A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  Her eyelids flew open, her green orbs staring at him, trusting and wondrous. He watched in fascination as he pulled at the bosom of her dress and stroked her nipple with the pad of his thumb. When her breath caught, he lowered his mouth to the swollen peak, taking it in his mouth.

  He had never known such desire for one lady, such raw emotional attachment, and it scared the devil out of him. She made him forget his ambitions, everything that was once important to him, including Penndrake. He should resent her for this, but God help him, he didn’t.

  “Lord Wesley!”

  The frenzied voice of his housekeeper sounded through the heavy door.

  “What the devil?” Wesley growled under his breath.

  Kate, swiftly yanked to her senses, withdrew from his embrace and scrambled off his bed.

  Without a word, she abandoned him to take her place behind the bed-curtain. Her departure left him numb, as if he’d submerged himself in a vat of ice water. For this, he cursed his housekeeper, he cursed the day, and he cursed his father for putting all of this into motion.

  In a fitful temper, he stalked to the door and tore it open.

  “Did I not say before retiring this evening that I did not wish to be disturbed under—”

  “Forgive me, my lord.”

  Wesley glanced behind his housekeeper to where Bartram stood. His hair a mess, his face flushed, his hands wringing the life out of his black country hat.

  “Bartram, what is it?”

  “It’s Martha. Something’s wrong.”

  Before he could ask, his friend gave up the answer. “I’ve called for the midwife, but…I—”

  “I’ll meet you at the stables.”

  The door closed, and Miss Holden scurried toward him.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “The hell you are.” It was his final say in the matter. Or so he thought.

  “And why not? How cruel for you not to allow me to go? I may not have known them very long, but I developed a grand affection for Mrs. Bartram in that short time. Surely you must see the importance that I go.”

  He had to admit her concern for his friends was admirable.

  “No. The trip is too dangerous for you at this hour, and you will only slow me down. You will do as I say and remain here.”

  “But I can help.”

  He shook his head, his voice stern. “I’ll send for you if you’re required.”

  He believed Miss Holden conceding to his terms remained the hardest thing she’d ever done. As her lovely face pinched into a defiant pose, he strode toward the door. However, her serene voice stopped him short.

  “I will not be here when you return.”

  He halted with his hand on the doorknob. He knew he could not stop her from leaving, with or without her items. Still, he was prompted to make sure she thought twice about quitting Penndrake. He needed her to be here when he returned, for more reasons than he cared to admit.

  Displeased she’d pushed him to consider what those reasons were, he stalked back toward her and seized her hand.

  …

  Kate realized she’d made a terrible mistake in challenging Lord Wesley. Anger seeped from every pore of his body. She tried to resist, but his iron-clasp grip held strong as he stepped across the empty hall to her room and pulled her inside. When she’d thought he’d leave in a fury, he turned on her, forcing her to retreat against the post of her sixteenth-century ornate bed.

  His face, a shroud of impassioned antipathy, drew nearer, one inch from her own. She believed years of harsh thoughts and unforgiving opinions, otherwise unobserved from a distance, shone deep at the corners of his eyes.

  “It would have been better to remain silent, madam. Now, I’ll have to enlist Mrs. Abram to guard this door until my return.”

  He started to turn.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  He flew back around, his face even closer than before.

  “I know what you meant.”

  Lord Wesley returned to his room, slamming the door hard and furious. Resigned to hole up in her room, Kate crumpled on the bed in a heap of muslin. A few minutes later, his door opened and slammed again, his boots stomping and then stopping at her door. She held her breath until they moved away, leaving the house and the walls within, silent.

  Unable to sleep, she watched a candle burn down to nothing, her sulking stupor growing more melancholy. Her throat thick with unshed tears, she sat in the pitch blackness, her legs grown numb from her languished position. With time at a standstill, she tried not to imagine the worst of the situation. On more than one occasion she’d prayed for her friend’s safety and health, including Lord Wesley, the devil that he was, at the end.

  “If he is decent, then allow me to see what he cannot express,” her spirit begged, her body and mind too tired to conclude why it was important for her to think such a thing. How had it come to this? One minute she was chasing after her hat, and the next, rolling around on the ground with a man who had invaded her thoughts and ripped a hole in her future plans.

  To make matters worse, between sleep and wakefulness, she struggled to remember her life and all those future plans. Groggy and her thoughts stuck in a mist of confusion, she began to slip into another round of fitful slumber when the sound of heavy boots thudded outside on the threadbare Persian runner.

  Driven awake by his return, Kate popped up and fumbled her way into the hall, her legs still deadened from lack of circulation.

  “Kate?”

  A set of wall sconces danced over his unkempt and bloodstained attire. Shaken, she caught her breath and stumbled back against his door.

  “Oh my God.” She shook her head, dread washing over her, leaving her cold and shivering.

  He reached her in two large steps, his hands washed clean and extending out to cover hers.

  “You were too late?” she whispered, afraid to hear the answer. Tears sprang to her eyes at what her stubbornness may have caused. “I made you late because I insisted on going with you?”

  “What? No.” He smoothed the hair from her face and braced a soothing palm against her tearstained cheek.

  “There was some complication. Two, in fact.” He smiled, so genuine and caring. “I’m very happy to announce that Mr. and Mrs. Bartram are proud parents of two very healthy baby girls.”

  Relief settled deep into Kate’s weary mind. “Two? Girls?” She half laughed, half cried.

  “Indeed.”

  “Oh, when can I see them?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but a subtle shake of his head and a prolonged silence only reminded Kate she had no place in his life or the life of his acquaintances. As if the floor had been sucked from underneath her, she fell away. “I am very relieved to hear they are well,” she said after moving toward her door a few feet away.

  “Good night, Miss Holden.”

  Kate, who until this moment showed him little civility, turned, and lowered into a curtsy before locking herself inside her room.

  Sleep futile, she remained awake thinking of the Bartrams and then all the reasons to despise Lord Wesley. But as hard as she tried, her mind continued to recall his words near the oak tree and the sacrifice he made for the good of his tenants.

  “Oh, why must I care so?” she whispered into the quietness. So much had changed in a week. Where before she had longed to run away at any opportunity that might get her heart broken, she was now hurtling herself to that end.

  With or without her belongings, she had to reconcile with her heart to remain indifferent to Lord Wesley, before her sensible judgment betrayed her any further. To tumble deeper into coveting any lasting affections toward his lordship seemed destined for disaster. For now, however, she lay in a daze of perplexing contemplation, remembering so vividly his kiss from a few hours ago. Powerful and unrestrained, he showed her a glimpse of an uninhibited passion only he could give.

  As she touched her lips to relive the moment, dawn’s first rays seeped through, caressing and warming he
r cheeks. She opened her eyes to the quiet brilliance, not foolish enough to linger too long on any fanciful delusions.

  In the hall, the stirrings of the servants awakened her further. Without summoning any help, she found the tub she’d used on her first day and filled it with water, warmed all night by the fire.

  Later, she dressed in a simple brown dress. Believing it too soon to expect any of her cousins to be roaming about, she wandered downstairs in hopes of finding the library or another place to occupy her restless mind.

  She’d no sooner stepped past his lordship’s study when the voice of the last person she wished to see this morning summoned her. Too late to pretend she didn’t hear the marquess, she fell back to the open archway.

  “My lord,” she said, her heartbeat beginning to betray how little she wished to think of him.

  “Please come in.”

  She curtsied, wanting to believe his words held some enjoyment in the invitation. To her chagrin, his impassive expression proved they did not.

  His eyes, although void of emotion, stared straight through her. She knew he scrutinized her wardrobe and every moment between them since their first day together. He trusted her as much as she did him, and she yearned to know why. Whatever Edward held of Lord Wesley’s, his lordship had taken it upon himself to use her as the pawn to get it back.

  “You’re up early, my lord.”

  A crooked smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

  “Sleep is a luxury I cannot afford at the moment, Miss Holden.”

  She nibbled on her lip, remembering the Bartrams and the villagers he’d promised to help the day before. Despite what her cousin warned her against, an irresistible desire to know more about the man pulled at her curiosity.

  “Of course,” she said.

  An awkward silence passed between them. She believed this a good time to tell him of her plans to leave and return to London with her parents. He would likely bring up the subject of her letters and comb, and she’d have to tell him to do what he would with them. Would Edward believe Lord Wesley or her? She supposed she should have thought of this before rushing over that first night and starting this cat-and-mouse game with the marquess.

  “Lord Wesley, I would…” Her hesitation to announce her departure made him quirk an eyebrow and sit up straighter.

  “Yes?”

  Her mind had prepared the words, however, her tongue refused to say them. “I would like to ask after Mr. and Mrs. Bartram, and to ask if you would send them my regards. No, tell them I pray they’re all in good health and that I’d like to—”

  As quick as lightning, he stood. An exhale later, she realized he didn’t stand on her behalf.

  “Lord Wesley, what is the meaning of this?” came a familiar voice from behind her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kate twisted around to find Lady Sophia and Claire entering the room as if they had both been shot out of a cannon.

  “I beg your pardon?” The firestorm of fury in the marquess’s deep, emphatic voice caused Kate to wince.

  Her aunt, as well, retracted her fervency, dipping into a compliant curtsy before saying, “My lord, forgive me, but my daughter Claire said you have made unwelcome advances toward her.”

  Kate slid a glance to Lord Wesley. Rigid as stone, hard as marble, the chiseled lines of his face set like a Donatello statue. If she didn’t know the softness of his caress or the warmth of his lips, she would have doubted his human qualities.

  Unable to move from her spot, she realized he had two choices in the matter. One, to call Kate out and confess to her being in the room when one of the alleged “advances” took place. Or two, to emphatically deny it and save Kate from a ruinous scandal.

  She held the air in her lungs until his calm and methodic tone allowed her a slow exhale.

  “If you are trying to somehow shackle me into a marriage with your daughter, I have to warn you”—his gaze shifted quickly to Kate and back again—“there are no witnesses to the alleged indiscretion and certainly no evidence to prove as much.”

  Lady Sophia sucked in enough breath to rearrange the high-back chair and ottoman before her. “But my daughter—”

  “Your daughter, madam,” his voice raised to drown out any protest, “could learn a few lessons on social discretion.”

  His nostrils flared as he dared the woman to challenge him further.

  Kate stood as quiet as the setting sun, the air in the room thick with restrained tension. Regarding Lord Wesley, she didn’t know whether to feel relief or shame at him keeping her own indiscretions a secret.

  The fact remained—she loathed the thought of him thinking less of her than he already did. Since she’d arrived at Penndrake, the modest amount of civility she’d shown him was fleeting at best.

  “Have I made myself clear?”

  Lord Wesley lobbed the question toward both her aunt and cousin. Within a matter of minutes, Lady Sophia shrank like a timid puppy, lowering her chin to her half-bared chest to acknowledge she did.

  Claire, on the other hand, held her head high and crept a step closer to him.

  “We shall see, my lord.”

  He held his tongue. Lady Sophia shut her eyes in shame, and Claire turned toward Kate, an all-knowing glare twinkling deep in her ice-blue eyes.

  “Won’t we, Kate?”

  Claire twisted back to Lord Wesley and smiled before finding her mother’s arm and sliding her own through it. “Come, Mama. It looks like a beautiful day to walk the grounds of Penndrake.”

  On purpose, Kate supposed, Claire left with Lady Sophia, stranding the last two remaining people in the room.

  The silence between Kate and Lord Wesley grew as taut as a harp string before his lordship commented, “That went well.”

  Despite the situation, Kate let go a giggle, both genuine and surprising. She flattened her palm against her mouth, trying desperately to stifle more laughter when, a few feet away, Lord Wesley threw his head back and filled the room with uproarious gaiety.

  The sound brought a cheerfulness to a place that seemed void of it for many years past. As he wiped the moisture from his eyes, Kate sobered at the thought of Claire knowing what transpired between her and the marquess. He sensed her apprehension and wandered to her side.

  He placed a calming hand upon her shoulders, the warmth seeping through to melt her decision to think ill of him. “Do not worry, Miss Holden. Your cousin may be a cunning girl, but she is not clever. If she wanted her mother to know more of what she saw, she would have said it.”

  Kate remained quiet until she could no longer. “I am still angry with you. You meant to shock me by taking Claire to your bed. When and why did you change your mind?”

  He lifted his chin and inhaled deeply before engaging her again. “When I discover the answer to the second, then I will, perhaps, disclose the first.”

  Kate shook her head, relenting to his words. Still, compelled to defend Claire despite her wickedness, she spoke further on the subject. “You must know, she does mean well. Not that she’s had a hard life, but she’s had to endure her mother’s constant prattling on the subject of an advantageous marriage for the last three years.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “How do you manage to find the good in everyone, Miss Holden?”

  Embarrassed by his intimate perception of her, Kate turned away. “You’re wrong.”

  He held his step and his words as she thought of how, for so long, she’d loathed every eligible gentleman who’d shown her the tiniest bit of attention.

  From her father’s apprentice, David Leisure, to all those she skirted away from at every modest dinner party her parents threw together. So hurt and scarred at such an impressionable age, she’d blinded herself to the possibility of discovering a well-mannered and noble gentleman. One capable of mending her heart and showing her a good life. As well, someone so secure in his own wealth to see her as a person rather than an empty coffer.

  “Miss Holden, I—”

  “O
h, there you are.”

  Kate snapped her head up to find Arthur stepping through the door, his arms wide, his smile elated, and his gaze boring down on her.

  “I thought perhaps you would like to take a turn with me in the garden this morning.”

  “I—” was all Kate managed to say, a heated blush rushing into her cheeks.

  “I’m afraid I’ve asked Miss Holden and the Garretts into the village and plan to leave right away.”

  She glanced from one man to the other, the tugging silence between them rising to a heavy and unbearable level.

  “Miss Holden, please gather your family. We will depart shortly,” the marquess said, not once shifting his gaze from Mr. Rourke.

  Kate nodded and curtsied, despite him not noticing, and left the room.

  …

  Wesley watched as Miss Holden glided like a falling leaf out of the room.

  “What are you up to, my lord?”

  Wesley turned to see his cousin glaring at him with untrusting eyes. To be honest, Wesley hadn’t a clue. One minute he had everything planned out, the next it lay like Penndrake a year ago, in ruins.

  His only recourse was to put Arthur on the defensive. “You sound jealous.”

  Arthur balked at the suggestion. “Jealous? Of you? Good God, no. I’m happy to say Miss Holden is a sensible girl who would never fall for a man such as yourself.”

  His cousin continued talking as he sauntered across the floor, falling haphazardly into a striped apple green-and-crimson settee near the window. “Where you are gruff and worldly, she enjoys easiness and simplicity. She likes to be wooed with poems under a swaying maple. You,” he said, his arm outstretched, motioning in a vertical motion toward Wesley’s body, “have a bad habit of assuming a lady is straightaway in love with you without taking the time to secure it.”

  Wesley remained standing, amused by his cousin’s words. “At what point in our lives have you ever seen me with a lady long enough for me to assume anything about her affection?”

  Arthur raised his head and scratched his chin with his index finger. After a long, thoughtful moment, he concluded, “You are right. Miss Holden could never hold your interest longer than one bedding.”