As soon as was prudent Farrah released Garrett’s hold and moved away. Clovis hadn’t noticed her presence and she was determined to keep it that way.
Backing away from the crowd, and seeking the obscurity of shadows, she encountered a solid object. She twirled and found herself staring at a broad chest. Lifting her gaze, she came face to face with the handsome stranger from the hill.
Thick black hair feathered back from his forehead. Beneath the candlelight his skin glowed like bronzed gold and his dark eyes twinkled. Did he recognize her in the dim light?
“I beg your pardon, miss.”
“It was entirely my fault. I should pay better attention to where I’m going.”
“Perhaps I should pay better attention to where I stand.”
Heat flushed her cheeks as he accepted the blame in a joking manner.
He bowed. “Andrew Ravenlowe, at your service.”
Internally she groaned. He’d revealed his moniker! She mulled it over. The name brought a measure of curiosity and she blurted, “Are you related to Rowena Ravenlowe, Countess of Ravenwood?”
“I am.”
She tapped her finger to her chin. “Interesting. Foolishly, I believed I knew all of her ladyship’s relatives.” She was digging, would he take the hint?
“I’m her son.” Farrah choked. The man, proclaiming an impossible status, patted her back, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she croaked. Throat clear, she said, “You shocked me.”
“How so?”
“Well—” her response was interrupted by Clovis’ outrageous bellowing laughter.
“Lord Norhaven throws quite a party,” said Andrew.
“Hmm.” Should she return to her last thought and question the idea that he was Rowena’s son? Was such a relation even possible?
“Have you met his future bride?”
“Yes,” she replied, avoiding Andrew’s direct gaze and deciding to place her questions of his parentage on hold.
“Mother promised to introduce me, but her peers continue to keep her busy.”
“You’ve missed nothing.” And I should know.
“Indeed? My understanding was the new lady is a character of rare beauty. A little rough around the edges, but like a fine diamond she only needs a good polish.”
Her mouth agape she considered his expression for falsehood, but he appeared completely sober.
“Would you care to dance?”
Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she held her hand out to accept his proposal. “I would love to.”
Curious guests scrutinized them as Andrew led her onto the floor. Farrah tilted her chin upward and ignored the looks. She planned to enjoy her last afternoon of freedom no matter what the cost. Besides after her impending death sentence, what more could they do? Whisper words behind her back? It was almost laughable.
The band struck the chords to a reel. The dance largely kept them at arm’s length, but when they drew together he winked and butterflies filled her stomach.
The song ended and Andrew escorted her to an empty sofa. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I apologize.”
She snagged a drink from a passing tray and sipped, speaking over the rim, she asked, “Whatever for?”
“I did not realize who you were until we strolled onto the dance floor. Now I’ve gone and revealed my identity.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but they were joined by another couple. She pinched his thigh. He grunted and shifted, before heartily bursting out with, “We mustn’t dance another step, I can’t handle it.”
Taking the bait, she replied, “A rousing reel can be quite exhausting.”
“True, but I fear since my accident I tire easily.” She cocked a brow and he patted her hand, the simple touch caused a wave of tingles to rush along her arm and she lost track of what he was saying and the voices of the nearby couple interrupted.
The lady asked, “Have you heard of the recent rash of highwaymen? Why I was afraid to even attend the wedding this evening.”
“As was I, but father insisted. He is always about free food.”
The couple shared a laugh and the lady continued, “I’m serious. They say the highwayman is alone and covered in hair, almost as if he is wearing fur!” The lady held a trembling hand to her heart and her male companion grasped it and brought it to his lips.
“You shouldn’t fear, my lady. I shall protect you.”
The fanciful giggling irritated Farrah’s already frayed nerves. She straightened, and placed her gloved hands in her lap. She was determined to find out more about Andrew. “I’ve very curious about your story.”
He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m afraid it is rather boring and I’m much more interested in you. What has brought you to Lord Norhaven’s wedding celebration?”
“Same as you I expect.” The lie tasted bitter on her lips.
“I understand the Ravenlowes and Flannigans are neighbors and longtime family friends. Mother insists she attends every wedding.”
“I see.” Farrah gulped. A servant with a tray passed and she grabbed a plate filled with melon and nibbled on the edge.
“I feel for the young lass. Spirited, headstrong, and forced to live here. But maybe she will rise to the occasion.”
“Does it matter how she reacts?”
“What do you mean?”
Farrah eyed Andrew in the well-lit ballroom. As the son of the family that claims lifelong family friendship with the Flannigans, she shouldn’t have to explain anything to him. But as a stranger, things were different. She should just share the knowledge, what would happen if he’d heard it all before? Trying not to blurt it out with all the hatred she felt, she said, “Clovis Flannigan kills every woman with whom he mates. The bride has no chance of survival, so why worry about changing or rising to the occasion, as you put it.”
“Because regardless of the future you expect, fate has a way of changing things.”
Chapter Eight
Andrew sipped his sherry and studied the young woman. The halo of bright red hair had caught his attention as soon as she entered the ballroom. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, he didn’t care about her previous decree to remain anonymous. He needed to know her and be known by her.
The wedding guests forced a different line of conversation. Immediately, he noticed her reticence in speaking of the Flannigan wedding and bride. Nature bade him question further. The rosy hue that covered her cheeks caused a warm sensation in his chest.
Mentioning how sometimes things don’t turn out as expected must have thrown the young lady off course, because she’d become sullen. Her expression transformed from one of contentment to devastation. He prepared to ask why she concerned herself so much with the fate of the future Flannigan bride, but bells chimed announcing the wedding hour. The crowd faced the platform as Clovis lifted his beefy arms.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve gathered here tonight to witness yet another of my special unions.” Spectators laughed behind fisted hands and Andrew bent to whisper to his secretive companion only to find her absent.
Clovis continued to pander to the guests, but Andrew was uninterested. He tiptoed and glanced over the dense crowd. Red hair billowed beyond a fleeing figure. Andrew discarded his glass on a passing table as he headed for the hallway. He searched left and right. Peach skirts disappeared around a corner and Andrew turned to follow.
“May I help you?” A broad shouldered liveried footman stepped before him.
Andrew sidestepped to try and edge around him but the footman leaned in a similar fashion, blocking his view and his route. Annoyed, he leaned back and said, “The young lady who ran past, I didn’t get her name.”
The footman crossed his arms over his barrel shaped chest, but made no reply nor any indication of moving aside.
Andrew sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and reentered the main hall. The drapes had been drawn and the moon cast a glow on the floor’s uneven stones
. An archway, covered in a canopy of foxgloves and roses had appeared before the platform. Pleasant aromas filled the air and Andrew found himself anticipating the moment.
Candles were doused. Music echoed throughout the hall. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. At the back of the room poised a veiled individual.
Her gown trembled and Andrew imagined the bride’s knees knocking beneath the silken fabric. Sorrow for the young lady nipped at the edge of his conscience.
The musicians struck an out of tune chord and the bride stepped forward. She moved along the aisle in an almost run, soon residing beside Clovis. Andrew hid his surprise at the action, wondering if the female wished to run to Clovis because she liked him or because she just wanted the ordeal to be over.
Clovis reached for the veil and she slapped his hand away. He narrowed his eyes until the crowd snickered then he winked. “My bride is shy. I’ll just take myself a peek to make sure I’m not marrying me own valet.”
The room erupted into raucous laughter as Clovis lifted the veil a fraction, smiled, and said, “Vicar, you may proceed.”
The bland ceremony lasted only a few moments. There was no singing, no repeating of vows, and no exchange of kisses, just the rote words and the vicar’s proclamation. The service was over and the groom and bride halfway down the aisle before Andrew and the guests reacted.
They clapped in a slow rhythmic motion. The band played a morose tune until a liveried gentleman ascended the stage and bade them stop.
Dismissed, the guests dispersed and enjoyed the delights of a light reception in the dining hall, including the bride’s pie, which seemed odd without the bride. The clock chimed one.
Andrew found his mother surrounded by elderly gentlemen vying for her attention.
“Excuse me, but my son needs me.”
Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but she sent him a silencing look. When out of earshot, Rowena said, “Thank you for the rescue.”
“You’re welcome.”
She guided him to the buffet tables. “Stewed damsons, my favorite.” She smacked her drawn lips and Andrew fought the urge to laugh over her excitement for prunes. “Did you need something, dear?”
“Yes. I wanted to know what to do now.”
“Oh. Now we mingle until Clovis’ valet returns to inform us the seed has once again been shared.”
Andrew blinked rapidly and his throat tightened. He wouldn’t laugh, it wouldn’t be right.
Rowena patted his arm. “A shock, I know. But Clovis is big on tradition.”
She moved away and Andrew found himself seeking the company of the red head in hopes of discussing the night’s developments.
Skirting the edges of the main hall revealed nothing and he expanded his search. Through the parted draperies, he could see moonlight striking a garden path. Leaving the safety and warmth of the dining hall, he edged around visitors until he was outside. Water in a nearby fountain glistened like diamonds. Perched on the stone edge, he palmed his chin. Where had the mystery woman gotten off to?
****
The enormous suite was lit by half-melted candles. A four poster bed, blanketed in a thick dark maroon coverlet, dwarfed the small room.
Farrah had serious doubts about her father’s plan. How had he allowed it to go so far? She had expected him to step in and stop the ceremony, or at least pull her aside before the nuptials and explain. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she hid in the shadows and waited. After the ceremony Clovis disappeared to places unknown and Garrett had escorted her to Clovis’ suite. Lucretia had stood erect and stern holding a flimsy gown in her hand.
“You will put this on.”
“But why? Shouldn’t we be with the wedding party? What about the bride’s pie?”
“You do not need to concern yourself with such things. You will do as you are told.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing. Dressed in the nightgown, her voice trembling, she said, “Where is Clovis?”
Lucretia cocked a brow. “He is currently occupied. You are to prepare and wait for him.”
Farrah’s throat tightened.
A clock chimed in the hallway and she shivered. What she wouldn’t give for a cover from the bed. No way would she risk stepping into the light where she could be seen. She would rather freeze first.
****
Devlin leaned forward in the chair and propped his elbows on the table. It had taken some work but he’d finally convinced Clovis to play a game of Brag without extra players and before the wedding night’s activities commenced.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I have a beautiful young woman waiting for me in the next room.”
“True. But if you win this game then think how much more excited you’ll be.”
Clovis squirmed in his chair. “Deal the cards.”
Swindler’s manual rule number one: The best way to win any game: distract your opponent.
The ante set, the cards dealt, Devlin started talking. “What do you think of your new bride?”
They had opted not to play blind, so Clovis examined his cards, a frown drawing down his brow. “She is young.”
Devlin lifted the corner of his own cards. “Ah, perfect for child bearing.”
Clovis dropped chips on the table representing his bet. “That remains to be seen. I’ve married them young before.”
Devlin counted the prospective coins and swallowed. He would only be able to lose a few hands before he would need to start winning, just in case his plan went south and he was unable to complete his mission on the first night. “So I’ve heard.”
Clovis arched a shaggy brow, but didn’t comment.
Devlin breathed a sigh of relief, stretched out, and crossed his legs at the ankles. Second rule of the swindler’s manual: Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way of the swindle.
“How do you like working here?” asked Clovis as he laid his cards on the table.
“I like it well enough. I appreciate you giving me the chance.”
“Humph. Not like your mother gave me a choice.” Clovis gathered his winnings from the table. Again, they set the ante, dealt the cards, and placed a bet.
Devlin ran his hand over his hair and smiled. “She can be that way.” Good ole Miss Tidewater. She could play any role, even the role of a woman double her age and maternal. His employer had chosen well when picking her.
“I still don’t remember her, but I’ve known lots of women I don’t remember.” Clovis laughed under his breath at his own joke.
Devlin had lost the first game, but won the second which fortunately held a bigger pot. Sweat beaded Clovis’ brow and the room in the air grew foul.
“I think I should go. Enough of my coin sits on the table as it is.” Clovis laid his hands flat on the table to rise and Devlin covered one of them.
“Don’t leave yet. You’re a married man. You’re a lucky man. One more game and you could win it all back.”
Clovis eyed the chips representing his coin. Candlelight struck them, causing them to glow. His throat bobbed up and down with a forceful swallow.
Devlin motioned a footman forward. Drinks appeared by their hands. Clovis downed a full glass and reached for the decanter. After a few more, Clovis was tipsy and his eyes glazed. It didn’t hurt that Devlin had added a special mix to Clovis’ sherry supply.
Two more games of Brag, and Clovis was summoning the deed to his land. The paper crinkled in Devlin’s hand and he tried not to appear overly eager. The game ended and Clovis wiped sweat from his brow and penned his name on the dotted line. The Flannigan land now belonged to Devlin. He rolled up the paper and tucked it in his coat pocket.
“Thank you, Lord Norhaven.”
Devlin left the tipsy Clovis at the table and escaped through a side door. His uninformed cohort sat outside and waited. He dropped a gold coin in his hand and the footman’s eyes rounded. “Take Lord Norhaven to his bride. He deserves it.”
The footman shuffled into the
room and Devlin disappeared into the servants’ hall to pack. Tomorrow he would have his own suite.
****
Clovis entered the marriage chamber through a side door. He huffed a breath and clasped his chest as he hauled his ample figure onto the bed.
“Come from the shadows, my sweet,” he said, his voice slurred.
Farrah bristled at the term of endearment, but stepped forward. Clovis coughed and held out his hand. She held out her own, her throat clenching. The act felt as if she entered a fiery furnace and she imagined she was somewhere else. The field where she had frolicked with Angus came to mind. If she pretended she was with her love then all would pass away.
She swallowed. Flickering light cast a ghostly pallor over Clovis. Before she reached him, he retracted his hand and flattened it against his chest. His eyes widened and he fell backward, his head striking the headboard with a loud whack. She stopped. Fear raced along her spine.
Clovis went still, the coughing and gasping ended. Gathering courage, she hitched her gown and ran to his side. She picked up his shoulders and attempted to shake him, but his massive girth had her only moving his shoulder an inch from the pillow.
She shouted under her breath. “Clovis! Clovis! Answer me!”
His eyes rolled back in his head. His muscles slackened. Leaned over his prone form, no breath struck her face.
Her knees sank into the soft feather mattress as she leaned back and covered her mouth. A moan escaped her throat and she backed off the bed and stumbled to a door leading from the suite.
Opening the door a sliver, Farrah glanced out. The gardens appeared vacant. Widening the crack, she slipped outside. Cold air whisked around her and lifted the hem of her garment. She wrapped her arms around her chest and staggered through the maze of overgrown paths.
Wails, whether real or imaginary, filled the air and Farrah peered over her shoulder even as she ran forward. Gaze averted, she was shocked when she ran into a mass of hard flesh. Hands encased her upper arms and she opened her mouth to scream.
“There you are.”
The familiar voice had her closing her mouth. She stared at Andrew Ravenlowe. She’d enjoyed his banter in the woods and at the pre-wedding festivities and would have talked more had her wedding not been ready to begin.
Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue Page 6