Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5

by Ayers, Kathleen

  A slight twist of his lips, the half-frown she so adored, appeared. His dark head lowered to her stomach, ebony curls skimming her belly as his tongue traced a line around her navel. Tiny nibbles traveled across the soft skin of her thighs. His head moved lower until she felt his breath against the soft hair of her mound.

  “Are you—” How wicked. Jemma had told her of such a thing, but Petra hadn’t quite understood.

  “Going to taste you? Yes. I dream of kissing you there.”

  “You do? Well, I never thought—” Her words dissolved into a soft mewl, the kind a cat makes as it is stroked. The feel of his tongue there was so delicious Petra thought she may well die from such a thing. Whatever censure she endured after this night would be worth it.

  Brendan’s tongue rasped against her wetness. Teasing. Searching.

  Petra’s legs opened wider. Her hands ran over his broad shoulders, threading through the unruly locks of ebony hair. “Brendan,” she whispered as the rush of sensation intensified. Her legs wrapped around him as he found the tiny source of her pleasure with the tip of his tongue. Stroking her he gently took her into his mouth. Sucking. Licking. Until Petra bit her lip to stop from crying out. Her release came swift and hard. The spasms rocked her body, pushing her thrusting hips toward his eager mouth. She moaned his name into the pillow, her thighs tightening around his neck and shoulders.

  Before she could regain her breath and marvel at the bloodless feel of her limbs, thick hardness pressed between her thighs as he settled himself between her hips. His mouth ran up the side of her neck before his lips met hers. She could taste her own pleasure on his tongue, and Petra kissed him back with all the love and desire she felt for him. Twisting her hips, she pushed upward, toward him, eager for this. For him.

  “Petra, love, this may hurt. You’re sure? We can stop.”

  “I don’t wish to stop.” Jemma had told her the first time felt like a pinch.

  “I want you, Petra. I will always want you.”

  Petra’s hands ran down his back to clasp the lines of his buttocks, marveling at the play of muscles beneath her fingertips. Brendan was all hard muscle and lines. Rough sinew and bone. So beautiful and different from herself.

  His mouth fell over hers as he thrust inside her, one hand beneath her buttocks, holding Petra in place, the other clasping her hand.

  She bit his shoulder at the slight burning sensation, knowing he’d breached her maidenhead. Brendan’s heat filled her, stretching and forcing her body to accommodate his.

  A growl. “Christ, don’t do that. I’m trying to be gentle.”

  Petra took a deep breath. The sensation was odd. She was full. Pulled taut. Not entirely unpleasant now that the pain was fading, but certainly this wasn’t like the feel of his mouth on her.

  Brendan’s breathing was heavy and slightly ragged, as if he were trying to restrain himself.

  Well, restraint wasn’t warranted. She bit him again.

  “Dear God, Petra.” He moved back and thrust again, nipping her shoulder. “Stop doing that.” Another stroke, this one deeper. “Move your hips, love.”

  Petra complied, loving the way her body held his. She moved her hips up at an angle and Brendan sank further inside her waiting flesh. She wanted him deeper. Her fingers clutched at his back, her nails rasping against his skin.

  “Harder,” she whispered, her lips pressing to the side of his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin. “Ravish me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said against her ear as he groaned, thrusting harder. His fingers moved between their bodies, finding and teasing the small bit of flesh until Petra became mindless with need. She begged, pleaded with him.

  Brendan swore. Hooking one of her legs over his arms he filled her so completely, Petra cried out. His thrusts were deep and slow, each one bringing Petra closer to the edge until her body tensed and began to shatter. She climaxed so violently spots appeared before her eyes. Her teeth may have found their way into his shoulder again. Her body tightened, clasping and pulling at his until he moaned out his own pleasure into her hair.

  After, she and Brendan lay together, limbs entwined, as their breathing slowly returned to normal. He ran one finger along the crease of her hip. The finger dipped between her legs, exploring her sensitive flesh until her blood became heated once more.

  When he took her again, her world breaking apart in a million pieces as he held her in his arms, Petra pressed a kiss over his heart and whispered out her love for him.

  Brendan may never love her enough to put aside his fears. She accepted she would be returning to London a scandal-ridden, ruined young lady.

  By her own choice.

  * * *

  So much for best laid plans.

  Petra was sound asleep next to him, curled up like a kitten. Even now he wanted her, and he’d already taken her three times until Brendan felt like the savage he was often accused of being. He traced the outline of her nose with a fingertip, careful not to wake her. She was brave and clever. Uninhibited in bed. Resourceful. She may even make a decent climber one day.

  Lady Lydia Pendleton would ensure Petra was raked over the coals by the ton. Petra would never be received again. She would be gossiped about. No one would call on her. Lord and Lady Marsh would need to distance themselves or lose their own place in society. Lady Pendleton would be especially vindictive in light of Simon’s political career. Nothing must tarnish her brilliant boy.

  Except murder would certainly take the shine from Simon, wouldn’t it? And Simon would have to find a girl with an enormous dowry after the profits of the Blue John were gone.

  Petra stirred, disturbing his thoughts of revenge. She murmured something in her sleep. His name. Her fingers were curled over his. Trusting him.

  Don’t let go.

  Never.

  Heart aching, Brendan crept silently from the bed and dressed. First, he needed to wake his mother and advise her to pack as quickly as possible for the return trip to Somerton. He wanted her waiting in the coach before he spoke to Simon and dared not tell her why they were leaving until they were home. Woods needed to be located immediately.

  Brendan looked down at Petra, smiling at the tiny, ladylike snores she made. Pressing a kiss to her temple and pulling up the blanket around her shoulders, he quietly left the room. If all went well, he’d be gone before she awoke.

  29

  Petra awoke to the sound of her mother’s raised voice.

  That in itself wasn’t terribly unusual. Her mother was prone to hysterics. On any given day one could hear Lady Marsh expressing her displeasure to a maid who hadn’t used enough beeswax on the floors downstairs. Or voicing her displeasure if her tea became tepid. Petra snuggled back under the covers.

  Mother’s voice was coming closer. Becoming louder.

  Petra’s eyes popped open. She wasn’t in her bedroom at the Marsh home in London. She sat up and the bedsheet fell away.

  She was naked and also alone in the big bed. She turned and saw the indentation of Morwick’s head on the pillow next to her. The room outside the bed curtains was disturbingly quiet.

  Bollocks.

  “Brendan?” She took the sheet and pulled it up all the way to her chin. As she shifted on the bed, Petra winced. The soreness between her legs told her she was ruined. Ravished. She smiled to herself. Brendan had seen to that several times over.

  She’d fallen asleep, despite her best intentions to slip back to her room before dawn. Why hadn’t he awoken her?

  Bloody Hell.

  Mother’s voice was growing louder. Footsteps sounded outside the door followed by the twisting of the doorknob.

  Good Lord. Mother knows I’m in here.

  The door flung open.

  “Petra!” Her mother’s plump form appeared, clothed in lilac silk, her face mottled with horror and disapproval. The girlish ringlets at her temples quivered and a plump hand clutched at her throat. “What have you done?” Mother let out a long wail like the s
ound of a cat being choked. “Peeetraaa.” Then Mother fainted, collapsing into a clump of purple. She fell to the floor with a loud thump.

  Petra stared at the unconscious form of her mother, wondering what she should do. It wasn’t unusual for Mother to dramatically faint, but typically one of the Marsh housemaids arrived immediately, armed with smelling salts when Mother was overcome. Petra wasn’t sure how to rouse a person without smelling salts. On the bright side, at least she need not delicately explain how she had come to be ruined and was now unable to marry Simon.

  Unfortunately, now the entire household would know the culprit was Brendan.

  She’d not meant to have her lack of virginity announced to all of Brushbriar and the guests of the house party in such a way, but possibly this was better, though she doubted Lady Pendleton would think so. Petra lifted her chin.

  At least I’m not a party to murder.

  Petra looked up as Woods, Morwick’s valet, appeared in the doorway. He took one look at her mother, stepped over her prone form and immediately shut the door.

  “My lady.” He bowed. “May I offer you some assistance with your…” his brow furrowed as he looked down at Mother, “situation?”

  Petra clutched the sheet tighter, horrified the valet had found her in Morwick’s room, though Woods seemed rather nonplussed at her appearance. “I would be in your debt, Mr. Woods.”

  “We must get you back to your room before your mother awakens. If nothing else, it should keep her from screaming. Do you have something to wear?” His eyes scooted about the room and spying her discarded nightgown, rushed it to her. “Hurry, put this on. The other guests will soon be going down to breakfast.” He turned his back. “I beg you to hurry, my lady.”

  Petra slid out of bed, her toes sinking into the plush carpet. She pulled the cream silk and lace over her shoulders, securely tying the ribbons into place. “How did my mother know I was here?” she said, more to herself than to Woods.

  “I’m not certain, my lady.” Woods hesitated. “Though I did see Mrs. Leonard, Lord Pendleton’s housekeeper, speaking to your mother’s lady’s maid earlier.” His mouth curled. “That horrid, unpleasant woman. Annie. Annabel…”

  “Agnes,” Petra informed him. Damn. “What will you do with her? Should I…help in some way?” Maybe, she thought looking at the mound of purple on the floor, she could convince Mother she’d hallucinated.

  “I will give Lady Marsh some smelling salts and inform her I found her collapsed on the floor while I was packing Lord Morwick’s valise.”

  “You’re packing his things?” A heavy weight pushed into Petra’s stomach at the news. She pressed against the spot, willing the disappointment to go away. She’d known, when she had made her way to Morwick’s room last night, that this could be a possible outcome.

  The tips of the valet’s ears went pink and his mouth pulled in disapproval. “He has left Brushbriar, Lady Petra. As has Lady Cupps-Foster. Before breakfast was even served.”

  “I see.” Petra blinked, unwilling to have Woods see how upset she was. Perhaps Morwick had wished her to be discovered, though she hadn’t considered he’d be so thoughtless.

  Woods opened the door, his head turning as he looked both ways. “Go directly to your room, my lady, and I will handle Lady Marsh.” He waved her forward.

  “Thank you, Woods.” Petra stepped over her mother, praying no one else would see her, and ran down the hall.

  30

  “My lord, may I come in?”

  Petra stood, hands clasped lightly in front of her, awaiting permission to enter Simon’s private domain. The study was filled with heavy, masculine furniture with thick drapes the color of claret hanging from the windows. A massive oak desk sat facing the door from which the master of Brushbriar, surrounded by stacks of paper, was working. Her stomach lurched in a sickening manner at the confrontation before her.

  “Of course.” Simon didn’t look up. “Shut the door.”

  His two spaniels sat at attention, watching Petra with suspicion as she approached the desk. Several moments passed as Simon scratched away at something, ignoring her.

  “My lord,” she said. While she attempted to sound calm, her anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Almost forgot you were there. You were so quiet and unassuming.” Simon sat back clasping his hands over his chest. The dark eyes held nothing but contempt.

  He knew. Petra swayed a little at the realization. She’d hoped to explain…well, what could she say? If Mrs. Leonard told Agnes, it was likely the housekeeper had told the entire staff before Petra even opened her eyes this morning.

  She lifted her chin, determined to brazen it out. “We do not suit, my lord—”

  “A gross understatement. Had I known what low morals you possessed, I wouldn’t have ever spoken to you, let alone offered you marriage. Cuckolding me in my own home during a house party given in your honor.” A sneer crossed his lips.

  “I was hoping I could speak to you before…I wanted to be the one to tell you. It was not done to shame you, my lord, nor to hurt you in any way.”

  A puff came out of his mouth, the ugly sound lingering in the quiet of his study. “Is that supposed to make me feel better, Petra? Am I to nod, pretending I understand, and absolve you of your behavior? Perish the thought.”

  Simon was right. Had she assumed he’d be thrilled to have her ruined? “I am sorry my behavior hurt you—”

  “Hurt me?” An ugly laugh sounded as his features filled with contempt. “Can you imagine the lengths I’ve gone to this morning to ensure the rest of our guests don’t know of your transgression?”

  Petra looked away and pressed her eyes closed for a moment, trying to compose herself. His distaste for her was justified, she knew. “Simon—”

  “Lord Pendleton. You are never to address me by my Christian name again.”

  Her head snapped back to face him. Fine. Let him hate her. He need only release her from the betrothal. “Given the circumstances, I ask most humbly that you release my father and myself from our betrothal agreement. I hope that we can…keep this incident to ourselves, my lord.”

  “I release you.” The words left his mouth in a hiss. “I have this morning penned a letter to your father’s solicitor and mine. A messenger is already on his way to London. Your dowry will be returned to you. Our unfortunate association is at an end. I would no more marry you than a common harlot.”

  A whoosh of relief left her, even though she strongly disagreed with being compared to a lightskirt. “Thank you, Simon. I am sorry—”

  “No, you aren’t.” He pushed back from the desk and walked toward her. “If you had any scruples at all, you wouldn’t have done such a thing. I bid you good day.”

  She swallowed, knowing he might very well ask her to be removed from his study should she continue. “I know I’ve no right to ask, but I would appreciate your discretion. I know under the circumstances you may not feel charitable. But for the sake of my family in London—”

  A flush stole up Simon’s cheeks as a black, murderous rage filled his dark eyes.

  Petra stepped back from him, afraid for a moment he meant to do her harm.

  “You’ve nothing to fear, Petra. Not a whiff of this…unfortunate incident will follow you to London. Neither my mother nor sister will breathe a word of the reason for the…dissolution of our betrothal. Nor the staff. The guests will be told you were called back to London unexpectedly.”

  “How kind of you.” Given his dislike of her, why would he do such a thing? “I am deeply appreciative of your concern for my reputation.”

  “I didn’t do it for you, Petra. Perish the thought.” A vein bulged in his temple. “I’ve no wish to have my name linked with a woman of your ilk. I have a brilliant career ahead of me and my own reputation to protect.”

  “Of course. Whatever your reason, I am grateful.” She’d been preparing herself since leaving Morwick’s room for her potential disgrace and future as a pariah. It was almost surre
al he didn’t mean to punish her in such a way.

  “Pack your things. I want you out of Brushbriar immediately.”

  Petra shook her head and walked toward the door, pausing for only a moment. She felt terrible having done such a thing to him, but he and Mother had left her with little choice. Turning back she said, “Did you ever have any affection toward me, my lord? As one would a wife?”

  “No,” he said without hesitation. “My offer for you was based solely on the size of your dowry and your obedient, docile manner. You were attractive enough to preside over my table but not too beautiful to draw unwanted attention. In truth, I found you rather unintelligent and boring.”

  She’d known that, of course, but had hoped for at least some indication he’d borne her some affection, no matter how small. “I bid you goodbye, Lord Pendleton. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  As she closed the door with a shaking hand, Petra told herself to breathe, the worst was over. How could Brendan have left her to face such a thing after last night? She knew he cared for her, possibly not enough to discard a lifetime’s worth of fear of love, but if nothing else, she’d thought he would help her navigate through the situation at Brushbriar. He’d left without a word to her.

  Pull yourself together, Petra.

  She straightened her shoulders and pushed back from the door, meaning to go upstairs and tell Mother they’d been asked…no, commanded, to leave.

  “If I had my way, you would never be received again, anywhere.”

  Petra turned to face a hostile Lady Pendleton a few feet away. They stared at each other for several moments before Petra said, “I would expect nothing else from a woman of your murderous intent.”

  A snarl echoed in the hallway. “You whore.” Lady Pendleton’s fingers curled at her sides as if she would fly at Petra. She stepped toward her. “I don’t care what he—”

  “Mother.” Katherine appeared from the shadows of the hallway to take Lady Pendleton’s arm. “I think you are in need of some tea and perhaps a bit of toast. Remember, we have guests.”