A Mistress for Penndrake

by Bailey, Tammy L.

  To do this, he needed to separate himself from her, and the sooner the better. With Bartram occupied with his son, Wesley ambled up the steps and down the muted corridor, the wall candles illuminating his way. Past one set of bedchambers, to another, he stepped until the hushed and concerned voice of Miss Holden floated to him from a room to his immediate right. The paneled door stood slightly ajar, a warm illumination from a crackling fireplace tempting him to enter.

  He eased the door open, the shrilling creak of the hinges giving him away and causing Miss Holden’s and Mrs. Bartram’s heads to pop up in his direction.

  The first stood, swift and silent, her angelic green eyes wide and unyielding. He lifted a step forward when he noticed her gaze shift from his face to his right shoulder and back up again. It took him only a moment to realize his past had been unveiled.

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Who would ever want to marry into such a legacy? Certainly not Miss Holden. He felt cursed, reminded of a terrible time that continued to haunt him. He tried to shake the memory, but it came hurling back, with vivid and numbing clarity.

  Upon learning his father had gambled Penndrake away the first time, Wesley had ridden like a madman to London to win it back. He did, with more luck than skill, and believed he’d never have to fight to win his home again. However, a mile from Penndrake, he was confronted by a few of his father’s disreputable debt collectors.

  Wesley refused to let them near Penndrake. He succeeded in turning them around but not before they plunged a knife into his right shoulder. He stayed conscious long enough to see them disappear. When he woke up, he was in Bartram’s home. The vicar had found Wesley, half dead, and saved his life. Wesley’s recovery took months, him growing more bitter with each passing day. When he finally returned to Penndrake, he found his mother gone and his father oblivious to anything but his own addictions.

  Mrs. Bartram’s quiet voice brought him back to the present. “Lord Wesley, please. I thought she already knew.”

  He nodded and turned to address Miss Holden directly. “What do you know?”

  “That…that you almost died saving Penndrake.”

  He shifted his gaze to Mrs. Bartram, who closed her eyes and bent her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  His life felt ripped open for Miss Holden to see, to judge, to scrutinize. There was no doubt she’d somehow seen Penndrake as a perfect and wondrous place. She didn’t know about the rooms that still lay like his father left them, in decay.

  He’d intended on marrying well to repair the rest of the house and the rest of the village. He scoffed at the thought of ever wedding Miss Darlington now. With her, Penndrake would be a prison he would not be able to escape.

  Oh, the irony. He stood staring at the one person who made Penndrake home again. Miss Holden. However, with Garrett holding all the cards to his future, Wesley knew what he needed to do. She deserved better than what he would ever be able to give her.

  “I cannot hold you any longer, Miss Holden. It’s all over.”

  She sucked in a wavering breath, and the physical reaction caused him to pause and think over his words.

  “I believe you’ve received everything you sought from me, making the ties between us permanently severed.” He stepped closer. “So, you see, madam, I do have some honor left.”

  Too early for regret and too late to retrieve what he’d said, he turned to leave. At the door, Bartram stood like a man upon his pulpit, ready to start preaching about the devil and how he could possess a man’s soul.

  Averse to hear what he already knew, Wesley trudged past his friend, leaving them all to discern his words.

  He thought himself alone until an almighty clap of thunder caused a woman’s surprised scream to sound behind him. He turned, knowing quite well who he would find.

  “Why are you doing this?” Miss Holden asked, her eyes glittering and her hands fidgeting at her waist. His heart ached to go to her, to comfort her and wipe the single tear sliding from her cheek to her chin.

  He shook his head. “You will thank me when you’re married and settled, Miss Holden.” She hiccuped, and he wanted to know what she was thinking. Did her mind turn to the man her parents had in mind for her to marry? Or did she recall the sweet words and light kisses Rourke had given her several years before?

  “I need some air,” he grumbled and spun back around.

  “But, but…we’re in the middle of a thunderstorm,” she called after him, the desperation in her frantic voice making him almost miss a step down the staircase.

  “That’s never stopped me before,” he answered, noticing her soft footsteps not far behind. He continued onward, out into the rain, expecting her to stop in the foyer. What lady didn’t fear storms? What lady would not give up trying to pry an answer from him?

  Well, Miss Holden.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kate halted just inside the open doorway, negotiating the intermittent lightning strikes and horizontal rain, deciding whether or not to wait for Lord Wesley to return. A few seconds clattered by until she could take it no longer. Without a cloak, without a bonnet, she cast herself out into the storm, a streak of lightning illuminating the late day to show the marquess skulking toward the stables.

  She picked up her hem and ran toward him. At the barn door, she called his name. He turned, his face a portrait of stone and rain, streams of water dripping from his glistening hair to cut across his chiseled features.

  “Get back in the house!” he yelled over the howling wind and cracks of thunder.

  She stood frozen in place, afraid to move, afraid to leave him and never see him again. She brought in a deep breath, the weight in her chest making her weak. For so many years, she’d shielded her heart and planned how to keep it safe and unharmed. Only she’d never anticipated meeting Lord Wesley or falling so in love with him, she thought she’d never be able to recover in a world without him.

  “Why…why have you chosen to dismiss me so easily, after…after…”

  Her words faltered, and she had no doubt he knew what she wanted to say. After we have almost made love on several occasions. “Have I made you angry? Have I disappointed you?”

  He rushed to her and grasped her by the arms. His face shone so severely, she almost turned away. “Stop blaming yourself for the faults of others.” He shook her slightly, and she could feel his temper trembling inside him. “You must go before I set both of us on the path to ruin.”

  She started to shake her head, and his grip tightened. He didn’t frighten her; he only strengthened her conviction to stay with him. “I will never leave you.” She meant what she said, understanding the enormous pain that came with those words.

  Lord Wesley lifted his chin toward the rafters and exhaled. As if he didn’t hear, he let go and narrowed his gaze back on her. “After the storm lets up, you will go back to London, and I will have a conversation with your cousin.”

  “No!”

  Lord Wesley’s eyes turned furious, changing color in the flashes of streaking light. “You need not worry, I will not tie you to me in any way. From this moment forward, we don’t have to know or care about each other’s lives again.”

  He said nothing else as he shook his head and turned away to disappear into the darkened stalls.

  “But I do care.” Her voice broke on a whisper, but as soon as he rotated away from her, lightning struck inside the stable, igniting a spark along the barn door. Her hem, a little too close to the growing embers, caught fire.

  Before the flames reached her flesh and before she could even scream, she was thrown down, Lord Wesley grasping a wool horse blanket and covering her legs to snuff the blaze.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked in a harsh growl. She swallowed hard at his beautiful face etched with worry. “Are you hurt?” he asked again, desperate for her to answer.

  Her throat, dry and scorched, squeaked out a “no.”

  Despite what she said, he picked her up and carried her into the opening. Rain pummeled her
face and soaked her clothes. She clung to him until he set her down, turned, and ran back into the building.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled.

  “I have to get the horses out,” he called back over his shoulder. She stepped forward, determined to follow him, when a stretch of fire ignited along the stable doors. Stunned, she watched as an inferno the size of Claire’s armoire began crawling up the side walls.

  “Oh my God. Lord Wesley!” she screamed, but it was drowned out by a crash of thunder.

  Despite the danger, she rushed toward the burning building, only to be pushed back by the intense heat and suffocating smoke.

  “No.” Her anguished cry was lost in the building storm. From plumes of gray smoke rushed a stampede of horses, each scattering in its own direction.

  “What has happened?”

  Kate twisted to see Mr. Bartram standing, his eyes wide, his mouth moving but nothing audible spilling from his trembling lips. Around him a crowd gathered, five or six of the men Kate recognized from the fair, gawking in disbelief.

  Her heart sank to her stomach and languished there. Shaken by the events, her mind spun in turmoil, the thought of losing Lord Wesley too much to bear.

  She brought in a shuddering breath, the air thick and murky. Terrified of living her life without him, she picked up what was left of her hem and attempted to sprint forward again. This time, she managed to rush four feet before an arm seized her around the waist, wrenching her back.

  “Miss Holden, no,” Mr. Bartram said, seizing her, his tall and lanky size disguised by a stronger than usual hold.

  She fought to free herself. “But he’s still inside. You can’t leave him in there.” She said the words before a splitting noise sliced the air. She glanced up in time to see part of the roof collapse, orange sparks spraying out into the damp evening air.

  “Please. Let me go.” She hiccuped on a sob, struggling to break from Mr. Bartram’s hold. “Please don’t let him die,” she said into the rain. Then, as quick as the storm appeared, it dissipated, turning the downpour into an annoying drizzle. On her face, salty tears mixed with the trickling wetness. In her chest, her heart began to break.

  Oh, how can this be happening? There was so much she wanted to know about him, so much she wanted to explore regarding her own heart.

  I am brave.

  Whether by her sheer might or Bartram’s own shock of the disastrous situation, she was able to break free.

  “Miss Holden!” Mr. Bartram’s loud and desperate plea did nothing to slow Kate’s advance toward the blackened stables. Lord Wesley was in there somewhere, and she could not…would not let him die.

  The smoke hit her first and then the heat. Two feet from the entrance, she dropped to her knees and then to her stomach, the pain in her lungs forcing her to crawl at a slow, deliberating pace. Fire billowed upward from the top of the open doors.

  “Lord Wesley,” she choked out, the words stolen by the lack of oxygen and the heaviness in her chest.

  She blinked, her eyes burning and her vision blurry. She almost gave up searching for him until a figure stumbled out the gray cloud of tumbling smoke. He fell a few inches from her, silent and still.

  “No!” She reached out her hand to grab his arm, his sleeve torn and bloody. With all her strength, she tried to pull him back toward Mr. Bartram.

  Tears and mist wet her cheeks. She stared, horrified and hopeless.

  “Please don’t die. Please don’t die.”

  …

  Wesley slowly opened his eyes, remembering the last time he felt like death. Everything hurt. His shoulder, his legs, his arms, even his eyeballs. He bit back a groan and tried to recall why he lay in what felt like hell. Perhaps he had died, the words of Miss Holden coming back to haunt him.

  “Kate,” he said aloud, her name on his lips sounding foreign, yet comforting like he’d come home after a very long absence.

  “Ah, I thought you’d never wake up.”

  Wesley, inch by excruciating inch, shifted his head in the direction of Bartram’s voice. “How long?”

  “Two days.”

  Wesley winced, from both the loss of time and the inhaled breath.

  “You suffered a few cracked ribs, among the obvious.”

  “Miss Holden, is she…”

  Bartram inhaled before giving a hesitant nod. “She is quite well, my lord. However…”

  Bartram’s hesitation forced Wesley to believe something was wrong. He tried to sit up, but fell back to the mattress, biting back the slice of pain running from his chest to his back.

  “However, what?” Wesley ground out, his gaze focused on the swirled patterns in the ceiling.

  “Perhaps this isn’t the time to discuss it. You need to rest.”

  “The devil. I’ve rested for two days. If there is something wrong, you will tell me.”

  The last thing Wesley remembered was shouting at her to leave him. At the thought of how he acted, at what he’d said, his heart squeezed against his already sore body.

  “Again, I assure you, she is well.” Bartram hesitated before finishing his thought. “However, when you are sound, we need to discuss your intentions.”

  Wesley lay half interested in Bartram’s words, his mind too occupied with regrets and thoughts of the lady who’d stolen his heart right from underneath him. Troubled by this new revelation, he massaged his forehead with a bandaged hand and asked, “Intentions toward what?”

  “Toward Miss Holden.”

  Wesley lowered his gaze. “I have made my peace with the lady,” he lied. “I told her to go, and she is, by all accounts, back in London where she will live the life she was meant to live.” Without me.

  “Hmmm, that is quite interesting, my lord.”

  Already exhausted by his thoughts and the conversation, Wesley pushed his head into the feather pillow and closed his eyes.

  “My lord,” Bartram began and then stopped.

  This guessing game was starting to give Wesley an even bigger headache. “For the love of God… What?”

  “The night of the fire,” Bartram began, “as the stables burned around you, there was one person willing to risk their life for yours.”

  Wesley opened his eyes and thought for a moment until the dismal look on Bartram’s face told Wesley whom. Kate. He forced his mind to think back to their conversation before the fire caught her hem. What had she said to him?

  I will never leave you.

  His heart soared at the memory of those words before spiraling back to take his breath away. He’d sent her away without acknowledging her confession.

  “Kate.”

  Bartram nodded. “She is a determined young lady, whom I tried to hold back to keep her from getting herself killed…for you.”

  Wesley closed his eyes and fisted his hands at his side, unsure at what point she changed her mind about him. Comparing one to a heartless dragon, in his mind, did not constitute a sign of fervent affection. Furthermore, he’d made sure to say nothing to encourage such affection, always offensive in his words, always provocative in his actions.

  “I tried to squash some of the rumors, but there were too many witnesses who heard you call her by her first name and saw her cradle your head on her lap.”

  Wesley exhaled a long breath. Had he called out her name at his weakest, most desperate moment? Yes.

  “If you plan to marry her, I would strongly advise to announce it as soon as possible, my lord.”

  Wesley let the advice sink into his weary and broken bones. Until a few days ago, he never considered marrying Miss Holden, even when her cousin had blackmailed him into the ceremony. In so many ways, he’d misjudged her, believing she brought nothing to Penndrake, when in fact, she brought life to it. To clear his conscious, Wesley confessed what’d he’d planned, wondering if Bartram might change his mind about him marrying her, or about having saved his life all those years ago.

  “I was blinded by hate, so much so, I was willing to destroy the first person tie
d to my father’s injustices. Kate…Miss Holden does not deserve the man I’ve become, no matter what people may assume.”

  Wesley blew out a long breath, waiting for Bartram to condemn him, or perhaps dismiss him from his home. On purpose, Wesley was sure, his friend paced around the room, gathering his thoughts. After a full minute, Bartram settled into a chair, scooting forward with his hands clasped and his fingers interlocked.

  “You have a chance to make things right.”

  Wesley shook his head. “By making her miserable?”

  “By making her your wife.”

  Wesley’s chest swelled at those words. “Where is she?”

  “At Penndrake, with her aunt. The apothecary thought it best she heal and not travel these last few days. She breathed in a lot of smoke.”

  Wesley nodded but said nothing else, fully aware of the fact his plans of retaining Penndrake remained no longer attainable, especially if her cousin returned to contest the union. However, Wesley realized he needed to set things in motion to keep the rumors at bay and his intentions unquestionable. Whether Garrett wished him to marry her or not didn’t change the fact that Wesley would do everything in his power to protect Miss Holden with honor and his life.

  With white bandages on his forearms and hands and a slight limp to his step, he quitted his bed for home. The carriage ride back, excruciating and nerve-racking, helped take his mind off seeing Kate again. Although he’d grown attached to the idea of marrying her, he wondered if she would jump so gleefully at the prospect.

  After all, a saint did not marry the devil.

  He expected to get her alone as soon as possible, to ease her into the idea of becoming mistress of Penndrake. To his surprise and disappointment, however, he found Penndrake lined with awaiting visitors, servants, and relatives.

  Most shocking of all was his mother, who stood in the front, her arm curled around Miss Holden’s waist. Wesley smiled, seeing some light back in his mother’s gray eyes. When he stepped out of the cab in front of them, he laid a merciful kiss on her forehead.