Kate glanced from her aunt’s rounded eyes to Lord Wesley’s stiff-set jaw. His chest rose in harsh breaths against his dark-burgundy tailcoat, expanding his shoulders farther against the backdrop of the white sandstone fireplace.
The room fell quiet until Miss Vivian’s shrill and enthusiastic voice proposed a noon-day picnic in Penndrake’s garden. Everyone seemed all in favor. Everyone except Lord Wesley.
In a pleasant, yet governing tone, Miss Vivian began directing the servants in various job responsibilities. Under her lashes, Kate observed the marquess. With his shoulders pulled back and his chin raised at a regarding angle, she wondered if he preferred to have Miss Vivian as the next mistress of Penndrake over anyone else there.
Indeed. He didn’t seem to notice Kate’s presence, spending most of his conversation either with Mr. Rourke or Miss Vivian. She blew out a slow and deflated breath. In a short amount of time and despite her mistrust of him, she knew she was beginning to develop an unexplainable fondness for Lord Wesley.
“Oh bother,” she whispered, drawing his gaze to her before he glanced away.
Since last night, his demeanor toward her had turned ice-cold. She shivered, the subtle gesture seeming to capture his attention once again. Unable to bear his aloofness one more second—and coupled with a loathing to return to the garden where he’d confiscated her possessions in a clever art of seductive trickery—she excused herself, confessing a pounding headache.
The only regrets of her departure came from Arthur, the Pearsons, and Mr. Darlington, whom she found handsome and amiable to a fault. With one last glance toward Lord Wesley, she turned and ambled back to her bedchamber. She closed her eyes and sank into the mattress, trying to remember last night while blocking images of her scandalous kiss in the garden.
“This will not do!”
Kate sprang upward to find the man of her thoughts charging into her room.
“Lord Wesley, does it ever occur to you to knock?”
“No,” he said simply as he closed the door. Then he strode across the room, grasped the French curtains, and yanked them shut with one wrenching move.
The room fell dark and shadowed, with Kate sitting frozen, unsure of his mood, unsure of what motivated him to tear into the bedchamber, risking scandal and ridicule, again.
“Why did you say you had a headache?” he asked from the foot of her bed.
She glanced around before answering him. “Because I do have a headache.”
He angled his body and lifted an index finger toward the ceiling, preparing to scold her, she was sure. “Then you should not have indulged yourself with so much champagne last night.”
Kate bounded from the bed to her feet, closing the distance between her and Lord Wesley by a few paces. “I only had two glasses, and you should have told your servants to stop sending them to me.”
“Four, and I wasn’t the one giving the command!”
“Then who?” she asked, surprised at his awareness of her when so much entertainment had surrounded him. Lord Wesley raised one arched brow, giving the answer she didn’t wish to assume.
“Arthur?” she whispered.
“Scoundrel.” Lord Wesley stalked away from her and then back again. “I should have thrown him out last night for being so reckless, not to mention presumptuous.”
Kate held the comment to herself until she thought she’d burst. “So, how are you and Arthur different? Have you not been reckless? Have you not made the same presumptions?”
Confronted with her question, he stepped before her, so close the spicy scent of his skin enveloped her senses. As his radiating warmth cloaked her, she leaned in, searching for more of what he had to offer.
“Since I’ve met you, madam, I have not made one move that was not coveted.” He stared into her eyes, daring her to refute him. Ashamed of her behavior, she turned her head away, only to have him crook his finger under her chin and guide her face back to his. Featherlight, he stroked her cheek, and she drew a sharp inhale, disclosing the truth of his words.
While his free hand lifted to cup her jaw, his mouth lowered within an inch of her own. “Am I right, Miss Holden?”
Kate’s heart raced as if it had been set free after years of confinement. She feared he would hear it, feared he would know how her body reacted to his nearness. How could she have ever compared him to Arthur? Where the latter’s once soft pecks upon her skin elicited no more than an easy stammer, Lord Wesley’s sheer nearness caused a flood of wanting so fierce she doubted she’d ever be able to deny him.
“Why are you in my room?” she asked.
His blue, green, and brown marbled eyes narrowed. “Since you and the Pearsons appear to be the only sensible people here, I’ve come to beg your company at the picnic.”
“Oh.” Shocked to not hear Miss Vivian’s name mentioned as being sensible, she said nothing else.
He stepped away, taking with him his encompassing heat and promising caress. She sighed and turned, wishing he had not come to her room. More than this, she wished he had not begun to plague her heart and soul with each barging and interrupting moment.
“I will go.” Never mind her headache, she loathed the idea of confining herself to her darkened room just to avoid watching Lord Wesley’s blatant display of shameful flirtation with all the single ladies at Penndrake.
He appeared surprised she’d given in, perhaps believing he had to negotiate more to get his way. “Good. I…expect you downstairs momentarily.”
He hesitated before stepping toward the door and walking out, not even bothering to glance outside to see if anyone of consequence stood in the hall to witness him leaving.
During noon tea and the impromptu picnic in the infamous garden, Kate remained aloof to everyone, including Lord Wesley. Since his charge into her bedchamber earlier, his mood had deteriorated, becoming tempestuous and unpredictable. Only those who knew him best dared go to his side. Those, and anyone oblivious to his menacing scowl.
As expected, the picnic turned out to be nothing more than an unashamed display of two fraught felines chasing their noble mouse. For once, Kate felt some compassion for the marquess. Not only did he appear to abhor the outing, but he even tried engaging in a conversation with Lilly, an undertaking proven unsuccessful when she stood speechlessly and frozen from his devoted attention. Poor Lilly.
Kate, still ill from the champagne, forwent the raspberry tarts and cucumber sandwiches. Instead, she watched everything while on a patchwork quilt, sipping a cup of lukewarm tea and honey.
Unfortunately, in her direct view stood the trifling pair of Miss Vivian and Claire. The two, dressed in daring muslin dresses way too thin for the cool weather, appeared to compete over whose cleavage showed the most flesh. By a mere breath, Kate believed Claire won, a single act of inhaling threatened to reveal her modest endowments for everyone to see.
Then there was Arthur, who stood speaking to Aunt Sophia, and at the same time, flashing multiple glances toward her daughter’s boastful attributes.
“Hello, Kate,” Deidra said, dropping down beside her, a raspberry tart poised in her right hand.
Kate smiled, although the sweet smell of the confection caused her stomach to tumble.
“It is so lovely here, is it not?” Deidra offered before stuffing the pastry into her mouth and slicing a glance toward her mother before licking her fingers afterward.
Kate glanced around, shielding herself from falling in love with the place. Yes, it was lovely, as beautiful and breathtaking as any garden she’d ever seen. With its angelic fountains and a vivid spray of autumn flowers, she believed it was pulled straight from heaven.
“Who would not want to be mistress here?” her cousin chirped, her credulous blue eyes blinking in Claire and Miss Darlington’s direction. “Although, I do believe my dear sister is going about this all wrong.”
Kate drew back from Deidra’s observation, both surprised and intrigued at how the young lady came to such a conclusion. “Whatever do you mean?”<
br />
Her cousin clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes toward the graying skyline. “Well, I believe if she wished to secure Lord Wesley’s attention, she should be following your example.”
What? Kate shook her head, confused. Deidra sighed like an impatient child waiting for a plate of marzipan.
“Do not play ignorant, dear cousin,” Deidra scolded. “Have you not noticed how he glances over here at you every five or ten seconds as if you were some apparition, who at any moment might disappear and leave him forever? You show him the least bit of consideration, and he appears even more determined to obtain your interest. Why do you think I have not said one word to Mr. Darlington all afternoon? Perhaps your strategy might work for me, as well.”
Deidra grinned wide and tossed a wisp of golden hair from her thin lashes. Kate chuckled to herself, so amused by the lengths her female counterparts would reach to acquire the affections of the opposite sex. Kate wondered—had she been so shrewd regarding Arthur?
Lost in her memory, she didn’t realize the imposing shadow moving across the bottleneck green-and-canary yellow blanket until his husky voice jerked her head upward. “Miss Holden?”
Lord Wesley stared down at her, not in the least amused by the day’s events. He exhaled several times, the muscle in his jaw jumping with every exerted effort. She waited for him to gather his thoughts, her pose patient and unassuming.
“Yes, my lord?”
He blinked, his arresting eyes flickering underneath his long black lashes. Like a dam unleashed, flashes of the previous night flooded her mind. Their intimate dance. Their engaging conversation. Her telling him that she loved him.
Dear God.
She sucked in her breath and lifted her hand to her chest so fast, his eyebrows furrowed with surprise and then concern. She stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say or do. Oh, what convinced her to let down her guard and expose her heart without a care? She knew she could blame her loose tongue on too much alcohol, but it wouldn’t be true.
Distraught by both her actions and her thoughts, she prepared to leave. She needed a place to think and enough time to find the items Lord Wesley stole from her. She was afraid if she stayed another night in his presence, a confession would be the least of her worries.
“Miss Holden?”
Kate froze in place, her body facing away from Lord Wesley. “Forgive me, my lord, but I believe my headache has returned.” She wasn’t being untruthful. In fact, it seemed every fiber of her being ached for one reason or another.
“Since it appears you are recalling more of what took place last night, I believe—”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please.”
All heads turned toward Miss Vivian, the woman’s pale hands poised to clap in case there were a few pretending to ignore her.
“I have thought of a wonderful game we can play.”
“Blazes,” Lord Wesley murmured under his breath, yet still loud enough for Kate to hear.
“If you were not aware, Penndrake has a most extraordinary maze right behind us. It is near impossible to get out. I say we team up with partners and see who can be the first to master the maze.”
Kate held her breath, dreading such a game where she stood lost in a confined space with no idea of how to get out.
“Lord Wesley will be my partner,” Miss Vivian shouted.
“You can be mine, Kate.” Deidra leaned in to say.
Lord Wesley, who could challenge the lady and cancel the game, said nothing. He just stood there, his body rigid, the muscles in his jaw tight. Kate supposed he refrained from embarrassing Miss Vivian. How fortunate for the woman. How tragic for her.
“Come on, Kate. This might be fun,” Deidra said as she grasped Kate’s hand and hauled her up, letting go only when they’d reached the eight-foot wall of climbing honeysuckle.
Glancing around, Kate noticed the other partners. The Pearsons, Arthur and Lady Sophia, Claire and Lilly, Mr. Darlington and his friend Captain Eckart, and of course, Lord Wesley and a very triumphant Miss Vivian.
“All right, everyone,” Miss Vivian crooned. “You and your partner”—she paused to flutter her eyelashes at his lordship—“will enter the maze thirty seconds behind the last couple. The pair who finds their way out first wins.”
Despite an internal warning, Kate spoke up. “Is there not some advantage, Miss Vivian, in having the owner of the maze as your partner?”
A sudden hush fell over the small group. To Kate’s satisfaction, Mr. Darlington smiled, covering a slight laugh with an exaggerated cough. She dared not glance at Lord Wesley, afraid his features might reveal something less appreciative.
“Why, of course not, Miss…Miss—”
“Holden,” Kate offered with an overexaggerated smile, aware the dreadful woman knew exactly what her name was, having been already introduced.
Miss Vivian’s nose wrinkled with annoyance.
“If you would like to swap partners, I am as familiar with the grounds as my cousin,” Arthur leaned down to whisper in her left ear.
Desperate to believe the man would get her out of the maze without her suffering a sprained ankle or a fainting spell, she agreed, perhaps too enthusiastically. She supposed Lord Wesley’s subtle shake of his head should have reminded her of what Rourke might attempt in the flowery morass.
Nonetheless, she needed to get through the maze quickly, in case the walls closed in, and she felt herself suffocating.
“Arthur, are you quite certain we are going the right way?” she asked, sweat beginning to pop out on her temple despite the cool, dimming day. So far, at least fifteen minutes inside the maze, she’d remained calm and unaffected by the looming impediment. But the sky had begun to darken, the clouds lowering, fast, furious, and frightening.
“Yes, there is no doubt in my mind we are headed in the right direction,” he yelled over a gust of wind, his assurance not putting Kate at ease.
He grasped her hand just as a bolt of lightning streaked above them. His familiar palm, smooth like a baby’s cheek, stroked against hers, bringing back a flood of memories. She gasped and tried to yank her arm away, but his grip wrapped tighter, the force bringing her against him.
“No,” she said, the faint words lost in a sudden downpour. Her heart pounded, but not because of his closeness. If anything, she realized he stirred nothing in her but painful reflections of days gone by.
“Please, take me out of here,” she begged, the walls caving in to squeeze the air out of her lungs. The rain continued to fall, fat drops stinging as they pelted the side of her face. He said nothing. He did nothing.
“Arthur,” she said again, trying to seize his attention. As his face flushed and his eyes blinked, he appeared to struggle with reason and want. Anxious to get away in case the second gave way to the first, she kicked at his shin and shoved her fists into his lanky chest.
“What in the devil did you do that for, Kate?” He let go of her and began hopping away. She wasted no time in darting around a corner, and then another, desperate to find the end. To make matters worse, the stifling smell of doused earth seemed to steal the oxygen right from her.
“Kate, Kate!” Arthur called, his voice sounding farther and farther away.
Panic gave way to anger. Anger gave way to despair. Her legs wobbled from one dead end to another. Afraid to call out in case she’d find Arthur livid, obsessed, or both, she continued to run. Exhausted and drenched, she carried on until her body stopped. She hiccuped in anguish, brushing away a stream of tears that had gathered on her chin.
Her shoulders sagged from the sopping clothes, pulling her farther to the mud-splashed ground. Halfway near surrender, a sturdy arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her up again.
“I’ve got you.”
Oh God.
Happiness and humiliation flooded Kate’s weary body. Why did Lord Wesley always feel the need to be around at her most vulnerable times?
“I was doing quite well on my ow
n,” she squeaked out, her back pressed firmly against him.
“Yes, it did appear that way.”
She scoffed at his sarcasm, lifting her gaze to a splice of blue-and-white sky. The rain had stopped and for the first time in what felt like forever, she brought in a deep and flowing breath.
The moment she relaxed, he released her and stepped away. She turned, struck by his drowned appearance. His waistcoat and jacket were removed, and his once starched shirt lay soaked and plastered to the hard contours of his powerful torso. She shouldn’t be so shocked by what she saw. After all, she’d seen him without a stitch on less than twelve hours ago.
For a distraction, she cleared her throat and forced herself to blink and then to breathe. She lifted her gaze to his wet raven-black hair and his chiseled features.
“How—”
He held up his hand, palm out. “When I saw Arthur burst from the exit alone and limping, I deduced the obvious.”
Kate balled her hands into fists, ready to pierce Lord Wesley’s cousin with a fork the next time they dined together. First, for trying to take advantage of the situation, and second, for just being the man she wasted her heart on so many years ago.
“Once again, I find myself directing you to get out of those clothes.” He gave her a devil of a smirk. “Mrs. Abram is waiting for you at the servants’ entrance,” Lord Wesley said, offering Kate his arm. She paused too long, prompting him to lean down and whisper, “From what has passed between us, Miss Holden, you know I’m not the one who bites.”
At every turn, he reminded her of their numerous indiscretions. She canted her head toward him and whispered back, “That is yet to be determined, now isn’t it?”
He chuckled, taking a moment to raise his fingertips to her damp face and slide a sopping strand of hair from her cheek. She shivered from his touch, and she knew she had to put a stop to these moments before it was too late. First, however, she wanted to bring up her humiliating decree from last night.
“Lord Wesley—”
“Miss Holden, if you wish to speak of the endearing and passionate proclamation during a most scandalous dance, I am not so ignorant, so delusional, that I thought for a moment it was a confession. Let me assure you, we are on even ground regarding our feelings. We need not address the incident again.”
A Mistress for Penndrake Page 12