Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (6 page)

Clearing his throat, he said, “These
tunnels will lead us inside the estate.”

He walked a few paces, but when
she didn’t follow, he returned. Lightning filled the air and cast an eerie glow
on Brigitta’s pale features. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and red streaks
covered her face. She gazed at him and his heart skipped a beat.

“What if I do not wish to return?”

He frowned. “Why would you not?”

“I have my reasons.” She turned
her back to him and made to exit.

“What if I go inside to murder
the baron? Would you return to protect him?” asked Luke.

She whirled around, her finger
shaking before his face like a reprimanding governess. “The baron, y-your
brother, keeps me locked in my room like a prisoner. Why should I care what
happens to him?”

“That is a strong accusation.”

“Perhaps, but it is the truth.”

“Why would the baron do such a
thing? He is a kind and considerate man.” The lie tasted bitter on his lips.

“Is this why you go to kill him?”
she asked.

“I didn’t say I was to kill him,
I asked what you would do if I was set on such a course.”

“Now you know. If you will excuse
me.”

The extent of Chadwick’s
duplicity had grown so dire, the woman before him didn’t care whether he lived
or died. Luke and Chadwick had had their differences in the past. They weren’t
close, and they agreed on very little, but they were family.

Brigitta took a step back. A
downpour from the house’s gutter sluiced over her and a crack of lightning
struck the ground. Sparks flew. Startled, Luke rushed forward, wrapped his arms
around her middle, yanked her backward, and swung her out of danger as the
splintered tree slammed to the ground and blocked the exit.

She twisted, and buried her face
in his chest. Sobbing, she said, “I can’t go back there. I just can’t. He never
lets me out. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. I always dress wrong
or fix my hair wrong or say the wrong thing. Livered footmen wait outside my
door and only escort me out for a tour.”

The sobbing increased, and Luke
wrapped his arms around her and patted her back. Heat from their two bodies
consumed him, and he bit his lip to keep from tilting her chin and planting a
kiss on her rosy lips.

Finally, tears spent, she said, “I’m
sorry.” In the darkness she grabbed for his greatcoat lapels, but in missing,
she pinched his chest. He grunted and she said, “Sorry.” She sniffed and added,
“You must promise never to repeat a word of this to anyone.”

“But—”

She didn’t release her painful
grip. “Please, promise me. If the baron believes I speak ill of him…”

The words trailed off. Red hot
anger surged inside him. “Explain.” His tone brooked no argument.

But Brigitta didn’t elaborate.
Instead she sighed and said, “Lead me inside.”

The morose, defeated quality of
her voice caused a tinge in his conscience, but yet he felt along the tunnel
wall and enacted her bidding.

Brigitta bent, felt around, and
grabbed a rock. As her brother-in-law led her through the tunnels she scraped
the rock lightly against the wall, hopefully leaving a mark she could follow
later.

If only she could have escaped
through the window and been given time to find the garden’s exit. She gnawed
her lip. The baron’s brother? Why, when she braved an escape, had she fallen
into the clutches of a relative?

The only way to free herself was
to go along with him for now. Having an intimate knowledge of the estate’s
tunnel system could come in handy later.

“Are we under the west wing?”
asked Brigitta.

“Yes, how did you know?”

She ignored his question. “What
are these tunnels for?”

“They were intended as a means of
escape if the estate was ever under siege.”

“So that is why your father built
the west wing over the castle ruins.” She had meant to say the words in her
head but his gasp filling the air alerted her to her blunder.

“How do you know that?”

Brigitta didn’t respond. Instead
she focused on holding the hem of his greatcoat. Water dribbled from the fabric
as she squeezed. If she lost him in the darkness, she would be lost forever.

She sighed and the tunnel
swallowed the sound. Rumor held the baron’s brother was a bit of a rogue. A
child conceived out of wedlock, wanted by no one, and brought into the world,
only to be disdained. As he’d grown to adulthood he’d taken to gambling.

Was his disgrace the reason he
snuck into the estate through the tunnels? Maybe he didn’t want Chadwick to
know he’d returned. Maybe he was banned from the estate?

To cover the next mark she made,
she asked, “Does the tunnel only have one exit into the estate or are there
more?”

Fortune shined on her and he
spilled what could only be secret knowledge.

“There are actually several entry
points. One is in the library, one in the kitchen, several in various suites,
and one close to the ba—” He interrupted himself and stopped talking.

She hummed and pretended she hadn’t
heard his slip of the tongue. They continued, staggering over broken
cobblestones. She bit her tongue as she stubbed her toe through her thin-toed
slippers. Her damp chemise clung to her frame and heat flushed her cheeks as
she realized her state of undress. Thankfully the darkness covered her and she
forced herself not to think about what might happen when they exited the
tunnel.

She made another mark and he
swiveled, propelling her into his chest. He placed his free hand on her arm.

“Did you hear that?”

Even though he couldn’t see her,
she shook her head.

“My lady?” Concern tinged his
tone.

“Yes?”

“So you did hear the noise?”

“No.”

“But you said—”

“I was merely responding to your
call.”

“So you didn’t hear a noise?”

Innocently, she said, “The
darkness must have affected you for I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Humph,” he said as he turned and
waited for her to grab his greatcoat skirt before continuing. Brigitta held her
breath, afraid to even release a sigh.

Uneven stones continued to bump
her toes. She yelped in pain, and used the opportunity to strike another mark.

“Are you well, my lady?”

“Naught that good shoes wouldn’t
fix.”

“Perhaps the next time you climb
from a window, you will consider sturdier footwear.”

Brigitta fought a smile. “Perhaps.”

He came to a sudden stop and began
tapping the wall. Brigitta cringed as an ominous screech filled the air. Light
filtered into the tunnel through a widening crack.

He disappeared through an
opening. She waited. When she didn’t follow he poked his head back out and
said, “Aren’t you coming?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head
and wrapping her arms around her middle. The warmth filtering into the tunnel
renewed her. She was a brave, intelligent, resilient woman who had just lowered
herself from her bedroom window during a vicious thunderstorm to escape her
imprisonment. If she could do that, then she could stand up to Chadwick’s
brother.

He stared aghast and held out his
hand. “But you must!”

“No!” she whispered harshly.

“But—”

Pointing a trembling finger, she
said, “I have finally escaped the clutches of my unloving husband and I will
not return. Besides, how do you propose I reenter my rooms? Once the footmen
are alerted to my insolence, I will be boiled in pitch and my already roasted
flesh burned.”

****

The secret entrance opened into a
rarely used hallway not far from his own suite of rooms in the east wing. Light
poured through the gallery of windows and filtered into the tunnel. Brigitta
trembled, whether with fear or cold Luke couldn’t decipher. The chemise sagged
against her frame. Her auburn hair dried and sprang upward in a mass of unruly
curls.

The lady refused to move.
Expediency was of the essence. If they didn’t move quickly, they would be
discovered by a passing servant and that would not be good for either of them.

“We can’t stay here,” he
whispered.

“Well, I won’t return to my
rooms.”

“Then what is your plan? Stay
here until the staff discovers you?”

She gnawed on her lip.

Taking a chance, he said, “Very
well, I will place you elsewhere, but until we find a permanent solution, you
must come with me now.”

Clipped footsteps echoed along
the wide hall. Luke grabbed her forearm and whispered, “We must hurry.”

“I tell you I won’t move.”

He squeezed tighter and pulled.
She protested only until she reached the lit hall.

“What have you done? You’ve
doomed us both.”

“Hush, woman, and move.”

She clenched his hand and he led
them to his suite. Once inside, he closed the door and prayed Jarvis wouldn’t
make a request of him. His heart beat rapidly as he leaned against the door.
Brigitta had made her way to the bed and huddled beside it, curled into a tight
ball. She squeezed her eyelids closed and mumbled unintelligible words under
her breath.

The sound of footsteps faded and
Luke breathed a sigh of relief. It was short lived as he glanced at his
companion. Brigitta rocked; wild mutterings flowed from her lips and tears
coursed along her cheeks mingling with her freckles.

He lit candles then retrieved a
basin of cold water that sat on the table, freshened from the morning. He
dipped a rag and wrung it out, then bent to wipe her face and was stunned when
she struck him with her fist.

He rocked backward, crashing
against the wooden floor. She took the opportunity to scramble to her feet and
run. Pushing off the floor, he took off after her.

They met at the door. With her
hand on the knob, he grabbed her and twisted her into his arms, her chest
rising and falling rapidly in the damp chemise.

****

“Why did you do that?” he said
between gritted teeth.

Brigitta struggled, but his arms
tightened around her. “Let me go!”

“I will do no such thing. Now
stop behaving like an insolent child and let me wipe your face.”

Reluctantly, she gave in. She
relaxed her rigid muscles and allowed him to lead her to a seat and use the
cold rag to cleanse her tears. When he finished, he leaned back on his
haunches.

The flickering candlelight lit
his visage and gave him a soft glow. “Does anyone else know you’re here?” she
whispered.

“You shouldn’t worry about that.”

The resemblance to her husband
caused her heart to pound. The same brown hair arranged in the same style; the
same breadth of shoulder and trimness of waist. The main difference lay in the
eyes. This man’s eyes glowed bronze, while her husband’s were almost black.

He pursed his lips. His gaze
lowered and she followed its descent. Her chemise sagged in the front and left
little to the imagination. She jerked it upward and heat flushed her face.

Gruffly, he said, “I think we
should find you some clothing.”

Brigitta muttered, “Perhaps I
should have dressed before lowering myself from my window.”

He laughed and leaned back on his
haunches.

“Perhaps there is a shirt in the
wardrobe that I could wear?” she asked.

He scrunched up his features, his
lips mimicking a frown. He didn’t seem to like the idea of her procuring
clothing from this room. Cold made her teeth clack so hard that her head
jittered.

He knelt before her and she stood
and pushed past him. She walked to the wardrobe, opened the door, and rifled
through the contents.

Grabbing a long white nightshirt,
she climbed inside the wardrobe and pulled the door closed until only a sliver
of light shone through. Quickly, she changed and climbed out. The material
clung to her thighs and she wiggled until it released. It struck the back of
her knees and fell softly against her skin.

She hung her chemise over the
fireplace grate. Still cold, she gathered a quilt from the foot of the bed and
wrapped it around her shivering body.

Cold wafted through the soles of
her scantily clad feet and she resumed her seat on the chair, kicked off the
wet slippers, folded her legs underneath her, and wrapped the quilt around her
legs. Why was he so still? She wished he would snap out of his state of
inactivity and start a fire.

When he didn’t move, Brigitta
stood and circled the room in search of more coverings. The view from the
window caught her eye and she stopped and stared outside. Tall pines towered
for as far as the eye could see. The vastness wasn’t an unwelcome sight.
However, the more she looked at the crowded forest, the more her fear of being
hemmed in increased.

She turned to resume her seat and
ran into him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m freezing.”

“That I can rectify,” he said, a
smile lifting his lips. He moved the fireplace grate aside and stacked logs.

Brigitta turned and stared
longingly out the window. A single tear dropped onto her cheek and she swiped
it away. She imagined the village cottage, empty and cold. Had Jewel even
noticed her absence? Did she even now attempt to break in and take Brigitta’s
few remaining belongings?

Come what may, she was married to
Chadwick. Whether he cast her into her room for all eternity or allowed her to
roam the grounds freely didn’t matter.

The quilt wrapped about her
shoulders and she played with the edges. The man joined her on the sofa, slid
his arm around her, and massaged her shoulder.

“That should warm you up soon
enough.”

She nodded.

“Again, I am sorry I dragged you
inside the estate, but you can’t be out in this weather.”

She studied the quilt’s intricate
stitches.

“Lesser men have died attempting
to cross the creek, and—”

“You were trying to protect me,”
she whispered, staring into his face, consumed with a rush of wonder.

“Yes,” he said, moving his hand
from her shoulder and clasping it into a tight fist on his lap.

The flames rose and Brigitta
focused on them. Warmed by his generosity and feeling, she felt heat rush to
her face. She stared at her own clenched hands, mortified when her belly
growled.

He snickered. “It appears someone
has worked up an appetite.”

“I did miss the afternoon meal.”

He stood and bowed. “Then please
allow me to commandeer you some sustenance.” A grin covered his entire face as
he backed from the room. She lifted her hand to stall him, but it was too late;
the door closed.

Alone and staring at the flames,
fears and doubts assailed her. Who was this man who’d rescued her? True, he
said he was her brother-in-law, and true, he did favor Chadwick. And true, the
relationship would explain how he knew so much about the estate’s secret
tunnels. But rumors had cast him as one with an unsavory reputation. Something
didn’t add up.

Worried, she gnawed at her lip.
Did this suite belong to him? He had seemed fairly comfortable. Her heart
raced. She needed to get out of here before he returned. The kindness he’d
afforded her notwithstanding, he had delivered her back into her prison. Who
knew what plans he had for her? He might at this very moment be telling
Chadwick of her attempted escape.

Without thought to consequences,
she hobbled toward the door. If she could just quit his room and find another,
then perhaps she would have time to devise a plan. The quilt hampered her
progress. Hand on the door’s handle, she twisted the knob only to be thrown
backward when the door thrust open.

She stumbled and landed on the
unforgiving floor, all the while scrambling to hold the quilt in place. She
opened her mouth to chastise herself, only to shut it upon seeing her visitor’s
face.

“My lady?”

“Roland,” she breathed.

“My lady, what are you doing
here?”

“I—I—”

Roland clutched her arm and
pulled her to a standing position. She drew away in disgust and fear, and he
tightened his hold and narrowed his eyes. “Come. We must return you to your
rooms.”

The words sank in and she
protested. “No, I won’t go!”

“You will.”

“I will not.”

Roland moved close and whispered,
“You will do as I say or I will have to tell the baron, and you don’t want that
to happen, do you?”

Fear gnawed at her insides.
Constantly Roland insinuated her future felicity depended on her compliance.
Vision downcast, she jerked her arm free, drew the quilt tighter around her
frame, and wiggled toward the open door.

Roland took the lead. They
approached footmen and he sent them away until she passed. Whether he did this
because of her scant attire, or because he didn’t wish to embarrass Chadwick
with her escape, Brigitta wasn’t sure. The gentlemanly deference he showed
toward her made her want to scream. When they arrived outside her suite, he
dismissed her “guard detail” and ushered her inside.