Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5

by Ayers, Kathleen

  A choked sob bubbled up and Petra pushed the palm of her hand firmly to her lips to keep from weeping out loud. This was far worse than being the dressmaker’s dummy her mother trotted out. Or knowing Simon found her acceptably boring. She’d allowed feelings for Morwick to take root inside her heart, a terrible mistake.

  Petra clutched the lamp in one hand, though it would do her little good in finding her room. Slowly she made her way by touch to her room and forced herself to stop crying like some jilted bride. Lady Pendleton and Simon had both assumed Katherine would rekindle her previous relationship with Morwick. And truthfully, she thought, fleeing into the relative safety of her chamber where Tessie stood waiting, what man would possibly chose Petra over Katherine?

  “My lady?” Her maid came forward, surprised to see Petra so early in the evening.

  She wiped at her eyes again. “Dust.” Petra answered to Tessie’s unspoken question as she set down the lamp. “I sneezed furiously and the lamp went dark.” She wiped at her eyes again.

  Truly, she hadn’t been surprised to see Morwick and Katherine together. She was only shocked at how much it hurt.

  * * *

  Katherine.

  Brendan tried to keep the disappointment at her appearance at his door from his face. He’d had some fleeting, ridiculous notion that it was Petra knocking on his door. The object of his desire was probably downstairs in the drawing room. Lady Pendleton would be sitting, surrounded by large amounts of Blue John, like an overdressed gnome guarding treasure in a cave. Petra would perch calmly, her slender hands clasped, as the old crone interrogated her, patiently waiting for Simon to appear and enthrall the room with how bloody important he was.

  He absolutely detested the possessive jealousy filling him at the thought of Petra adoring Simon in such a way.

  “Hello, Brendan.” Katherine stood in the hallway, her dark hair loose and flowing down her back, clothed only in a very thin silk robe. He doubted she wore anything else underneath the silk. Katherine had always preferred to sleep naked.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” There was no mistaking the seductive question. His mind ran over the evening. Had he given Katherine the least bit of encouragement? Any sign he welcomed her advances?

  From the corner of his eye, Brendan thought he saw a shadow move down the hall, closer to the stairs. The other guests should still be downstairs, which was why Brendan had slipped away. He’d taken a walk directly after dinner to clear his head of the mounting frustration at seeing Petra, yet unable to touch her. Also, claiming the dinner too rich was an excellent way to escape the traditional brandy and cigar with the other gentlemen. He and Simon, trapped in the close quarters of the latter’s study, would not be advisable. And he’d not wanted to pretend polite conversation once the gentlemen rejoined the ladies. He didn’t trust himself.

  “Brendan,” Katherine whispered, this time louder.

  He peered into the darkness of the hall but saw nothing. Thankfully. The last thing he needed was for Katherine to be discovered nearly naked outside his room. Or in his room. Simon might feel compelled to fight a duel over his sister’s non-existent honor.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” He tried to shut the door.

  A slender, bare foot shot out, stopping him. “I only wish to speak to you.” She pouted. “A moment, only.”

  He highly doubted she was here to debate the finer points of mining with him. Katherine’s forte was not scintillating conversation, at least none that didn’t end in seduction. Reluctantly, he pulled her into his room, lest someone see her, and regretted the decision immediately.

  Katherine smiled as her robe slid open to reveal the pale side of one large breast. She did have lovely breasts. Unfortunately for Katherine, Brendan’s tastes had changed significantly since their last meeting. He fancied a smaller, tidier bosom now, and less generous curves. Preferably a slender, more compact form with spectacular legs.

  “Darling,” Katherine breathed, brushing her assets against him as she attempted to wind her arms around his neck. “We can finally be alone. I gave the excuse that I had to see to some last-minute preparations, which gave me a terrible headache. I’m not sure Mother believes me.” A husky giggle popped from her pillowed lips.

  Brendan took her hands from his neck and pushed away from her, taking several paces back to put a chair between them.

  Surprised confusion crossed her lovely features. She wasn’t used to him resisting her and thought he merely played a game with her, as evidenced by the way she pouted and allowed the robe to slide down her shoulder.

  “I’ve never known you to be so reticent, Brendan.”

  Katherine was stunningly beautiful, now even more so than when she’d been a young girl. Once, the mere sight of her had brought Brendan to his knees with lust. He crossed his arms, not feeling the slightest arousal at the sight of her.

  “I know you still love me.” She shook her head so a curl fell artfully between the deep valley of her breasts.

  He’d never loved her. But he had cared for her. He still did. But his affection for Katherine was nothing like this overpowering urge to claim Petra. “Do not mistake childhood affection for love.”

  She came forward, hips gently swaying. “Father knew we were meant for each other. He was most distressed we didn’t marry.” Her brow wrinkled. “Why are you being so difficult?”

  Brendan had always found the previous Lord Pendleton’s approval odd, since Lady Pendleton didn’t care for him in the least. And Simon detested him. But at the time, Brendan hadn’t questioned his good fortune. Now, some years later, he found the old man’s encouragement to be strange.

  “I love you,” she murmured, looking up at him with great doe eyes.

  A snort of disbelief. “You don’t love me, Katherine. Nor I, you. Don’t mistake fucking for love. It isn’t at all the same.”

  A hiss. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you still mad about Whitfield? He’s dead.”

  Brendan shook his head. “I’m not mad about Whitfield. I never was. And I’m sorry you won’t get to be a duchess. You would have been splendid.” His tone softened.

  “Yes.” Katherine toyed with the sash of her robe. “Unfortunate, to say the least. I would have made a smashing duchess.” She looked him in the eye and shrugged. “I would settle for being a countess.”

  Another snort of disbelief left him. “No. You wouldn’t. You are far more ambitious than that.”

  She gave him a sideways glance from beneath her lashes before bestowing a brilliant, genuine smile. The first one he’d seen from her in ages. Since before Whitfield.

  “You’ve always known me best, haven’t you? And liked me in spite of knowing me so well.”

  "We would never have been happy had we wed,” Brendan said. “You know that as well as I. We wanted different things. You’ll find another earl or duke.”

  His playmate, the girl she’d once been before they became lovers, stared back at him and nodded. “I’ve always wanted to be a duchess. I understand the Duke of Roxbury recently lost his wife, so I have high hopes.” She looked down for a moment, her bare toe making circles in the carpet beneath their feet. “I suppose I should leave.” Then her chin lifted, and she shot him a saucy look. “Or we could have a tumble for old time’s sake?”

  “I don’t think that’s advisable.”

  “Well, you can’t blame me for trying. We were spectacular in the bedroom.”

  Indeed, they had been. Katherine was a near insatiable lover and very skilled. She should have been a courtesan. “You should go.” He moved toward the door.

  “Mother wishes me to cozy up to Haddon. He’s certainly handsome and wealthy enough, though I believe his interests lie in another direction.” She walked past him in a cloud of whatever cloying scent she currently favored. “Besides, four daughters? I’ve no patience for such a thing.”

  “I agree. You aren’t the least maternal. And you’d eat poor Haddon alive.”

  A small burst of soft laughter fr
om her. “No, I’m not motherly. But as for Haddon, well, you don’t know him as well as you should. Remember, I was in London. The ton still speaks of his escapades. Ask your cousin, the duke.” Her eyes gleamed with unspoken knowledge. “I’m sure you’d be surprised.”

  Haddon’s past was of no interest to Brendan. What he knew of the man, he liked and felt no need to delve further. Why would he? “Perhaps.”

  She came forward, stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re very certain?” The robe slid open further and she tilted her chin in the direction of the large bed.

  “I am.” He was. Any man would wish to bed Katherine. That he did not wish to renew their relationship proved beyond a doubt that something had shifted inside him. Escorting her to the door, he pressed a kiss to her temple, relieved they could part as friends.

  “Good night, Katherine.”

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” The dark eyes searched his face.

  Brendan’s hand on the door stilled. “Who is what? I’ve no idea what you’re speaking of.”

  She pressed another kiss to his cheek. “I like her, if it matters. She has spunk.” Without a backward, glance Katherine slid through the door. “Good luck.”

  19

  Petra slept much later than usual the following morning, the sun well up before she rang for breakfast. While she usually went down for her tea and toast, she wished to avoid seeing the other guests. Hiding in her room was the obvious option, though rather cowardly on her part, but she didn’t think conversing with Katherine while they politely sipped tea would help her mood. She needed time to think. Alone.

  Mother stopped by Petra’s room, but seeing her daughter with a breakfast tray, asked with barely restrained horror, if Petra was ill. Since the stomach ailment brought on by spoiled stew, Mother treated Petra as if she were some frail, delicate young lady prone to bouts of illness.

  Petra assured her she was only tired and wished to rest up for the night’s dancing, an excuse Mother approved of and didn’t question. Today, her mother wore a brushed muslin day dress in a pale shade of mauve. The fabric was sprinkled with what looked to be lilacs. The material was far more suited as wall covering for some elderly matron’s parlor than a day dress, and Petra thought she looked a bit ridiculous, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

  Assured Petra wasn’t ill, Mother hurried off to fawn over Lady Pendleton.

  No note came from Simon to inquire about her whereabouts or her health. She was not surprised.

  For the remainder of the day, Petra was bothered by no one but her maid. When luncheon was served, she again asked for a tray, citing a need to rest for the evening’s festivities. Again, no one questioned her reasons. Apparently, the entire household thought young ladies were so fragile they required constant naps.

  Petra spent the remainder of the day in a large, overstuffed chair, a fluffy blanket her maid had procured slung over her knees. She had Tessie position the chair so she could gaze out over the moors while she read. She finished Lord Thurston while she had her breakfast, disappointed she would now only be left with books on geology. Turning to the book on fossils, she leafed through the pages, finding herself intrigued despite having little interest, at least initially, in the subject matter. She tried to imagine Morwick crawling through a dark cave with only a lamp and discovering the outline of a giant seashell. Petra tried to concentrate but as the day drew on, it became more difficult.

  The feeling of suffocation that had plagued her since leaving her family’s London home weeks earlier had only increased. She’d had a brief reprieve from her dread while at Somerton, but since meeting Lady Pendleton and seeing Simon, the sensation had returned. Petra closed her eyes against the constant chattering of her mind. Torn between her parent’s expectations and her own desires, Petra was at a loss. Perhaps defiance came easy for some, and it was coming far easier these days for her than before, but she’d been raised to be obedient. The thought of disappointing her parents, particularly her mother, was difficult. She was shedding the skin of whom she was expected to be, and it was a far more painful process than she’d imagined.

  She wished desperately to speak to Rowan.

  Just after noon, as Petra was about to ring for another pot of tea, a broad-shouldered man, dressed like a laborer and carrying a battered heavy pack in one hand, strode across the back gardens of Brushbriar toward the open parkland beyond. Dark, unruly curls peeked from beneath his hat.

  Petra put down the book and sat up a little straighter. She wasn’t sure why she continued to read about geology, for certainly it would do her no good in London, but she’d had an urge to surprise Morwick with her knowledge of the subject. And somehow reading about rocks and fossils made her feel closer to him.

  Her chest squeezed painfully.

  Morwick strolled purposefully through the gardens, never pausing as he circumvented trees, the small pond and a large fountain of a Roman deity. He moved with such fluid, measured grace for a large man. A length of rope hung over one shoulder. Morwick was going exploring. At dinner last night, Simon had mentioned a cave a short walk from Brushbriar. She’d no doubt that was where Morwick was headed.

  It was easier, in the light of day, to push down the hurt of seeing him with Katherine last night. Petra wondered at what point her heart had tethered itself to Morwick, and decided the timing didn’t matter. The reality of her feelings was a constant, dull ache in the vicinity of her heart, coupled with a horrible sense of loss.

  She continued to watch Morwick until he was nothing more than a tiny speck on the moors, wanting to hate him, but missing him all the same. Batting away the moisture forming at the corner of her eyes, she rang for more tea.

  20

  Petra stopped before the floor length mirror only long enough to inspect her appearance. The musicians were already tuning their instruments below, and the dancing would begin soon. After spending the day reading and napping, Petra was eager to leave the room. She shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet, watching the material of her ballgown flutter in gentle waves around her hips, silently thanking Arabella for her foresight.

  Mother didn’t care to have Petra wear anything other than pastels, a color palate that left Petra feeling like an after-dinner mint served at the conclusion of a large meal. Arabella had extended an invitation for a day of dress shopping when the decision to visit Brushbriar had been announced. Her sister-in-law needed a new wardrobe, given that she’d recently found herself with child. The invitation had only been for Petra. Lady Marsh would not be included, since Arabella tolerated her mother-in-law only when necessary and even then, only to please Rowan.

  Ironically, after spending a lifetime in dark, unflattering clothes, Arabella had become something of a fashion plate. She’d shaken her head as the modiste brought bolts of lime and cream for Petra, insisting on something more vibrant. Probably thinking how best to annoy Mother, Arabella had chosen the delicious material and design of the gown Petra now wore.

  The gown was the color of a newly bloomed rose, not pink or red but a subtle hue in between. The shade spoke of innocence with just a hint of seduction. Composed of four scalloped tiers edged in silver thread, the skirt fell in graceful flounces over her hips. The fabric draped daringly around Petra’s arms, exposing her shoulders, before dipping sharply into a deep vee to gently cup Petra’s breasts. A sash encircled her narrow waist, embroidered with silver vines sparkling in the light with every twitch of her hips.

  Twirling around, the tiers of fabric all lifted and fluttered about. She felt a bit like a cake she’d once seen at Gunter’s, all frosted layers and flowers. Tessie had painstakingly gathered Petra’s hair into a smooth chignon at the base of her neck and carefully encircled the bun with fresh roses from the Pendleton gardens.

  Petra smiled back at her reflection. I look smashing.

  A brief knock and the door was flung open as Mother entered, her gown the exact color of a hyacinth. “My goodness, we shall be late again. It is almost as if you
wish to antagonize Lady Pendleton or Simon.” She paused, gloved hand on the door. “Hurry now.” Her skirts slapped against the door as she halted abruptly. Eyes bugging from her plump face she turned, with a stunned look, back toward her daughter.

  “What on earth are you wearing?”

  “A ballgown, Mother.” Petra smoothed the fluttering skirts. Her hands automatically tried to force themselves together in the typical manner of obedience she’d been trained to for her entire life. She resisted and instead, placed her hands, palms flat, against her hips. There would be no more of that, ever again. “A very lovely ballgown.”

  “I can see it’s a ballgown. But not a gown I approved. Where did you get such a thing?” Lines appeared in her forehead. “Well,” she waved a gloved hand, “it doesn’t matter.” The tiny hill appeared on her upper lip. “You will not go downstairs in such an unsuitable ensemble. It’s completely unacceptable. The dress is much too grand for a demure, unmarried young lady. Flashy, even. Something a more mature woman would wear. Tessie!” She clapped her hands as if summoning a dog to her. “We must hurry so as not to be late. Bring Petra the pale yellow.”

  “No.” Petra picked up the lovely fan, also chosen by Arabella, from where it sat on the vanity. “I refuse to spend the evening looking like a demented buttercup.”

  Mother expelled a whoosh of air, lips quivering in affront at Petra’s unexpected rebuke. “A…what? I insist—”

  Petra walked toward the door, deliberately swinging her hips to allow the diaphanous fabric to flutter about her waist. “I am wearing a gown of my choice, not yours. And I must say, I look magnificent.”

  “You will not leave this room in that gown. I forbid you to wear such a thing.” The declaration was followed by the stamp of her mother’s slipper clad foot.

  “As you wish, Mother.” She wavered as if unsteady on her feet. “Oh my, I’m feeling very ill. My stomach is unsettled.” Petra put a hand to her forehead. “I should return to bed. Please make my excuses to Lady Pendleton.”