The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (29 page)

She turned to her mother. “Do you think they’ll make a scene?”

Mother, a minute frown creasing her brow, searched the room again. At Adaira’s question she swung her attention to her daughters. “I’m sure I don’t know,
chére
. How are you faring? These past two days have been trying for you.”

Trying?
Adaira bit back a sarcastic snort. “Yes, you certainly could say that.”

“Mother,” Isobel said, “I’m sorry, but the lace at my hem is torn. It needs to be sewn at once, else it will rip further.”

Seonaid nodded, a haunted glint in her eye. With a peculiar tone tinging her voice, she murmured, “And I’ve need of the necessary.”

Did she really? Or, had she seen something?

“I would welcome a visit to the retiring room.” Adaira stood, shaking her skirts. “My head aches a mite. A few moments rest and a cool cloth would be most appreciated.”

As one, her sisters and mother rose to their feet.

“Let’s use the one above stairs,” Adaira suggested. “It will be less crowded than the two below, I think.”

Mother linked her elbow with Adaira’s. “Isobel, take your sister’s arm.” With a final glance about the room, she swept to the entrance. “To the retiring room,
mes chéris
.”

Adaira breathed a silent sigh of relief. They reached the retiring room without encountering Mrs. Winthrop or the count. Thankfully, the chamber, which looked to be an unused sitting room given the connecting door, was unoccupied except for a maid.

One look at the room and Adaira grinned. Roark’s Aunt Beatry’s chambers. They had to be. She’d been a dog lover. Apparently she had unusual decorative preferences, too.

A pair of rather garish orange and yellow floral settees was situated across from each other. Two armchairs, each sporting black needlepoint poodles, were positioned between them at either end. A marble-topped table centered between the furniture contained a huge bouquet of flowers, a pitcher of water, and several glasses. Intricately painted screens situated on the far side of the room probably concealed chamber pots.

A shelf with various knickknacks, including some truly hideous cumbersome statues of dogs, was to the right of the unlit fireplace. A life-size sculpture of a hound sat before it. More heinous dog statues and figurines were arranged neatly atop the mantle. A table to the left of the fireplace was covered with all manner of fallalls and feminine whatnot.

Another long table before French windows, which Adaira presumed opened onto a balcony, held mirrors, brushes, combs, pins, what appeared to be rosewater, and various cosmetics.

Isobel promptly removed her gloves. “I’ve need of a needle and thread. Oh, and scissors, please. I’ve torn the lace on my hem.”

“I’d be happy to do it for you, miss,” the maid volunteered.

Isobel smiled kindly. “There’s no need, but thank you. It’s only a small rip. I won’t even have to remove my gown to repair it.”

“The sewing supplies are over there.” The maid gestured to a table beside the fireplace.

Isobel quickly set about mending her gown while Seonaid attended to her needs. Adaira removed her gloves. After straightening the fingers, she draped the gloves on the settee’s back. She turned to the maid. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

The girl dipped a quick curtsy. “It’s Clara, miss . . . er, my lady.”

The poor servant had no notion who they were or how to address them. Although it wasn’t customary, Adaira quickly made informal introductions.

“I’m Adaira Ferguson, and these are my sisters, Isobel,” she indicated Isobel with a flick of her wrist, then pointed to the screen across the room which hid Seonaid. “And Seonaid.”

Taking a seat, she waved her hand in her mother’s direction. “That lovely woman is our mother, Lady Ferguson.”

Clara gawked at Adaira. “Coo, you’re to be my new mistress.”

Adaira squirmed on the settee. Even the servants knew? Of course, they did. They were the first to know. “Ah, yes. Well, um, as to that. . .”

“I think you are the bravest woman I’ve ever met! You saved his lordship’s life.” Clara stood, hands clasped and worship in her eyes staring raptly at Adaira.

This certainly is awkward.

Adaira sent Mother a peep from beneath her lashes. She’d settled in one of the armchairs and smiled tolerantly. Was there a twinkle of amusement in her eyes? Adaira yanked a frilly pillow from behind her. She tossed it on the seat beside her. “Um, thank you. Have you any headache powders? And might I trouble you for a cold cloth?”

If the servants were discussing her, she could be sure the rest of the household was as well. It came as no surprise, but disconcerted her, nonetheless. Egad, what else had the guests been discussing about her and Roark?

He knew she wasn’t skilled in ladylike attributes. Certainly, he had no idea just how lacking in natural talent she truly was. Sewing, planning menus, diplomatic conversation, pouring tea, acting the part of a gracious hostess—her skills were nominal at best.
Atrocious
better described them.

And she didn’t care much about improving her abilities.

Returning to the ball wasn’t something she relished either. Mrs. Winthrop and her cousin lurked somewhere below. And there was still supper to get through.

“Here you are, miss.” Clara handed Adaira a glass of liquid and the cloth.

The girl’s hands were deformed. Clara’s fingers were webbed together. Several were mere stubs, difficult to even identify as digits. Adaira met the maid’s gaze. No sense pretending she hadn’t noticed. To do so would only embarrass Clara more. “Do you find it difficult to do things?”

Clara smiled and held up her hands. “I know they look odd, but I can do most anything, even sew and cook.”

Isobel giggled. “Addy cannot do either.”

Adaira was fighting the urge to poke her tongue at Isobel, when a pale-faced Seonaid reappeared from behind the screen. Mother promptly rose from her chair. She hurried to Seonaid. Laying one hand on her forearm, she pressed the back of her other hand against Seonaid’s forehead. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Mother hesitated, for the briefest of moments. “Or . . . have you had a vision?”

“Yes, a vision.” Seonaid scanned the room before marching to the fireplace. She grabbed the poker, then spun to face the door. “I’m afraid we’re about to be interrupted.”

Setting the glass and cloth on the table, Adaira threw Isobel a questioning glance. She stopped sewing in mid-stitch. They snapped their gazes to Mother and Seonaid. Their sister stared at the entrance, poker angled like a sword. Mother snatched the log tongs, her focus trained on the door. Isobel snipped the thread before seizing a pair of scissors.

Adaira looked around frantically. Her gaze landed on a revolting pug statuette. Springing to her feet, she charged to the shelf. She grasped the bulky figure with both hands. No, it was too awkward. She whirled to the center of the room. There, in the corner by the wardrobe, rested an ancient parasol.

She dashed across the room. She’d barely wrapped her fingers around the worn handle when the door crashed open.

CHAPTER 30

Adaira edged closer to her mother and sisters. Each posed in a defensive stance before the cold hearth. Oh, to have her riding crop. Father returned it to her this morning, but one hardly toted a whip around at a ball. Poor Clara. She stood bug-eyed, mouth agape, gawking at the Ferguson women.

Mrs. Winthrop sailed into the room. Stabbing them with a hostile glare, she called over her shoulder. “They’re alone.”

Count von Schnizter and his son appeared on either side of her. When had Freidrick arrived? He had the same sullen glower and perpetual sneer he’d worn when she’d seen him last.

Thank God Maisey took Kiki to the kitchen for the evening. If Freidrick tried to find the puppy, he wouldn’t be able to. One of the lads who helped the cook had taken the dog to his quarters for the night.

Clara, taking her cue from the Ferguson women, laid hold of a battered cane. She scuttled to stand beside Adaira.

“What are you doing here?” Angling her chin, Adaira directed her comment to the count. “Men are not permitted in the retiring room. You must leave at once.”

Chuckling, he moved farther into the room. Freidrick remained at the door, checking the corridor every few moments. The count’s lewd gaze roved over her sisters and mother before sliding to Adaira. Invisible snakes slithered across her suddenly cold flesh.

“Who will make me?
Sie Frauen
?” He shook his head and ran a finger across his upper lip. Deviance and lust vied for supremacy in his piercing rodent eyes.

Mrs. Winthrop raked them with her gaze and smirked. “Look at them, Otto. Such a vulgar display of aggression. But one expects no more from barbaric, uncouth Scots.”

Mother tilted her chin. “
Votre parodie d’une robe est beaucoup plus vulgaire,"
she said in her soft French accent.

Clara choked on a giggle. She understood French?

Confusion flickered on Mrs. Winthrop’s face. She sent a desperate glance to von Schnitzer. He shrugged his shoulders and continued his salacious leering.

Adaira chuckled. “You don’t speak French, Mrs. Winthrop? Dear me, a social grace you’re deficient in?
Tsk, tsk
.”

She glanced at her sisters and sighed. “I suppose I must interpret. Never let it be said Scots are ill-mannered.” Adaira swung the parasol in a small arc. “Mother said, ‘Your travesty of a gown is far more vulgar.’”

And indeed the garment was a disaster. Pink and white, it quite obviously was intended for a much slenderer, considerably younger woman.

Mrs. Winthrop’s bosom threatened to gush over the bodice and blacken both her eyes if she blinked too hard. That was, if the seams didn’t burst first. Or the straining buttons pop loose and put someone’s eye out.

Fury mottled her full face. She stomped to the center of the room. “Poke fun at me, will you? Not for long, I assure you. You see—though I cannot imagine why, you’re such a shapeless stick—Otto finds you attractive. He has a splendid solution to end your farce of a betrothal to my Roark.”

Her Roark?

Adaira twirled the parasol. “Indeed?”

Keep stalling
.

Surely by now, Roark and the others had noticed the Ferguson women’s absence from the ballroom. The men would search the lower levels first, of course. Did Roark even know this chamber was being used for a retiring room?

“
Schnell
,” Freidrick hissed, shuffling his feet. “Before someone comes.”

“Otto has decided to leave sooner than anticipated. He insists you accompany him, willing or not. Roark will end this mockery of a betrothal once he learns you’re in the count’s company.”

Adaira angled her head. “How can you be sure? Roark’s the one who insisted on asking for my hand, even though nothing untoward occurred. Did he tell you that? He can be quite determined when he sets his mind to something. He was most resolute that he and I should become affianced.”

Mrs. Winthrop chuckled nastily. “Oh, I assure you, Otto has quite an
interesting
reputation, don’t you darling?”

A sinister smile curled von Schnitzer’s mouth. “As you say.
Die Damen
are never das same.”

“My daughter isn’t going anywhere with him.” Mother tightened her grip on the log tongs.

“I’m not setting foot from this room with your cousin. Not now. Not ever.” Adaira lifted the parasol. If only it were her crop. She suspected the count was unhinged and didn’t want to speculate what his last comment implied.

“Yes, you will, if you value their lives.” Mrs. Winthrop wiggled her fingers at Adaira’s family. A spiteful smile twisted the widow’s lips. She reached into her reticule and removed a small pistol.

Mother stiffened. The others sucked in chorus of sharp breaths.

Pointing the gun at them, Mrs. Winthrop snickered. “In case you’re wondering, I do know how to use the gun. And yes, it is loaded.”

Thunder pounded in Adaira’s ears. Fear replaced the blood in her veins. “One pistol for four
—
” Clara made an inarticulate noise. “Five of us?”

Adaira shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Roark, where are you?

Mrs. Winthrop’s malicious smile widened, crinkling her pudgy cheeks and the corners of her eyes. “You don’t really think I’m that simpleminded, do you? No, Otto and Freidrick are armed, too.”

A fiendish grin on his face, Freidrick removed a gun from the back of his waistband. He pointed the pistol at each of them in turn, jerking the weapon and making shooting noises with his mouth.

He’s addled too.

The count patted his lower back, then his breast pocket. “Eine p
istole und messer
.”

A knife, also? Before the intruders showed their guns, Adaira had thought to have Clara run for help. That is, if the adjoining door was unlocked. That idea was soundly dashed. Adaira didn’t doubt for a moment the weapons were loaded. Neither did she doubt these vermin would use them. Insanity evidently ran in their family.

“
Ich
begann
das
barn
feuers
,” Freidrick bragged in a mixture of German and English. He waved his gun menacingly.

Mrs. Winthrop glared at him. “That was idiotic of you. Roark could have been killed, imbecile!” She whirled to the count. “You assured me the whelp had stopped setting fires.”

Count von Schnitzer shrugged. “He was angry about
das
hund
.”

Adaira clenched the parasol handle so tightly, it’s a wonder the aged wood didn’t snap. She took a step forward. “You filthy, coward. You’re nothing but a. . .”

“Addy, no,” Mother warned.

Adaira glowered at Freidrick, despicable cretin. Willing to kill innocent animals because he’d been thwarted. She didn’t want to imagine what the cur would have done to Kiki had Adaira not rescued her.

Glaring at Mrs. Winthrop, Adaira lifted her chin, and challenged, “You cannot get me out of the house undetected.”

“Oh yes, we . . . he can. I know several back stairways and passages. I’ve already showed Otto. We let Freidrick in that way.” Mrs. Winthrop tittered, batting her lashes coyly. “How did you imagine Roark and I managed to be discreet?”

Adaira wished she could crawl in a deep hole. After vomiting first. It was galling enough she knew Roark’s relationship with the widow. But to have the woman boast of it in front of Adaira’s family was beyond the pale. Anger and mortification emboldened her. “I imagined you used the main entrance, as promiscuous strumpets with no concern for their reputations do.”

“Addy. Don’t antagonize her,” Mother murmured, her voice low.

Face pinched, eyes narrowed to slits, Mrs. Winthrop pointed her gun at Adaira. “Otto, take the wench now, before I truly lose my temper. Only use the passages I showed you. If someone comes upon you, pretend to be having a dalliance. I’m sure the chit can be made to cooperate with a weapon pressed to her side.”

The count removed his gun. He aimed the barrel at Adaira and motioned for her to move to the door. Still holding the parasol, she slipped around the edge of the settee.

“Addy!” Mother breathed.

Adaira glanced over her shoulder.

Terror glittered in her mother’s and sisters’ eyes. Pale as milk, Clara swayed. Gauging the situation, Adaira’s mind raced.

There were five of them. Each gun only had one shot, and none of the hammers were cocked. If the women attacked in unison, caught the widow and the Austrians off guard, they might very well succeed in disarming the vermin.

“Can I at least say farewell to my family?” Without waiting for permission, she moved to embrace her mother and sisters. As she hugged each one, she quickly whispered to them in French. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Clara, giving her a swift command as well.

Dragging the parasol, Adaira made a pretense of moving with exaggerated reluctance toward the door. All the while, she assessed her abductors with covert glances.

Freidrick lingered part-partway in the corridor, nervously shifting from foot-to-foot. Mrs. Winthrop stood with her hands resting atop the settee. The pistol loosely held in one, triumph lit her face. Count von Schnitzer turned to follow Adaira from the room. She caught him ogling her backend.

“
Schnell
,” Freidrick growled again, before poking his head around the doorway. “I think someone
kommt
.”

Panic laced his voice.

Adaira seized the opportunity and screamed, “Now!”

Hell broke loose. Curses and shouts filled the chamber. Mother and Clara flew at the count. Seonaid and Isobel descended on Freidrick. Adaira sprang the parasol open in the widow’s face.

Unprepared for the attack, Mrs. Winthrop stumbled backward, tripping over the rug. She landed hard on her ample arse. Her gun skidded beneath the settee. Adaira popped the parasol shut. Without a hint of hesitation or remorse, she walloped the hefty widow in the face. Bone crunched. The woman shrieked in agony. She clutched her gushing nose while struggling to her feet.

Breathing hard, Adaira pivoted to help her mother and Clara. There was little need. The count held one wrist firmly against his chest, no doubt broken. He sported a broad welt on his face. His gun lay several feet away. Mother kicked it under the armoire, grim satisfaction on her features.

Cursing, he made for the door, plowing into Adaira as he passed her. Sharp pain lanced her side.

Seonaid and Isobel had Freidrick well in hand. Swearing a string of German oaths, he held one hand to the scissors protruding from his shoulder. His other arm, limp and bleeding, dangled at his side. Isobel pointed his gun directly at his heart.

“Addy!”

Hearing the first distant yell, the villains tore from the room, moving amazingly fast considering their injuries.

“Seonaid? Isobel?”

“Giselle, where are ye?”

“Adaira!”

Pounding footsteps reverberated as men thundered up the flight of stairs.

The women fell into each other’s arms. Collapsing onto the floor, unmindful of the pools of blood, they hugged, laughed, and sobbed simultaneously.

Roark was the first to skid into the chamber. Dugall, Yancy, Flynn, Father, Westbrook, Maisey, and a slew of others Adaira didn’t recognize immediately followed.

Holding her ribs, she grinned up at Roark. Her hair plopped onto one shoulder. “Sometimes unladylike behavior is most convenient.”

His ice-blue eyes widened in shock. The color drained from his tanned face.

Adaira dropped her gaze to her throbbing side. She lifted her hand. Scarlet stained her palm. “Will you look at that? I do believe I’ve been stabbed.”