Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (12 page)

The clock chimed and roused her. She’d failed to notice her father and Garrett’s departure. The fire in the room had died and she shivered.

After Clovis’ unexpected demise, she had returned to her own suite. The lavender walls were supposed to offer comfort and serenity but instead she felt distraught and disgruntled. The situation appeared hopeless.

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Perhaps her cousin would be of some assistance. Brigitta had recently married the Baron of Stockport. The details remained a bit of a mystery, but with her new found status Brigitta could be of some assistance.

Then there was Andrew Ravenlowe. Farrah lifted her eyes heavenward. She knew his status was impossible, but what if he could help her. Did she really care how he’d gained the title off Rowena’s son?

She flopped into a chair. Maybe she should cast all these thoughts aside and come up with a different plan. If she could just engage Devlin at his own game she might have a chance of coming out of this unscathed.

Insistent banging rattled the door. Before she could reach it, it was thrust open. Garrett appeared, his body shaking with either rage or fear. “Forgive me, my lady, but your presence has been requested.”

“By whom?” Farrah couldn’t imagine who could strike such fear into her father’s head footman.

As he offered no further explanation, she was forced to follow him into the living area. She fanned wisps of smoke hovering in the air, and when it cleared she was surprised by several men. They stared at her like prized beef at auction. She expected drool to seep from the corner of their collective mouths.

The men spoke all at once and Gaston stepped from the throng. “Gentlemen, please. Everyone will have a chance to speak.”

“You bet we will.” There was a brief pause as one of the men eyed her from head to toe. “If that lass is coming with the land then I stake my claim now.”

“Nay, ye don’t. That lass will belong to me!”

From the haze six men with broad shoulders and thick furry brown hair emerged and accosted one another. Their similar height, build, and features, indicated they were related.

Gaston attempted to silence the unruly herd but his efforts proved futile and he backed up beside her.

“Who are these people?” Farrah asked.

Gaston replied, “They claim they are Clovis’ children.”

The room spun and she held a chair for support.

****

Devlin rejoiced. Rule number four in the swindler’s manual:
Introduce
confusion.

Finding the Hagan boys had been a stroke of genius. The Irish lads were rumored to be Clovis’ illegitimate children from his home village, and a rumor was all he needed to cast doubt.

Farrah gripped a chair, and her face paled. Devlin stepped forward. Before he reached her side, he stopped. An unfamiliar figure emerged from the hallway. He gently stroked Farrah’s forearm. She rotated into his embrace, and her head fell against his chest. He led Farrah from the room, and Devlin hurried to follow, yet every step was thwarted by the Hagans. A full scale brawl between the uncouth youth occurred before him, backing him into a paneled corner.

Gaston slid next to him. “I fear this room isn’t big enough for this many Irishmen.”

“Perhaps they should be escorted outside or to the barn.”

“They do behave like animals.”

Gaston ducked as a vase slammed into the wall overhead. Shards of porcelain struck his hair and shoulders. Devlin jumped aside and knocked a wall scone. Hot wax dribbled and fell onto his new blue greatcoat.

Fury welled in his breast and he bellowed, “Stop this nonsense!”

The roughhousing men paused in mid-fight; a fist held aloft and headed toward a face, a foot dangling above a prone body, men grimaced as hair remained between tugs.

“That’s better. Now release one another. Trace and Lucretia will assist you in finding a room. Once settled you will change for dinner and bring yourself to the dining hall like respectable gentlemen.”

One poked another in the ribs and they all laughed. “Respectable? Did you hear that Cormac, he wants us
respectable
.”

“I didn’t bring my Sunday clothes. What am I supposed to wear?”

“Guess you’ll have to borrow.”

“He ain’t borrowing from me. I dun brought the one outfit. He can go wash his duds in the pig trough.”

“Then he might as well wear what he’s got ’cause that won’t make one bit of difference.”

Devlin palmed his face and groaned. A volley of words flew back and forth across the room. A professional listener couldn’t keep up with who spoke or what was said. How had their mother kept them straight?

Gaston rose from his squatted position. His jaw dropped, apparently sharing in Devlin’s shock. They needed to quit the room and let the rowdy Irishmen fight it out amongst themselves.

Guiding the solicitor, they exited the sweltering room. Devlin used a handkerchief to wipe sweat from his brow.

His mentor would be disturbed by the order of events. Unfortunately the old lord was harder to coax than Devlin had planned on, and it had taken time to get Clovis to the gaming table, which had required him to introduce more elements into his plan than he’d intended and now forced him to contend with Farrah’s claim and the Hagans. Why would the lass not just agree to marry him? Maybe he should suggest sharing Clovis’ possessions and nothing more. Perhaps he should investigate and see if he could find another reason the Burrows lord clung to Farrah’s property claim. They had to know Farrah’s chances were slim. Her marriage to Clovis had lasted less than an hour’s time.

He dabbed the cloth to his forehead. The rambling from the other room continued. The wall shook behind him. No doubt one of the behemoths had struck it whether by accident or through wrestling.

He tapped his finger to his chin. His mentor had told him when one’s claim was investigated always make sure to add confusion. The more people brought in who have a legitimate right, the better. Eventually those people would give up and the swindler would be the only one standing for two reasons. One, the solicitor would tire of investigating, and the swindler would already be his friend. And two, because the other people with claims would not be able to leave their homes for as long as the one enacting the swindle.

Devlin returned the cloth to his trouser pocket. The racket from the other room had settled and the six brothers sauntered into the hallway. Lucretia and Trace led them away. Devlin waited until the area cleared. He should find Farrah. He had questions that needed answering and she was the only one who could help him.

****

Andrew had drawn Farrah from the room and escorted her to the dining hall. The room was empty and he summoned a maid to fetch a drink. Farrah sipped at the glass of sherry. Andrew eyed her curiously until her color returned.

“Thank you,” she said in a whispered tone.

She cradled the glass and he eyed her long slender fingers as they drummed the side. She chewed her lip and drew her brows together as if in fierce concentration. The desire to wipe away her concerns assailed him. He’d come as they had planned. Today he would express his interest in Farrah and fight Lord Greywold in a manner Devlin would expect, but walking into the throng of people and the ensuing chaos in the library had thrown him for a loop and he wasn’t sure what route to take.

He knelt before her, removed the glass from her hands, and engulfed them with his own. The smooth feel of her skin set his pulse racing. His throat felt dry in light of her handsomeness and he moved his gaze above her shoulder and away from her angelic visage.

She whispered, her eyes darting erratically. “Be careful what you say. I’m convinced our conversation is not our own.”

He nodded. “I came as we agreed, but when I arrived the madness from the library was deafening. I had to check on you.”

Her face flushed, and she placed a stray hair behind her ear. The action set his heart afire.

“I’m well, but I fear your offered assistance is definitely in order.”

He bowed his head. “I live to serve.”

She gasped, and allowed her jaw to hang loose. He patted her clasped hands. “Perhaps we should take a stroll outdoors.”

Before he could back away, she stood, fell forward, and knocked him from his haunches onto his backside. The force sent him sprawling across a plush rug with Farrah atop him. Her reddish hair cascaded around them. A smile teased her lips.

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.