A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “Please tell Miss Holden I’d like to see her.”

  “I’m afraid—”

  “Never mind.”

  The woman curtsied as he strode past, turning the corner to take the stairs two at a time.

  The hall empty and ill-lit, he turned the knob to Miss Holden’s bedchamber and let himself inside. He wondered, at what point, would she ever learn to lock the door.

  She stood near the bed, placing her belongings inside her sage green trunk. She didn’t even turn her head to see who’d dare intrude upon her privacy.

  As beautiful as a forbidden siren, he drank in her pose. Her silken skin shimmering in the moonlight, her hair sleek and tucked into a chignon. He realized how tight his body stretched, for how many days it remained taut and stiff, aching for the day he’d bed her, sliding inside her to claim her, at least for a moment, as his own.

  He cleared his throat in the hopes of freeing his thoughts before speaking. “Are you leaving me, Miss Holden?”

  She hesitated to answer him. “I have stayed here long enough, my lord.”

  “On the contrary.” There were so many hidden meanings in his words, so many reasons he wanted her to remain at Penndrake. Despite his original motivation to keep her here, he believed he’d suffer greatly from her absence.

  Slow and quiet he drew up behind her, his fingers lifting to her slender nape. He touched her smooth skin and lowered his lips to taste the warm sweetness of her flesh. She shuddered, causing his body to strain against the confines of his clothes. So many times he’d come close to taking her, to claiming her as his own, just as Edward had Penndrake.

  His hand reached around to fan across her flat stomach. He closed his eyes, pressing her firmly into him and savoring every exquisite inch of her. She smelled exotic and sweet, like the forbidden fruit he’d spoken of a few days before.

  “Your leaving here was never an option,” Wesley said, his mouth pressed against her right ear.

  “My…my staying should not be one, either.” He guided his hand to her left breast. There, he felt her heart thumping erratically against his palm. Through her thin dress and chemise, he used his thumb to caress her nipple into a hard bud.

  Her head fell back, giving his mouth access to the throbbing vein at her throat. The heat of his desire for her consumed him, ravished him. He stopped kissing her and turned her around, her green eyes filled with unshed tears. She tortured his already tormented soul. He supposed if he did release her from his plans, whatever they were at this point, she might not think so ill of him one, three, or ten years from now. Only he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

  “I will be leaving to visit the Bartrams at ten in the morning. They have asked about you, with Mrs. Bartram requesting to see you, personally. I expect you to be ready.”

  He turned and strode from the room, the taste of her still on his lips.

  The morning could not come soon enough for Wesley. He’d anticipated every waking hour on how to spend and share the day with Miss Holden.

  “The Bartrams live across the way behind that set of ash trees. From what I’ve heard, they’re eagerly waiting to see you,” he said, admiring her light-blue Empire gown and lighthearted conversation.

  “Do you think Mr. Darlington will be in the village?”

  This came from Miss Deidra, who had insisted on chaperoning Miss Holden. Of course, Wesley knew the young lady asked after his friend for one reason. “Yes. He has come to help out with the repairs.”

  “That is very nice of him.” She blushed.

  Wesley agreed before slicing a glance toward Miss Holden. He wanted to know what she was thinking, or even if her thoughts were of him.

  Outside the carriage, Garrett’s middle sister spied what she’d come to the village to find. Mr. Darlington. She met him with a shy curtsy before he offered her his arm and a walk around the village fountain.

  “Shall we,” Wesley said, turning toward Miss Holden, who stood staring at the couple, a sad look on her face. Now, he didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. Her cousin and Mr. Darlington were courting and going about the appropriate way of becoming a respectable couple.

  Still, despite what lay between Miss Holden and himself—mistrust, fear, and uncertainty—she touched his arm and allowed him to escort her up the stone path, themselves barely settled before the white-paneled door flew open. An enthusiastic Jonathan Bartram rushed forward to wrap his grime-encrusted arms around the front of both their legs.

  “Get back here!” yelled Hicks from inside the foyer. “That is no proper way to greet his lordship. Have a care, child! Have a care!”

  Gertrude Hicks, the Bartrams’ housekeeper, stomped toward them, her face flushed from chasing an energetic five-year-old, fifty years her junior.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, she had served the Bartrams for almost eight years, every one of them with fervent dedication.

  “My lord.” She bobbed hurriedly. “I will let the vicar know you are here.”

  He and Miss Holden stepped into the red-bricked Georgian rectory, the foyer bright from a stained glass window positioned halfway up a sweeping oak staircase.

  To the left sat the drawing room, decorated in canary yellow to put a soul in a cheerful mood. He liked the room, despite the brightness, and led Miss Holden to a striped white-and-citrine sofa to wait for Bartram to show himself.

  Wesley had turned to claim his own seat when Jonathan darted into the room and straight into Miss Holden’s arms. She embraced him and made no protest when he climbed upon her diminutive lap.

  With piqued interest, Wesley observed her genuine affection for the boy. He’d imagined if he’d invited Claire, she would have screamed from the exchange of dirt, as well as all the unexpected excitement.

  Not Miss Holden. Instead, she sat engaged, her bright eyes widening as Jonathan opened his hands far apart, as if relaying an exaggerated fishing story.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Wesley gazed up to find Bartram, a man so blissfully tired, that his eyes drooped and smiled at the same time. He still wore most of the clothes from the day before, his jacket long gone, his sleeves up, his waistcoat as wrinkled as a year-old plum.

  “Oh, Miss Holden, I am so glad you came. Mrs. Bartram is sleeping now, along with the babies, but she will be devastated if you do not at least say hello.”

  “I will stay here until she awakens.”

  Bartram nodded and clapped his hands, rubbing them together with animated vigor to, perhaps, keep himself going another twelve hours without rest.

  “My lord, I’ve gathered all the materials you requested. From what I’ve heard, at least ten or twelve men are waiting to assist you.”

  Wesley shook his head. “I didn’t expect anyone to come—”

  Bartram lifted his palm and placed it on his right shoulder. “Forgive me for saying this, but you are only one man. What you can do in one day, eleven can do in an hour.”

  Resigned to agree, yet still shaking his head to retain his pride, Wesley smiled and stepped toward the back door. The stables didn’t stand far, and he was eager to start working with his hands again. He also admitted to needing something to occupy his mind over Miss Kate Holden.

  “Are you leaving, my lord?”

  He stopped and turned as she shot up from her comfortable spot, her arms full of Jonathan, who had no intention of letting her go. In a flawless movement, she adjusted the five-year-old upon her hip, as if it was as natural as flipping the hair out of her face.

  Her maternal appearance, remarkably adoring, stirred his soul and softened his less than honorable intentions toward her. This emotional turn was a dangerous and traitorous path to take, and he closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath.

  Beside him, his friend sighed, causing Wesley to open his eyes and slice an inquisitive glance in the man’s direction.

  “Mr. Bartram, your wife is awake and asking for you,” Hicks said, surprising everyone on how her brawny form managed to sneak into the room unnoti
ced.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Bartram uttered, departing with his housekeeper and leaving Wesley to wonder what to do or say next. After several long moments, he gave in to his devilish ways and ambled forward, stopping short of where Miss Holden stood.

  Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Her emerald eyes, large and blinking, seemed to beg something from him, but what? Unable to resist, he brought a finger up to caress her polished cheek. Smooth like warmed butter, white as frost, he longed to touch more than she revealed.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, restrained emotions putting a slight tremble in his voice. “You shouldn’t have to wait long.”

  Despite his inner turmoil, he smiled down at her, her gaze upon him guarded and questioning. He supposed she’d known him for too many days to discern what to expect next. For this alone, he needed to keep her guessing.

  His body already on a dangerous and rebellious trek, he bent down close to her cheek, turning slightly to lay a kiss, instead, on Jonathan’s smooth forehead.

  He’d begun to straighten when the innocent words of the child halted his progress.

  “It’s Miss Holden’s turn.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Wesley glanced from child to woman—the latter’s face now a shade of dusty crimson.

  “I don’t think Lord Wesley—”

  Both lured and challenged by Miss Holden’s adamant objection, he reached up, cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth within a whisper of his own. “Oh, but I do.”

  Very close to giving in, he emitted a low growl and pulled away, realizing he’d only managed to torment himself. For, no matter how many times he tasted her, it never seemed enough to satisfy his craving for more.

  “Oh, good. You’re still here. What did I miss?” Everyone glanced up to see Bartram standing on the stairs, his clothes more wrinkled than before.

  “Lord Wesley was just about to give Miss Holden a—”

  “I bet there’s somewhere around here that you like to go fishing, isn’t there?” Miss Holden interrupted on a hurried breath, placing the boy down and shaking out her arm, where it had certainly fallen asleep.

  “Yes, yes. Would you like to see it?”

  She had little time to respond as Jonathan, in all his enthusiasm, grasped her by the hand and began half pulling her through the arched threshold toward the back door. “There are frogs and glowworms, and I swear I saw a snake…”

  “A snake!”

  She twisted back toward Wesley, a look of pure fright on her enchanting face. Enjoying the moment all too much, he shrugged. She tried to slow the little boy’s progress, tallying over the sandstone foyer floor. “Jonathan, I don’t think I like snakes very much.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Holden. They don’t bite. What you have to watch out for are the dwagons.”

  “Dwagons? Oh, indeed.” She paused to place a slight finger to her pursed lips. “Well, since I’ve had to fight two of them off in the last week, I can’t say I’m much too frightened to see one of them.” She paused to toss Wesley a knowing glance just before disappearing into the bright autumn sunlight.

  “She is a delightful creature, my lord. Wherever did you find her?”

  Wesley opened his mouth to answer and found himself at a loss for words. Finally, he decided on telling his friend the truth.

  “In a meadow chasing after a runaway bonnet.”

  “Delightful,” Bartram repeated.

  “Yes,” Wesley said, turning back to where he last saw her delicate and enchanting form being hauled away.

  …

  Hand in hand, Kate walked with Jonathan, both carrying a fishing rod and setting off to either catch some fish or slay a dragon. She rather preferred the latter, for the first, she’d never learned to perfect.

  Together, they tramped across a grassy field to a small pond about eighty feet wide and one hundred feet long. As the water rippled under the constant bombardment of insects, they settled on a grassy bank and sat down.

  Never squeamish, she helped Jonathan bait his line before squashing a wiggly worm onto her own.

  “Do you like Lord Wesley?” her companion asked, his eyes squinting into the noonday sun.

  Struck by his candidness, she paused to think of her answer.

  “I believe Lord Wesley is—”

  “Handsome?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Kind?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Strong?”

  “Very.”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  She dropped her pole at the edge of the water and sat gawking at her little friend. His eyes the color of rich chocolate, blinked up at her, innocent and hopeful.

  “I’m…afraid…no, I’m not going to marry his lordship.”

  “Why not?”

  Kate opened her mouth, unsure of how to discourage the child from asking any more questions. Maybe, instead of feeding his curiosity, she should explain things above his understanding.

  “You see, Jonathan, Lord Wesley and I are not the same. If he marries, he will most likely propose to a lady whose father is an earl. Not someone whose parents live in London and who cannot afford to provide their daughter with more than five hundred pounds for her dowry. So, you see, he will most likely marry someone within his own…sphere.”

  The boy, to her satisfaction, gawked at her, his blank stare void of any comprehension.

  “Besides,” she concluded, “I’m hoping to return home very soon.”

  He said nothing else as he turned toward the pond to jiggle his line and then raise his pole to check to see if a fish had sneaked onto his hook.

  Kate leaned back, content to stay quiet and soak in the varying chirps of insects and a pair of swallows in a nearby blackberry bush.

  “But if Lord Wesley had a…spear, you wouldn’t have to leave, right?”

  She drew back, then realized he’d confused spear with sphere. Perhaps she’d already done a more than thorough job confusing him on the ways of men, women, and the marriage game. Too much in a good mood, she nodded. “Exactly.”

  He gave her a toothy grin. From then onward, they talked about little else but insects, mythical creatures, and his new baby sisters. She listened, fascinated by his imagination, encouraging him with a few tall tales of her own.

  For an hour or so, they lingered, their poles still resting in the water, not even a curious minnow stopping to take a bite.

  “Do you think we should go home?” she asked. Jonathan opened his mouth and yawned long and wide.

  The motion contagious, Kate found herself doing the same, realizing for the first time how exhausted she was from her lack of any restful sleep.

  “Can we stay just a little while longer? Please, Miss Holden?”

  His soft eyes begged her, and she saw no objection in staying for another half hour or so.

  “All right. A little while longer.”

  He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back and kissed his hair, combing some of it out of his eyes with a gentle finger.

  Swathed in the child’s affection, she began to doubt her plans of becoming a governess. What if she decided to marry and start her own family? The possibility showed itself, like the sun above, peeking from behind a fiery maple, its emergence both slow and brilliant.

  Consumed by dizzying possibilities, Kate fluttered her eyelids closed and let her head drop back. She let the warming glow of daylight kiss her face and allowed images of her life as a wife and mother twirl around in her mind. Only when she imagined her husband, he appeared in the enthralling image of Lord Wesley.

  “Oh bother.” She sighed and opened her eyes, glancing down at Jonathan, who lay against her side, asleep. She lifted her arm to bring him closer, the day turning cooler, a slight breeze chilling the air to cause a dozen tiny goose bumps and an unexpected shiver.

  Never intuitive, she pushed away the sudden foreboding, blaming it on her weariness and her and Jonathan’s conversation. For now, sh
e was satisfied to enjoy the peace of one of the last comfortable days of the year. In the stillness, she sat on the bank among the snow-colored daisies, their gentle sway hypnotizing her into a mist-filled daze. As her lids grew heavier, she fought the urge to close them, losing the battle after only a few soothing moments.

  …

  Wesley fastened the last of the wire mesh to the eight-inch reeds and leaned back to work the soreness out of his shoulder. Since they’d begun a few hours ago, he and his team had finished patching ten roofs and six outside walls.

  “My lord, it looks like rain.”

  Thomas Jennings, one of the workers and a local farmer, pointed to the charcoal-colored clouds rolling toward them. “We best be getting inside.”

  Reluctant to stop, but not willing to get any of them hurt, Wesley nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow if any of you are willing to see it through.”

  “We’ll be here,” Thomas and Darlington assured him and waved the men to follow him down from the roof.

  Wesley lingered a little while longer until the air shifted and kicked up a cooler, less unpredictable wind.

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  Wesley gazed down to find Bartram standing near the wooden ladder, his clothes changed, his hair combed, and his eyes appearing a little more lifted.

  “Hurts like hell,” Wesley confessed, the ache growing deeper.

  Bartram nodded his understanding. “Would you like to walk with me to go retrieve Jonathan from whatever mischief he has ensnarled Miss Holden, or would you prefer to rest, my lord?”

  Wesley lowered his chin and inhaled, trying hard to pretend he hadn’t passed every moment on the roofs thinking of her. He’d meant to dive into the morning, forgetting the last kiss he wished to steal. Unfortunately, from the time he sewed the first wire until now, his mind remained fully occupied and his body altogether wanting.

  “My lord?”

  “I’ll go with you.” Wesley forced himself to stay focused before joining Bartram on the ground and heading toward the field where they last saw Jonathan and Miss Holden.