She took a large breath and dropped her hands, her tiny fingers wrapping tight into the muslin material of her dress.
He opened his mouth to speak when Lady Sophia’s voice interrupted his chain of thought.
“My Lord, we have been discussing the grandness of your home in your absence. Although lacking in feminine decor, we have all decided it is the most beautiful place we’ve ever seen. Besides here, you must have at least a dozen favorite rooms.”
The woman batted her eyelids and flushed with excitement over the prospect of having one of her daughters become the mistress of Penndrake to share all those favorite rooms. Ironic, since the Garretts were the reason he might lose everything they so admired.
Tapping down his resentment, he dared a glance toward Miss Holden, a bit put out by her having said nothing about the place she set to inherit by default.
Compelled to speak, he raised his voice and projected toward one person and one person only. “Yes, but of course, my favorite place lies outside, near the gardens, where, just recently, in fact, I shared a moment of introspection.”
His glance remained steadfast upon her back until she turned around to face him. He believed he saw her squint her eyes and shake her head.
“Introspection, my lord? Oh, do tell,” Claire said in a throaty voice, engaging with a rasp of seductiveness.
He stepped past Arthur and farther into the room. “Well, you see, I had an encounter with a fascinating apparition who came to me, bearing me fruit so succulent and sweet, I cannot remember when I craved anything more.”
As the ladies spoke in hushed and fascinated voices, he sauntered closer to Miss Holden.
“This fruit, my lord, is there any left?” Lilly asked him, a little behind on the meaning of his words.
He chuckled to himself, his attention fully focused on Miss Holden. “No. She took it with her.”
A cascade of disappointment echoed in the room. Even Arthur fell for his tale, the sound of his lips smacking together as if he longed to sample a taste. Damn him.
“However,” Wesley said, swiping his long index finger through the air. “I promise the next time, I will take more from her offering, never to be in want again.”
Chapter Nine
Miss Holden’s shocked whimper satisfied Wesley’s appetite. When she lifted her hands to her breasts, he believed she wished to guard herself against just one of the places he longed to sample. He should have expected her astonishment at his brazen conversation. He need only wait for her to find her voice and challenge him.
“My lord, your story is all deceit and hallucination.” Her chin tilted upward, exposing her delectable neck. His heart hummed to engage her more.
“Oh? Why do you say that?” He prowled closer to her place next to the window. The moon was so full, it showed a halo of white light around her.
She smiled, though her hands trembled. “Everyone knows ghosts cannot carry anything. It will fall right through their fingers.”
He halted close enough to where she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes. God, he’d never seen anyone more bewitching in his life. Her face illuminated and sparkled with brilliance and opposition.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
She toyed with her lower lip, a tiny enough gesture to stir the grandest want inside him.
“Well, if this spirit did visit you,” she began again, her voice shaking from either his presence or a presumed confession. “I would be more inclined to believe you took something from her and thus the reason for her haunting.”
Caught in the truth of confiscating the letters, he could only smile. Still, he had one thing to add. He bent down, despite how it might look to the engaged audience around them. Her sweet breath whisked across his face and touched his lips. His body tightened from the urge to bring her close and finish what he’d started earlier in the pouring rain.
Her delicate scent filled his senses, forcing him to harden his convictions. “’Tis irony that holds both our versions captive,” he said.
“’Tis honor that will set them free,” she whispered back.
Lost for a moment in her words, he almost forgot his guests. He turned to them now, three of them gawking with an annoyed interest in his and Miss Holden’s direction.
The other two, Lilly and Deidra, had grown emphatically bored and placed themselves by the fire where they sat playing a diverse game of chess.
“So, Kate…er, Miss Holden,” Arthur corrected himself. “How have you fared since we last met? I’m certain you have more suitors than your father knows what to do with, now that you’re”—his damnable gaze lowered to her bosom—“all grown-up.”
Next to Wesley, her body stiffened. He wanted to believe she felt revolted by her former love’s blatant interest. Rourke had hurt her, crushed her, and yet Wesley wondered if she might be so forgiving to accept any advances from him. Unwilling to behold a rekindling of emotions between the two, he walked away. For the next hour, he peered from behind a snifter of brandy and under his lashes as she took turns walking around the room with each one of her cousins. He believed they were coaxed by their mother so as to gain his notice. The most interesting walk had to be with Claire, however, who sought both his and Rourke’s attention, equally.
She paraded and sashayed, using every luscious attribute to her advantage. Then there was Miss Holden, modest and quiet, her head bent toward the floor and her face reflective of a lady with a lot on her mind. Were her thoughts occupied with Garrett, Rourke, or with him? He loathed to know which one, afraid he rested behind first loves and blood ties.
He realized after a long moment he’d clenched his fists so hard at the thought, his fingers ached. Miss Holden stood in a triangle of men. One who’d thought about marrying her, one who wanted to ruin her, and one who didn’t quite know what to do with her.
Without meeting her, Wesley had been adamant about not marrying below his station, believing Penndrake deserved a titled and well-mannered mistress. Now after reading Garrett’s letters to her, it seemed marrying Miss Holden was no longer a possibility. Left with so few options, and his ambition blurring the longer she stayed at Penndrake, Wesley knew there had to be a loser in all this, and it wouldn’t be him.
In a devil of a mood, he thought of his plans, making sure to give Mrs. Abram instructions within earshot of Miss Holden. Then he forced a smile toward Miss Holden and Claire as they ambled toward him in the middle of the room. Claire led the way, gracing him with a provocative gleam in her blue eyes while Miss Holden stood back, her attention pinned on something just above his left shoulder.
“Lord Wesley, I have so missed your company,” the eldest Garrett sister said, twisting to place herself on his right side.
“And what about you, Miss Holden? Have you missed my company?” His question drew a surprised gasp from Claire but not from the tempting woman he’d asked. Instead, she lifted her gaze to his face and smirked.
“If you will excuse me, I have grown rather tired.”
“Then allow me to escort you to your room,” Rourke said, sliding up behind her.
Wesley bit his tongue to keep from speaking up to stop the man. His cousin sensed his emotional turmoil, turning to send him a dimpled smile, a smile so wondrous, it drew both Miss Holden’s and Claire’s attention.
“That is very kind of you to offer, sir, but I can manage to find myself back.”
“I insist.”
Deidra stood and yawned. “Will you escort me, as well, Mr. Rourke?”
The man showed his disappointment by letting out a loud exhale. Wesley allowed them to leave together, every second of distance between him and the retreating couple causing the vein in his head to pulse like a hammer against his temple. He thought to escort Claire up ten minutes from now, giving Rourke enough time to…to do what?
“The devil,” Wesley hissed, causing Claire to look in his direction. Although Miss Holden showed no signs of affection for his cousin, Wesley knew Rourke. He’d attempt kissing her hand fir
st and then move to her supple cheek to remind her where her heart once lay. With too many witnesses roaming about, he’d ruin the girl before she knew what happened.
Wesley held back an ominous growl. Rourke ruining her was not a part of his plan. “Are you all right, my lord?” Claire’s low, breathy voice sent a restless chill down his spine.
He looked toward the mantel clock, staring at the ticking hands until his gaze blurred. Every second that passed, he imagined Miss Holden locked in Rourke’s undeserving embrace, her luscious mouth, her tantalizing tongue—
“Come, I’ll escort you to your room,” he said, even though less than five minutes had passed.
Claire sucked in a breath as he grasped her hand and placed it on his arm. She did resist a few steps until she received a subtle and calculated nod from her mother.
Wesley felt like he was dragging a child behind him as he rushed up the winding staircase toward Miss Holden’s room. If Rourke had somehow weaseled his way inside, Wesley didn’t know if his temper would cause both women to run screaming from Penndrake. At this point, he didn’t care.
At the top of the landing, he stared down the shadowed and empty hallway. Enraged by the thought of Rourke and Miss Holden, he strode onto the maroon-and-gold carpet, his Hessian boots thumping hard and purposeful.
“But…but, my lord, we have passed my room,” Claire said, her words breathless and her hand dropping from his arm.
Halfway to Miss Holden’s room, he stopped and inhaled. His heart thundered to an uproarious beat and sweat beaded his forehead. Damn Garrett for putting him in this situation. Damn him to hell.
“My lord?”
Wesley rotated to where Claire stood, her dainty brows furrowed in nervous curiosity.
“Right,” he said and escorted the lady to her room, bidding her good night and stepping to the edge of the staircase. He hesitated there, his mind and heart battling for what to do next.
“The devil!” he swore under his breath and strode back to Miss Holden’s door, hesitating, before moving instead to his own, in one hell of a bad mood.
…
Kate had tiptoed to Lord Wesley’s room after feigning a headache and rushing into her room to avoid Arthur’s blatant attempt to kiss her. She wanted—she needed—to find the items Lord Wesley stole. Her plan: to leave Penndrake with her aunt and cousins and never look back or think of Lord Wesley again.
The thought should have made her happy and satisfied. But as she’d stood inside his firelit room, staring at his enormous bed and furnishings, it only put her in a dismal mood. Despite his mysterious intentions, he made her feel alive. All he had to do was gaze upon her, and she was lost, longing for the next moment to engage him, to gaze into his hazel eyes and draw from his lips a careless deliberation.
In her distraction, she’d nearly missed the sound of a man’s heavy footfall. Frantic, she made for another door on the opposite end of the room but managed to trip and fall against his bedpost. As the doorknob wiggled, she swept into the brocade curtain, her breath held, her eyes squeezed shut, and a whispered prayer raised toward the vaulted ceiling.
“God, please don’t let him find me,” she repeated, just before the door opened, and his Hessian boots stamped across the hardwood floor a few feet away. With her hands clutching the heavy fabric, she waited. After a few seconds, beads of sweat began to dampen her forehead and tickle her in places she didn’t dare reach.
Oh, could this night get any worse? She didn’t have a chance to answer when she realized she’d chosen the worst question to ask and the worst hiding place in the entire room. In the strangled darkness, her lungs squeezed for breath and her heart beat at a reckless pace.
No, not now. Please, not now.
His unhurried footsteps circled around the bed, stopped, turned, stepped again, and then halted. Closer. Much, much closer. Then, without warning, a hand reached inside the confines of her Bargello prison, yanking her into the cool and airy open.
Chapter Ten
Miss Kate Holden was at the last place Wesley expected her to be—hiding in his room. Surprise, excitement, curiosity, and relief flooded his thoughts at the same time.
To keep her from alerting the entire house of her misadventure, he quickly reached down and placed his hand over her mouth, shaking his head to warn her not to scream. Nearby, the dancing light from a small fire illuminated the astonishment and uncertainty on her face. He smiled down at her.
“What are you doing here, Miss Holden?”
She swallowed hard before answering him. “Why do you think I’m here, Lord Wesley?”
He smiled again. “You came to finish the kiss you started earlier today?”
Her nose wrinkled. “What? No. I came to retrieve the things you stole from me.” She paused to add, “And I was not the one who kissed you earlier. You kissed me.”
He chuckled, causing her green eyes to sparkle with defiance.
She cleared her throat and raised her chin higher. “I’m so happy to see I amuse you, but I demand that you let me go at once and then hand over those items that are rightfully mine.”
He blinked, enthralled by her spirit and determination. Still, he had the mind to toy with her, just to keep her from leaving him.
“Since you are trespassing, Miss Holden, I believe the best course of action would be for me to tie you up to prevent you from ever trespassing again.”
She sucked in a harsh breath. “You wouldn’t.”
He shrugged, his gaze lowering to her lips and lingering there. “Or—”
“Or…what?” she squeaked out.
“Or we strike a bargain.”
She shook her head. Distrust shone in those fiery green eyes of hers. “I don’t like your bargains. They are scandalous and place me at the greatest disadvantage.”
“Very well.” He nodded and withdrew one hand from around her back, lifting his fingers to unlace the cravat at his neck.
“What is your intention, my lord?” she asked, projecting her question in a frantic whisper.
He stopped what he was doing but kept his hand in place. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I hardly know.”
“Well,” he said, lifting a hand to stroke a tender caress across her cheek. “I will give you two chances to look for your things. If you happen to find them, you and your family are free to go.”
Her slow but elated smile disappointed him. “However—”
“Oh bother.”
“If you do not find them, you must relinquish a kiss in order to leave.”
“Absolutely not!”
“All right.” He brought his hand back to his cravat, which he had already loosened, giving her an unhindered view of his neck. “I will try not to tie it too tight,” he whispered, husky and thick against her ear.
A harsh exhale against his throat stoked the flames of his growing desire for her. He only hoped he could play this game without losing all his cards.
“Five chances,” she countered.
He drew back. “Are you mad? Three.”
“Four, and that is my final immorally depraved offer, Lord Wesley.”
He gave her a triumphant smile. “Four it is,” he said, depositing his cravat on the bed and letting her go. She had four chances to find what she sought from him. Four chances to up the stakes in this dangerous game he was playing.
With the room growing larger and more cluttered by the second, she turned in every direction, scrutinized her surroundings. She surveyed every drawer and every crevice he thought she believed held the key to where he’d placed her things.
He stood patient and enamored by her lucid movements from one piece of furniture to the next, including a writing desk and two Queen Anne, walnut tallboy chests. Then, in one of his bedside stands, she found the drawer she thought most likely to hold her items and pulled it open with a quick and assured yank.
She might have mumbled a cursed word for all she found inside was parchment paper and a lady’s stockings. He chuckled,
and she harrumphed, closing it and ambling around the room with a little more care.
“Shall I give you a hint, Miss Holden?”
She stopped and turned in his direction, her hands on her hips. “Yes, please, before I discover a few more of your indiscretions.”
She was the most delightful creature.
“Very well, you will find what you seek, perhaps, in the same place that holds the means for both sleep…and recreation.”
He knew his bed was the first thing to pop into her most intricate mind. He stared after her, following her bend down and slip her hand under the mattress. She felt right and then left, stretching forward and back until she realized they were not there. Her disappointed sigh echoed loud in the room. “That’s two, Miss Holden,” he said, keeping count.
She ignored him and grasped the blankets on his bed and threw them back. Nothing.
“That’s three.”
She lifted his pillows and checked underneath them. Nothing.
“Four.”
She yanked at the pillow covers and shook them to see if anything fell out. Nothing.
“I do believe you’ve extended the agreement by one.”
Out of breath, she turned to him in defeat. “Are my items in your bed or not?”
He smiled and shook his head. “When did I ever say they were in my bed?”
Miss Holden thrust her fists to the ground. “Just a few minutes ago. You said my letters and my comb are in the same place that holds the means for both sleep…and recreation. What else could that be but your bed!” she managed to yell in a torrid whisper.
He nodded before stepping to the other bedside stand. There, he reached in and pulled out a black mask, two letters, and her comb.
“I do like the working of your mind. However, what you seek is just where I said they’d be, Miss Holden, in the same place that holds the means for both sleep”—he paused, presenting her the mask—“as well as my recreation.”
Miss Holden stared at him, her cheeks stained with a blush and her breath hurried with, he hoped, images of what recreational capacity he used the mask. His body tight from this diversion they both started, he drew closer. When he raised the mask to her eyes, she remained quiet and unmoving.
A Mistress for Penndrake Page 9