Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5

by Ayers, Kathleen

A dark chuckle echoed in the room, kissing the skin of her arms. “From your future mother-in-law? Or perhaps Lady Marsh? Your mother does have a propensity to be a bit…challenging. I’ve been meaning to ask, why purple? It invites all sorts of unwelcome comparisons.”

  Her brief happiness at his presence faded as she remembered Katherine, barely clothed, at his door last night. “I’m sure Katherine is looking for you. I just saw her in the hall. Don’t let me keep you.” She bent to pick up her slippers. “I’d hate to interrupt your little assignation.” Petra winced, knowing she sounded like a jealous fishwife.

  Silence filled the room before Morwick said quietly, “What makes you think I’m having an assignation with Katherine?”

  Petra wished to rail at him. Punch him with her fists for disappointing her and toying with her emotions in such a way. Though in all fairness, she doubted Morwick intentionally sought to hurt her.

  “I’m not meeting Katherine.”

  “Last night was enough for you? You know, you really should be more discreet.”

  A soft curse filled the air before he said, “Your ladylike decorum is beginning to slip, Perfect Petra. You shouldn’t speak on such a subject.”

  “You object?”

  “Perish the thought. On the contrary, I adore the reckless, less than perfect Petra who climbs trees and allows a gentleman to see her ankles. The one who doesn’t like the thought of Katherine.”

  “I misspoke.” She ignored the tightness in her chest. “And I didn’t allow you to see my ankles. Besides, your affairs are your own and certainly none of my business. Just as my life is none of your concern.”

  “I fear you are incorrect.” He stood and without asking, moved her legs over on the couch to make room for himself to sit. Taking her calves he put her legs across his lap.

  “There’s not enough room.” Her voice trembled. It felt far too intimate having her stocking feet nestled in the warmth of his lap. Far too close to— “Find elsewhere to sit. Where you were sitting was perfectly fine.”

  Morwick was always so warm. Heat rolled off his body and found its way up her skirts to warm her legs. Ignoring her outrage his hands took hold of her feet. Fingers, big and strong wrapped around her toes as his thumb pressed into the arch of one foot.

  Petra bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud which would only encourage him. But, my lord, that felt good. She hadn’t realized how badly her feet hurt or how much she’d danced until now. Was he rubbing Katherine’s feet before Petra’s arrival? Was that why she’d been laughing? At the thought, Petra tried to jerk her feet from his lap, but he held on tightly.

  “Relax, Petra. I had no assignation with Katherine.”

  “It’s none of my concern with whom you have an affair.” When his thumb dug into her arch this time, she bit the pillow next to her head to keep from moaning. She didn’t wish to encourage his attentions.

  “You are a poor liar,” he said in a soft growl as he squeezed her toes, before circling her ankles with his hands, holding her feet firmly in his lap. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her ankle.

  “I’ve been pretending all my life. I should be better, don’t you think?” Petra tried to keep her voice light. She wished she could make out his features, but the room was far too dark. “What are you hiding from, my lord? Surely, a man who scales the edge of cliffs and explores dangerous caves has little to fear. I saw you today as I looked out across the moors. Leaving to go roaming about.”

  He was quiet for so long, Petra didn’t think he would answer her. Finally he said, “You would be mistaken, Petra. There are a great many things I fear, as it turns out.”

  The seriousness in his voice, with not so much as a hint of sarcasm, unsettled her. “Perhaps you were concerned someone would find you here with Katherine?” When he didn’t answer, Petra tried again to pull her feet away, convinced she was correct and he didn’t wish to admit such a thing. “I overheard her laughter, you see. Just down the hall.” She twisted, her heart aching painfully.

  “Stop, or you will hurt yourself.” Morwick trapped both feet with one hand. “Would you like to know the story of Katherine and me? It’s not very interesting, I grant you.”

  “You are lovers,” Petra choked out as his free hand trailed up and down her calf, sending flames licking up her thighs. “Let go. Stop toying with me.”

  “Were lovers, Petra. Long ago. I was young and in awe of the beautiful girl who lived across the moors from Somerton. Katherine was my closest childhood friend; eventually she became more. We were young. She was experienced, I was not. At one point I thought of marrying her.”

  A fist punched into Petra’s side. She didn’t wish to know anymore and struggled against his hands. “I don’t wish to hear about your sordid affair with her.”

  His grip tightened. “I never loved her, but liked her, which made her a perfect candidate for marriage. Do you understand my meaning? For I can explain it no better than that.”

  Petra ceased her struggles. She recalled Lady Cupps-Foster’s private sitting room. The portrait of Morwick’s father. His mother’s endless grief. What such a thing would have done to a young boy’s perception of love.

  “Instead of offering for her, I went to visit my brother, Spence. I spent some time learning the family business. But, that’s a story for another time.”

  Petra’s breath caught, feeling the tickle of his calloused fingers at the hollow of her knee. “It’s really none of my affair, Lord Morwick, who you are involved with.”

  “Was involved with. Aren’t you paying attention? I want you to understand I’ve no interest in Katherine. I’ve involved myself with no woman since returning to Somerton from London. Aren’t you curious why not?”

  “It’s none of my affair,” she repeated stupidly.

  He shifted, positioning himself beside her. His hand slid under her buttocks, brushing aside her skirts to pull her firmly against the hard length of him. “Is it not?” The words melted against her skin like molten chocolate.

  “Not in the least.” Petra molded herself against him, seeking his warmth. She was suddenly ridiculously happy.

  “Brendan. I have wanted to hear you say it.” He growled. “Please do so.”

  “Brendan.” Petra was entranced by the rough emotion emanating from him. She sensed fear and restraint, tempered with longing—for her. The tips of her fingers traced the dusting of hair on his jaw until she found his lips.

  He nipped the edge of her finger. “Dangerous, Perfect Petra,” he said in a low tone. “So dangerous.” Nuzzling the side of her neck, she felt a sharp pain as he nipped the skin beneath her ear.

  “I disagree.” She turned until their lips were only a hairs-breath apart. Layers of clothing separated them yet Petra could feel his heat seep through the fabric of her gown. The hard length of him pulsed against her thigh. The deep ache which had begun in her heart the moment he touched her now pumped furiously through the rest of her body.

  His mouth covered hers in a sensual kiss.

  Petra fell back, sinking into the cushions. Deep and slow, his mouth moved over hers, speaking of longing and want. All will to move, to stop this madness, fled. It was impossible to think of anything else with Brendan’s fingers moving in a lazy manner beneath her skirts and his mouth slanted over hers. Petra’s hands slid from his face to clutch at the fabric of his coat, bringing him closer.

  A deep growl vibrated in his chest.

  Brendan surrounded her. Filled her. She could think of nothing but giving herself to him. She longed to be naked before him, a thought which should make her blush with embarrassment. Her body, small and delicate, brushed against the hard planes of his chest, igniting a slow insistent ache between her thighs. Petra arched her back, pushing her hips closer as the scent of the moors permeated her nostrils.

  Brendan’s tongue traced the outline of her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth to open. She did so without hesitation, twining her own tongue around his. His mouth became rougher, more demanding and she ans
wered in kind, writhing beneath him.

  Brendan broke away, his breathing ragged. “Christ. What did I tell you about self-preservation?” His palm cupped her knee.

  “That I’ve none. At least, not with you.” She was rather shocked to find her legs had fallen apart, open in invitation to him.

  “Petra, where is your sense of propriety?” The tip of one blunt finger traced the lace decorating the neckline of her dress. The finger paused briefly, dipping below the lace to find the tight bud of her nipple.

  Petra inhaled sharply. Oh, this felt divine.

  “I adore this gown.” His finger brushed back and forth sending jolts of sensation down through her belly. “The color is blessedly not pastel, and the neckline displays your lovely bosom. Though I didn’t care to have other gentlemen looking.”

  “You weren’t in the ballroom. And I’m sure no one was admiring my lack of bosom.”

  “I was there, watching you. I’ve spent the last hour imagining the color of your nipples.”

  Wetness slid between her thighs at the bluntness of his words. Petra’s breathing had roughened as he tortured her poor nipple, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. “My breasts are quite small. Not much to see.”

  “I would have to disagree with you. They are perfect.” His finger circled the hardened peak of her nipple and pinched. “You are perfect.”

  A low seductive moan left her lips, and her hips rocked forward. She’d not known she could make such a sound nor behave in such a manner. “I don’t wish to be perfect. I find it to be vastly overrated.”

  He cupped the underside of her breast, pushing the flesh upward and the edge of her bodice down. When her breast popped free, Brendan’s mouth encircled her nipple, rotating the tiny peak between his teeth and sucking gently.

  Petra stretched, one foot dangling off the edge of the couch, begging without words for him to touch her. The skirts of her gown and petticoats were rucked up around her waist. His tongue circled her nipple and more wetness seeped between her legs. His hand stayed on her knee and boldly, Petra covered his fingers with her own, urging him upward.

  His mouth broke free of her breast, and he pushed his forehead to hers, even as his fingers found the slit of her drawers.

  “Jesus, Petra, tell me to stop. Aren’t you afraid?” His hand toyed with the opening of her drawers, making her nerves pop with anticipation.

  “No,” she whispered, gasping at the feel of his hand against her mound, the large fingers brushing through the soft down. “I am never afraid of you.”

  “You bloody well should be.” He kissed her again, hard and wanting, before his mouth trailed down her chest. “I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.” She heard him say against her skin, so low she struggled to make out the words.

  A large finger stroked against the damp flesh between her legs.

  She whimpered and twisted, trying to force him to do more.

  “Here, love?” The finger pushed and circled, teasing her. He caught her mouth with his once more as two large fingers slid inside her.

  “Oh.” Petra’s head fell back as his thumb pressed against the tiny, engorged knot hidden beneath her moist flesh. “Yes,” she panted, her body on fire.

  “Do you ever touch yourself, Perfect Petra?” The dark growl climbed over her skin, heightening the sensation of his touch.

  “More,” she breathed, thrusting her hips up toward his fingers. She had too many bloody clothes on. Too many layers.

  “Do you?” he said again, sucking her nipple in his mouth and nibbling gently. The combined sensation of his mouth and hand was nearly too much for her. “Tell me.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. She had touched herself down there many times, only to become frustrated at her efforts, followed by shame that she’d done such an unladylike thing. “Yes, but I couldn’t—”

  He moved another finger inside her, thrusting gently while his thumb stroked her flesh.

  The most glorious feelings surged down her legs. She had the sensation something was going to burst within her.

  “I will catch you,” he whispered against her neck. “I won’t let go.”

  Petra gave herself over to the play of his fingers and the mounting sensation within her body. Brendan was all around her, his warmth, his scent. His mouth was hot on her breast, his body cradling hers. When at last the bubble exploded and burst, her cry was swallowed by his mouth, gentle and demanding over hers. He kissed and stroked her until the tremors of her body ceased and she was left sated, floating and safe in the circle of his arms.

  Brendan’s lips moved against her ear, whispering nonsensical things to her even as his arms tightened. For the longest time he only held her, without speaking, as she listened to the beating of his heart. He was still aroused, hardness pressed against her thigh, but he made no move to ease his own needs.

  Finally he pulled her gently to a sitting position, like a rag doll, and adjusted her bodice. The warmth of his lips brushed the top of her breast and he nipped at the flesh.

  “Brendan?” She didn’t want him to leave her. Something had profoundly changed between them, and she wanted nothing more than to stay here with him, oblivious to the party going on in the rest of the house.

  “Close your eyes and breathe, Petra. Count to one hundred before you leave the room.”

  He gently disengaged her fingers from his coat and stood.

  She was trembling, her body still throbbing madly, but she nodded in agreement, even though he couldn’t see her. The door opened, and she sensed Brendan had paused, possibly considering coming back to her. Then the quiet click of the door met her ears, leaving her in the quiet darkness of the room.

  There was only one thing she could do under the circumstances.

  24

  “Do you wish for tea, dearest?” Mother sat at a small table in her chambers, a breakfast tray at hand. The tray held an island of toasted bread, fresh butter and some sort of fruit preserves, along with a pot of tea.

  Petra’s stomach was in knots over the forthcoming discussion. “No, Mother. Thank you.”

  Mother patted her lips with a napkin and moved to butter another piece of bread. “I insist you get rid of that horrid gown from last night. Simon was horrified. Lady Pendleton, though too polite to say so, found the color inflammatory.”

  “I’m not even sure what such a thing means, Mother. How could the color of my gown possibly inflame anyone?”

  Mother’s face pinched, not caring for Petra’s tone. “You are unmarried. Pale blues, pinks and yellows are better choices. And cream.”

  “I notice you left out lilac.”

  The piece of toast was flung down to the plate beneath it. “I’ve had quite enough of your sass, Petra. I’ve never known you to behave in such a way. I sense you have fallen under the influence of…Arabella.”

  “I’ve no intention of ridding myself of the gown.” The gown represented the death of the old Petra and the rebirth of the new. She wasn’t sure what her future held. Possibly no more than a return to London. But she was not going to marry Simon. After her intimacy with Morwick and the powerful connection she felt to him, the thought of Simon engaging her in a similar activity was repugnant to her. “I’m keeping it.”

  Mother’s eyes flashed. She didn’t care to be disobeyed. Once this discussion was over, Petra thought her mother would welcome another argument about the gown.

  “I came here to tell you Simon and I do not suit, Mother. He’s a lovely gentleman, but we don’t get on. I know this to be an enormous disappointment to you, and I am sorry, but I cannot marry a man simply to please you.” There, she’d finally said it. After having kept such a thing bottled inside her for weeks, Petra was vastly relieved. “We can leave tomorrow if you like. I’ll speak to Simon today and explain myself.” Outside of being inconvenienced by having to court another young lady, she didn’t think Simon would be overly upset.

  Mother set down her teacup with a rattle, her face militant. “You are only
having nerves, dearest. You and Simon are perfect for each other.” She dismissed Petra’s speech with a wave of her hand. “Now, have some tea and we can discuss your wedding plans.”

  “Mother, didn’t you hear me? We are not perfect for each other. How I tire of you using such a word to describe everything you find suitable.”

  “Perhaps you should lay down and rest.” Mother added more milk to her tea and stirred. “You seem to be overly tired from the previous evening’s entertainment.”

  “You aren’t listening. I am not going to marry Simon. He has not a shred of affection for me, nor do I have anything remotely resembling passion for him.”

  “What do you know of passion?” her mother said. “It’s certainly not required for a successful marriage.” She eyed her discarded piece of toast. “Simon is a brilliant match. He is—”

  “Yes, Mother. I am well aware. Simon is brilliant. The match is brilliant. He’s perfect for me. I’ll be a rising political star’s wife. I’ve heard you repeat the litany”—her voice rose in agitation—“until I wish to cover my ears. I spoke to Father before we left London. I was having second thoughts about Simon even then. Father assured me, despite you being enamored of Simon, he would sign no betrothal contract unless I was in agreement. I am to have a choice.”

  “I was so hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Your childish tantrum only serves to reinforce the decision I made before we left for Brushbriar.”

  Cold fingers of dread caressed the back of Petra’s spine. Mother was far too calm at Petra’s declaration. “What decision would that be?” But Petra knew.

  “The betrothal agreement was signed before we departed.” The matter of fact way in which Mother expressed her dominion over Petra’s life left no doubt she was telling the truth. “I explained to your father, dear man that he is, you were merely having a case of cold feet. I know you better than anyone; I’m your mother. You are much too immature to decide something as momentous as your future.”

  “How could you?” Petra closed her eyes, unable to look at the woman before her. She’d known Mother to be overbearing and stubborn when she wished to get her way, but this…she’d lied to Petra. And so had Father. The betrayal bore down on her with a terrible sucking feeling.