by Erica Taylor
“You dance like an angel fallen from the Heavens,” Luke proclaimed dramatically as he led her away from the dance floor.
Clara frowned. “I dance like Satan?”
Luke’s eyes darted to hers, his mouth forming into a grin as he saw she was smirking at him. “Oh, well done, Clara. If Andrew does not keep you in the end, then I will.”
Couples were already taking their places for the third set, a set of waltzes, which were to begin next. Clara scanned the crowd, her eyes searching for the tall, handsome duke she desperately wished she could call her own, in more than just name.
Catching a glimpse of a lanky, dark-haired man, her breath caught in her throat, but as he turned she saw it was not her brother. She felt her palms start to perspire, her brother’s hateful face swam before her eyes, and she swallowed down the rush of panic.
Jonathan is not here, she told herself. In London, yes, but not here in this ballroom.
Sensing her discomfort, Luke bent his head to hers. “I say, are you well?”
Clara nodded, glancing around the room again, fighting down the panic and fear rushing over her. Like the night of the Macalister Birthday Ball, the crowd swam before her eyes and parted just the right way, just as Andrew walked into the room. The sight of him sent a surge of relief down her spine.
“Quick, Luke, waltz me to that side of the room,” Clara said tapping her hand quickly against his arm. Luke glanced beyond her, realizing the reason for her request and complied, sweeping her into his arms just moments after the dance had begun. It took only two rotations for them to move to the other side of the dance floor and Luke stepped out just as Andrew stepped in, and no one was the wiser. The two brothers even managed to not knock over a garden shrub.
Holding Clara in his arms, Andrew felt a jolt of excitement. His overwhelming concern for her safety, his worries over her brother and his despicable motives, all of it paled to having his hands about her waist, seeing the brightness in her warm brown eyes.
She smiled up at him, incapable of masking her enthusiasm. “Hello.”
“Hello,” he said returning her exuberant smile, unable to hide his own delight. “I hope you’ve had an enjoyable evening?”
“Oh yes,” she replied. “I was not left alone for even a moment. Your brother and Lord Barrington were as attentive as a pack of wolves circling their prey.”
“I may have overreacted a little,” Andrew admitted with a shrug. “But until I knew the exact nature of the situation, I wanted to make sure nothing could happen to you.”
“And the situation?” she asked. “Has it been adequately taken care of?”
“No,” Andrew replied. “But we have done all we can.”
“I take it you still don’t know where Jonathan is?”
Reluctantly, Andrew shook his head. “I’m sorry, Clara. We know he has returned to London, but he is being smart about his whereabouts. He seems to realize we have found him out and isn’t taking any chances.”
“Found him out?” Clara asked, her brows pinching in confusion.
“He has been behind some rather despicable plots,” Andrew replied. “I don’t want to say any more just now, Clara, but we will talk later. Just know you are safe.”
Clara scoffed as the waltz ended, stepping away from Andrew and his comforting arms to curtsy. He bowed but did not break their eye contact.
“You seem to doubt my ability to keep you safe,” Andrew said as the second waltz began.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Clara replied. “You entrusted me to your brother who cannot take anything seriously, Lord Barrington who seems even less capable, and Lord Bexley who is a ridiculous mixture of the two. And let’s not even mention your cousin!”
“Don’t underestimate them, Clara,” Andrew replied. “These men would give their lives for me, and, by proxy, you.”
“That is what I don’t understand,” Clara continued. “I appreciate your hospitality and your kindness, your grace, but you don’t owe me anything further than that.”
“As your fiancé, I do owe you just that,” he stated.
“And is that all?” she asked. “Is there to be no more between us than simply your desire to protect me from Jonathan?”
Andrew opened his mouth to speak, though he had no idea what he intended to say. His thoughts and emotions were a jumble of confusion when it came to Lady Clara. He wanted her in his life—he did not want to be without her. But she had only reentered his life scarcely two weeks earlier. How could he be certain of his feelings, of himself, in just under a fortnight?
He clamped his mouth shut and felt himself mentally pulling away from her. He saw how her expression changed as she watched his walls go up, the warmth draining from his face. She nodded and looked down.
“I did not think so,” she said softly. “I am appreciative of your efforts, and I am grateful for your concern.”
“I am your humble servant, Lady Clara,” Andrew heard himself say and he hated himself for the distance in his voice. He did not even understand his attachment to Lady Clara. Maybe his friends were right; maybe he was in love with her. But you cannot fall in love with someone in two weeks, can you? Besides, would it be so horrible to be in love with the woman who was to be your wife?
As he twirled her around at the end of the waltz, Andrew caught the sight of Luke and Redley’s heads bent together, Redley’s intelligent eyes darting around as Luke spoke to him. Luke had spent one year as a Royal Marine but decided officer and military life was not for him and sold his commission after only thirteen months. Sometimes it seemed there was more to his jovial younger brother than met the eye, but he never had the heart to ask him of it. Luke would tell him in his own time. But now, it seemed, his brother’s unnatural observation and detection skills were proving to be handy. Andrew went through the proper motions of bowing to Clara as she curtsied, all the time watching Luke and Redley’s reactions as Bexley came hurrying towards the dance floor, as well as someone can hurry in a crowded ballroom. Bexley said something, pointed towards the other end of the room and Andrew turned to see the back of Connolly hurrying through the balcony doors in pursuit of someone unseen.
“We need to go,” Andrew said, gripping Clara’s hand and pulling her off the dance floor, hoping no one would notice their hasty exit.
“What has happened?” Andrew quietly demanded as they came to where Luke stood with Redley and Norah.
“We need to get Clara out of here,” Luke replied as Bexley came up with Susanna, having just pulled her from her dance partner. Andrew looked at Clara’s lovely face and saw the color drain from her as she understood Luke’s comment correctly.
“Bexley, you remain here with Sarah, Susanna, and Norah,” Andrew instructed, glancing at his red headed friend. Bexley nodded. “Redley, fetch the carriage, please.”
“I’m coming with Clara,” Susanna said to her brother as their cousin hurried away. “It would be inappropriate for Clara to leave with three gentlemen. If I come it makes the exit much more reputable. Isn’t that what we are going for?”
Andrew did not want to endanger or involve Susanna, but her reasoning was sound. He nodded to her in agreement before turning back to Bexley. “I’ll send the carriage back for you as soon as we are safely home.”
Silently and as politely and properly as they could manage, their group of four moved through the ballroom towards the front doors and outside where Redley stood, the door to the awaiting carriage open. Andrew handed Susanna and Clara into the carriage, glancing at Redley who nodded. Andrew was grateful for his brother and cousin’s watchful eyes and quick thinking. He was not sure what Jonathan Masson would do, but he was not about to jeopardize Clara or the safety and wellbeing of his sisters, to wait and find out. Susanna and Clara were safely inside the carriage, and Andrew set his foot on the step to hoist himself inside.
Three quick shots rang out
like blasting cannons in the front entry of Caraway House. Andrew turned and saw a man raise his pistol and fire a fourth shot, aimed directly at him.
Chapter Twelve
Clara ducked as the fourth shot rang out, splintering the wood of the carriage wall, sending shards and splinters into the carriage. She was barely aware of the slumped form struggling to get inside the carriage as it pulled away from Caraway House.
“Andrew!” Clara cried and she and Susanna yanked on his jacket, hauling him into the carriage. He sat back against the seat opposite them and stared at the girls in shock.
“Are you injured?” Clara asked. Susanna was visibly shaking, and tears were starting to run down her cheeks. Clara set her hands over Susanna’s and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“I am unharmed,” Andrew answered, his eyes not leaving Clara’s face. “Are you—”
“We are not hurt,” Clara said, glancing at Susanna’s tear streaked face and then back at Andrew, giving him a confident nod. Clara felt shaken, to say the least, but Susanna looked likely to be overcome with panic.
The highway robbery, Clara remembered, and her new-found-friend’s reactions made sense.
“What happened?” Clara asked as clearly as she could, impressing herself with the evenness of her voice.
Andrew ran his hand through his hair, a mannerism she had come to cherish. It indicated her Andrew was present and not the Stone Duke. “I heard the first three shots and turned to see where they had come from. There was a man standing directly behind me with his pistol pointed at me. It was Luke, or Redley maybe, who tackled the bloke just as he fired his fourth shot. It went wide and hit the carriage. The sound must have startled the horses because they took off and my foot was still entwined in the footstep. I leapt into the carriage as it jumped into motion. For a second, I thought I was going to go under. It was quick thinking for you to pull me in.”
They sat in silence for the quick trip back to Bradstone House.
Luke was there to help them out of the carriage as they arrived, having ridden ahead on horseback. Andrew descended before Clara and lifted her out of the carriage. She did not protest; the warmth of his hands eased the anxiety and dread she had been experiencing all evening long.
“I promised we’d talk, Clara,” Andrew whispered to her as they stepped into the house. “But I need to check in with Luke and see what he knows.” He steered her into the blue drawing room. “Wait for me in here, please?”
Clara nodded and agreed, sitting hesitantly on a high-backed chair, her back straight in agitation as she fought back tears and exhaustion.
Andrew spoke with Luke in hushed whispers just outside the open drawing room door. Susanna came in, bussing her cheek with a tight smile before escaping to her room. Redley entered the foyer moments later and handed a parchment to Andrew before disappearing to the depths of the house. Clara could not make out anything that had been said, though she was certain it all had to do with her and the danger she was creating for them all by remaining under their roof.
Andrew reentered the room, took her hand, and pulled her along with him towards the back of the house and into his study. Turning towards her, pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Clara relaxed in the warmth of his embrace, eager for his warmth and comfort.
“I am so relieved you were not injured,” Andrew said, his face pressed tightly into her hair.
“I feared for you too,” Clara admitted. “Especially when you were slumped in the carriage fighting to get inside.”
“It would seem you saved me this time,” Andrew said and set her away from him. Stepping to the sideboard, he poured himself a drink, downing the contents before pouring two more and offering her one. Normally she wouldn’t have accepted, but it had been an exceptionally trying evening. “I am thankful for Redley’s quick thinking. Luke said it was my cousin who knocked the shooter out of the way, or else Bennett may be the duke now.”
Clara took a sip of her drink and it burned her mouth. “That is not funny.”
“No,” Andrew said, looking into his cup, as if all the answers he sought might be mixed in with the liquor. “It is really not funny at all.”
“Who was the shooter?” Clara asked.
“I know it was not your brother,” Andrew replied. “I did not recognize him. Redley is handling things with Halcourt, and they’ve taken him into their custody.”
Clara nodded, but she could not contain herself any longer. “You said you had information on my brother. Am I to believe that Jonathan’s evil plots and this shooter are connected?”
Andrew took another swig of his drink and did not meet her eye. He set his glass onto the mantle and ran his hand though his hair. “This has all become a much bigger mess than before,” he said absently, not looking at her.
“Please tell me what is happening,” Clara asked him, her voice soft.
“Tell me about the night your sister ran away.”
That caught her off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I think it is the beginning of everything,” Andrew replied. “Please, just tell me.”
Clara huffed, not sure where he was going with this line of inquiry but willing to comply. “Christina said good night to me. She hugged me tight and told me she loved me. It seemed innocent at the time, maybe a little extreme. We were sisters, twins, but we were never overly close. Father made sure of that. Christina and I were physically identical, but somehow Christina was the chosen one in Father’s eyes; he thought there was something special about her. At first we thought it was silly, we used to joke about it. As we got older, Christina had more dresses, and she had her hair styled in the current fashion. I was an afterthought. We were identical, same blonde hair, exact same color eyes, complexion, height, everything, but somehow next to her, I started to look painfully plain.”
With a deep sigh, she sank into the chair below her. “It bothered me a little,” she continued, not looking at Andrew. “Really, I thought it silly. I never loved shopping or gossiping as much as she did. She thrived in society; she was born to be a glamorous society host, I was merely along for the ride. That is why she and Father accepted your suit so quickly. You were exactly what they wanted, young and rich, and you had an incredibly prominent title. She gushed over your wealth and your looks and how lucky she was. I loved Christina, but I will be the first to denounce her for being shallow and vain.” Clara paused again, watching the flames in the grate, flicking and dancing into the darkness. “The night before your wedding, she came into my room and hugged me tight. She said she was only acting to keep me safe and happy. I asked her if she was happy, and she smiled and said she would be very happy very soon.”
Clara took another sip of her drink and looked up to Andrew, watching her intently. “The next morning I went in to wake her. She had slept awfully late, especially for her wedding day. But Christina was not in bed, she was not in her rooms. We searched the house; she was nowhere to be found. Father sent me ahead to the church to make sure no one noticed she was missing. I told everyone who asked that she was on her way, that it was only wedding nerves. An hour past when the ceremony was to begin, Father arrived with the letter I gave you. First he asked me to be her, to put on her dress and do my hair up, he told me I could marry you and be Christina, and no one would ever know. There would be no scandal; there would be no crying off. But I refused, and he was so heartbroken over her departure that he did not argue with me. So I walked up the aisle and handed you the letter she left for you.”
“You did not read it?” Andrew asked.
Clara shook her head. “Father did, and he told me later what it said.”
“I barely had a chance to talk to you,” Andrew said. “Afterwards, I mean. I read through her words about how she could not be trapped with me, that I was cold and uncaring and I would never know how to love. She said she found her true companion in h
er father’s footman and she was eloping with him. I read through the letter twice; the second time was so I could think about what I wanted to do.” He claimed the chair opposite her, his face tight with unshed emotion. “In truth that only hindsight can reveal, I was relieved. I did not want to go after her, but I did because I had to keep up appearances. I had to maintain a respectable image, make sure nothing tarnished the Bradstone name.” He scoffed and drained the rest of his glass. “I drove all the way to Gretna Green, hearing only whispers of them as I went. They had a six hour start on me and were long gone by the time I got there. I took my time coming home, thinking about what a narrow escape I had just had. However, she was right about one thing. I was cold, and I was uncaring. And that only intensified once she left.”
He stood abruptly from the chair, setting his glass on the table and crossed to the fire, facing the flames in the hearth, bracing an arm against the mantle, a curl of dark hair falling across his brooding brow.
“Andrew, she was wrong,” Clara said as she rose out of the chair, closing the distance between them to stand beside him. “She never tried to get to know you. All she wanted from you was your fortune, your title, and the position in society it would give her.”
“She was right, though,” Andrew replied and turned his head to look at her, his face pained. “You know I never even kissed her? She was my fiancée, and I never kissed anything except for her hand.”
“Really?” Clara asked, her brows rising in surprise. “She told me you had kissed her, numerous times.”
Andrew laughed. “I barely touched her. Thinking back on it, I’m not sure if it was the rules of propriety that held me back or if I just did not want to.”
“I think maybe you did not want to,” Clara answered. “I mean, you’ve kissed me.”
He smiled at her. “And you let me. Why?”
Clara shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it might be exciting.”