Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue Page 10

  The closeness of her mouth quickened his pulse. He arched his neck, lifting his chin. Moist air struck his lips, and he drew in a ragged breath.

  A crash thundered and Farrah scrambled to push off him. Andrew rose on his elbows at the same time and their heads bumped. Skirts tangled around her legs and she toppled onto his lap.

  The episode would have been romantic if not for the booming shout. “Farrah! Remove thyself from that vagrant this instant!”

  Farrah trembled, and Andrew grew enraged. Gently he held her arms and moved her aside. On his feet, he offered his hand, and assisted her upward. Her cheeks transformed the brightest red and Andrew followed her gaze.

  An elderly gentleman with a balding head, a firm but round gut, and green familiar eyes stared at them.

  “Why do I constantly find you gallivanting around with those beneath your station? Why are you always wrapped in the arms of some stranger? Have we not lost enough from your foolish trifling? Now you want us to lose our own land as well? Your mother would be appalled.”

  Farrah gasped as she stepped around him. “Mother, would only be appalled by you! She was a commoner when you wed or have you forgotten?”

  The man narrowed his eyes and lifted his hand as if to strike. Farrah shrank and Andrew stepped between them.

  “It is noble you choose to defend my daughter’s honor, but you are wasting your time. My daughter’s reputation is tarnished beyond repair.”

  Farrah whimpered and Andrew fisted his hands at his sides as his anger increased.

  Her father ran his hand over his shiny head and continued. “I’ve been informed about the Hagan Brothers. It seems Clovis is more prolific than he let on. Apparently a young woman from the town of his youth delivered him six sons in a five-year span before she succumbed to death. The boys were left in the care of a relative while Clovis left to gallivant.” He sighed. “If only they could have waited! How did they even know Clovis had perished?” He slammed his fist into his opposite palm.

  Farrah moved to Andrew’s side and grabbed his hand. He squeezed to offer reassurance.

  “Father, I believe I have a solution.”

  Hope filled her father’s face.

  “But we mustn’t speak here. Let us away to the garden.”

  Her father cocked a brow and glared at him. “Is he coming?”

  “Yes.”

  Farrah standing up to her overbearing sire on his behalf caused pleasure to soar in his breast and he forgot the reason for his visit.

  ****

  Farrah struggled to stay upright beneath her father’s fierce scowl. The scolding before Lord Ravenlowe had rankled.

  “Lead the way.”

  Her father stayed back and Andrew escorted her from the dining hall. His body was tense as if ready to react at a moment’s notice.

  They exited the double doors. Bright sunlight reflected off the white pebbled path and struck her sensitive eyes.

  “We should have grabbed your bonnet. Let me fetch it for you.” Andrew was gone before she could stop him.

  “Your protector has left.”

  Farrah rounded on her father. “That used to be you.”

  He scrunched his face into a frown. A gentle hand clasped her elbow and she turned into her father’s open arms. He patted her hair as the tears flowed.

  “Your mother wasn’t supposed to leave me. What do I know of young ladies?” Farrah sniffed and he continued. “I admit I’ve been hard on you, but I only wanted you to have the best.” She nodded. “While your friend is gone tell me who he is?”

  She cleared her throat. Hoarse with suppressed emotion, she said, “He is Andrew Ravenlowe, Earl of Ravenwood.”

  “Who?”

  “Andrew is Rowena Ravenlowe’s son.”

  Her father’s laughter began as a snicker and transformed into an assault as he bent and slapped his thighs. “A son! Now I know you jest.” Straightening, he said, “Who is he really?”

  Farrah peered over his shoulder and widened her eyes. Uh-oh.

  “I am as your daughter stated. Why would it be otherwise?”

  At the sound of Andrew’s voice, her father spun and stuttered, “I-I, well, I…” He stopped and tugged his cravat away from his reddening neck.

  Farrah feared their time without prying eyes was limited. They could discuss the validity of Andrew’s parentage later. She locked her arm in theirs and led them farther away from the house.

  “Father you inquired as to my plan. Originally Andrew offered to—” She paused and bit her lip. The plan had been to trick her father into believing he might acquire Ravenwood just long enough for him to relinquish his desire of Flannigan lands, but now that Burrows land was attached to the agreement as well, she realized her plan was ill-formed.

  “Farrah?” asked her father, concern drawing his wrinkled face downward.

  Wishing to stall, she said, “I believe I’ve been remiss. Lord Ravenwood, meet Lord Mountjoy, my father.”

  The gentlemen stepped around her and clasped hands. She searched the garden for a distraction. She needed time to speak with Andrew alone. If she hadn’t been so taken by his charms earlier then she wouldn’t be in this predicament now. Remembering his dark concerned gaze, his gentle touch as he cared for her, and the look he cast her when she hovered above him on the dining room floor, left her breathless.

  Feet stomped the path behind them and Farrah turned in time to see a red faced Garrett moving quickly toward them.

  “My lord, I’ve found you.”

  “Yes you have. What is the matter?”

  “Someone else has arrived.”

  Her father drew his brows together. “Another person who holds claim to the land?”

  “Aye, it would appear so, my lord.”

  “Who is it this time?”

  “Trace McNaught.”

  “The footman?” gasped Winlock.

  “He claims Lucretia is his mother and Clovis his father. Lucretia has offered a piece of paper naming her son as the rightful heir to all of Flannigan lands.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “If he wasn’t dead I’d kill him again!” shouted Winlock. “I think I’ll dig Clovis up and crush his bones. That would make me feel better.”

  All the claim bearers gathered in the library. Due to the added claims, Gaston insisted he hear each situation before returning to London to review the information with an investigator and make a decision. The solicitor sat behind a moderate-sized desk in the center of the room. His hand quivered as he jotted notes. Devlin waited to tell his story. The current added confusion had not been his doing and might cause unforeseen complications.

  Gaston massaged his forehead. “You say you withheld this knowledge because you didn’t want Trace to know of his parentage but when he explained he already knew you decided to expose your secret relationship with Lord Norhaven.”

  “Aye,” said Lucretia, her chin held high with a regal air.

  “And you’ve had this paper for…”

  “Since the day Trace was born. Just look at the date below Clovis’ name. Trace was raised by a family that worked Clovis’ land so people wouldn’t be suspicious and—”

  Gaston lifted his hand and interrupted. “Thank you. I believe I have all I need.”

  “When do I get the land?”

  “I’ll have to examine your document.”

  Lucretia narrowed her eyes and handed over the rolled paper in slow motion. The edges crinkled and broke onto the floor. Devlin fought a smile. Disposing of Lucretia’s proof would be easy. All he needed was one tight fist around it and poof! The evidence disappeared like powder.

  The Hagans went next. The eldest, Cormac, handed over a yellowing document that no doubt proved Clovis was their father. Amazingly, they remained silent and still while Gaston reviewed it.

  “Everything looks in order. I will need to keep this in my possession to review it further.”

  The Irish brothers backed away and Gaston motioned toward Devlin. He declined. “Allo
w Lady Farrah to go next.”

  She sauntered forward casting him a curious glance. Lord Mountjoy and Lord Ravenwood accompanied her. She settled in a seat, her hands folded demurely in her lap, while her father spoke. “Lord Norhaven and I struck a bargain which I don’t prefer aired to everyone here.”

  Gaston cocked a brow. “As they have shared their story before you, I believe it is perfectly right you should do the same.”

  Lord Mountjoy bristled but complied. “I made a bargain with Clovis. In exchange for marrying my daughter I received, umm, a sum of money, and Clovis received rights to my land.” A collective gasp filled the room. Hurriedly, Winlock added, “But if Clovis perished first Farrah was to receive Burrows and Flannigan lands as her inheritance.”

  Devlin lowered his brows. Now he understood the reason for Lord Mountjoy’s persistence. If he gave up Farrah’s inheritance then he lost his own land.

  ****

  Andrew almost groaned aloud. Farrah’s father was an utter fool! What man gives up his property to wed his daughter to someone else? Unless…unless there was a scandal involving Farrah, something that made her less desirable. Or if Lord Mountjoy desperately needed funds. The room swayed and he leaned against the nearest wall.

  The vast dining hall was lonely and quiet. A young beautiful woman entered. His jaw dropped and he clasped the sides of his face. “Brigitta? Is that you? You look positively stunning! And yellow is the perfect color.”

  The vision changed.

  He stood on a platform looking out over a vast crowd. Across from him stood a young woman, gnawing on her lip as if nervous. She looked beautifully pale in the light color. He said, “And just what do you think you’re wearing?”

  The woman bristled. “I’m wearing the yellow today, my lord.”

  “The yellow? Blah. I’ve told you I detest yellow. Get thee upstairs and change this instant.” He pointed his finger above and the lady cocked a brow and glared.

  “You will not tell me what to do! I’m the baroness and I can do as I please. If I want to wear yellow, then I shall wear yellow!”

  “Lord Ravenwood? Lord Ravenwood? Are you all right?” The sound of Farrah’s concerned voice drew his attention and the vision faded. He rested on a hideous maroon sofa. The hard framework protruded and pressed against his back and bum.

  Farrah perched on the edge of the sofa and cradled his hands. Her smooth skin against his caused his heart rate to increase and earlier thoughts of a mysterious young lady disappeared. He smoothed a hair away from her face. “I’m all right. Sorry if I caused a stir.”

  Red hue covered her cheeks. Shuffling noises had him looking up. Devlin Forster resided close by, his eyes narrowed and focused intently on them. Something about his expression seemed familiar.

  Andrew rose to a standing position amid protests. “Mr. Gouge, you should continue with your investigation. I’m certain the players here are more than ready to have the issue resolved.”

  A round of here-here circulated the room. Lord Mountjoy resumed his seat and in hushed tones spoke with Mr. Gouge. The crowded room grew stifling and Andrew weaved around the furniture and bodies toward the open door. In the hallway, he found he wasn’t alone.

  Farrah slipped her hand into his, placed a finger across her lips, and bade him follow. The gentle caress of her silken skin sent feelings like bolts of lightning rocking his body and he remained motionless. Why did this strange woman have such an effect on him? Memories of her body covering his in the dining hall sent fresh tingles coursing through him and he wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger becoming lost in her gaze.

  Jostled from behind, Andrew stumbled and fell against Farrah. When they landed, he had her pinned to the wall.

  “We need to stop meeting like this,” he whispered in a low husky voice, as she laid her hands on his chest.

  Farrah tiptoed and glanced over his shoulder. Fearing someone had seen their mishap he turned, but the hallway was empty. Facing Farrah again he said, “You wanted to talk.”

  She nodded and tugged him forward. He responded, and they glided along the broad hall and out the front door to a round courtyard. The sun had lowered casting shadows on the pebbled path. The driveway led away from the house to a grassy knoll. Overhanging branches created a canopy of shade. Atop the crest, covered in unique stones, the land flattened.

  Farrah held her hand to her heart, no doubt it fluttered as wildly as did his. From their position they could see the entire estate. The rectangular brick manse with no window boxes and no color appeared lackluster in the graying sky. The green shrubs reflected a gloomy cast over the yard.

  Andrew waited for Farrah to speak. A warm flush stole over her cheeks from the hike, and he anticipated words of adoration or love, but instead she said, “I wanted to tell you about my father’s additional folly, but we ran out of time.”

  Andrew fought his feelings of disappointment.

  “As I said, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. If you wish to retire to Ravenwood, I wouldn’t blame you. Fooling my father seems to be the least of my worries.”

  She sat on a smooth stone bench, and slouched. Layers of hair caressed her shoulders. She swung her legs back and forth, kicking the dusty ground.

  Andrew had a connection with Farrah. One he hadn’t felt with another soul since he’d awakened in the prison cell. Whether their initial plan would work or not meant nothing. He couldn’t leave her, he wouldn’t leave her.

  Settled beside her, he cradled her hands in his lap. “Perhaps if we try a different tactic.” She faced him and he continued. “I’m convinced Devlin Foster, Earl of Greywold, is up to no good. There is something about his shifty gaze.” That was way too often directed at Farrah, much to Andrew’s chagrin. He cleared his throat and continued. “It seems he enjoys gambling. Two can play at that game.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Simple. We’ll plan a party and introduce a high stakes game.”

  ****

  Luke wadded the paper and threw it into the flames. It charred and crinkled, melting to nothingness. If only Chadwick’s gambling debts would do the same.

  The tours Brigitta had suggested had finally begun to amount to savings for the estate and they were rising from the mound of debt. But with their success came the money collectors. Apparently his brother had cut a groove across Europe and left a trail of gambling debts that even Roland knew nothing about.

  What made his brother believe gambling was a good way to spend his time? His younger half-brother didn’t appear to be very good at the pastime.

  Luke massaged his temple and peered out the window. Brigitta and Letta strolled through the gardens below. His beautiful wife tilted her head and laughed, the smile lifted his spirits.

  He turned from the window and studied his desk. Envelope in hand he read the fine scrawl. Lady Vonda Badrick. If he closed his eyes he could visualize every word of her letter. The gist was that his brother owed Lady Vonda and her associates a decent sum of coin, and she was ready to collect. Luke had penned a reply, and posted the letter, but didn’t expect a positive response.

  Perhaps the woman’s desire for money would lead to finding his brother. Being scorned was a good motivator.

  ****

  Andrew woke in a cold sweat, the dream fading into oblivion. He moved to the edge of the bed. The fire had died and the room was pitch black. He stumbled to the window drawing back the draperies. Moonlight struck Ravenwood’s front yard and lit on the posted sentries.

  The journey between Flannigan House and Ravenwood yester eve had been wrought with worry. Assuring Farrah he could free her from her plight had done little to help him. What did he know of high stakes games? When Rowena engaged in a game of whist, he was left staring into space like a misplaced child. The rules of the game lost on his feeble, recovering mind.

  Images flashed before him, and he recognized them from his dream.

  Elderly gentlemen had placed cards on a rough wooden table. Anger had invaded his sle
ep as he threw his cards and coin down, and stalked from the smoky room. Someone had called his name, but he ignored them.

  The clock struck the hour. Andrew rubbed his eyes. Moonlight hit the dark wood and the blue colored accents created a pale white glow. He felt his way back to the bed and lay down.

  Under the covers with the pillow plumped beneath him, he wondered what he was really going to do to help Farrah. For certain he knew he wanted to help her. No way would he allow her to fall into the clutches of Devlin Forster. Nor was he happy about her family losing their property to the Hagan brothers or to Trace McNaught.

  Mentioning the high stakes game had seemed like a good idea at the time. If Clovis could lose his land that way, why could Andrew not win it back in the same manner? But what of the others who claimed the land? Should he wait and see if their petitions were considered valid?

  Just in case he had to play the game, he needed to find someone who could teach him how. Scared by the thought, he sprang from bed, skipped across the cold stone floor, donned his dressing gown, and exited the room.

  Candles in the hallway were doused. He bumped his shoulder against the wall and grunted. Massaging the area, he continued, knocking into a table with his exposed toe. Hopping on one leg in a circle, he yelped and swore under his breath.

  Candles winked on around him and he froze.

  “My lord! What are you doing?” Kingsley stood nearby. His stocking cap hung half off his head, and he wore only one slipper.

  Andrew covered his mouth to hold back his laughter, but still it burst forth. He took his hand away and slapped his thigh. The butler drew his lips downward and cocked a brow.

  Clearing his throat, Andrew straightened and tried to appear serious. “I need help.”

  “Hmm.”

  Laughter welled within. Biting his cheek helped. “I need to learn how to play a high stakes gambling game.”

  If possible Kingsley’s brow arched even farther. “My lord?”

  Andrew paced before the butler, ignoring the fading pain in his toe, as he explained. “I know it sounds strange, but I have thought of a way to help Lady Farrah. However, I must know how to play a high stakes game. I care not which one.”