Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5 Page 16

  “We are related, of sorts, through marriage.” Petra related the rather twisted familial tree which forever entwined the Earl of Marsh with the Duke of Dunbar. “And, of course, Lord Morwick rescued Mother and I when our coach became disabled, and our driver became lost on the way to Brushbriar.” She left out the part where she ruined Morwick’s boots by becoming ill.

  “She has a very tragic past, does she not?” Haddon’s eyes never left Lady Cupps-Foster who had lifted her glass.

  “I do not think she sees it that way.” Petra looked at Haddon directly, noting his interest. Lady Cupps-Foster was still a beautiful woman, her face remaining smooth and unlined and her dark hair showing only a few streaks of gray. Her eyes, a brilliant blue and so much like Morwick’s, gazed back at Haddon with returned interest.

  Katherine’s seductive laughter floated down the table to Petra’s seat.

  “Morwick, you haven’t changed one bit,” Katherine cooed.

  Petra stabbed viciously at her peas determined not to listen to the conversation at the end of the table.

  “Lady Petra, have the peas displeased you somehow?” Simon said next to her, his earlier ire at her gone. “I find coaxing them onto my fork much easier.”

  Petra laid down her fork, angry at Simon and having no idea why. She was really angry at herself. She formed her lips into the practiced smile she’d used during two Seasons. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I fear my mind wandered from my plate.”

  “Your mother told me you slept through tea today.” He regarded her with an affectionate glance, one which you would bestow upon a treasured pet of some sort. One lacking a brain.

  She had the urge to flick her peas into his face. “No, my lord. I simply read late into the night.”

  “I knew you would love the book of poetry I selected for you.”

  “Yes, thank you, my lord.” He really thought she’d stay up all night to read poetry?

  Simon nodded in approval and then turned his attention to Mr. Divet. “Mr. Divet, you were in the United States during an election. Tell me, how did you find their voting process?”

  Petra gripped her fork. It had taken him only a moment to forget all about her.

  * * *

  Brendan didn’t care for Cornish hen. Nor peas, his least favorite vegetable. And he especially didn’t he care for Haddon at the moment. Haddon’s eyes were lingering on the gleaming tops of Petra’s breasts displayed to perfection in the blasted green dress. And Brendan would know, as he’d admired her breasts in the same dress before. Worse, of course, was listening to the droning of Pendleton about how important he had become in Parliament.

  Windbag. Talk about something of importance. Like reparations for injured miners. Or the destruction of the Peak due to lead mining.

  Petra laughed at something Haddon said and Brendan’s hold on his knife tightened. He was quite good with a knife. From this distance, he could pierce Haddon’s jugular very neatly. It would be a shame to kill Haddon, since Brendan actually liked the baron. He just didn’t care for Haddon admiring Petra in such a way. You’d think Simon, as her future husband, would do something about it. Or hell, even leer at her himself.

  But Simon was busy extolling his own virtues as the self-important ass he was. Lording over the entire room from his place at the head of the table. Petra appeared to hang on Simon’s every word. But Brendan noticed the strain around the corner of her lips. She was viciously attacking her peas and stabbing at her Cornish hen.

  Simon lifted his gaze while he spoke and Brendan hastily looked away, lest Simon catch him watching Petra.

  I’m Hades coveting Persephone, wondering how he could trick her into eating the bloody pomegranate.

  He wanted to laugh at the uselessness of trying to avoid Petra, as if such a thing would ease the ache inside of him. The craving for her was like nothing he’d ever known.

  Petra turned back to Haddon and as she did so, a honeyed curl fell over her shoulder, dangling impishly just above her left breast. She laughed at something the baron related to her.

  Why the fuck was Haddon so amusing? Brendan’s eyes traced the delicate line of Petra’s shoulder to the curl skimming against the exposed skin of her chest. He longed to trail his lips across her skin, to chase that curl across the tops of her breasts and across the delicate expanse of her shoulder. His cock stiffened and Brendan shifted in his chair.

  A stockinged foot slid up the line of his calf.

  Good God. He must tolerate the lecherous Haddon, the pompous Simon and now Katherine’s foot attempting to insert itself between his legs. He shot her an annoyed look which she returned by batting her lashes at him. She’d been posturing all during dinner, trying to gain his attention and in general behaving as no recently widowed woman should. Katherine licked the rim of her wine glass with her tongue and leaned forward in order to give Brendan a glimpse of her nipples in the shockingly low-cut gown she wore. Possibly he hadn’t made his intentions, or rather his lack of intentions, clear enough to her earlier.

  Katherine shot him a look full of promise, practically purring as her foot moved further up his leg. Two more bloody inches and she’d be stroking his cock with her toes.

  “I’ve been rather bored since my return from London, my lord.” Katherine dangled her wine glass from one hand. “Perhaps you can tell me what types of amusements can be found here or in Castleton?” Invitation swelled in the depths of her dark eyes. “I would even go so far as Buxton.”

  Katherine had never been known for her subtlety. Their affair had started when she had begged him to meet her on the moors, stating she’d found some interesting fossils he might wish to inspect. He’d gone eagerly, his rucksack thrown over his shoulder, before remembering Katherine couldn’t tell a fossil from a plovers print in the mud. She’d been laying across a rock, her bodice loosened and her skirts hiked up to her thighs.

  Brendan had been a virgin. Katherine had not.

  Their affair continued on and off for years until he had discovered her with the son of a wealthy merchant in a barn in Castleton. He’d toyed with the idea of marrying her up until that point, because he liked Katherine, but didn’t love her. Katherine’s main appeal. She’d apologized, of course, begged him to forgive her, which he had, but Brendan didn’t fancy spending his life being cuckolded. In the end, she’d married Whitfield.

  “You are in mourning.” Lady Pendleton admonished her daughter with a brittle show of teeth. “You aren’t supposed to be amused or seeking diversion.”

  “Surely a carriage ride with an old friend,” she looked directly at Brendan and her toes wiggled against his leg, “wouldn’t be amiss, Mother. Why, Morwick and I have known each other for nearly all our lives. Played together.”

  Christ, could she be more obvious? “I fear I’m rather busy, Katherine, for carriage rides.” Brendan shot a glance down the table and saw Petra hastily return her eyes to her plate. Her cheeks were pink as if embarrassed by Katherine’s behavior toward him.

  Well, he certainly was.

  Katherine didn’t care for having her request refused, nor did his lack of interest seem to bother her. She was still beautiful, breathtaking if he were being honest, but incredibly self-centered. During his brief stay in London, Brendan had heard the rumors about Katherine. Half the gentlemen in London had been her lovers. He’d no desire to add himself to the list. Besides, he wasn’t interested in her. He returned his eyes to the honey gold of Petra’s hair.

  “Brendan.” Katherine pouted. “Are you still traipsing around the moors and picking up rocks? Pebbles and stones and such? You’ve a perfectly good house in London you never use. A complete waste.”

  For all that she’d grown up here with him, Katherine had not a shred of curiosity in any of the things Brendan did. She’d never tried to understand why he loved the moors. London and how to get there were all Katherine had ever cared about. And Whitfield had been the heir to a duchy.

  “Minerals, Katherine. And I’ve rented out my house to a man wit
h the unfortunate name of Mr. Crank. He’s a well-heeled merchant from Edinburgh.”

  “Like I said. A dreadful waste.”

  “The minerals or the house? Or are you speaking of Mr. Crank?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are always so glib. I’m sure you’re still climbing about, either up a cliff or down into some dank cave. When we were children, you forced me to venture down below.” Katherine shivered to allow her breasts to push against the silk bodice of her gown. “Dripping spears of rock—”

  “Stalagmites,” he muttered.

  “Vermin. Spiders. An earl should have more mature pursuits.” She gave him a glance from beneath her lashes leaving no doubt as to what she referred. Her toes returned, pressing against his ankle.

  “I like caves. I may even discover my father in one of them.”

  Lady Pendleton dropped her fork, her entire face puckering as if she’d sucked a brace of lemons.

  His mother choked on her wine. “Morwick.”

  Simon gripped his knife as if he’d launch the blade at Brendan.

  He could try. Simon had never had a very good arm. Wasn’t worth a shit for shooting a pistol either.

  Katherine pulled back her foot sharply, a pout on her lips. “You have always been a trifle morbid, haven’t you, Lord Morwick? I think you enjoy shocking everyone with your comments.”

  “I don’t find it at all shocking, merely truthful.” Brendan leaned back in his chair, wine glass clasped loosely in one hand. Who knew the mention of the long missing Reggie would dampen Katherine’s ardor?

  The table quieted; only the clinking of silverware sounded as the guests continued their meal, attempting to ignore their mortification at the mention of the long-disappeared former Earl of Morwick.

  Mother’s hand trembled slightly as she raised her fork, then just as quickly put it down.

  “I’m a student of geology as well, my lord.” Mr. Divet’s cheerful voice broke the silence at the table, deftly averting disaster by turning the direction of the conversation. “There are some incredible fossils to be found in the American territories.”

  The strained conversation at the table instantly eased and Brendan relaxed. “Tell me more.”

  18

  As seemed their habit, Lady Pendleton and Mother were determined to discuss Petra’s future once the men melted away to enjoy their brandy. One would think they’d find something else of interest to discuss.

  Haddon’s daughter, Jordana, stayed close to Mrs. Divet’s side as they retired to Lady Pendleton’s garish drawing room to await the arrival of the gentlemen. Jordana’s dark eyes flashed with rebellion as she listened to the various rules required to ensure a successful Season and attract the right type of gentleman. The mulish tilt of her head led Petra to believe Haddon would have his work cut out for him in London, for Jordana didn’t strike her as particularly obedient.

  Petra’s attention drifted to the open doorway, wondering if Morwick had joined the others in spite of Simon’s dislike. It was then that she noticed Katherine, who’d stayed behind with the excuse that she needed to speak to the head footman, hadn’t joined the other ladies in the drawing room.

  “An excellent nanny will be essential, especially while Parliament is in session.” Lady Pendleton intoned. “Simon lives a whirlwind of dinners, meetings and travel outside of London if he needs to convince someone of a bill he’s sponsoring. He’s incredibly dedicated. Simon’s grandsire, my father, was also politically inclined. Perhaps that’s where his interest first began. At any rate, I recall times when I didn’t see my parents for weeks at a time or more, such was their schedule.”

  “Goodness, how exciting,” Mother twittered, totally enamored of Petra’s future as the wife of Viscount Pendleton, social reformer and brilliant orator of Parliament.

  Petra clasped her hands in her lap. She loved children and had no intention of leaving any child of hers for extended periods of time so Simon could pursue his political ambitions. Mother, for all of her faults, had been present in Petra’s upbringing and Petra had every intention of doing the same in her own children’s life.

  “A governess, one fluent in French, will be of the utmost importance.” Lady Pendleton’s lips were pursed as she laid out her vision of Petra’s life.

  The urge to stamp her feet and run screaming from the room was nearly overwhelming. Petra could stand the conversation no longer and stood abruptly, ignoring the look of disapproval on her mother’s face. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

  “Are you well, dear?” Lady Pendleton asked solicitously, though there was no concern in her eyes.

  “Quite, thank you. I merely need a moment to refresh myself.”

  Lady Pendleton inclined her head. “Of course, my dear.” She waved a gloved hand in dismissal and went back to her conversation.

  Petra nodded to her mother, ignoring the tiny hill of disapproval forming on her upper lip. She exited the drawing room, relieved to have a few moments to herself. All her life, Petra had done what was expected of her, and now the expectation was that she marry Simon.

  But I don’t think I can.

  The last week had shown how incredibly ill-suited she and Simon were, leaving little doubt a marriage would be disastrous, no matter what her mother thought. He’d no interest in her at all outside of the fact that she wasn’t reckless and wouldn’t cause a scandal. She thought back to the time they’d spent together in London. Mother had always been present and directed the conversation. If Simon and she had happened to have a private moment, they had only talked of whatever social event loomed on the calendar. He was a marvelous dancer, but outside of clever, witty comments about the current gossip swirling about the ton, Simon had rarely asked Petra anything remotely personal.

  Dear God. Simon’s dancing mixed with clever comments was hardly a decent foundation for a marriage. The suffocating feeling she’d felt on the way to Brushbriar threatened again and Petra actually paused and put a hand to her throat.

  Once she was a safe distance from the drawing room, Petra halted. She had no desire to return to the drawing room and decided she wouldn’t. Once the gentlemen joined the ladies, Mother would be forced to make excuses to Simon for Petra’s absence. Or would she? Simon may be so immersed in showing off his knowledge of American politics to Mr. Divet, he’d barely notice she wasn’t admiring him.

  I don’t care.

  As she climbed the stairs to her room, Petra knew Mother would be embarrassed to have to explain her whereabouts, but she wasn’t feeling especially charitable toward her mother tonight. Nor Lady Pendleton. Nor Simon. Nor Morwick, for that matter. Returning to her room to retrieve the Lord Thurston novel tucked at the bottom of her trunk seemed a much more pleasing option than spending the remainder of the evening with any of them.

  Grabbing a lamp from the table at the top of the stairs, Petra made her way toward her chamber. Dinner had been a trial. Mother was exhausting. This whole bloody house party was ill-advised, in Petra’s opinion. The inclination to simply lower her head and obey everyone had abated, leaving nothing but a deep resentment at being nothing more than a chess piece for them all to chortle over. Morwick’s manner was the most painful, especially in light of her observation he may only be toying with her to annoy Simon.

  As she neared her room, the creaking sound of a door sounded further down the shadowed hall. A soft seductive murmur met her ears along with the swish of silk. Odd. Petra had left the ladies in the drawing room. Except for one lady in particular.

  Katherine.

  The family’s chambers were in the opposite wing of the house. Petra seriously doubted Katherine was directing the servants on last minute details for the guests who would arrive on the morrow. There could be only one reason why Katherine was in the wing where the guests were residing.

  With a puff, Petra blew out her lamp before she was noticed.

  In the spill of light four doors down, the silhouette of a voluptuous woman, curves displayed and tangled mass of hair falling abo
ut her shoulders, shown clearly.

  More seductive whispering and the rustle of fabric.

  The door opened wider and Petra could clearly see Katherine in the muted light. She appeared to be wearing little but a dressing gown loosely belted at the waist.

  Petra pressed herself against the wall as Katherine looked up and peered down the hallway in her direction as if sensing someone was watching.

  I really need to stop eavesdropping even if it is unintentional.

  A throaty laugh was followed by a hurried conversation in a low tone to whomever lay on the other side of the door. Petra’s hand moved to press against her stomach at the sound. The silk swirled around Katherine’s ankles as she spoke, catching the light inside the room. She leaned back exposing her throat and probably a great deal of bosom.

  A deep, rasp answered Katherine. Unmistakable even from where Petra stood.

  Morwick.

  After a quiet discussion between the two, Katherine slid through the opened door, closing it behind her with a soft click.

  Petra blinked, in part to stop the prickle of water gathering behind her eyes, and also to blot out the sight of Katherine and her ample charms offering herself to Morwick. She felt terribly betrayed even though she had no reason to be. She swiped the back of her hand against the tears falling down her cheek, horrified someone would find her weeping in the hall. Morwick had never claimed to feel anything for her. Not even lust. In fact all he’d done was kiss her, make a few scandalous comments, and warn her away from him. Oh, and he’d said she resembled a rabbit.

  Don’t let go.

  I won’t.

  Her assumption earlier had probably been correct. She’d seen the faces of both Morwick and Simon at dinner this evening, like two small boys trying to one-up the other. Morwick must have deliberately sought her out in order to annoy Simon. A comeuppance, possibly for something which had happened between them long ago at Oxford. Nothing at all to do with Petra. She was just here, conveniently allowing herself to be practically seduced by Morwick.