d seen the ghost, and everyone scattered
and lights winked out. I spent hours searching the west wing before I returned
to the ball and found Brigitta missing. Of course I looked in the baron’s
suite, as you ordered, but when I saw him in bed I assumed he knew nothing of
Brigitta and I instructed the footmen to look in other places.”

Of course the footman had
checked, but he had to see for himself. Chadwick didn’t wait for more
explanations and excuses but rather ran to Brigitta’s room. He flung the door
open. No one was inside. The fireplace was devoid of warmth. The room had a
stale odor. He stalked to the closet and filtered through the new gowns.

Confounded villager! He’d married
her, well, sort of, given her everything she could want, and she let herself be
kidnapped and taken in by his brother’s charms. What could she want with Luke
when she was married to him?

Contemplating his disappointment
and vexation, Chadwick slouched back to the sitting room and resumed his
pacing.

Roland clutched his hands in
front of him. “I’m so sorry, sir. I should have sent someone to the village to
find you when she didn’t return but—”

“Have the grounds been searched
thoroughly?” Chadwick asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Roland.

“The west wing?”

“Extensively, sir. Every inch of
the place. I believed she ran back to her home in the village, but since I don’t
know exactly where that is, I haven’t sent anyone in search of her yet.”

Chadwick walked to the window and
stared outside. Rain slashed sideways and struck the glass panes. Wind lifted
lofty branches and leaves drifted to the ground in waves. He faced the butler. “I
want you to send the carriage around.”

“Sir? But you can’t go out in
this.” Roland waved his hand at the downpour. At that moment the thunder boomed
and the lightning flashed and lit the room.

“Do as I say.”

“But sir, how will you know where
to go?”

“I have a suspicion my brother
has taken Brigitta to a place he considers home.” He paused before adding, “Hurry,
Roland, there is not a moment to lose. If Luke tells Brigitta who I am, then
all will be lost.”

****

From the second-story window,
Brigitta watched Luke walk into the storm. He appeared to be headed for an outbuilding.
Fear swelled in her breast. What if she had offended him and he intended to
leave her there alone?

Turning on her heel, she fled
down the stairs and outside, chasing behind him. She smacked into the deluge
and cold drops battered her; the dry gown she’d changed into earlier clung to
her like a second skin.

Brigitta yelled, “Luke!” but he
didn’t respond.

An old garden, with an apple tree
and strawberry plants growing wild, extended to the wall, where a small
building hunched in the rain. Luke seemed to be heading there. Brigitta hitched
her gown and ran after him. Mud encased her shoes and wrapped around her
ankles, and she struggled to take another step.

Through the sheet of rain, she
thought she saw Luke disappear inside, but she wasn’t sure. She wiped soggy
hair from her eyes and blinked, but it was no use; she still couldn’t see.

She dragged herself another step,
but the old vegetable bed opened beneath her and the mud sucked her foot down
to her calf. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t pull free. The
weight of her wet skirt continued to press on her. Renewed vigor surged through
her muscles and she exerted one final effort to drag herself to safety.

Her foot pulled free of the
mud-sopped ground with a wet sucking sound, and she proceeded to fall flat on
her face. Muddy liquid sucked up her nose and clouded her vision. She lifted
her head and spit but to little avail.

Tears welled in her eyes when she
saw the greatest sight — a hand.

Luke grabbed her arm and hauled
her upright. She wiped strands of wet hair from her face and smiled. His scowl
sent her back a step. She tried to slide from his grasp, but he hauled her to
the house.