A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  His cousin already bored with sitting, slapped his knees and stood. “So you see, I am not jealous of you or anyone like you. Miss Holden is a prize to be won by me at any time if I so choose to have her.”

  “But you won’t?” Wesley questioned.

  His cousin shrugged as if they spoke of the Dowager Countess of Dunstable’s latest tea party.

  “Miss Holden is worth very little in the scheme of things. I have children to feed and land to maintain, I need at least ten thousand pounds in a union, not close to what she’s to inherit if she’s to inherit anything.”

  His breath heavy, his jaw clenched, Wesley tried hard to reign in his rising temper. To pretend he didn’t harbor some concern for Miss Holden would be foolish. Still, unwilling to pursue how much and how deep his feelings ran, he began to turn and walk away. To Wesley’s undoing, however, Arthur had one last thing to say on the matter.

  “Perhaps I might try your strategy and bed her this time around.”

  Like a bullet, Wesley’s body twisted and his fist connected with his cousin’s humble face. Adrenaline rushed through him fast and deep. Wesley felt no pain or no remorse for what he did, only a grand satisfaction at seeing Arthur sprawled on the worn carpet, a spot of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

  A firestorm of rage still burning in his veins, Wesley pointed his finger and warned, “If you do as you say, you might want to find guardians for your three children, for they might not have a father for long to see them grow up. Am I understood?”

  In a daze, his cousin nodded and began to wipe gingerly at his wound. The astonishment of the situation, however, did not keep him quiet as a crooked smile tugged at his increasingly swollen lips.

  “I believe I’ve never seen this part of you, cousin. Full of passion and ire. The devil, you should have warned me of your serious interest in her.”

  Wesley lifted his head and inhaled deeply. “My interests are of none of your concern.”

  “We are ready— Why is Mr. Rourke on the floor?”

  Wesley swung around to find Miss Holden blinking at him, her long lashes tapping her rounded cheeks.

  “He—”

  “—received exactly what he deserved,” Arthur finished, an unpretentious wink showing no ill feelings.

  Close by, Miss Holden and her two younger cousins, all remained quiet, every one of them seeming to consider what intriguing conversation led to the scene before them.

  One of them couldn’t keep from speculating aloud. Behind Miss Holden, Deidra whispered to her sister, “It’s probably over a female. Miss Darlington, perhaps.”

  Lilly nodded, her blue eyes wide, her blond head bobbing up and down like a ship in a gale storm.

  “Deidra, shhh,” Miss Holden scolded but sliced a glance toward him, her angelic face creased by her own perplexing thoughts. If she did believe their quarrel involved her, he prayed to God she never discovered to what extent.

  “Ah, well, it appears I have overstayed my welcome…for now.”

  Arthur stood and ambled over to the women, taking great care to single one of them out. He made sure to angle his body as to guarantee a full view of his intentions. Wesley held his breath, wondering what type of response Arthur would elicit from Miss Holden. This time, Wesley did and said nothing, allowing her to make her own decision.

  As careless as a moth flying into a flame, Arthur bent over the hand he’d secured from her side. “Madam, it has been a real pleasure seeing you again.”

  She stood still as he lifted her bent fingers to his bruised lips. Wesley thought he heard a whimper, but could never be sure, wishing now he had punched the man hard enough to cause a cut too deep to pucker.

  “Mr. Rourke,” she said simply and pulled her fingers from his grasp.

  After his cousin’s departure, Wesley waited as three pairs of soft and curious gazes landed straight on him.

  “Shall we?” he asked, lifting an arm in the direction of the door.

  Deidra and Lilly shuffled out, their heads close to touching, their whispered voices buzzing on what they’d witnessed.

  Miss Holden, however, stopped him, her slight hand reaching out to lie across his sleeve. He glanced down, closing his eyes for a second to calm the rush of desire at having her so near.

  “I do not wish to guess or know your conversation, but please, will you tell me one thing?”

  He opened his eyes as she peered up, faint lines of uncertainty ebbing across her smooth forehead. He longed to kiss them away, to hold her again like a few times before. So yielding in his embrace, so giving of herself, he believed he’d never find another woman who caused such stirrings of emotion and want, even if he searched a lifetime.

  “Go on,” he urged, his thick tone giving away his thoughts.

  “When you hit Mr. Rourke, were you hurt?”

  He gawked at her for a moment, struck by her unusual question. He brought his hand up and made a fist a few times to ensure he hadn’t broken anything. He didn’t think he had, but he might have knocked a few of his knuckles out of place.

  Curious as a little mouse, she brought his hand closer, as if inspecting it like a local doctor would one of his patients. She tsked and shook her head. “You should have aimed for his stomach,” she said, dropping her hand over his like a healing blanket.

  “Why is that?” he said, entranced by her concern.

  “It’s much softer and more pliable than his face.”

  He chuckled at her response, so drawn in by her humor. “I’ll remember that next time.”

  She nodded, eager to add, “Although, it did give me pleasure, as cruel as it might sound, to hear him wince as his lips kissed my hand.”

  Unable to resist, he leaned down and whispered into her ear, the scent of vanilla pulling him closer. “That makes two of us.”

  She smiled up at him, stealing his breath.

  “Is everyone ready? We can walk, instead of ride, if you’d like,” he said, hoping everyone else chose to utilize the carriage he’d brought around for them. All but two chose to walk, and he tried to hide his disappointment in having to share Miss Holden’s attention. He believed his attempt was futile at best.

  …

  Kate could not help but notice Lord Wesley’s brooding mood as Deidra and Lilly walked with them to the village. At least Claire and Lady Sophia chose the carriage, giving Kate some reprieve from their distrustful glances.

  As they walked, she didn’t wish to dwell too long on why Arthur lay sprawled on Lord Wesley’s floor, his lip bloody and bruised. She didn’t want to think they were arguing over Miss Vivian Darlington. Worse, she didn’t want to think Arthur had shared something of their past his lordship did not like.

  Her thoughts flashed back to several years before. A warming blush rose into her cheeks as she recalled all those whispered words of endearment and spontaneous pecks of affection.

  It embarrassed her more to relive her lack of sensible judgment or subtle prudence in the matter. How did she not see Arthur’s shallow tendencies? How did she fall for someone so devoid of character or selflessness?

  Resentment replaced humiliation, causing her steps to increase at a faster rate. Beside her, Lord Wesley, in all his haughty handsomeness, arched his eyebrows in a silent question.

  Kate clicked her tongue and turned away. She knew he continued to glance at her, causing her heart to react with a sputtering thud against her rib cage. Oh, silly girl. Was it not so long ago when her heart reacted the same way to Arthur’s insincere attention? No. Not the same way. This was different. Much, much different.

  “Oh, Kate, you look flushed. Are you unwell?” Deidra asked, popping up beside her as if summoned.

  Kate shook her head at her cousin. “I’m fine.” Mortified her thoughts of imprudent adoration had caused such a physical reaction, she sought to walk a few paces ahead of Lord Wesley, in hopes he’d find the conversation boring enough not to question her like her nosy cousin.

  “But you’re even sweating despite t
he chilly air. You must be coming down with something. That or you’re in love.”

  Kate glared at Deidra, astonished how the girl managed to say more about anything in the last few days than in the entire time they’d known each other.

  Lilly, stuck in the middle of a two-way conversation, came to life and sprang forward. “Of course, it must be so. You’re not sneezing or sniffling, and love is the only thing to make a lady’s cheeks so rosy and her eyes glossy.”

  Beyond humiliated, Kate stopped, her temper getting the best of her and her tongue. “I’m not in love. I was merely thinking of Mr. Rourke!”

  Her exclamation echoed down the lane, causing Lord Wesley to skid to a halt right beside her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Instead of explaining what she meant by her outburst, Kate just stood there, watching Lord Wesley’s jaw jump and him gaze straight into her soul.

  She had no doubt what he thought of her now. To be so young and have so little restraint as to her feelings, he must think her frivolous in the ways of men. If he loathed Claire for her recklessness toward him, Kate wondered how much resentment he harbored toward her. How many times together did she initiate a kiss or a touch? With vivid clarity, she relived each one—each touch, each kiss, each unreserved desire she felt. And with vivid clarity, her pulse began to race, and her body tightened at the prospect of experiencing it again.

  “Miss Holden?”

  Kate blinked to find Lord Wesley closer and Deidra and Lilly skipping up ahead. She stared at him for a long moment without moving, trying to read his thoughts. His face void of any emotion, she could only guess the worst.

  “I’m not going to insult your intelligence by asking if what your cousins said was true, however—” He paused to rake a frustrated hand down the length of his face.

  Kate sighed but stood her ground. She opted to tell him the truth of her thoughts, hoping he’d hear her out before jumping to some irrational conclusions. “It’s not that I harbor any feelings toward Mr. Rourke, or at least not the amorous kind,” she said rushing into an explanation. “He just reminds me of many things and many nonsensical decisions I wish I had not made.”

  “So, you’re saying you regret falling in love with him?”

  Lord Wesley’s eyes were like granite, his hands tightly fisted at his side. She continued despite what he might think of her.

  “You are wrong to assume that I was in love with Mr. Rourke in the first place.”

  “Well, weren’t you?”

  She exhaled at his insistent tone, unsure of how to explain her feelings to him when she didn’t know how to explain them to herself. “I thought he was a safe place, easy and charming. I was swept away by his attention and swept under by his effectual manner. No. I did not love him, but I did trust him, and that proved to be a disastrous mistake.”

  Lord Wesley pulled back his shoulders, making him appear much taller, more intimidating. She waited on an inhaled breath for him to respond.

  “Is that why you dress the way you do?”

  She balked, his inquiry forcing her into a defensive pose in front of him. The last thing she’d wanted was to discuss the choices she’d made or was prepared to make in the near future. “I do not wish to discuss my attire with you, my lord.”

  She’d begun to stalk past him when his hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm. He hauled her back in front of him with little effort.

  “Who are you hiding from, Miss Holden? Mr. Leisure? Your parents? Yourself?”

  Incensed he would be so bold as to ask such a personal question, she wrenched out of his grip and began to walk away again.

  “We are not finished,” he said, his voice shaking and sending her a warning.

  She stopped, and he stalked in front of her.

  “Yes, my lord. We are.” He remained still and silent, his gaze steady and unmoving upon her face. His eyes pierced her soul. When she glanced inward, she found herself lost and weak. Before he entered her life, she was determined to remain on the course she’d set. Now, that course had become obscured and confusing, like the labyrinth at Penndrake.

  “As well, is that why you deliver tea to your aunt and carry her luggage?”

  She lifted her chin to glare at him. “Why does it matter what I do, what role I play?” She paused, and he waited. “Do you think me so unintelligent that I don’t recognize how you brought us to Penndrake for one purpose and one purpose only?”

  One eyebrow lifted, a mocking gesture she fought to ignore.

  “Edward has something of yours and you want it back. We are pawns. Simply and sadly. So, tell me, what article did Edward steal from you, and more importantly, what measures are you taking in order to get it back?”

  “Article? You think I’d go through this much trouble and put up with so many exasperating females for a bloody article?”

  Although his face turned as dark as wrath itself, she refused to cower. Of course, when she opened her mouth to scold him on his temper and the crude remark regarding her and her relatives, nothing came out.

  “Forgive me,” he apologized, shaking his head and shoving a hand through his hair. “Not at one time did I believe…that I’d come to feel…”

  He trailed off, seeming to realize the damage it might cause in completing his thought out loud. Torn between her increasing attraction to him and the mysterious diversion he’d planned for them all, Kate cleared the dryness out of her throat and said, “Soon it will not matter.”

  She waited for him to say something. Only he remained silent, his gaze steadfast and unblinking. Prompted to leave, she walked away, turning down a cobblestoned street, her mind and heart heavier than before.

  …

  Wesley closed his eyes, hoping to find a reprieve from the image of Miss Holden’s pearl-powdered, cherub face, tinted rose by her inner thoughts and regrets.

  Her last words to him echoed like claps of thunder, and he wondered how much further he was willing to go to secure Penndrake. Almost a week ago, he contemplated ruining her in the most scandalous way possible. He believed by damaging her character, he had something to barter with her cousin. Miss Holden’s future for his. It was that simple.

  Looking back, he’d not thought much of it through. So blinded by anger and resentment, he never reasoned liking the girl. More than this, he never believed himself capable of striking his own flesh and blood to save her character.

  Unsure of what course to take, he inhaled deep and followed Miss Holden’s footsteps, the cool morning breeze a welcome distraction to his arduous thoughts.

  Close by, he recognized his empty carriage and then Miss Holden. In the middle of the square, she ambled up to him, her hands empty except for the handbag she’d chosen to bring with her.

  “Why aren’t you shopping?” he asked.

  She shrugged, shyly. “There is nothing I need at the moment.”

  “Nonsense,” he volleyed back. “All women love to shop, no matter if they need something or not.”

  She scrunched up her face, as if disapproving—and disappointed—he’d say such a thing. “Why, I do believe you are saying all women are selfish, my lord.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  Her chin tilted at a haughty angle. “Aren’t all men?”

  He stared at her for a moment, unable to come up with a clever answer. He opened his mouth to say…something…when her cousins and her aunt filtered out of the closest fabric shop, their arms full of the latest styles and shades.

  While the grooms loaded the boxes, he waited for the accumulated receipts to arrive, all stating what was purchased and by whom. None of them, including Lady Sophia, had spared any expense, taking advantage of his charity.

  “I shall turn this into the most extravagant ball gown,” Claire chirped.

  “For the price you paid, it better be made of gold,” he mumbled under his breath and then smiled, choosing to escort her into the carriage.

  Already a long day, Deidra and Lilly decided to ride back in the baroque. He
believed Miss Holden contemplated it to avoid walking back with him, only to change her mind after peering into the cramped quarters of the cab.

  They continued forward along the trampled path, past a crop of oak trees and a gurgling stream, the silence between them heavier than a wet wool blanket.

  He expected her to ask after the Bartrams. Instead, she hurled headfirst into a blatant question. “Why won’t you let me see them?”

  “Why is it so important that you do?” He truly didn’t understand why she felt compelled to call upon a family she’d only just met.

  “Why is it so important that I don’t? Did I embarrass you? Are you ashamed to show me to them again?” She hiccuped the last word.

  Her face reddened, as if trying to hold back an onslaught of tears. Either embarrassed by her outburst or her emotions, she fell away, and his hands fisted to keep from reaching out to bring her back.

  Impetuous and irate, she continued placing more distance between them, her petite arms swinging beside her like a reed in a windstorm.

  For the rest of the day until nightfall, he holed up in his study, the door shut, staring out of his window into nothingness. He knew she was hurt and the humane part of him wanted to go to her, to comfort her. He stayed put, however, allowing her anger and disappointment to grow so when he chose to destroy her life, her hate for him would not be so shocking.

  He’d decided to retire when a quaint knock sounded at his door.

  His heart lurched, expecting to see Miss Holden slipping inside upon his permission to enter. The disappointment could not have been more pronounced upon seeing Mrs. Abram instead.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m so sorry to disturb ye, but Miss Holden wished me to give ye something before yer journey to London tomorrow.”

  Surprised, he stood, coming around his desk to take the items she presented, both carefully swathed in white silk.

  He unwrapped the first to find a tiny wooden soldier, the woodwork both intricate and sturdy. The second package was flat and soft. He pulled back the cloth to find two beautiful infant bonnets, his breath catching at what it must have cost her to purchase such items.