A Mistress for Penndrake

by Bailey, Tammy L.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wesley observed, with acute annoyance, Arthur’s enthusiastic quest to capture Miss Holden’s attention. Fighting back the urge to throw his distant cousin under the carriage, Wesley assisted Claire, and her sister Deidra, into the cab. Lilly had stayed back at the request of her mother, who required someone to keep her company. He was more than happy with the arrangements. Deidra was quiet enough, and he’d only invited Claire to keep Miss Holden guessing as to his motives. Her senses had become too keen, and his body had become too aware.

  He’d made a disastrous mistake by confronting her about Mr. Leisure, revealing to her the weakest kind of emotion—jealousy. Now, his spontaneous—if not simplistic—plan to ruin her, in order to take back Penndrake, hung like an albatross as opposed to a solution.

  Had it been just three days ago he’d cared little about Miss Holden’s character, her insecurities, or her phobias? He’d believed by making her a pawn in this game, he could win Penndrake back and everything would be right in the world. So angry with everyone, Wesley didn’t care to see the flaws in his plan, only thinking to bring Miss Holden to her knees. Naturally, the compromising vision of her expanded his need even further.

  Only after he climbed in behind Claire and settled down beside Arthur did he realize exactly how swollen he’d become just from thinking about the woman. He held back a grunt and adjusted his seating, his eyes closed in an effort to think of anything but her. Frustrated, he tapped the top of the roof and found Claire barreling across the carriage, smashing close to his right side. This forced Arthur to relocate, as well.

  Wesley had little time to disapprove of the new seating arrangements before Claire guided her hand up his thigh. The carriage gave a sudden jerk, and her palm shifted to the expanded consequence of his wayward thoughts regarding Miss Holden. He jolted upward, and Claire let out a shriek, sounding more like a barn owl, her high-pitched noise bouncing off all four corners of the barouche.

  Across the aisle, Kate lurched forward and grabbed at her poor cousin’s arms, trying to discover the reason for her ear-piercing screams. Arthur, afraid of his own shadow, began searching frantically for a rodent that may have somehow stowed away under his feet.

  Chaos erupted inside the jostling vehicle. Wesley tapped the top of the cab, allowing Arthur to stand and bolt out into the foggy morning. Claire sucked in a lungful of breath before she swayed and her eyes rolled back into her head, fainting dead away in Wesley’s arms.

  In the moments after, he and Miss Holden stared at each other, neither able to come up with one word between them.

  “My lord?”

  Deidra’s serious tone rattled Wesley into motion. He adjusted Claire’s light form before stepping down onto the pebbled driveway, Deidra close behind. He called to Jonah, giving him instructions to take Claire to her room.

  “Go with him,” he told Deidra. “I’ll wait for your return.”

  The young lady curtsied before setting off toward the house, glancing back several times to see if he kept his word. Once back inside the carriage, Wesley ignored Miss Holden’s piercing gaze and settled onto the seat. In the quietness, he relived the last few minutes until the absurdity of Claire’s actions caused him to throw his head back and give in to a fit of hysterical laughter. Unaccustomed to laughing, he clutched at his sides where they threatened to slip open.

  After a long minute, he realized Miss Holden still sat across from him, as silent as the mouse Arthur believed he saw. She tapped her boot-clad foot and crossed her delicate arms, her breath huffing with the words she wanted to express. Finally, she blurted out, “What did you do to her?”

  Wesley quieted his chuckling and with his hand spread across his chest, leaned forward and said, “I, Miss Holden, did nothing to your dear cousin. You may ask, when the woman comes out of her vapors, what she did to me.”

  Miss Holden lurched backward. “Don’t be ridiculous. What could she have possibly done to you to make her faint dead away?”

  He dropped his gaze to his own midsection before lifting them again to Miss Holden’s confused expression. Her glorious green eyes blinked like the wings of a caged bird until the realization of what he inferred caused them to open as wide as her shocked thoughts.

  “Claire touched…” She pointed with a hesitant finger, unable to finish the words aloud. Only the longer she stared, the harder and more erect he became. Since planning to ruin Miss Holden, his body had conquered his mind in wanting to do nothing else but sink himself deep inside her. Then why had he not done so already? Why had so many days gone by without him at least attempting to see how far she’d let him go?

  Angry with himself for prolonging his discomfort and retaining the rights of Penndrake, he let his head fall back against the carriage seat.

  “Oh, she did, indeed, Miss Holden. And serves the little coquette right,” he said. For several moments, he tried to think of wading naked in an icy stream until Miss Holden cleared her throat and startled him from his musings.

  Across the thin aisle, she flicked her large lashes at him, her cheeks blushing pink with interest and amazement. “How can you say that? She would never have engaged in such an act, and even if she did, I’m certain to touch you as she did was not her intention.”

  In his current state, he didn’t care who he shocked any longer, least of all Miss Holden. “Have you ever touched a man, madam?”

  The deepening blush on her cheeks brought him some satisfaction. “Of course I’ve touched a man,” she said, her chin raised at a haughty angle.

  He smiled at her attempt to avert his question.

  “No, I mean have you ever touched a man so swollen from desire, he trembles at the mere thought of his release?”

  Her jaw dropped, and her backside wiggled at an inciting level in her seat before she could bring her fan up to tap down the red in her cheeks. He dared to move closer to where she sat, dared to take her wrist and hold it firm inside his palm.

  He shifted and flattened her hand against the inside of his thigh. “Tell me again, Miss Holden, have you ever touched a man?”

  Her small fingers shook where she touched him, but she didn’t pull away. He hesitated long enough to give her the opportunity to slap him with her free hand. She just sat there, waiting.

  He smiled.

  Her breath hitched, and her chest rose in a short and shallow rhythm. “I will not grace you with a reply to such an impertinent question, my lord,” she whispered as he inched her hand upward. Still, no resistance.

  His body coiled from wanting to take her and ending this torturous affair. “I did not have to guide your cousin’s hand as I am now doing to yours, Miss Holden. So, I ask, what was her intention if not to get to know me better?”

  “Please,” she begged, but he didn’t know if her plea stemmed from wanting him to let her go or to keep going. He tightened his grip over her hand, struggling and straining over what to do next. However, he would not force her hand any farther. He tested her inhibitions by lowering his mouth a whisper within hers.

  “Please, what?”

  He raised his free hand to cup her angelic face and dragged his thumb over her velvety skin. Her hot breath, sweet like apples, fanned across his lips, stirring his blood further. He knew if he kissed her, neither one of them would be able to stop the next sequence of events. Isn’t that what you want? He squeezed his eyes closed for a brief moment before emitting a growl and pulling away.

  In the stillness, their breath laden and their hearts hammering, he shifted back to his rightful place in front of her. After some minutes, she spoke, her words shaky and her gaze impassioned.

  “I must say, my lord, for all you know, Claire may be scarred for the rest of her life.”

  He gave Miss Holden credit for trying to appear unflustered and unaffected.

  He leaned forward. “I believe after the mere shock of what she touched wears off, she might be knocking on my door tonight, asking to finish off what she started.”

  Miss
Holden’s mouth dropped, her lips pursed for a rebuttal. He didn’t have to wait long. “And I say you merely frightened her to the point where she’ll never wish to lay eyes on you again.” She waggled a nymphlike finger toward his manhood.

  The blood in his veins continued to rush and expand. His heartbeat, measured and unaffected most, if not all the time, thundered about as if it were a horse once confined and now set free. For as long as he could remember, he’d avoided people. They were either too vexing or too needy.

  But this girl, this lady wanted nothing from him but the items he took. He had serious doubts about her knowing anything about the marriage Edward Garrett had arranged. If so, she would have tried on every occasion to come into his good graces. What lady of her modest standing dared turn down what he had to offer? To his amazement and bewilderment, she did nothing but the opposite.

  “All right,” he conceded, trying to hold back the devil inside his soul. “I say, if tonight Miss Garrett sneaks to my bedchamber and proves you wrong, you are indebted to me until I say you are not.”

  Miss Holden opened her mouth to protest. He held up his hand and continued, “But if she tries to avoid me at all cost, as you emphatically suggest”—he tilted his head in her direction—“I will return the things you seek, and you will be free to go and do as you please.”

  Mistrust showed brightly in Miss Holden’s eyes. She squinted, trying to discover some sort of deceit. Her head canted, the slight scent of vanilla swirling in the enclosed and warming air.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  She harrumphed so hard, her chest pushed outward. “I…I was just wondering if there is nothing else you care to barter?”

  If he didn’t know better, he swore he could detect a bit of disappointment in her voice. He smiled. “I’m quite certain I will win, so no.”

  She made a face at him before offering him a long pause. “I have your word?”

  He slid toward her and took her hands. Their size was such a great contrast to his. “You have my word,” he whispered, unable to keep the huskiness out of his tone.

  “Very well.” The words were said in such an airy and enchanting way, he was reminded of the virgin goddess he’d had on occasion read about. Little by little, she slipped her hands from his and sank back, suspicion illuminated her brilliant emerald eyes. He smirked and leaned outside the carriage to give a footman a set of orders before straightening and rapping on the carriage twice.

  The astonishment on Miss Holden’s face made him chuckle.

  “What…what are we doing? It’s improper for me to travel with you alone.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  …

  Scandalous, Kate thought. However, every second with Lord Wesley, alone or otherwise, was one impetuous misadventure after another. Her knees knocking with both expectation and uncertainty, she reached over and yanked the curtains closed. Of course, she didn’t know what appeared more wicked—riding alone in a carriage with his lordship or riding alone in a carriage with his lordship with the curtains drawn.

  To think about a ruinous situation brought her back to Claire. Oh, Kate didn’t want to think about what had happened between him and her impetuous cousin. What had made Claire become so curious and unguarded? Kate swallowed hard, reminded of her own curiosity and imprudence regarding the devilish marquess.

  At this moment, lounged back, one leg outstretched and dangerously close to invading her proper space, Lord Wesley appeared well satisfied by the attention.

  “Would it do a bit of good to ask you to stop the carriage and let me out, my lord?”

  In the dimness of the cab, one side of his mouth lifted to show he found the circumstances funny, and that he had no intention of doing any such thing.

  “Aren’t you at all concerned how we may appear when we arrive at the festival? I don’t even have an escort.” She lifted her chin to appear haughty, but it only made her dizzy. If he didn’t have any reservations about having her touch him, she had no doubt he cared little about how she appeared, escort or not, to the outside world.

  “No.”

  Miffed, she let out a breathy sigh and then an unladylike scoff. “All right, Lord Wesley, so be it. However, I’m sure you are no more eager to marry me than I am to marry you.”

  He sprang from his casual sprawl at her haphazard rambling. She pressed hard against her seat, afraid of any more physical contact between the two of them. When he’d placed her hand on his thigh earlier, her body had jolted awake with a depraved eagerness to feel him, all of him.

  “So you’ve said,” he said in a low growl.

  Confused, Kate shook her head, until she remembered their dance and everything she said to him that night. “I…I only meant, we hold very different ambitions in life.”

  His eyes once wild, softened. Still poised just a small distance away, he reached over and rested his hands on each side of her thighs. Her heart, rebellious and untrustworthy, sputtered.

  “And what then, Miss Holden, is your ambition?”

  Unable to think, much less remember what they were talking about, she said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “To retrieve what was stolen from me.”

  His brows pinched together, and his lips parted to exhale a temperate breath. A moment later he leaned in close, the warm and spicy scent of his body pulling her nearer.

  He whispered, the force and fire of his meaning still evident in each and every word he spoke. “Then, I will remind you, our aspirations are one and the same.”

  She opened her mouth to ask what had been stolen from him, when the carriage swaggered to stop. Unsure how far they traveled, she lifted the curtain to peek outside. She drew in a breath when she realized they’d been traveling in a circle around Penndrake. Just at the moment she thought about jumping out of the vehicle, Deidra popped inside, her face alight with uncapped gaiety.

  “Thank you so much for waiting for me,” she said toward Lord Wesley.

  He perked up from his casual position. “I take it Miss Garrett is well.”

  Deidra bobbed her head from left to right. “She’s awake but mumbling and quite put out. Mother insisted I…take her place.”

  “Did you happen to see Mr. Rourke?”

  Deidra nodded. “He said he’s had enough excitement and to go without him.”

  Lord Wesley gave her a single nod before rapping the roof once. They didn’t stop again until they heard the airy compilation of lutes and recorders. Thunderous laughter rose above the rattle of the carriage wheels as the aroma of roasted pig, warm baked bread, cooked turnips, and spiced pears poured in through every crevice of the cab.

  Deidra, who’d peeked her head out of the window a few minutes ago, opened the door before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop. Determined to have a good time despite the turmoil of emotions swirling around inside her, Kate accepted Lord Wesley’s hand in helping her down from the cab.

  “Lord Wesley!”

  Both Deidra and Kate turned to see a small boy racing at full speed toward the marquess. Lord Wesley laughed and picked up the giggling child, throwing him into the air and catching him with ease.

  “Where are your parents?” he asked the fair-haired boy.

  “Over there.” He pointed a finger toward a handsome couple, the tall woman waddling forward in a thirteenth-century thick, velvet gown.

  “Oh, doesn’t the food smell wonderful?” Deidra sighed, twisting in all directions to locate the sweet and spiced aromas.

  Kate nodded absently, unable to yank her attention away from Lord Wesley’s playful demeanor. Even the scowl he wore most of the time had disappeared. He tickled the boy and then let him down, rotating around toward her and Deidra.

  “There are a few people I’d like you to meet,” Lord Wesley said, smiling and reaching for her hand. She believed he realized the grave error of letting his guard down with her when he froze halfway, as if Kate were a snake ready to strike him. Sh
e stared at him until he balled his hand into a fist, shook his head, and then pivoted toward the young couple.

  They stood close together, and Kate couldn’t help but admire the woman’s dress made of floral brocade and printed in blue floral motifs with gold trimming at the V-shaped neckline. The sleeves, double padded at the shoulders, covered her slim arms in sheer gauze. The skirt puffed out at the hips, slight and unobtrusive as not to encumber the young woman’s rounded belly.

  “Miss Holden, Miss Garrett,” Lord Wesley began, his tone low and at ease. “Allow me to introduce you to the town vicar, Mr. Samuel Bartram, his wife, Martha, and their son, Jonathan.”

  Both Kate and Deidra smiled and curtsied.

  “Miss Holden, would you play tag with me?” Jonathan asked, his eyes begging.

  Kate opened her mouth to decline. After all, women were not supposed to exert themselves with anything but acceptable forms of exercise. As well, her awkward footing might get someone hurt, not just herself.

  “I really don’t think…”

  Too late. The little boy had already grasped her hand and was tugging her at an unrelenting pace. For a child half her size, the boy possessed a firm grip and an eagerness she found hard to escape.

  Aware of her limitations in outside activities, Kate tried to negotiate with the child, only to have him guide her to a jumbled semicircle of parents and their children.

  To her dismay, Kate noticed Lord Wesley lingering close behind, his confident and stealthy swagger causing more than a few young ladies to drop their handkerchief in his direct path. To distract herself from noticing which ones he took the most care in returning, she glanced down at Jonathan and smiled.

  “You really have no idea what trouble you’ve placed yourself into, do you?”

  “Follow me,” he said, giving her a wide toothy grin.

  She blew out a slow breath, remembering her time as a child and always wanting to fit in, despite her awkward balance. She knew she didn’t possess the same elegance as her cousins. That, however, did not stop her from jumping into the game, the last time being when she was seven and her feet became tangled in a tree root. At the expense of her pride, her cousins, excluding Edward of course, rolled on the green grass in a fit of laughter.