Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5

by Ayers, Kathleen

  He would tell her once they were home at Somerton.

  Brendan unfolded the survey map again, showing the original property lines between the Earl of Morwick’s holdings and those of Baron Pendleton, later, Viscount Pendleton. The map he held was dated over two hundred years before the birth of Reggie and had doubtless been lost to time. In an ironic twist, Baron Pendleton had been the nephew of the Earl of Morwick. Brendan and Simon were very distantly related.

  At some point over the last two centuries, the property lines between the two estates had become blurred. The map he held had been filed away, and new surveys drawn. No one seemed to notice that Pendleton’s property now extended several acres further into Morwick’s. The land was desolate and good for very little. The rich deposits of lead, copper and other minerals were much farther to the western portions of both estates. No one would have cared if the property line blurred between the two as the land wasn’t valuable.

  Until it was.

  Reggie, jealous of his neighbor’s good fortune and puzzled by the presence of a vein of Blue John so close to his own property, must have done some digging, literally. He would have taken samples. Walked the property line. Surveyed. The third largest deposit of Blue John in England was a very big deal. At some point, Reggie probably started searching the library for any record of the mineral on his estate. He would have pored through dusty boxes of old receipts, letters and building plans. It’s what Brendan would have done. Reggie had probably found the original survey by accident.

  His mistake had been in confronting his neighbor and friend with the information.

  Brendan wondered how Pendleton had lured Reggie out to that specific outcropping. He thought about his father, dying below the earth in a tiny cave, knowing his wife would never find him and he’d never meet his son.

  At least now Brendan knew why Simon’s father had encouraged him to court Katherine. Insurance in case Reggie was ever found.

  Brendan held tightly to the neck of the bottle of scotch he’d pilfered from Simon’s study. He hadn’t even debated about doing so. The scotch had likely been purchased with proceeds from the Blue John which rightfully belonged to the Earl of Morwick. Simon and Lady Pendleton had known Reggie was murdered and why based on what Petra had overheard. Brendan could even imagine Simon’s mother hatching the scheme herself.

  Brendan took another mouthful of scotch. Before he left Brushbriar on the morrow, Brendan intended to have a very lengthy discussion with Simon, one that involved murder and Blue John.

  * * *

  “How did you spend your day, dearest?” Mother, seated on her left at dinner, said to her in a low tone. “After our discussion at breakfast I grew concerned when I couldn’t find you for tea.” Her plump form shifted in the deep lavender silk as her lips tilted in welcome to her daughter. Mother’s eyes were a touch too bright, as if she were struggling to maintain her decorum.

  “Your concern overwhelms me, Mother.” Petra briefly looked her mother in the eye. “I do hope I didn’t cause you any worry.” She spoke politely, but without feeling.

  “Petra.” Mother’s hand reached out followed by a small sob as Petra flinched from her touch.

  After leaving Brendan on the outcropping of gritstone, Petra had started for Brushbriar. She found herself running partway when the rain began to come down in torrents. Gasping for breath and soaked to the skin, she had made her way to the servants entrance, startling one of the kitchen maids in the process. Petra calmly explained she’d gone for a walk, gotten lost and fell, all the while assuring the girl she was fine. Tessie, bless her, knew better than to ask many questions. She took one look at Petra and ordered a hot bath.

  “I am concerned, Petra. You’ve barely eaten.” Mother tried again.

  “Do I eat the potatoes,” Petra flicked at a portion of potato in a cream sauce, “or do I not? I’m afraid I can’t choose. You know best, Mother. Do I like potatoes?”

  It was immensely gratifying to see her mother’s cheeks redden in an unbecoming way.

  “Petra.” Her mother tried to take Petra’s hand beneath the table. “Please cease this behavior. I don’t wish us to be at odds.”

  Petra wrenched her hand away and proceeded to ignore any further attempts on the part of her mother to engage her in conversation. Mother had quite a lot to answer for. Rowan had resorted to issuing his mother an ultimatum. Petra didn’t think she’d have to do that. If things went as Petra hoped they would, Mother would decline to speak to Petra again.

  At the moment, such a thing sounded blissful.

  Brendan had not come down for dinner, nor had she seen him since their discovery earlier in the day. Somehow, she’d expected that. Petra was still angry with him.

  Lady Cupps-Foster sat directly across from her, laughing quietly at something Lord Haddon said to her. Haddon was flirting shamelessly with the older widow, and Lady Cupps-Foster was blushing in pleasure. It was obvious from her gaiety Brendan had not yet told his mother of the discovery of the former Earl of Morwick’s remains. She thought him right to wait until Lady Cupps-Foster was back at Somerton. The news would certainly devastate her.

  Lady Pendleton sat with her toothy smile in place at one end of the table, hanging on Simon’s every word as he related a dinner party he’d attended while in London. The prime minister, Viscount Melbourne, had been a guest. Katherine was engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Ulster, a wealthy merchant who’d come for the dancing and stayed, ensnared in Katherine’s seductive web.

  Petra ate little and spoke not at all. It was a relief when dinner ended.

  After dinner, the gentlemen went to have their cigars and brandy while the ladies retired to the garish drawing room. It was difficult for Petra to sit calmly amongst so much Blue John, knowing now how the Pendletons had come to have it. But settling the score with the Pendletons belonged to Brendan and his mother. For her part, Petra wanted to ensure she would not marry Simon, nor anyone not of her own choosing.

  She’d given much thought to her situation and how best she could avoid becoming part of this deceitful family. There was only one way to ensure Simon would jilt her and break the betrothal. A solution which would also guarantee Mother would absent herself from Petra’s life. It was rather simple, and Petra couldn’t believe such a thing hadn’t occurred to her before now. Perhaps the girl she’d been wouldn’t have considered such a thing, but old Petra had been foolish and docile.

  After an hour, Petra excused herself, pleading a headache. Mother shot her a look of disapproval, the tiny hill forming above her top lip, but wisely didn’t press Petra into staying.

  Mother would be so much more displeased tomorrow.

  Luckily, Tessie had taken a liking to one of the Brushbriar grooms. It was an easy thing to encourage the maid to go to the object of her affection after Petra had readied for bed, especially since Petra swore no one, especially Lady Marsh, would ever find out.

  Hands shaking, she discarded the plain, cotton nightgown for the small tissue-wrapped package at the bottom of her trunk. Another parting gift from Arabella who’d noted Simon’s lack of passion. Of course, Arabella had no idea Simon would never see this particular nightgown.

  Petra threw the wispy piece of cotton, silk and lace over her shoulders, careful to tie the pink ribbons at the shoulder. She knew the risk she took. Brendan had said today he wanted her and meant to have her. But she was of a mind to take things into her own hands lest she find herself married to Simon.

  Petra meant to make her own decisions from this moment forward.

  28

  Brendan took another sip of the scotch, wishing he was drunk and disappointed he was not. Simon probably watered down the alcohol in the sideboard. Or Lady Pendleton did. You’d think with the money they were stealing from his family, Simon would have a better quality of liquor in available in his study. The poor scotch only added to Brendan’s opinion of Simon.

  Fucking prig.

  Quiet footsteps sounded in the hall outside his room. A s
oft click of the door and Brendan instantly regretted not throwing the lock. He’d impressed upon Woods not to bother him this evening. The valet had been hovering about him like an elderly grandmother since discovering the small gash on Brendan’s arm.

  “Woods, I told you I do not need your services tonight. My arm is fine. It’s only a scratch. Begone. Find something to amuse yourself.”

  The room stayed silent except for the crackling of the wood in the fire. Whoever entered hadn’t left. He knew it wasn’t his mother, for she’d be talking to him. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion something was going on between Mother and Haddon, which he would have to deal with at a later time.

  “It’s not Woods. It’s me.”

  Brendan nearly dropped his glass of scotch, and he cursed softly. The length of his cock hardened immediately at the sound of Petra’s voice. Turning, he watched in surprise as she came toward him, her bare toes curling into the carpet. She was clothed in a ridiculous bit of lace and pink ribbon. If he squinted just a bit, Brendan could make out the dusky circles of her nipples and a delicious shadow between her legs.

  Jesus.

  “I need to speak to you,” she murmured, toying with the ribbon at her shoulder holding what he was sure was supposed to be an innocent young lady’s nightgown. Shouldn’t such a thing be made of thick cotton? It offered no more protection than an oversized napkin.

  “You are wearing what amounts to a doily, Petra. I don’t think you are here to talk.”

  Her eyes were heavy lidded, watching him with an innocent hunger that send another pulse to his cock. “No,” she whispered, coming closer until he was engulfed in the scent of roses and sugar cookies. “I am here for something else.” She tugged at the ribbon on her left shoulder.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. Or doing.” This was not exactly how he had intended to spend the evening, though he was far from disappointed. Thoughts of revenge fled his mind. His mouth fairly watered as the tiny bow pulled free and the lace slid down the skin of her shoulders, catching on the hardened peaks of her nipples.

  “I’m exhausted with everyone telling me what it is I should want, Brendan. I’ll hear no more of it, not even from you.” Her chin tilted mulishly. “I know exactly what it is I want.” An impish smiled graced her lips. “And as for this,” she waved over the silky lace, “Madame Moliere’s. I wanted something pretty.”

  The silk was barely clinging to her breasts. He didn’t care that she’d probably had it made with Simon in mind. One shrug and the night rail fell down around her waist. She was trembling, either from the chill in the room or her bold behavior. Petra was lovely. Her small breasts were high and full, the nipples hardened and begging for his attention. He’d been right about the color. Pale pink.

  “Do you want to know why I was wandering about the gritstone with no escort when you found me today?”

  “You actually found me, if we are being truthful.”

  “My God, must you always be so contrary?”

  “Yes.” Actually he had been wondering why she’d been out there alone and so far from Brushbriar. But with the discovery of his father, his anger at her, misdirected as it was, had caused him to forget. Of course, at the moment, he could barely think straight. “What happened?”

  A wiggle of her hips and the nightgown slid down her legs to pool around her ankles. With her hair spilling down to her waist and the fluff of a nightgown amassed on the floor at her feet, Petra resembled a painting he’d seen once of Aphrodite rising from the foam of the sea. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the artist. Not that such a thing was important at the moment. And he didn’t give a shit about art.

  “It’s not important. You said you wanted me and meant to have me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then take me.”

  * * *

  Petra stood between Brendan’s legs, naked and trembling, afraid he’d find her wanting in some way. Would he reject her? She knew he desired her physically. He’d told her so. Why was he just staring at her?

  I love him. She did. No matter what happened after this evening, she wished her first time to be with the person she loved. Her choice. Her decision.

  His eyes roamed over her body as he took one last sip of the scotch, setting the glass none too gently on the table. Hunger crossed his face, so intense she nearly moved away from him, but she held her ground. A big hand came out to splay possessively against her stomach and she shivered, desire for him coursing through her veins. His fingers ran down through the soft hair covering her mound, before one digit slid between her legs, stroking her.

  “Are you certain?” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her stomach, gently nipping at the soft skin.

  “Yes.” She shivered at the warmth of his mouth. “I wish to be thoroughly ruined. Simon would never marry me under such circumstances, especially knowing it was you.” Her words choked out as his mouth lingered over the curve of her hip and the small hollow at the juncture of her thigh. “If I am no longer a virgin, I’m no longer suitable. Mother won’t be able to find me a brilliant match and I’ll be free.”

  “So what you are saying is, you’ll have me ruin you. Then you plan to tell your mother and Simon.”

  Petra looked down. “I will not ask you for anything else, if that is your concern.” She tossed her head. “This isn’t a ploy to have you do the honorable thing, Brendan. Nor force you…I would never force you into such a decision.”

  He saw the truth of her statement in her eyes. Petra, who had never been allowed to make her own decisions about anything, would never take away someone else’s choice. He realized she hadn’t believed him when he had said he meant to have her, or at least not in the permanent sense. What he should have told her was, he meant to keep her. “You’ll be ruined, Petra. A virtual pariah in London. Don’t you care about your reputation?”

  A sheen of wetness in her eyes. She blinked and raised her chin. “No. This is my choice. My decision.”

  Brendan blew against the soft hair and she shivered. His finger slid down back and forth over her flesh sending ripples of pleasure through her. Pressing another kiss to her stomach, he sank a finger inside her.

  Petra sucked in her breath, grasping his shoulders as another finger joined the first.

  “You’ve thought quite a bit about this, haven’t you?” Thrusting gently inside her, his thumb moved up, coaxing the most sensitive part of her. His free arm wrapped around her waist.

  “Yes.” A deep sigh came from her as his thumb rotated over the sensitive nub, stroking and teasing. He tugged her toward him until she lay splayed across his lap, her legs spread to his questing fingers. “I told you I hadn’t accepted Simon, and I didn’t. But Mother…the betrothal papers have been signed without my consent or knowledge.” A gasp of pleasure followed her words.

  He placed his hand over hers, guiding her fingers down to the sensitive flesh. “I see. Touch yourself. Show me how I should please you.”

  Tentatively, Petra reached down a forefinger and stroked herself. Her arousal was intensified knowing he watched her, his eyes dark and hot. His mouth fell to hers, and his hand settled on top of hers, moving in unison.

  All that came from her lips was a low, sensual moan. He leaned over, and his tongue found the tip of one nipple, sucking the peak into his mouth.

  Petra cried out as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Her hips jerked forward as pleasure burst deep inside her. His hand was warm on hers, helping her to ride out each tremor, milking each bit of bliss from her climax. His lips whispered against her ear even as she bucked against him, telling her all the dark, wicked things he meant to do to her.

  “Yes.” She moaned. “Anything. Everything.”

  * * *

  His hands slid under her knees as he stood, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. He placed her down gently on the coverlet and padded towards the door.

  She propped herself up on one elbow, the waves of her hair covering her breasts as she watched him fi
rst throw the lock then discard his clothing.

  Her eyes never left his as Brendan slid his trousers down over his hips. His arousal jutted out, hard and almost painful. While she watched, his fingers wrapped around the length. “What is it that you want?”

  “You,” she said without looking away. Petra moved back across the bed and, as he came forward, allowed her legs fell apart. His eyes flew to the center of her. Pink and beautiful, begging for his touch. He told himself to show restraint. He didn’t want to frighten her. Or, God forbid, change her mind.

  “That’s rather…large,” she whispered, looking at his cock. There was no fear, only curiosity glowing in her eyes.

  “No more than average.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that, Morwick.” Her back arched gracefully as he came to her on all fours. “I think you are anything but average.”

  * * *

  Petra couldn’t seem to control the slight tremble of her body as Brendan came toward her. His body was so different from hers and his…what should she call it? She knew what was supposed to happen. Mother’s version was that she do fulfill her wifely duties and be still. Her cousin, Jemma, however, had been much more detailed and positive about what would happen. But seeing things from the current perspective was far different.

  He must have noticed her slight nervousness. “We can stop, Petra. I’m going to —”

  “No.” She held out her arms to him, tracing the dark line of his beard across his jaw. “I’m very sure I wish to be ravished. By you.” She looked down at his arousal. “And that.”