A Mistress for Penndrake

by Bailey, Tammy L.

  She shook her head, confused. Did he somehow know about the letters from Edward? “I must say, you are mistaken. I know nothing of your purpose, only how my cousin sent me a letter telling me to run if you tried to show yourself to me.”

  His features softened; however, his hold did not. “How odd.”

  Every word he said seemed to challenge her. She should just let him leave without a question before they were caught and word spread of her scandalous indiscretions. The last thing she wanted was to be forced into a marriage, especially with someone she did not know and who her cousin did not trust. Only she didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. “What do you mean?”

  He sent her a crooked grin. “I mean, how odd, that you didn’t run when you had the chance. In fact, as I recall, you fell on top of me.”

  She continued to converse with him while every alarm bell sounding in her head told her to run. “If you must know, I did try to get away. Unfortunately, I do not have the…skill that most people possess of assured footing. So, do not flatter yourself that my fall was intentional. In fact, it was tragically accidental.”

  He tsked, shaking his head. “However accidental it might have been, Miss Holden, it was in no way tragic.”

  She didn’t know why his flirting excited instead of incensed her. “Tell me why I’m not supposed to be talking to you, my lord. What are you about?”

  He sighed, his chest pressing harder and more intimately against hers. He hesitated to answer, as if the contact affected him in some way. “In all honesty, I’m as baffled regarding your cousin’s warning as you are. Up until a few hours ago, I was under the impression, from the letter I received from him, we were to become more…amiable acquaintances.”

  She harrumphed at his response. “If what you say is true, then I must believe Edward figured out you are not a gentleman but a libertine with dishonorable intentions.”

  Lord Wesley’s mouth lowered to within an inch of hers. His warm breath mingled with the chilly air and tickled her cheek, causing a tremor of anticipation.

  “And yet, you do nothing but allow me to hold you like this. If I have been so ungentlemanly, why have you not beaten upon my chest, or run, as you were instructed?”

  Why indeed?

  His hand lifted to caress her jaw, the warmth from his fingers sending a tendril of heat through every fiber and pore. She wondered if he could feel her heart thundering through his fashionable layers of clothing. Yes, he had changed from when she’d first saw him in the meadow.

  He smiled a devilish grin. “It doesn’t matter. I have invited the Garretts to my home, and I expect you to come with them. How else will you discover that I am, in fact, a gentleman and not a libertine?”

  “That is too bold a request, my lord, so I will do no such thing.”

  He drew back an inch and tilted his head, his straight black hair falling over one cocked eyebrow. She believed he didn’t hear the word “no” often, especially from her fair sex.

  “And that is too bold a rejection, Miss Holden.” He glanced down at her worn dress. “From appearances, you might not receive another gracious invitation in the near future.”

  She flinched from his insult, although her appearance was her own choice. “Do not take this the wrong way, my lord, but I will do everything in my power to convince my family to stay well away from you, at least until my cousin has informed me to do otherwise.”

  Lord Wesley chuckled. After the humor had left him, he returned his attention to her and bent his head so his reflective eyes flickered something dangerous and lethal.

  “Until we meet again, Miss Holden. I do hope it will be very soon.”

  She opened her mouth to sputter a rebuke, but he’d let go. He stalked out of the stables, grabbed his black bay, and launched onto its glossy back in one self-assured movement. She stood where he’d left her, her heart clamoring and her limbs trembling. After a moment of sweltering silence, she realized he still held her blasted comb.

  Chapter Four

  So affected by Miss Kathryn Holden, Wesley galloped hard and fast. He sought to lose his unusual curiosity of her in an overexerted dash across the vast acreage between Penndrake and Camden. He hurtled over stone walls, a narrow brook, and a downed log, trying to forget the smell of her hair, the tightness of her waist, and the roundness of her breasts against him.

  He still didn’t know if he believed her ignorance regarding her cousin’s scheme to give her away in a loveless marriage. He supposed a lady in her position would find a way to seduce him for more, not call him names. He smiled at the memory, fighting the urge to turn back and watch her face erupt with ire and indignation as he brought her against him once again.

  She was a unique beauty, and his muscles tensed at the thought of her firm body close to his. His physical reaction was enough to slow his horse at the top of a sloping hill. Below stood Penndrake, with its intricate multi-curved Flemish gables and shimmering casement windows, blended into a cluster of beech trees. Eager to return home to set his plans in motion, he nudged his horse onward. He stopped at the ivy-covered portico, dismounted, and walked the rest of the way in, handing his horse to Jonah, his head groom.

  As Wesley entered through the arched doorway and into the great hall, his butler, Emerson, waited for him with a stoic bow.

  Around them, deep rich mahogany paneling reached high to a white Jacobean-plastered ceiling delicately molded into cameo-like square-and-diamond designs. Across from him, a towering fireplace stood. With his thoughts heavy, he ambled toward the high stone structure and braced an arm against the mantel.

  Tapping his fingers on the polished stone, Wesley tried not to think of the lady he’d held in his arms not long ago. Her light floral scent still lingered as the memory of her dancing green eyes taunted him.

  “My lord, there is a tray of tea and biscuits in your study, if you’d like to have something before dinner.”

  Wesley jerked his head up and half-mindedly muttered, “Thank you. That will be all.”

  Emerson bowed, his lanky body bending forward at a forty-five-degree angle before ascending into a straight and rigid line. His pink, wrinkled face showed no passion, and his watery blue eyes expressed no emotional attachment to the command.

  Emerson turned away and disappeared into the dining room. Wanting nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts, Wesley strode under the winding oak staircase and through the doorway to his study.

  The room lay shrouded in cold darkness until he strolled to the mullioned windows, grasped the heavy crimson curtains, and threw them open. The last golden rays of daylight poured across the room, highlighting the coat of arms displayed over a carved oak fireplace behind him.

  On the shiny-plated chevron, Wesley scoffed at the Latin words: Vivere cum honore. Live with honor. Under the disparaging phrase stood two hideous dragons breathing fire at each other, a silver sword separating their eternal battle.

  He had to wonder how many times his father staggered under the crest, ignoring the message and the creed his ancestors thought relevant to pass on through generations.

  Too weary of the situation to think of an answer, Wesley sought refuge behind his grand mahogany desk, falling back into the comfort of his chair to pour over many years’ worth of neglected ledgers. So far, he’d reconditioned almost every room at Penndrake, working until his hands bled. He had left one room untouched, and that was the one where they’d found his father a year ago. Wesley still couldn’t make himself enter. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he believed in depraved spirits. One day, though.

  His mind half occupied, he opened the tethered book and tried to focus on the convoluted handwriting squashed between the pale parallel lines. His father had left more than Penndrake in shambles. He’d left the tiny village that sat on Penndrake land in dire straits. Edward Garrett and the man’s dear cousin were the least of his worries, albeit, they rested foremost on his mind.

  Desperate for a distraction of where his thoughts regarding the alluring
woman may lead, Wesley pushed away from the book ledger, grabbed the fine bone china cup his butler had placed for him, and poured a cup of diluted tea.

  Never one to reach for a snifter, he gave into the rare temptation and dove into the bottom drawer to pull out a full bottle of aged brandy to pour in his tea. Due to the weather or the turn of events, his shoulder ached something fierce. He rubbed at the scar caused by the dull knife a man had used on Wesley’s last trip to save Penndrake. He’d almost failed then. He wouldn’t this time.

  His mind turned toward the man who’d saved him. Wesley knew his friend Bartram would disapprove of his plans to ruin the girl and would most likely spend the rest of his life trying to save Wesley from going to hell over it.

  Wrapped in foolish deliberations, he clasped the metal cap and began to twist when Miss Holden appeared in the doorway.

  Emerson arrived a tick later, a flap of white hair swept askew and across a forehead as red as the hooded mantle she wore.

  “My lord, I beg your forgiveness,” the older man croaked out while slicing a disapproving glance at the woman who had forced her way into the house and past his proud principal post.

  Wesley smiled. If he wanted to, he could ruin her before nightfall, without a lifted skirt or peck on her rounded cheek. His smile fell. No, he wanted more time to dissect the inner and, perhaps, the outer workings of Miss Holden. Grounded in his determination, he stood and held his hand up so his butler could catch his breath. “That will be all, Emerson. I’m familiar with this lady. You may go.”

  His butler hesitated before using his palm to flatten his unruly hair back into place. He then backed out of the room and closed the door.

  As Wesley placed the bottle back into the drawer and stepped from behind his desk, Miss Holden revealed herself to him.

  Her silken hair, no longer held up by the infamous jewelry, was pulled into a chignon, soft fringes framing her dew-kissed face. He sauntered forward as her bright eyes flashed a warning for him to stay put. He obeyed, finding the edge of his desk and resting against it with his legs extended and arms crossed in front of him.

  What propriety did either of them have in each other’s presence at this point? Of course, it was still one of the most informal poses he’d ever used in the presence of a lady.

  “So, to what do I owe the honor of your divine company, Miss Holden?”

  She quirked a neat eyebrow and opened her rose petal lips, a motion he watched with sober interest. Everything about her stirred a subtle, yet alarming attraction. All of this forced him to keep reminding himself the woman existed only as a means to an end, nothing more.

  “My lord, I’ve come…” She hesitated, he believed, to gather enough courage to go through with her reason.

  “You’ve come,” he repeated in an overly husky voice, trying to fluster her further.

  She puffed out her cheeks and tempered a few silent words. He wanted to chuckle. He refrained, instead, by hiding his mirth behind a tight fist.

  “You think my discomfort is amusing, do you not?” she asked, seeing right through him. If she expected an answer, she didn’t wait to hear it, her body set in motion at a hurried pace in his direction. “Edward told me—”

  Wesley shot out of his relaxed stance and met her halfway. He towered over her, trying to intimidate her. To his dismay, she didn’t cower, she didn’t even flinch.

  “Yes,” he said, bending down low enough to see a hint of amber reflected in her distrusting eyes. “Go on. I’d love to hear more about your dear cousin, Miss Holden.”

  As he waited for her response, the light from the open window shifted, bathing his guest in the brilliant radiance of the late-day sun. She remained silent, her hands flying to the pocket of her dress, as if to protect whatever lay inside. Beyond any doubt, Wesley believed she knew something. She would not be here, would not have come swathed in mystery and risking her own reputation, if this did not involve Edward’s guidance in some way.

  The curiosity of what she held compelled him to keep her at Penndrake until he found out what Edward Garrett wanted her to know. Out of patience, he eased away from her.

  “Miss Holden, may I suggest we take a walk in the gardens? The day is almost gone, but there is enough light to see us through, allowing us to discuss this further without interruption.”

  Again, she opened her curved lip but said nothing. Suspicion sprang from her demeanor, her gaze darting around the room as if searching for the closest exit. Instead of fleeing, however, she motioned with a surrendering nod, stepping forward until the coat of arms over the fireplace caught her attention.

  He studied her as she examined the Wesley motto, her lips moving mutely as she read the three words embedded at the bottom of the shield. Shameful heat rose from deep inside him, and he lifted a rare prayer to the heavens for her not to know the meaning of those powerful words. Maybe she was too poor to have been schooled like her giddy cousins.

  Even so, he studied her curious face until she turned to him, her eyes void of any awareness or comprehension. Breathing a sigh of relief, he held his arm out for her to take. She paused, a timid and uncertain hand coming up to rest on his sleeve.

  Outside, the day had faded into dusk and dazzled the sight, impressing upon it a majestic beauty of pearl-pink altostratus clouds. Behind them tumbled a blanket of slate-gray vapors, an ominous forewarning of twilight.

  The much cooler breeze tugged at the tails of his heavy jacket. He slowed his pace and continued to escort her down a flight of stone steps onto a spacious unblemished lawn. They walked for several hundred yards in silence, him admiring her wondrous interest. On their way to the garden, they passed the stocked fish pond and the honeysuckle-laden labyrinth.

  Toward the east, he halted at a stone fountain, centered in the thickest part of the coppice. Large shadows turned the evening darker, the chilly autumn wind transforming Miss Holden’s dewy skin to a nice pink. With his arm outstretched, he persuaded her to a wrought iron bench on the opposite side of where they stood.

  “Please have a seat with me.”

  He pointed, and she accepted his invitation, much too carelessly, he thought.

  She sat down first, her behind resting on the farthest edge of one side. Not to frighten her, he followed suit, allowing enough space to fit her three female cousins between them.

  After a quiet moment, he pronounced, “I believe you don’t think too highly of me, Miss Holden, and I would like to persuade you otherwise.”

  She drew back and gawked at him with wide sage-like eyes. A wisp of her hair tumbled down into her thick lashes. Unhindered, she blew it away with a quickly exhaled breath.

  Her refinement, or lack thereof, surprised him. Most women—no—all women of her lower station practiced the art of how to appeal to a man and his interests, enough so to attract an amiable and sensible husband. Perhaps, however, Miss Kathryn Holden had no reason to draw the attention of the opposite sex, especially since she had another companion in mind. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter either way. Her experience might play to his advantage.

  Still, he sought the truth on the matter, just because his thoughts weren’t able to let it go. “Forgive me if I seem too impertinent—”

  She scoffed. “You’ve just now thought of apologizing for something you’re about to say? How extraordinary.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Sarcasm does not become you, madam.”

  “Neither does naivety.”

  How fast she spurred his temper, and he felt it rise, slow but sure.

  “Like I was saying,” he continued, clearing his throat to keep it from sounding too impatient. “Forgive me if I seem too impertinent, however, I believe you will do every English male a disservice if you decide to take yourself off the marriage market.”

  She blinked at him, her mouth agape and her finely arched eyebrows pinching together to cause a line above her childlike nose. “But…but…how…did—”

  “It is too clear,” he interrupted.
“I have had to endure the company of many women, and I must say, you make no effort to persuade a man in your favor. This can only mean one thing, madam. That there is someone else who holds your interest.”

  He dropped his gaze to her lips, where they moved without saying a word.

  “However, I must warn you not to count too steadily on one man, for you never know who or what may hinder your pursuit.”

  She struggled against his allegation and turned away. He seized the opportunity and closed the gap between them. On a mild breeze, he caught her sweet orchidlike scent, intoxicating his sobering senses.

  He glanced toward the blazing horizon, a sliver of red still visible between the grays and blues. It would be very dark soon.

  “I dare say, my lord, you have taken my disinterest in you to mean something else entirely.”

  She crossed her arms around her tight midsection and dropped her shoulders.

  Despite her mission to incite him at every turn, he was enjoying himself way too much at this point to let what she said go. “Disinterest. Well, now, I recognize a challenge when I see one.”

  Unaware of his proximity, she swung around. Her astonishment at finding him there pitched her backward and nearly onto the carpeted grass below. He caught her by the hips, yanking her forward and against him. His heart jolted as a rush of immoral adrenaline surged through him.

  To his undoing, she didn’t resist. Not when he snaked one arm around the small of her back or when he slid his other hand up to cradle the crook of her slender neck. She yielded to him, the warmth of her body seeping into his palm and forearm. He craved more of her heat and drew her in so their bodies molded into one.

  “Now, this would be the time to prove your disinterest and shove me away, Miss Holden.”

  Her sweet ragged breath fell against his neck. All he needed was a distracting moment to take the object from her pocket. Did he dare a stolen kiss upon her rounded cheeks or below her earlobe? He smiled, feeling her heart thudding hard against his chest.