A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “I had to come and see for myself that you were all right.”

  “I’m fine, Mother,” he said.

  He turned toward Miss Holden when Arthur stepped into his peripheral view. “Delighted to have you back, cousin.” His hair more foppish, his clothes more stylish than before, Wesley thought the man returned for one reason and one reason only—to secure a mother for his brood.

  “Oh yes, my lord,” Miss Vivian Darlington breathed, her bosom pushed out to a tipping point beside Arthur. “I insisted my brother bring me here as soon as we learned of the incident. How awful it must have been for you.”

  “We were told you almost died,” Claire declared in dramatic fashion, stopping beside his mother, and then glancing back to see who noticed.

  Not surprised by the attention, he looked at all the women who were fast to exhibit their fear and distress over the mishap. Ironically, the only woman who was willing to risk her life for him remained silent and unmoving.

  Despite how many times he glanced at her, his pulse jumped and his body tightened. Kate stood stunning in a simple white day dress worn with a blue silk spencer, her lustrous hair shimmering in the day’s brilliant rays.

  He tried to read her thoughts as the glaring sun warmed the autumn air, its white brightness reflecting off the tiny pebbles under her feet. Her diverted emerald gaze, the nibbled-red lips, the fisted hands, told him nothing good. Did she somehow sense what was coming? Had Bartram spoken to her regarding her blatant behavior, warning her of the imminent uncertainty of her future, or did he propose to her the idea of being married? If he did, she didn’t appear in the least satisfied or happy about it. In fact, she looked downright disenchanted.

  Well, what had he expected, for her to run toward him with open arms? He did, after all, push her away and demand she leave him for good.

  Not even close to answering his own questions, he blinked and shifted his gaze away. Perplexed and annoyed, he stepped back and proclaimed to everyone, including Mrs. Abram and Emerson, who had yet to move from their dedicated post near the front door, “Prepare some tea in the drawing room. I intend to make a very important announcement soon.”

  Excited inhaled gasps from most of the females caused him to raise a bandaged hand, the silence immediate. Yes, he knew he’d caused a flurry of speculation, but he didn’t care. He would marry Miss Holden because it was the right thing to do and because…he loved her.

  The thought caused encompassing warmth to surge through his bruised and battered body. As everyone gawked in either shock or fascination, Wesley stepped before the line of spectators, his gaze proceeding past Lady Sophia, her face aglow with hope, a laced handkerchief poised to wipe the expected tears of maternal joy.

  Next, Miss Vivian jutted her body upward and outward, an overconfident air, lifting her chin farther toward the sun. He nodded enough to cause the woman to bat her thin eyelashes in delight.

  He continued to give notice to Claire, her sisters, and Mr. Darlington, before turning his attention back to Miss Holden. She stole his breath away. More than beautiful, more than innocent, she sacrificed herself for those around her.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Holden? I heard—”

  “It was hard to breathe for a few days, but I’m feeling much better. Thank you.” She sent him a weak smile.

  He stood before her and inhaled deep, setting up the moment when he would ask the most important question of his life. At the same time, her quiet voice stopped him from saying anything.

  “Since my irrevocable behavior at the Bartrams, my aunt has sent a letter to my parents. I am to depart as soon as they arrive.”

  “When do they arrive?” His stern question made her blanch.

  “Tomorrow, at the latest, my lord.” The sadness in her voice, the fall of her angelic face, almost choked him.

  He cleared his throat and lowered his words to a forceful whisper, “You do not wish to go?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kate stood, agonizing over Lord Wesley’s sincere inquiry. When she first saw him exit the carriage, her heart soared, beating like the wing of a hungry hummingbird. Since the moment next to the Bartrams’ pond, she’d realized she loved him. Not the childish affection she felt for Arthur, but the passionate infliction that refuses to go away no matter the distance, no matter the time spent apart.

  Did she believe Bartram’s words a few days ago, that the marquess would save her from her indecent actions and marry her? She had to stop him before he made the attempt. She did not want to marry a man who, prompted against his will, proposed the lifelong question.

  “I see no reason for me to stay,” she said, pausing to ensure she did not say the words on a stray, rebellious tear.

  If he disagreed, he remained silent and unmoving. Resigned to believe she was right, and he had not changed his mind about wanting her to leave, she waited as everyone shuffled out of line. Miss Vivian, trusting she remained as his future mistress, in one way or the other, brought up her hand to lay upon his sleeve.

  To Kate’s surprise, Claire did not attempt to obtain his lordship’s attention, choosing instead, to shove Deidra and Lilly away from Arthur.

  Inside Penndrake, the day plodded from afternoon to evening, Kate becoming more and more anxious to go. Since Lord Wesley’s arrival that morning, no one had seen or heard from him. He seemed to have disappeared, leaving his whispering household to discern his location.

  Regardless of his whereabouts, Kate remained behind, her nerves wrapping into a tight cord around her chest. It saddened her. No, it devastated her to conclude he’d not be there when her parents came to take her away.

  As anxious to leave as she was to stay, she waited by the library window, the shadowy view of the labyrinth gardens directly below her. She struggled to come to terms with the decisions she’d made and the feelings she’d acquired until a letter arrived, explaining her parents’ delay in reaching Penndrake by at least three days.

  “Do they not realize the stain you placed upon this family?”

  Kate exhaled, refusing to turn at her aunt’s intrusion. Tired of listening to how her attempt to save a man’s life had brought dishonor to the Holdens and the Garretts, Kate spoke up. “I see nothing wrong with what I did, Aunt. I thought a man was dying.”

  “You only wanted his title and attention, Kate. You know, I am not blind. I can see how you look at him.”

  Both angered and embarrassed, Kate whipped around. “And how is that?”

  Lady Sophia shook her head and sighed. “Kate, dear, I am only trying to save your future from further ridicule. A lord will never marry someone of your station. You must know that.”

  Kate turned back to the window, forced to stare at her heartbreaking expression in the glass. The dark night reflected her sadness like no other.

  Oh, how she missed Lord Wesley, with all her soul. His absence only strengthened her affection for him and pulled her lower into a melancholy mess. Oh God. She didn’t want to leave, to leave him, to leave Penndrake. However, she couldn’t stay, either.

  Weary of talking to herself, Kate moved toward the door, leaving her aunt to discern how her daughter deserved Lord Wesley above Kate. In her distraught state, she stumbled upon the room she’d found during her first visit to Penndrake. She wondered why the room remained untouched, even by the servants.

  To occupy her mind, she began picking up some of the shattered furniture and carried them in armloads to the dormant fireplace. One by one, she placed the jagged wood on the fire crate before standing to find a dust-covered family portrait above the mantelpiece.

  She swiped at the rough canvas, unveiling Lord Wesley’s family. At least fifteen years old, Lord Wesley stood handsomely with his father’s stature and his mother’s dejected expression. The familiar kaleidoscope eyes of the young man stared at Kate, his eyes piercing, his features severe. She thought she’d never seen an unhappier family.

  She shook the sadness away and grabbed a fireplace broom to sweep at the dusty maro
on carpet. Once she’d tidied the room to where it almost appeared inhabitable, she shook the grime off her dress and stepped into the hall.

  She trudged upstairs, her mind occupied and brooding. She meant to go to her room when Lilly and Deidra rushed at her from out of nowhere.

  “Where have you been, Kate?” asked Lilly in a quiet voice.

  “Goodness. Why is there soot on your cheek?”

  Kate swiped at her face before Deidra shook her head to dismiss her own question. “Never mind. You must help me pick out a dress for the occasion of Lord Wesley’s surprise announcement,” her cousin pleaded, her hands lifted and pressed together in a silent prayer.

  “I honestly don’t think anyone will care what you wear. All eyes will be on either Claire or Miss Vivian,” Lilly said, both girls tagging beside Kate like a pair of ducklings down the long corridor.

  They’d managed to pass a few guest rooms when a strange noise rose from one of the empty rooms on their floor.

  “What was that?” Lilly whispered.

  “It sounds like someone is in a lot of pain,” Deidra added, a little louder.

  The first thing to pop into Kate’s mind was Lord Wesley. This was nowhere close to his bedchamber. Still, Kate wondered if he had somehow become disoriented and stumbled into the chamber, crashing into furniture and harming himself further. Perhaps he lay half-conscious, blood seeping from the various wounds he’d sustained in the dreadful fire.

  Afraid for his condition, Kate tore open the door, her body and mind recoiling at the sight before her. Immediately, her right hand clamped over Lilly’s eyes while the other smacked against Deidra’s mouth.

  “Oh dear God,” Claire murmured, trying desperately to unwrap her naked body from Mr. Rourke’s glistening one.

  Behind Kate, she heard a gasp and then a thump. She turned to find her aunt lying in a pile of muslin and lace on the floor.

  “What the—”

  Lord Wesley. Of all the moments to reappear, Kate thought, he had to pick this one. She risked a glance toward him, his eyes burning fierce, almost violent. His flaring nostrils and erratic breathing reminded her of the beast she’d accused him of being a few days before.

  He stepped over Lady Sophie and stalked past Kate and her cousins, coming to a halt inside the room. His broad frame blocked the disreputable view as his hand reached up and tore down the bulky brocade curtain from the bed. Kate thought she heard him emit a growl of pain when he threw it across the mattress to the naked couple.

  He returned to the door, his gaze intent upon Kate’s face, his voice calm and instructing. “Miss Holden, take the girls away and tell Mrs. Abram to bring some smelling salts, a jar of them, for your aunt.”

  He then slammed the door, leaving her and her cousins in a dumbfounded stupor.

  Slow and easy, Kate lowered her arms away from Deidra and Lilly’s eyes and mouth. They stood in frozen silence, their uneven breathing the only noise heard for at least one full minute.

  “It didn’t look like Claire was in a lot of pain,” Deidra whispered, breaking the heavy lull.

  “Mr. Rourke certainly looks a lot different without any clothes,” Lilly observed, turning to Kate.

  Shaken from her trance, Kate exhaled, grasped the girls’ hands, and half dragged them down the hallway to their bedchambers.

  “But what about Mama?” Lilly asked, her tiny voice rising to an agonizing pitch.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Kate said. Lilly followed Deidra into her bedchamber, Kate supposed, neither of them wanting to be alone.

  Thinking back now, Kate wasn’t entirely shocked by what she’d seen. The lioness had found her escape in the least likely person to rescue anyone. Mr. Arthur Rourke. How ironic.

  At any moment, Kate knew she was going to wake up and find herself in her own bed in London. For reasons unexplained, the thought pushed her into a disappointed, rather than astonished, emotional state.

  Bemused, she managed to find Mrs. Abram, the woman extremely helpful without asking any questions as to why Kate’s aunt lay unconscious and then incoherent once yanked awake with a whiff of the smelling salts.

  After the task of placing Lady Sophia into her bedchamber, Kate shut herself in her own, pacing for an hour with Claire and Arthur’s conjoined flesh burned into her memory.

  “Poor Claire,” she thought aloud, the young lady’s future now as dismal as Lady Sophia made Kate’s to be. The air stifling and the walls starting to close in on her, Kate hurried across the room and yanked open the door to find Lord Wesley, his arms outstretched, his fingers clutching the dark-oak frame above his head.

  She didn’t know how long he’d lingered there, only that he appeared drawn and spent, his hair disheveled into a fashionable style, his stubbled jaw showing him in a more rugged and powerful light.

  “Lord Wesley?”

  He said nothing as he slid inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

  She barely had time to say a word before he announced, “They’re to be married in a fortnight.” He ran an urgent hand through his hair, ruffling it more before lowering his gaze to catch her reaction.

  She lapsed into silence, withdrawing at a slow pace until her backside bumped against the bedpost.

  “What are you thinking?” he said, stalking toward her, his brilliant eyes alight with questions.

  “I…suppose I expected there to be a wedding. I just never guessed it would be Claire and Arthur.”

  “Are you upset?” he asked, monotone.

  She paused only for a second, knowing her eyes reflected her thoughts. “I’m surprised, my lord.” Then she smiled, unable to help herself. “Arthur does look considerably different without his clothes.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Skinnier.”

  Lord Wesley lifted one fine eyebrow. “Skinnier?”

  Kate nodded. “Smaller.”

  This drew a smile from his face. “By now I should know to prepare myself for your answers.”

  She bit her lip to keep from laughing, wanting, needing the light banter to take her mind off leaving. “Well, I know I never want to see a man naked again. Atrocious sight if there ever was one.”

  …

  Wesley closed the distance between them. “Not all men without their clothes are…skinny, small, and…atrocious,” he said, trying not to chuckle when Kate sent him a disbelieving glance. For one, to laugh would hurt too much.

  He thought to keep their bantering light until her gaze shifted from his face to his chest and lower, her eyes blinking with unmasked curiosity. Her heightened breath fractured his restraint, his hand curving around her nape and pulling her mouth to his. She tasted like the sweetest wine, with him unable to drink enough of her to quench his thirst. Her body molded into his, his arms wrapping around her back to draw her closer. He kissed her until soft moans of pleasure purred inside her throat.

  He knew he had to stop. Had he not just landed his cousin a punch for placing Garrett’s sister in a similar situation? Yet, as hard as Wesley tried, he couldn’t separate himself from Kate. She had become his heart, his sole purpose. Despite the rules of proper and decent engagements, he lifted a hand to stroke the side of her face. With the pad of his thumb, he coaxed her to open for him, her velvety tongue brushing his lips and spurring his blood into a fiery and torrent river inside his veins.

  Against his chest, her heartbeat sounded wild and unrestrained. Uninhibited, she lifted her fingers to tangle through his hair. Craving the taste of her flesh, he trailed tender kisses along her smooth cheek and jaw. Her head fell back, allowing him access to the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat.

  She pressed into him, surrendering her body and her life to him. Afraid to ruin her or cause her any pain, he tried to stop himself again, to pull himself away from what she was willing to surrender. He tried in vain. Her hand, demure and trembling, slid downward to part the starched material of his waistcoat and shirt, exposing his bandaged body. She tugged the fabric off his shoulders. He clo
sed his eyes, allowing her to explore further until he heard her breath catch. He opened his eyelids to find her staring at the ugly knife wound he’d sustained ten years ago.

  He stiffened and began to pull away when she grazed her fingertips over the puckered and jagged sight. “It shows honor and courage,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

  Love swelled inside him. He cupped her face, bending down to brush his lips against the warmth of her temple. “I’ve waited a lifetime to hear those words,” he whispered.

  He eased her back upon the mattress then, and in a slow and suffering manner, undid the buttons of her spencer jacket and day dress, the material falling away with the brush of his fingertips.

  He sucked in a breath, his gaze washing over her exquisite form. Between the valley of her breasts, he placed his hand, her back arching upward to receive his touch.

  “Kate.” He exhaled, his tone husky and thick. “There is something I have to tell you.”

  He expected her to withdraw. Instead, she lifted her arms and drew him down, a trusting smile playing across her rosy lips. His half-naked body brushed against the silken curved mounds of her breasts, a swell of unspent passion rushing through him. He tried to still the urgency to take her, tried to quiet the emphatic beat of his heart, but to no avail.

  Since their first meeting, he thought of doing little else, first as revenge, now as a token of his love for her. Soulfully captivated by her, he lowered his mouth to her waiting lips. They tasted sweet, like the sugary nectar of a budding spring flower.

  He deepened his kiss, her velvety tongue darting out to mate with his. His body shaking with restrained desire, he slid his hand down to part her petal-silk folds.

  She gasped, her hips lifting, writhing with the rhythm of his touch.

  “My Kate,” he breathed, his own body growing rock hard and shaking to make love to her, to make her his. Her small fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, her jeweled eyes opened with unbridled desire.

  He used his knees to part her thighs farther, eliciting a sweet moan from deep in her throat. With his thumb, he skimmed the swollen pearl of her excitement, circling it like a feather until her hands grasped the bedcover and her waist thrust upward.