A Mistress for Penndrake

by Bailey, Tammy L.

  A wild heartbeat later, his arms fell away. Yanked to her senses, she clambered onto her side before rising to stand in a position she’d often seen her brothers, Francis and Joseph, use when imitating the infamous boxer “Gentleman” John Jackson.

  She supposed she didn’t appear near as intimidating, as she elicited an enthralling laugh from her titled opponent. Insulted, she crossed her arms and waited for him to push himself up. He took his time, stopping to place his large, tanned hands upon his bent knees.

  He closed his eyes, his thick lashes pulling together in a quick grimace. After a grunting moment, he straightened and turned his full attention to her. In silence, they stared at each other, his irises shimmering more gold than green in the sunlight.

  Above them, a swallow twittered a furious song, lasting close to a half minute before Lord Wesley threw his hand out and said, “I demand you give me your name.”

  Affronted by his lack of civility, Kate bristled and dropped her fists to her side, bellowing back, “You can demand until you are blue in the face, my lord. I will not only refrain from giving you my name, but also insist that you allow me to leave without you following.”

  She knew she teetered on insolence and impropriety. However, if her cousin had warned her against this man, she didn’t have any reason to care about both.

  After a few charged moments, he stepped sideways and lifted his hand, giving her permission to pass. She walked, her knees wobbling, back to the sheet and the now infamous letter from her cousin. As her body tingled with the sense of being watched, she dared not turn or think more of the meaning of Edward’s letter. Despite his warning, she did not run away from Lord Wesley but instead found herself drawn to him…in the most wicked ways.

  Chapter Two

  Nathaniel, or Lord Wesley, as he was addressed by most, watched the little chit leave with keen and heightened interest. Why he’d allowed her to intersect his path on the way to Camden, he didn’t know. Although attractive, he had to peer hard to see it past the dreary gray dress that hung on her petite form. There was also something in her fiery green eyes, her small nose, and disheveled brown hair that made his muscles restrict.

  God. How long had he been without a woman?

  He scoffed at the answer, then mounted his horse and rotated back to Penndrake, realizing he didn’t need to charge forthright into battle. He needed a plan, a plan that would force Edward Garrett to retract his proposal of marriage between Wesley and Edward’s cousin, a Miss Kathryn Holden.

  With the day still early and his temper still bristling from the letter he’d recently received from Garrett, Wesley returned to his ancestral home and called for his steward, Richard Daily, to accompany him in his study.

  Furious at Garrett’s written proclamation, Wesley slammed his palms against the glossy mahogany desk. Above him, a twelve-arm gilded chandelier shuddered, sending a hail of flickering light cascading around the room and onto the bald head of his ever-present steward.

  “My lord,” the wiry man said, a slight quiver in his quiet voice. “You must calm yourself.”

  Wesley canted his head and waited to hear how in the devil he should accomplish such a feat. Since reading the letter and the bizarre encounter with the woman who refused to give him her name, his day had turned into an utter nightmare.

  Still, after a few moments, he succumbed to Daily’s advice and tried not to hate his father more now that he was dead than when he was alive.

  Wincing at his effort, Wesley reached up to massage the wound from the last time he’d tried to save Penndrake from his father’s misdeeds.

  “Please, read again what Mr. Garrett has proposed, my lord.”

  Wesley scowled at his steward and reached for the damaged letter, which had survived several castings into the fireplace. With delicate fingers, he read the poisonous correspondence in a relatively composed manner.

  Lord Wesley,

  My name is Edward Garrett. I was saddened to learn of your father’s death, but I must bring to your attention a certain arrangement your father and I had before his death. A little over a year ago, I had a chance meeting with him at White’s, where, in one sitting, he lost forty thousand pounds to my hand. Being a fair man, I gave him a chance to win back the money. He did not. Before nightfall, your father had relinquished another twenty thousand pounds.

  It must be said that your father decided, in exchange for the sum he owed, to bequeath Penndrake to me upon his death. Seeing he did not have the money, I agreed to his terms, happy to have acquired a beautiful and enchanting place to have in my inheritance.

  However, not many days after the transaction, he came to me. It was a strange meeting, and looking back, I believe he knew his days were nearing an end. In our conversation, though brief, I promised the following: to wait one year after his death to acquire the estate to give his widow and son enough time to grieve.

  Wesley scoffed under his breath, believing it ironic his father would think his son needed more than a week to grieve, much less a year. He flipped the parchment over and resumed reading the sequence of events laid out before him.

  We shook hands, and he signed the enclosed document, fully witnessed by Raggett, the owner of White’s, himself. Since that time, I have made myself a substantial fortune in a country I care not to depart. You see, although I still believe Penndrake a beautiful place, I no longer wish to acquire it. Therefore, my only request is that in exchange for my returning Penndrake to you, you offer your hand in marriage to my cousin, Miss Kathryn Holden.

  Lord Wesley narrowed his eyes at his steward again, who stood closer to the exit, fidgeting even more than before. The man had remained loyal to Wesley’s father through decades of inebriated tirades and escapades, never once divulging the wickedness that lay between the gray walls.

  Since Miss Holden’s father is unable to give her a substantial dowry, I’ve been asked to act on his behalf and will give her my permission and an undisclosed amount upon your marriage day. So, without further more to write, I have included her father’s name and address so that you may request a visit with him. You must allow me to say that Miss Holden is an amiable and handsome girl who will do well as mistress of Penndrake.

  Regards,

  Edward Garrett.

  Bristling from his charted future, Wesley addressed his steward. “So, Daily, tell me everything you know of this Edward Garrett.”

  The man shrugged, his gaunt shoulders coming down hard in defeat. “As you know, the man’s family resides at Camden Hall. His father is one of four brothers, and he is the grandson of the late Lord Carl Garrett, Earl of Lancing. The young Garrett has three sisters, all of which are of marriageable age, but rumor has it, their mother is having a hard time persuading anyone to make any offers.”

  Wesley moved closer, intrigued. “Are they so intolerable?”

  Daily’s brows rose to meet his sparse hairline. “I’ve never met them, my lord, so I cannot say.”

  “Then go on.” Wesley waved his hand and spread his feet apart to prepare for the onslaught of information.

  Daily nodded. “Yes, my lord. The lady, Miss Kathryn Holden, is the young man’s cousin and is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Holden of London. Her family is not as wealthy as the Garretts, but their reputation is impeccable, and they are respected within their close circle of friends. She is known to stay at the Garretts’ often and may even be there now to help with their coming out. Regarding her dowry, she may inherit one hundred pounds if she marries, but that is all. As well…” Richard paused long enough to pique Wesley’s interest.

  “Yes?”

  “Rumor has it the young lady is…is…” Daily stuttered.

  Wesley blinked back his impatience while Daily sighed and completed his sentence in a nose-wrinkling whisper, “…attached, my lord.”

  Wesley cocked an eyebrow, curious to know why her cousin would promise her to someone else if another man were involved.

  His steward appeared to read his mind and added, “’Tis a se
cret not even the nosiest of neighbors can uncover.”

  “Fascinating,” Wesley said, while rubbing a thumb and index finger over his stubbly chin. “Perhaps her mysterious suitor is poor, and her cousin is merely trying to rescue her from a disadvantageous marriage.”

  “Well, that is very noble,” Daily said.

  Wesley stood gawking at his steward. “Noble? Have you gone mad?”

  Daily had yet to answer the question when Wesley began pacing across the room, his boots sounding on the carpet in intermittent thuds.

  “Being noble,” Wesley said after a long pause and before stopping, “does not include bribing another man into marriage with his cousin, who may or may not be as virtuous as one believes.”

  “You could look on the bright side,” Daily offered, squeaking out the last word. Wesley stalked forward, slowing his approach to the middle of the Axminster carpet. Despite his father’s temper, Wesley liked to believe he had inherited his mother’s solacing nature.

  “And what bright side would that be?” he ground out. The sudden knot in the pit of his stomach grew deeper and more violent, forcing his frustration to the surface.

  “You have been looking to find a wife with enough money to repair and restore Penndrake to what it once was.”

  Wesley stood, unable to utter a single word. Like many of his peers, he’d resigned to marry for convenience and profit. Whether he’d once envisioned himself with a lady whose love and devotion lay more in her actions than her words no longer mattered. However, he’d never once imagined being blackmailed to marry, particularly to someone below him.

  Then, for whatever reason, his thoughts turned to the accident-prone drab-dressed girl in the meadow. Despite himself, he’d been charmed by her. To say the least, the ride back to Penndrake was an uncomfortable one.

  “No, Daily,” Wesley said aloud. “I will never marry someone beneath me. Penndrake deserves a woman with connections and refined manners, not a less-than-wealthy cyprian with pockets to let and who fancies herself in love with another man.”

  There was one lady he knew who fit that description—Miss Vivian Darlington. They moved in the same circles and were equals in every way possible. If only she stirred more than annoyance in him, he believed they might be already married.

  “Surely, you would not wish the likes of Miss Holden on the devil, much less me?” Wesley continued, furious he no longer had a say in his future.

  Flung into a fouler temper, he crumpled Garrett’s letter one last time before pitching it hard against the glowing brick of the fireplace. Best to burn all evidence before the haut ton found out about it, if they hadn’t done so already.

  As the abated embers devoured the edges of the crinkled parchment, he stared at the mocking firelight, wondering how he had not seen this coming. His father had more demons than hell. It was most unfortunate; the man was determined to have his son go down, right along with him.

  He winced, grasping his right shoulder to keep the piercing stab of pain at bay. After so many years, he would have thought the wound might subside to a mere dull ache. Instead, the blade that had pierced his flesh that night reminded him daily of his father’s sins and what he’d almost sacrificed to pay for them. Damn, but death was not an option this time. Neither was blackmail.

  “Richard, you will find where this Edward Garrett is now. India is my guess. I do not want to see your face unless he is standing beside you. Am I clear on this?”

  Daily nodded before Wesley exhaled and turned away. The fact remained—Wesley was no longer the rightful heir of Penndrake. He was a mere guest in his own home. He would not let another man dictate to him the future of Penndrake. He’d find a way to reclaim it, through ruthless means, if necessary. Impassioned with anger, he contemplated one way.

  Wesley believed ruining Miss Holden’s character would put him and Garrett on a more level playing field. He’d use Miss Holden as a bartering chip by taking her innocence and diminishing the lady to a mere mistress and not a wife. Then, he could turn the tables on Garrett. With Miss Holden’s future disgraced, Wesley could challenge Garrett to a fair game to win Penndrake back. If need be, Wesley would come to her rescue, so to speak, by promising to provide her a somewhat comfortable living. She could become a governess in fact, if she so chose. At last, Penndrake would be his, and he would be free to marry a woman who would bring a substantial dowry to the place.

  What Garrett didn’t understand was that Wesley, unlike anyone else he knew, was willing to die to save what he loved.

  “Before you leave,” Wesley called to his steward, “ask Jonah to prepare my horse. I wish to go to Camden Hall.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And on your way out, check to see if my dear cousin hasn’t dipped into all of my brandy. The last thing I need is for Arthur to repeat his tragic Romeo and Juliet storytelling regarding the lady he refers to only as K.”

  “Of course.”

  …

  Kate wrenched Lord Wesley’s handkerchief from her sore finger and plopped down on her bed. Today had turned out nothing like she’d planned, and she couldn’t stop thinking of the man she had been forbidden to talk to by her cousin.

  She had so many questions, and it frustrated her how she’d not find out one answer until Edward returned. She brought in a deep breath and glanced out her small sash third-floor window.

  Despite being homesick for London, Kate liked Camden Hall. She’d arrived in Chelmsford, begging her father to allow her to stay. He agreed on one condition, that she’d return home soon to discuss her coming out—a ridiculous notion for someone her age. She supposed she’d stayed to avoid her parents’ endless chatter of her daunting future.

  Disheartened at the prospect of having to disappoint her parents’ ambitions for her, Kate sought a distraction by reading, once again, Edward’s letter. She’d begun to glance over the first line when her door burst open.

  “Make haste, Kate, make haste!” her aunt shouted, though she stood only three feet away.

  Kate sighed, tucked the letter under her pillow, and bounded off the lumpy mattress.

  Lady Sophia, a graceful lady who wore her age well, retreated out of the room, glancing back once to ensure Kate followed. Although her aunt tolerated her, Kate knew there existed an undercurrent of jealousy. Edward had mentioned one time his mother believed Kate should never be allowed to surpass her daughters in beauty and accomplishments. Personally, Kate believed she was too common and clumsy to give her aunt any cause for worry.

  Nonetheless, Kate’s aunt led the way into a sunlit rose-and-white parlor, the room still fragranced with the hydrangea Kate picked in the field the day before, the same field where she’d met Lord Wesley.

  Unable to halt the mental image of the man or his hands as they nursed her wound, she fell against the brick fireplace and closed her eyes. Where he touched her, she tingled. Even the bruised finger she’d stabbed due to her reckless stubbornness pulsed from his warm caress.

  “Girls!” Lady Sophia roared. Forced to open her eyes, Kate watched her aunt bound around the room, the woman’s voluptuous bosom bouncing with every excited step she took.

  Why, Kate hadn’t seen her aunt so animated in years. Not since she and Edward sneaked a frog into this very parlor right before the Dowager Countess of Dunstable’s first—and last—visit in the summer of ’03.

  “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth all open, girl,” she said to Kate. “Go and help Mrs. Dunkirk prepare some tea. We are expecting guests.”

  “Mama, Mama, he’s almost here!” the eldest Garrett sister chirped.

  “Oh, Claire, I was going to tell her,” said Lilly, the youngest, her lips forming a disappointed and overdramatic pout.

  “Why should you tell her anything regarding his lordship? He is way too old for you,” Deidra, the middle sister crooned.

  “And he is much too handsome for you, Deidra,” Claire shot back while plumping her round cheeks to a rosy hue. “Besides, I am the eldest.”r />
  “Quiet!” Lady Sophia yelled to instill some tranquility between her three daughters. The sisters ran toward their mother as Kate skirted sideways to avoid the influx of pale muslin dresses and high-pitched voices. Who were they all in a tizzy about? They hadn’t been expecting a visitor.

  “Yes, dears, it’s really quite astonishing. We never dreamed the Marquess of Wesley would ever wish to pay a visit to Camden Hall.”

  Upon the cursed man’s name, Kate felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her dizzy and faint. “Oh God,” she muttered, unsure how to even go about telling her aunt how the man was not to be trusted. Perhaps if Kate showed the woman Edward’s letter, she might have Lord Wesley chased from the premises before he stepped one daunting and intriguing foot inside the foyer.

  Kate glanced outside the doorway before twisting toward the stairs after her aunt. The woman was like a mad bee, buzzing up and around, first one way and then the other. Only Kate wasn’t quick enough as her excitable cousins made a mad dash in her direction, each one of them grasping at her arms to pull her in all three of their directions. They played tug-of-war until Claire won and yanked Kate into her room. “Come and tighten my corset,” the young lady demanded.

  “Your corset! Why you’re as bony as a fish. Why do you require a corset?” Deidra shouted in the doorway, despite the fact her older sister stood three feet away.

  “Kate, have you seen my rose-colored ribbons?” Lilly asked, her small voice barely audible over her two older sisters squabbling.

  Kate shook her head and spent five hurried minutes searching, tightening, and refereeing until her aunt announced in a not-so-composed voice, “He’s at the door!”

  As they left, Kate rushed up to the third floor to retrieve the letter she had placed under her pillow. Maybe she’d have enough time to show her aunt the warning. In a panic, she shoved it into her gray dress pocket and raced back down to the main floor. She was five feet from the doorway when she heard Lord Wesley’s baritone voice lifting in the parlor. Too late.