Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (13 page)

“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.”

“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. “Allow 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 sleep 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.”

“But, my lord, I don’t understand—”

“Then it is fortunate for you that you are not required to understand.”

“Humph.”

Andrew ignored Kingsley’s bristled feathers. “Now can you help me or will I have to step into a detestable gambling establishment and let one of those less than desirable characters assist in my plight?”

“Heaven forbid, my lord.” Kingsley twitched his lips in a half smile.

Pleased, Andrew said, “Good. We can start now.”

“Now, my lord? But it is the middle of the night.”

“Yes, it is, and since beauty sleep will do neither of us any good, we might as well get started on my education.”

Kingsley rolled his eyes, while saying, “Allow me to retrieve my other slipper and wake a footman to light the fire in the drawing room. I guess we will retire there for our lesson.”

Satisfied, Andrew fairly skipped along the hallway. The situation appeared to be improving.

The situation was not improving. Farrah rapidly penned another missive to her cousin in the south. Posted, she hid it on the table in the foyer with the others. One of Flannigan’s many footmen would take it to Rochdale shortly.

Farrah hid in the doorway of the library and waited. Bennington called softly, and a footman that Farrah had yet to meet rushed forward and procured the stack of letters. No words were spoken as the young man hurried out into the cold afternoon.

With the letter sent requesting Brigitta’s assistance there was little more Farrah could do but wait. The house was filled to capacity with those seeking to own it. Andrew Ravenlowe was determined to settle the matter in a game of risk. And she was stuck in the middle not sure whether to run and hide or wait out the decision.