Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5

by Ayers, Kathleen

  Outside of dinner every evening, and one brief turn around the gardens where they spoke of nothing but the types of flowers blooming, Simon avoided her. He cited a variety of reasons for not being available—business at the mines, an errand in Castleton, the very important bill he was drafting. But this morning, he’d finally sought her out. Petra had been seated in the drawing room with a book on her lap when Simon had suggested a ride, explaining he’d been remiss in his attentions. Petra had been more than happy to comply and escape the company of the rest of Brushbriar’s occupants. She had left the drawing room before Mother could pepper her with questions or admonishments.

  “Petra! Slow down!” Simon yelled as his horse, a gelding with a coat like mahogany, came up alongside her mount. Deep grooves of disapproval bracketed his mouth. “A more sedate pace would be preferable.”

  Joy at riding with the wind in her hair quickly faded at his tone. Simon was spoiling her first bit of freedom in days. Dutifully, she slowed, pulling back gently on the reins. She sensed again his unyielding nature, though she’d not been so averse to his manner in London.

  Of course not. I was too busy enjoying the thrill of being courted by the brilliant Lord Simon Pendleton and congratulating myself I’d gotten rid of Dunning.

  “Preferable to whom?” Petra snapped a bit more sharply than intended as she walked her horse back toward him. “Certainly not myself, my lord.”

  Only the slight flare of the nostrils of Simon’s perfect patrician nose warned Petra he hadn’t cared for her retort. “I specifically instructed the groom to saddle a gentle horse for your use.”

  “The horse you chose for me was better suited to someone like my mother, should she care to ride, and not myself. I prefer a bit more spirit. I overruled you.” She fluttered her lashes in a fetching manner, professing a contriteness she didn’t feel in the least.

  Pretending. I’m always pretending.

  “You shall not do so again,” he uttered, lips tight and hard. “I have a duty to ensure your safety. Decisions I make for you have your best interests at heart.”

  Petra lowered her eyes and looked out at the vastness of the moors. Simon had a very clearly defined set of rules for every aspect of his life. Breakfast at exactly the same time every day. Always bacon, tea and one piece of toast with fresh butter. The meal was followed by a walk with his two spaniels for approximately thirty minutes, after which Simon then went to his study to work.

  When Petra had first visited the Brushbriar library, she had found that Simon had kindly selected several tomes for her, none of which she cared to read for they were all poetry. Certainly no lurid gothic novels, like the Lord Thurston book tucked safely away upstairs. She dared not read Lord Thurston outside the safety of her room, for her mother would confiscate the book in an instant.

  When Petra had returned to the library the following day, she had ignored Simon’s selected reading pile and snuck out with a tome on the study of fossils tucked discreetly under her arm. It was a mild act of defiance.

  “You could have injured yourself.” Simon was glaring at her.

  Petra looked up, ready to refute him, but saw he was truly concerned. Instantly contrite, she took a deep conflicted breath. “Simon,” she began gently, “I have ridden almost from the moment I could walk. While we’ve never gone riding together in London, I did so often before I met you. I’m an excellent rider. You have nothing to fear.”

  “What would I tell your mother if you fell from your horse? You can be terribly headstrong sometimes. From now on, we ride at the pace I set.”

  Irritation flashed. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

  “You don’t know the terrain.” His lips grew tighter. “And I expect a bit more decorum from my wife. Racing about in such a way will be frowned upon. Your behavior is a reflection on me. Pray remember such.”

  The comment stung though she wasn’t sure how galloping across the moors could possibly injure Simon’s political aspirations in any way. She wished to tell him she’d not officially accepted his offer but decided this was not the time. Petra was on a mission to ensure their suitability, not argue.

  Simon took off his hat, slapping the felt against his thigh. The tense set of his shoulders relaxed. “I don’t wish any harm to befall you, Petra. I don’t wish to appear so —”

  Obstinate? Controlling?

  “—insistent on such things,” he finished.

  “Of course, my lord.” Petra acquiesced. “I apologize if I caused you any undue worry.” God, she sounded so…simpering. The tree-climbing portion of her personality rebelled instantly.

  “Shall we walk for a bit?” An assured smile crossed his lips.

  “I would like that.”

  Simon dismounted and came around to assist her. Regardless of his rigid nature, Petra had to admit Simon cut an impressive figure. The dark blue of his coat paired with light tan riding breeches tucked into polished black boots set off his athletic build and gave him an air of command. The breeze ruffled his hair and his cheeks were reddened from the slight chill in the early morning air. Who could blame Petra for swooning a bit when he decided to court her? Or for overlooking certain flaws in his character?

  A pair of sapphire blue eyes and an unruly mop of black hair invaded her thoughts.

  “Stop it,” she whispered under her breath.

  Simon looked up at her in question, and Petra shook her head. “The horse was twitching.”

  He helped her down, his hands firm about her waist and lingering not one moment longer than necessary. Intentionally she allowed herself to brush against him hoping for some type of reaction.

  Simon stepped back immediately with a murmured apology.

  Petra was only mildly surprised. Looking back, she realized Simon had never touched her with anything remotely resembling passion. Not so much as an improper touch of his hand.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Petra tried to imitate Katherine’s seductive drawl. Moving closer, she allowed her skirts to wind around his legs in a deliberate manner.

  Simon didn’t move away, but neither did he give any indication of interest in her actions. There was no flicker of desire in his eyes, nor did his body coil around hers as Morwick’s had. If Simon possessed any passion at all for her, it was buried so deep she couldn’t see it.

  Because it doesn’t exist. I’ve mistaken his lack of desire for me as respect.

  To be fair, she felt nothing either. No tingling of awareness or hint of a racing pulse. The breathless intoxication that was ever present with Morwick was sadly lacking when she interacted with Simon.

  Petra turned and looked out across the vastness of the moors, watching the rows of heather wave back and forth in the breeze. The air smelled clean with just a hint of earthy undertone and the faint scent of pine. She inhaled deeply as she took in the glory of White Peak laid out before her and thought of Morwick.

  Simon’s property, situated as it was in the region of the White Peak, was actually closer to the lower moors and blocks of limestone which made up this part of the district. The moors gave way to gently rolling pastures and farms. She could see a dozen or so sheep from where she stood, looking like tiny swatches of cotton moving about a pasture. A cottage stood nearby with a roll of smoke curling out of the chimney. She wondered at the inhabitants of the cottage. A young man and his wife? Perhaps children?

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Petra said, meaning every word as she glanced at the cottage, her heart full of longing for something she couldn’t quite put a name to. The scene before her was so peaceful and…real. There was no artifice in the sheep below, nor in the carefully tended garden behind the back of the cottage. “You must find it difficult to return to London after a visit here. The city must feel stifling.”

  “Not at all.” Simon was looking down at the cottage, a mild look of contempt on his face. “This is only a tiny slice of the world. My tenants have been content to farm the same land as their father’s for a century and will likely continue to do so f
or another hundred years. This is my home, of course, but I’ve never been so enamored of the area as some people I know.”

  “You’re speaking of Lord Morwick,” Petra guessed, then added quickly, “Your sister. She told me the three of you grew up together roaming the moors, along with Baron Kelso.”

  A breeze blew Simon’s hair against his temples, momentarily obscuring the frown wrinkling his brow. “We did, though Morwick possessed a wildness I did not aspire to. After a time I found his rebellious nature tiring. Kelso is a bit more of a gentleman, I grant you, but he is no less wild. At least Kelso wasn’t running out to dance with the Gypsies who camped in the moors.”

  So Morwick had run with Gypsies. Petra thought of the ridiculous rumor that he’d actually been fathered by a Gypsy, recalling the story Lady Pendleton related to Mother their first night at Brushbriar. She’d no doubt the source of those rumors.

  “Morwick and Katherine were always together; as they became older, their relationship bordered on impropriety. Once, I had to retrieve my sister from the Gypsy camp where Morwick had taken her.” He turned to Petra, a hard look on his face. “They were dancing before the fire. My sister looked like a common harlot. Because of Morwick. Thankfully, Whitfield appeared a few months later and whisked Katherine off to London before my sister could create any more scandal.”

  No wonder Simon disliked Morwick. Simon, with all of his fear of scandal and upstanding morals, had been worried his sister would be dishonored. Petra inhaled sharply, ignoring the slight pinch in her chest at thinking of the voluptuous Katherine, arms entwined around Morwick’s neck as they danced in the firelight of the gypsy camp.

  “While at Oxford,” Simon continued, not noticing her silence, “I rarely came home. I preferred to spend my free time either in London or as a guest at some of my friends’ estates. Once I was finished with school, the first thing I did was leave Brushbriar and open up our house in town. When my father passed away and I took his seat, I found my calling. The moment I walked into Parliament for the first time I felt…” Simon looked out over the moors.

  She’d wanted passion from Simon; unfortunately, the deep longing and desire on his face wasn’t for her, but for Parliament. “I hadn’t realized you and Lord Morwick attended Oxford at the same time.” Petra liked the way the long grass brushed her skirts as she walked.

  “Yes, until he was expelled for brawling.” Simon’s lips ticked up. “Unfortunate.”

  Smug. Petra wondered if Morwick’s expulsion from Oxford had had anything to do with Simon and thought it probably had.

  “I hired an excellent manager.” Simon snapped his crop against his leg as they walked. “He runs the mines with no trouble. I’ve spent little time here since, other than to visit my mother who rarely comes to London. I’ve a highly competent secretary and a solicitor who look after the affairs of Brushbriar and my other estates with precision. I studied law at Oxford for a few years, before my father died and I’ve found it an excellent basis for my work in Parliament.”

  It was hard to argue with a man’s purpose. “Your political career means everything to you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a solemn look. “It’s of the utmost importance. I daresay it will be the most important thing I can do with my life. The reforms I’m trying to enact will impact the lives of thousands of people. The bill I’m currently in the process of drafting has to do with the way in which financial institutions deal with the lower classes.” He waved his hand. “It’s complicated to say the least and the concepts difficult to grasp.”

  Petra kept her features calm and placid, like the sheep in the pasture below. It would be futile to acknowledge Simon’s insult to her intelligence, for he didn’t see it as such. Any woman, in Simon’s world, wouldn’t be considered capable of understanding such difficult concepts. It wasn’t personal nor especially directed at her. It stung all the same.

  “As my wife, you’ll be expected to preside over political gatherings and dinners. I’ll expect you to stay informed on current events, though you’ll rarely need to speak on them.” He gave her a reassuring nod.

  “What a relief.” The breeze blew through her hair, and more of the pins pulled loose, falling to the ground. She didn’t bend to pick them up. Simon’s opinions were not unusual; most gentleman considered women less intelligent than themselves.

  “Never fear, Petra; I will walk you through exactly what you must say and to whom,” Simon reassured her. “I will even write it down if need be and we’ll go over the finer points together. You need not fear embarrassment.”

  “Perish the thought. How considerate of you.” Simon thought her incapable of grasping the simplest of concepts yet it was Morwick who she’d been angered at for calling her a pea-wit. How ironic.

  “You’ll be a splendid politician’s wife and an amazing viscountess.” Simon went on, unaware of how incredibly offensive he was. “We shall set London on their ear, won’t we?”

  “Of course.” Petra breathed in the desolation of the moors, wishing she need never return to Brushbriar.

  “Goodness, the wind has picked up.” A scowl darkened his face as he took in the strands of her hair spilling in disarray down the length of her back. “It seems you’ve lost some pins as well as your hat.”

  Good God. The small birds hovering about them might be affronted by the loosening of her hair. They might report such a terrible impropriety to Lady Pendleton.

  “Shall we go back, my dear? Almost time for tea.”

  Simon would never be late for tea, after which he would walk with his spaniels again and probably speak to the dogs with much more affection than he did Petra. A great deal had been overlooked in her desire to avoid disappointing her parents.

  “And I expect you’ll want to refresh yourself. You may want to,” he waved imperiously toward her head, “do something. I should not wish such a display to be mistaken for something else other than the results of too much wind.”

  Of course not. Petra gave one last glance at the valley below. The sheep were still grazing, and smoke still puffed up from the chimney’s cottage, the inhabitants of which were probably blissfully happy and unaware of how Petra envied them.

  “Yes, my lord.” She twisted her hair into a bun at the base of her neck with the remaining pins. “I should hate to miss tea.”

  13

  The guests for Lady Pendleton’s house party had begun to arrive.

  All of Brushbriar hummed with the footsteps of servants as they hurried to their duties. Each room was to have at least one vase of fresh flowers. Every bit of Blue John must be polished to a brilliant gleam. Intoxicating smells came from the kitchen as Cook prepared countless tarts, biscuits and other pastries with which to tempt the guests. The windows to the ballroom had been thrown open to air out the space, little used for many years.

  Katherine, more militant than any general, marched about inspecting everything on her mother’s behalf. There weren’t enough roses in this vase. A smudge was found on one of the ballroom windows. More wine should be brought from the cellar.

  Mother had taken breakfast in her chamber that morning, citing exhaustion. She’d been assisting Lady Pendleton in preparing the menus and discussing other diversions, besides dancing, for their guests. Unfortunately, Katherine’s fortune teller would not be coming to Brushbriar since she’d been run out of Castleton with accusations of fraud at her heels. Lady Pendleton decided on a room for cards to be played instead.

  Petra wandered aimlessly about the house trying to find some way to amuse herself without being underfoot. One day, she could very well be in the thick of such preparations if she were to throw a house party, but becoming the mistress of Brushbriar became less a reality as each day went by.

  The ride with Simon the previous day had left Petra with a hollow feeling, as if she were a piece of fruit whom an industrious member of the kitchen staff had scooped the pulp from. The void grew wider and deeper by the hour. The least rebellious part of her, the place where
old Petra lived, whispered marriage to a brilliant man of Simon’s standing was what every young lady of her station hoped for. Mother and Father would be so pleased. The ton would flock to pay calls upon her. Invitations to sup at her table would be fought over. The most important and influential people in London would visit her home. Petra would become one of the most powerful women in the ton and indeed in all of London. She reminded herself of all those things but felt no reassurance. It didn’t help that her thoughts seemed to gravitate toward Morwick and the fact she would see him soon.

  Agitated and at loose ends, she decided to see if Simon would walk with her or even play a game of chess.

  Asking first the butler, a white-haired man with a superior attitude matched only by that of his employer, where she could find Lord Pendleton, Petra was directed to Simon’s study. Finding that room empty except for a maid busy cleaning the windows, she was told Lord Pendleton had gone to have tea with his mother in the family’s private sitting room.

  As she strode down the hall in the direction the maid had indicated, Petra decided she didn’t care at all for the décor of Brushbriar. There was little warmth in Simon’s home. The furniture was uncomfortable and formal, every room packed with sculptures, expensive vases, paintings and other objets d'art. Brushbriar resembled a museum more than someone’s home. Even the portraits of Simon’s ancestors looked as if they’d rather be somewhere else.

  I wouldn’t have to live here, but in London.

  Petra found the thought of London, along with a great many other things, did not appeal to her anymore.

  As she neared the room the maid had indicated, voices sounded through the door, which had been carelessly left ajar. She should turn around. Go back the way she’d come and seek out Simon another time. Unintentionally eavesdropping had become an unwelcome habit of hers. The results had been mixed to say the least.

  “I’m not sure what you are concerned about, Simon. There’s no map. No survey. Not a scrap of paper duly witnessed. Nothing to dispute the property line as it now stands. I’ve been assured of it.” A cough followed Lady Pendleton’s words.