A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “I’m…I’m much stronger than you believe,” she said in a hushed whisper.

  He chuckled at how well she lied, not to him, but to herself. Beyond confiscating whatever she had tucked away in her dress, he wished to prove her wrong.

  He leaned in, his lips lingering an impulse away. Her eyes shone like shards of glistening emeralds, her hurried breath like a silken caress. Deliberate and cautious, he guided a finger to the base of her throat, pausing a second before tracing an invisible line to the edge of her bodice where her cloak had fallen away.

  She gasped and then froze, anticipating his next move, he supposed. He remained in command and tightened his hold around her waist. With his other hand, he curved his thumb to tease the ample swell of her breast.

  She continued to let him explore, desire beginning to pulse through his hardened veins. He thought of more words to taunt her…until she sighed and brought her moist, firm lips against his. Like the brush of a feather, she kissed him.

  His ability to maintain control of the situation disintegrated like ice in a firestorm, with the hunger to return what she offered overpowering all sensibility. Urgent and uncontrolled, his mouth covered hers, feeding upon her delightful submission. Although she brought her hands to his chest, the feeble force wielded little effort to fight him.

  To distract her further, he slid his tongue along the seam of her parted lips and then into the warm recess of her mouth. God, she tasted good, sweet and sinful. With his muscles tightening and his blood pulsing, he drew her closer. He wanted to feel every inch of her body, every rapid beat of her heart. Lost in his wanting, and shaking with restraint, he pulled her hips so she lay almost underneath him. The bold move was unexpected, for both of them.

  He stared down at her, waiting for her to push him away. She didn’t. God help him, she didn’t. Not even a whimper of resistance passed between her lips. This tiny moment of pleasure almost made him forget what he’d sought from her in the first place. A tinge of remorse, a shadow of regret, and he let her go. The letter he’d sought all along now lay tucked away under his jacket, right next to his thundering heart.

  Before he straightened, she flew off the bench, gasping for air. Her dainty hand rested upon her modest breasts, tempting him to move forward. Instead, however, he remained steadfast and unsatisfied. Behind her, the sullen mist of night swallowed the last remnants of the day. Before him, her slender silhouette tempted his charged and throbbing body to finish what he’d started.

  An urge away from giving in and hauling her back underneath him, he stretched his legs out and lounged against the hardened scrollwork of the bench, projecting a casual, unaffected pose. He wiped off the kiss she so trustingly gave with the back of his hand and waited for her to unleash a thunderous temper down upon his head.

  To witness the coming wrath, the birds ceased their singing and the wind held its breath.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said finally, her chin lifted in a haunting manner toward the east.

  Caught off guard, he straightened, then stood and ambled forward, so close to touching her. She stepped back, her hands outstretched to ward off his advance. He proceeded, nonetheless, halting just short of her fingertips, and canted his head. “What in the devil are you thanking me for, Miss Holden?”

  She laughed, but a quiver of nervousness played in the light, musical sound. “For proving that I’m right about my future aspirations regarding your not-so fairer sex, of course.”

  With all the graciousness of a raised debutante, she curtsied before him as if they had shared nothing but a cordial bit of conversation. She turned around, but he was not ready to let her go. He caught her by the waist and pressed her backside against his aroused front. He let out an agonized grunt before touching his mouth to her right ear. He could not let her go without challenging her on the meaning of her words.

  “Proving you right was never my intention.” If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he lost track of his intention somewhere between the kiss and the damnable letters.

  She sank against him, the exotic fragrance of her skin once again driving his senses wild and challenging his chivalrous limitations. He sprawled his hand across her abdomen, drawing her farther into his swollen midsection. His fingertips pressed closer, inching lower with each ragged breath she took. He closed his eyes, so overwrought with want, his body shook to take her and to shred every ounce of refinement he had left.

  Her head fell back against him, causing a surge of white fire to rush through his veins. Was she not his, by her own cousin’s account?

  On an anguished whisper, the night wind carried to him her reply. “I wonder, does honor test temptation, my lord?”

  His lids flew open, the ravishing moment shattered by her adept questioning. So, she did understand the coat of arms. Live with honor. Not only did she recognize the words, but she held him accountable for them.

  His arms fell away, and he stepped back, half expecting her to twist around and redden his cheek with an almighty slap. She didn’t, to his surprise, and instead left him, continuing forward from where they’d traveled earlier without once looking back. She disappeared toward the house, her exquisite figure luring him to go after her.

  He remained immobile, allowing the swelling of his eruptive desire to subside before stalking to the stables to order a footman to escort her home.

  As the strapping young man scrambled to his feet, Wesley told himself he needed to secure her safety in order to carry on with his plan to ruin her and not because he cared for her bloody well-being.

  Soon, he’d have Penndrake where it belonged, with him, and he’d never have to think of her or Edward Garrett again. He grunted aloud, wondering if forgetting about Miss Holden would be as easy as he imagined.

  Chapter Five

  Kate wobbled on quivering knees through the murky lane of the garden maze, a broken ray of moonlight illuminating her way.

  While her heart knocked in rhythm with her hurried footfalls, she tried not to think of the man whose lingering touch left her both confused and weak. Up the stone steps and through the overwhelming Jacobean house, its dark-stained walls ominous in the flickering candlelight, her mind stirred with images of Lord Wesley’s handsome face above hers. Where he dared touch her, she tingled. Where he dared kiss her, she hungered for more.

  Maddened by the memory of his meticulous caress, she lost her way through several lavish rooms and shadowy corridors until she happened upon a dank room that lay in complete shambles. She blinked through the dust and cobwebs, astonished by the contrast from the rest of the house.

  Yellowed wallpaper half hung from the walls and the floor was scattered with remnants of shattered furniture. She stepped over a broken table and kneeled to take one of the legs into her hand. She examined the damage, believing, if she had enough time, she might be able to salvage the expensive piece of furniture.

  A noise from another room startled her, and she rose and hurried out of the dismal space, stepping, by sheer accident, into the entrance hall. She’d been too preoccupied to notice the room before. She paused, this time, to admire the contrast of devastation and beauty. Here, the intricately paneled ceiling, the black marble chimneypiece, and an awe-inspiring staircase carved with mythical creatures and gods.

  She padded forward and reached her hand out to admire the fine artistry. Everything appeared restored, rather than maintained.

  She stepped closer until the heavy fall of footsteps resounded behind her. She jumped and dashed to the front door, yanked it open and propelled herself through and into the night.

  Outside, the breeze drifted across her heated skin, lifting the dampened curls at the nape of her neck. She shivered and ambled to the carriage where the driver sat waiting for her.

  Next to the black curricle stood one of Penndrake’s attractive livery servants, adorned in a pair of plush green knee breeches, silk stockings, and a yellow satin coat. He bowed his white-powdered head and extended his tanned hands for her to take.
<
br />   She dipped inside the cab and slid back along the polished seat, waiting for the vehicle to pitch forward and carry her home. As her nerve-racked body jostled and swayed to the continuous rhythm of the uneven road, she tried to block from her mind the last few minutes with Lord Wesley.

  To her chagrin, the lengthy ride did nothing but allow her enough time to dwell upon her foolishness. By sprinting off to Penndrake and rushing into the man’s study, she’d offered herself to the dragon and surrendered to him without a fight.

  An unfolding heat spread across her body, causing Kate to wrap her hands around her midsection. There, a peculiar tightness pulsed at a steady rate. She tried pushing it away, only to have it sink lower and deeper than before.

  Desperate to forget, Kate dropped her head back against the shell of the carriage and closed her eyes. The day had turned out nothing like she’d expected. She’d planned to spend most of it answering Edward’s letter and plotting how to tell her father of her plans to become a governess.

  That had all changed upon Lord Wesley’s rapid departure from the stables when she finally had a chance to decipher Edward’s rash handwriting. There, she’d torn out his letter, her eyes straining for two long minutes until the words materialized into one simple phrase: I’m coming home, please wait for me.

  In a state of chaotic misery, she’d secured a carriage, her mind aflutter with unspeakable thoughts. What if Edward returned and met with Lord Wesley? What if the latter invented a story about how he’d come into ownership of her jeweled gift from her cousin, the account a scandalous rendition of what had happened?

  Edward, to save her virtue, would draw a sword, or worse, a pistol and aim it right between Lord Wesley’s sweltering eyes. On the other hand, Lord Wesley, no doubt an expert shot, would kill Edward before her dear cousin squeezed the trigger.

  Terrified for Edward’s life, she’d scurried off, convincing herself she was saving her cousin from an executable death and not Lord Wesley from a deserving one. Only now, after she’d had time to rationalize the situation did she conclude she’d made things considerably worse.

  Upon seeing the marquess again, the man—in his easy, laid-back manner—convinced her to let down her guard. She, mesmerized by his siren-like attractiveness, felt like a helpless animal, powerless to resist him. After a few whispered words, she descended right into his muscular lap, literally, losing all inhibitions and modesty.

  Kate cringed at what she’d done, falling prey to Lord Wesley’s skillful seduction. So enamored by his touch, she vanquished her prudish upbringing and kissed him without a hint of shyness.

  The shock of his warm and firm lips against hers should have prompted her to pull away. It did not. As his mouth slid delicately over hers, she’d become dizzy, as if she’d floated too close to heaven.

  Lost in his kiss, she’d soared above the clouds until the brush of his hand upon her thigh slammed her back to earth.

  Kate moaned aloud, reliving every intimate moment and the way he stood and prowled forward like a cautious, ravenous lion. He’d proven to her how frighteningly vulnerable her heart remained. What had she gained by trying to retrieve her comb from him? Nothing. Now, how could she return to London, and her plans of spinsterhood, knowing the marquess was in possession of her gift from Edward?

  “Oh bother,” she muttered. She needed another chance with Lord Wesley before Edward returned to kill him, or God forbid, vice versa. Determined to bring about a more positive outcome, Kate opened her eyes and leaned forward to drink in the astonishing night. Of course, every time she breathed, the warm sandalwood scent of his lordship filled her senses. Even the memory of his handsome face and the wondrous sensation of his soft lips made her sigh on several occasions.

  Ashamed of her brazen behavior, she groaned aloud and tried to distract herself by sticking her head out into the chilly night. Although the idea did much to cool her heated skin, it did nothing to tame her immoral thoughts. Lord Wesley was, by far, one of the most virile men of her acquaintance. She understood Edward’s warning better. She just didn’t know how much longer she could heed it, not that she’d done a virtuous job so far.

  At last, the carriage rumbled to a dusty halt. Too impatient to wait, she tossed open the carriage door, only to find the handsome footman from Penndrake waiting for her outside. His striking features remained impassionate as he held out a hand for her to take.

  “Did Lord Wesley order you to ride behind my carriage?” she asked after a long moment.

  He nodded. “Yes, miss.”

  Kate allowed the footman to guide her down onto the graveled path, letting go only when she’d balanced herself on two steady feet. She started forward, turning slightly to convey a message.

  “Will you be reporting back to his lordship?”

  The man bowed. “I will.”

  Kate sighed. “Well, then, please inform his lordship I said…thank you.”

  The man nodded, mounted one of Penndrake’s horses, and galloped into the night.

  Forced to dwell on the bizarre actions of Lord Wesley, Kate turned and strolled into the main hall, past the first-floor parlor, and up the third flight of stairs to her room. So engrossed in her wistful thoughts, she didn’t notice the hectic scampering of her cousins, her aunt, and several maids until Claire flew by her, the paper curlers in her brown locks waving like the ends of a kite.

  “Oh, where have you been, Kate?” Lady Sophia howled from the ground floor, her neck craned up and her mop cap flopping and threatening to unhinge itself at any moment.

  Kate called down, “I’m sorry, Aunt, there was something I needed to take care of without delay.”

  The lady balked at her response. “What could be more important than helping the girls pack for Penndrake? Lord Wesley will be coming to pick us all up at seven o’clock in the morning.”

  Kate leaned over the glossy oak banister, uncertain if she’d heard her aunt correctly. Surely, the marquess didn’t intend for the Garretts to invade his home so soon.

  “Tomorrow?” Kate echoed.

  “Yes, girl, tomorrow! Now, be off with you and help Claire. She can’t find her blue satin gown.”

  No. Kate stood in shocked silence before she was able to propel her legs to retreat down the stairs. “But, but…we can’t go to Penndrake.”

  Lady Sophia scrunched up her delicate face. “And why on earth not? I’ve already made the arrangements and sent a letter to your father.”

  Kate winced. There was no doubt her father would receive the letter and rejoice in the fact his unmarried daughter might find herself a husband somewhere between Camden and Penndrake without his influence. A lord did provide so much more than an apprentice after all.

  “B-because,” Kate stuttered, reaching into her pocket to pull out Edward’s letter.

  While her aunt continued to gawk at her as if she’d grown two heads and a pair of horns, Kate dug deeper until an icy prickling of dread gripped at her insides. The letters, once secured upon her person, were gone.

  Her mind pondered a dozen different scenarios of how she might have lost them until the memory of Lord Wesley’s hand sweeping across her thigh ignited a deluge of liberating anger.

  “Kate?” Lady Sophia whispered, “Are you…all right?”

  Kate’s body trembled at what she’d done. Not only had Lord Wesley taken her comb and letters, he’d managed to steal her thoughts and reasoning long enough to make her forget her purpose for visiting him in the first place.

  As disbelief turned to humiliation and then rage, Kate stormed past her aunt and straight up the stairs. Claire, Deidra, and Lilly did well to scamper out of the way and not disturb her for the rest of the evening.

  In a blur of varying temperament, Kate threw open her rosewood armoire and sifted through an array of daytime and evening dresses she’d yet to put on since arriving at Camden Hall.

  At her mother’s insistence, she brought them along, half promising to wear them during the season. Since Kate did not intend to sec
ure a husband, she chose to bring as little attention to her person by adorning herself in Claire’s well-worn morning dresses, an idea Lady Sophia encouraged with great enthusiasm.

  It worked out well for everyone. Claire impressed upon the masses her cultured talents while Kate stood in the background, acquiring the patience of serving the privileged class.

  Although Kate knew she was expected to resume her current station in society at Penndrake, she believed she needed to rise above her self-proclaimed status of the commoner to save the Garretts. She needed to recover Edward’s cryptic letters and learn why Lord Wesley had a sudden interest in them.

  In choosing a low-cut, emerald green, muslin Empire gown, she placed herself in the same sphere as Claire and Deidra and all the other females hoping to vie for his lordship’s attention.

  Convinced her resentment toward Lord Wesley would remain steadfast and strong, Kate picked out a few more flattering outfits. Along with her vast array of weaponry, she packed enough accessories to get her through a fortnight’s stay or Edward’s return, whichever came first.

  Come the morning, she’d have everything she needed to play Lord Wesley’s games and win.

  …

  Wesley lay in bed long after Miss Holden’s departure, his right arm tucked under his head, his left hand resting on his bare chest and clutching both letters he’d seized from her warm pocket.

  Although he told himself he’d done the right thing, the twinge of guilt still ate at his insides and his bloody conscious. If she’d left no lasting effect, he’d not think twice about what he’d done. However, upon her departure, he reflected on little else than the tender kiss she surrendered to him in the moonlight.

  Even now, he laid atop his quilted covers, stiff and longing for another minute alone with Miss Kathryn Holden, his betrothed, so to speak. In all fairness, she was his for the taking, despite the fact she had a secret lover stashed away somewhere. At this point, he didn’t know if the man was Garrett or not. Either way, these facts did little to bring him comfort regarding Penndrake.