A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  Before meeting her, he’d anticipated some persuasion on his part. Upon getting to know her, Wesley knew ruining her would not take more than a fortnight. She was too curious and a bit too naive. In fact, he believed if Rourke had met her first, she would have given into him just as easily. After all, the man was rumored to have broken plenty of…hearts before, during, and after his short marriage that now left him a widower.

  Wesley grumbled to himself, hoping he’d never have to introduce Rourke to Miss Holden. Of course, while the man was all fluff and flounce, she was fire and feistiness. Wesley knew when she found the letters missing from her hiding place, she might want to return to Penndrake, fists and feet flailing. Oh, she was such a delight when she was angry.

  He had no doubt she’d discovered his trickery by now and wished him ill, or worse, dead. Despite this, he laughed aloud, picturing her delightful face flustered and her sweet-laced mouth spewing wretched names similar to those she’d used in the stables. He touched his lips, wondering how a bold mouth as heavenly as Miss Holden’s could hold so much sinful promise.

  This thought brought him back to the damn letters and which one he thought she loathed for him to read the most. Was it the first, warning her of his less than honorable intentions or the other badly crinkled one that simply read, “I’m coming home, please wait for me.”

  The urge to rush over to Camden Hall and demand an explanation to the meaning of those words prompted him to ball the letters into the palm of his hand and pitch them across the firelit room.

  He wondered if Edward Garrett had come to his senses and realized his love for his cousin and the terrible mistake it was to hand her off in the bargain. The thought made Wesley’s teeth hurt. It also made him think more upon this game between him and Garrett. It had changed, forcing Wesley to amend the rules as he went along.

  What didn’t change, however, was Wesley’s intention to ask for Penndrake back or to keep Miss Holden as a pawn. To put all this in place, Wesley needed the woman close, and he needed her there.

  Tomorrow, he’d begin to take back what was rightfully his, one way or the other, without ultimatums or conditions attached.

  Chapter Six

  Kate woke early, dawn just beginning its ascent above the blackened patch of billowy trees. A splatter of colors—rose pink, oyster gray, and plum purple—stretched across the vast horizon. Eager to jump into the morning, Kate sprang out of bed, gathered a clean shift, and darted to the water closet under the staircase.

  Only willing to stay a minute or two in the cramped room, she hurriedly filled a copper tub with lukewarm water and slathered vanilla-scented soap over her goose-bumped body. The invigorating exercise did little to quell the mounting apprehension of seeing Lord Wesley again.

  She wanted to hate him. She wanted to launch at him and beat on his chest until he confessed his treachery. She knew, however, he was only partially to blame. After all, he’d not been the one to lean forward on impulse and brazenly touch his lips to hers.

  Still perplexed by her own immodest compulsion, Kate brought up the round sponge and flattened it above her head. The cool water rained down, smothering the burning blush erupting over her nakedness.

  Determined to push yesterday from her mind, she stepped out of the tub, dried herself, and dressed in a clean shift. Then she returned to her room to do her hair and finish packing the rest of her things.

  She’d no sooner woven a strand of white satin ribbon into her damp curls when Claire bounded into her room and grabbed her by the arm. Kate shuffled beside her persistent cousin until they both stood still and stared at each other in the middle of Claire’s overly decorated bedchamber.

  “You have to help me,” Claire blurted out.

  Almost afraid to ask, Kate said, “Help you with what exactly?”

  Kate regretted her inquiry as she spent the next forty-five minutes scrutinizing every dress her cousin paraded before her. Kate realized after the third that Claire’s sole purpose was to look her absolute best in order to elicit Lord Wesley’s virile attention.

  “Do you think he’ll like this one?” Claire mused as she sashayed in front of a walnut dressing table mirror. While the pale-pink gauze brought out her excitable eyes and high cheekbones, the Empire gown, with its plunging neckline and high waist, showed off her flawless figure. Pretty and poised, Kate wondered how Claire had gone a full season without at least one suitor admiring her attributes.

  “Claire,” Kate began, her left arm wrapped around the mahogany bedpost and her bare toe swiping back and forth along the polished-oak flooring. “Why do you think Lord Wesley is inviting the Garretts to Penndrake?”

  Claire whipped around, her arched blond eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Why, he’s looking for a wife, of course. A mistress for Penndrake.”

  Kate gaped as her cousin clapped her hands together and returned to marveling herself in the mirror. If Lord Wesley was indeed looking for an eager companion, though Kate had some doubts, he certainly would find it with Claire. A prick of jealousy jabbed Kate between her rib cage. Her cousin possessed all the talent to secure a husband of rank, fortune, and handsomeness.

  Thinking back to the day before, when Lord Wesley introduced himself to the Garretts, Kate tried to recall if he appeared intrigued or at all interested in Claire’s attempts to steal his attention.

  “Oh, isn’t he is the most handsome man to ever meet our acquaintance, Kate?” Claire inquired, an air of dreaminess conveyed in her purring voice.

  “I’ve seen more handsome men,” Kate lied.

  “And those eyes, so beautiful, like that of a…of a…”

  “Dragon,” Kate mused, a little too loud.

  Claire drew back, her face twisted into a disgusted grimace. “Good God, no. How could you say such a thing about his features? Lord Wesley has the face of a Grecian deity, fine and beautiful.”

  Struck without words to argue against her assertion, Kate remained silent as Claire turned her back and began pinching her cheeks and smashing her lips together. After the desired effect had been reached, her cousin declared, “And I shall tell him you compared him to such a devilish creature. Why, he will be appalled.”

  Kate dug her short nails into the glossy wood of the bedpost, fighting the urge to confess how she’d called the man worse not more than four and twenty hours ago.

  Weary of thinking, much less talking about Lord Wesley after spending a night full of restless dreams tucked between an acute awareness of forbidden wonder, Kate dropped her bare feet to the chilly floor and walked out of the room.

  In a vexed and befuddled daze, she returned to her chamber and opened the half-empty armoire she tore through last night. Since picking out her elaborate wardrobe in a flash of fury, she’d reclaimed her sensibility and decided to go with a simple gray day dress worn over a light chemise and front-lacing corset. She tucked a soft beige fichu into the scooping square neckline of her bodice and set out to help whoever required her assistance.

  Glad to have something to occupy her thoughts, Kate bustled around, aiding and directing the footmen while Lady Sophia sat fanning her face with a white-and-red silk fan.

  “Oh, Kate, do be careful with my things,” her aunt called from the parlor in an exhausted tone. Spent from squawking at her daughters, Lady Sophia sighed and appeared as if she might expire at any moment.

  “Yes, Aunt,” Kate said, bending down to gather three rounded rosewood trunks into her arms. As the top case wobbled six inches above her head, Kate rambled toward the door, peering around the middle one to locate the luggage carriage outside.

  While she weaved through hurrying maids and alert footmen, she concentrated on her balance, keeping her pace slow and steady. She stepped soundlessly into the retreating sunlight, the ever-changing English horizon giving way to a blanket of gray and gloomy clouds while thunder echoed in the background.

  Around her, the dewy breeze swirled and seeped through her sheer sleeves, causing her to shiver. The motion triggered her l
opsided burden to teeter and tilt at a dangerous angle.

  In retrospection, lugging the burdensome things out one at a time would have been a better idea. However, doing so may have also taken too long, and she didn’t wish to run into Lord Wesley under such awkward circumstances.

  She had no doubt he’d question her on why she was toting bags like a servant and, in turn, she’d have to come up with a snide comment that might have her dear aunt screeching of disapproval.

  Of course, it seemed sensible to Kate to condition herself for her new role as a tireless governess of sorts. Where it made sense to her aunt and cousins, they embraced her peculiar position without question, adapting to her willingness to tutor Lilly on her French and Latin and serve them tea at noon.

  Her decision to become a governess wasn’t an easy one, but what choice did she have? A well-bred lady, such as herself, with little dowry, had limited options beyond becoming a wife and a mother. Furthermore, she possessed no special talent or ability to set her apart from her fairer sex.

  Why she feared Lord Wesley, of all people, witnessing her carrying on below her station in life, she cared not to dwell on now. For the moment, balancing the boxes and averting an avalanche of Lady Sophia’s snowy-white unmentionables from flying out and then landing in a wintry mess in front of her remained Kate’s highest priority.

  She’d managed to right herself only to take a wobbly step backward…into a steely figure with muscular arms.

  “I’ve got you,” Lord Wesley whispered, embracing her in a stalwart grip. She let out a quick breath, her heart careening full force against her rib cage. She tried not think about the sturdiness of his body or the rich warm scent of his skin.

  No. She would not fall under his spell again. Still angry with herself for kissing him, and for allowing him to confiscate more than just the comb, she shoved her elbows into his abdomen. Like the last time, she found herself ensnared in his embrace, his hold tightening and refusing to let her go.

  She turned her head and hissed at him. “Has it occurred to you that this is a most compromising position for the both of us, in broad daylight nonetheless?”

  He grunted as she writhed against him, her fingers constricting around her cargo.

  “It will do you well, Miss Holden, to hold still,” he said, his tone void of patience or pleasantry.

  Realizing she had no other choice, Kate allowed Lord Wesley to let go and reach over her, relieving her of the unbalanced trunks. He lifted them above her head as if they weighed a feather and turned to the same footman who’d followed her home the night before. With ease and agility, Lord Wesley transferred the leather cases before leisurely rotating back around to face her.

  Unwilling to start an awkward conversation with the man, Kate attempted to step away, only to go as far as a few sand-colored pebbles before his hand clamped down on her right shoulder.

  The awakening power in his assured grasp left her immobile, allowing him to stride in front of her. “What the devil were you doing? Have you not noticed there are enough servants to handle the Garretts’ luggage?”

  Stunned into silence, Kate could only gawk and breathe at his infuriated gaze. Since their extraordinary introduction earlier, she’d seen his various degrees of temper. The one he showed at this moment had his hands fisted at his sides and his brows furrowed together under his raven locks.

  She backed away, not from fright but from surprise. Why had her carelessness caused such a severe reaction? The worst she could have received from a spill on the stone steps was a tongue lashing from her aunt and a few bruises from the fall.

  While his lips stretched into a tight line under his flaring nostrils and the tight muscle in his jaw jumped with indignation, Kate continued to stare until she found her tongue.

  “What I was doing, my lord, does not concern you,” she said, trying not to wince at the fact she was scolding someone of superior birth.

  He drew closer and lifted a sharp index finger before Lady Sophia’s energetic voice threw their attention toward her.

  “Lord Wesley, you have arrived!”

  He twisted away from Kate, a growl of frustration and disappointment coming from deep in his throat. Out of sight of both the marquess and her aunt, Kate shuffled close to a thorny rose bush as Claire, Deidre, and Lilly streamed into the pathway, all of them wearing their brightest dresses and ribbons, all of them flushing and clamoring for Lord Wesley’s attention.

  Kate peered through the thick, thorny bush, another prickling of jealousy stabbing at her insides. A few feet away, Claire rubbed her most charming attributes against Lord Wesley’s arm. He appeared amused and even threw his head back on more than one occasion to something Claire mouthed close to his right ear.

  Gone were the ferocious scowl and stiff stance. He smiled without prompting, compelling Kate to wonder how much of it existed as a diversion to further his devious intentions and how much was genuine interest in Claire.

  Before she thought of an answer, Kate began to stride away, the sweet scent of crimson roses still lingering despite the frost. Of course, her movement attracted his attention, his eyes shifting to her, his lopsided smile fading into the infamous tense line. She pushed the disappointment of his reaction away and continued forward until she stood close to his coach.

  She had barely noticed the familiar family crest posted on the black door before a terrible realization descended upon her like a tidal wave. She’d be crammed into that carriage with no escape, no air to breathe. She stumbled back and caught her balance to keep from falling.

  A few feet away, Lord Wesley sent her a curious glance. Ashamed of her own phobias, she bent her head toward her frayed hem. After a few rustling moments, she sensed him staring at her. When she lifted her gaze to him, he turned.

  “Shall we?” he asked the crowd of Garrett women, all of them accepting his hand as he guided them onto cherry upholstered seats.

  Kate remained rooted to her spot until Lord Wesley reached out and enfolded his strong fingers around her gloved hand.

  “Miss Holden?” His thick, agitated voice penetrated through her apprehensive thoughts. She tried to yank her hand away, but his hold remained unrelenting and tight.

  “Kate, do not dither so,” her aunt scolded, poking her decorated head out of the carriage window.

  Be brave.

  Reluctant to cause a scene or admit her childish fear of enclosed places to Lord Wesley of all people, Kate took in a deep breath and allowed him to escort her to the packed and smothering vehicle.

  He was quick to let go, the eagerness of his intimate departure not lost on Kate. Grateful for the vacant seat next to the window, she began to sit when her backside landed on Lilly’s waiting lap.

  “You must sit in the middle, Kate,” her cousin said. Unable to protest, Kate relented and shifted to the middle where the air was as stagnant as death.

  …

  Wesley sat rigid and silent while the cramped space inside his carriage grew warm and stuffy. Squashed between the elder two sisters, he had the fortune or misfortune, depending on one’s taste, to endure Claire’s insistent purring in his right ear. Bolder than most affluent young women he knew, he believed the accidental stroke with her hand against his thigh was a clear signal of her interest.

  On the other side of him, Lilly uttered not a word while Deidra spoke, only to comment on the finery of his clothes and the disappointing weather. Across the tiny aisle assembled the rest of the Garrett clan and Miss Holden. Like him, she sat sandwiched in between her aunt and cousin, blowing at Lady Sophia’s wayward ostrich feathers every time they drifted over to tickle her small angelic nose.

  Other than defending herself against feathery attacks, she remained statue-still. Her gaze, he noticed, stayed downcast, her dark lashes resting on her rouged cheeks and shielding any thoughts reflected in her emerald eyes. He longed to know her opinions and craved to, once again, kiss them out of her.

  Between stints of heavy silence and sighing, he memorized the soft
curve of her jaw and the single tantalizing tendril curled at the nape of her slender neck. He counted how many times she licked her lips, her small tongue darting out in innocent provocation.

  In her hair, sprigs of white flowers wove through her silken tresses, placed there with careful deliberation. Odd, he thought, for a woman to take such time with her hair and pay so little attention to her dress. Gray. The dullest color he believed he’d ever seen.

  She didn’t make sense to him. Obviously well-educated and raised, she portrayed herself as a mere servant, encouraged further by her own relatives. On several occasions, she’d gone out of her way to play the part, making sure to dress it as well. Never had he encountered a person who wished to be less than her station, and it intrigued him. Although he shouldn’t care, he wanted answers. She’d nearly broken her neck carrying the bloody trunks out when she should have been perched on some rose-patterned settee anxiously awaiting his arrival.

  “My Lord, I have sent a letter to my husband about our sudden change of plans. He will be thrilled to learn of your most gracious hospitality, and I can assure you, he will visit Penndrake as soon as he is able.”

  Wesley narrowed his eyes at Lady Sophia, his peripheral vision still able to make out the mute young lady sitting next to her. He wanted to draw a reaction from Miss Holden, something to make her flinch or engage him in conversation. So far, the irritating ride, without her light and daring banter, was driving him to the edge of madness.

  “Yes, from what I’ve heard, your son may be on his way home as well.” He said this on purpose so Miss Holden would realize he could only have gotten the information from reading the letter Garrett sent to her.

  To his satisfaction, Miss Holden gasped. He straightened so his full attention was on no one else but her.

  “Have I said something wrong, Miss Holden?” he asked with an edge of sincerity.

  Her face, once a stunning shade of peaches and cream, turned ghost white in a rapid blink. She sat staring at him, her hue growing paler by the second. He lowered his gaze to her hands, clutched tight into a fist, the knuckles as ashen as her complexion. He realized his words alone were not the cause of her distress.