Page 61 of Tall, Dark & Wicked
* * *
“A survey map?”She was standing outside of the drawing room again, about to find Simon and try to persuade him to be passionate about her. What a waste of time. Lady Pendleton was coughing and drinking brandy in her tea.
‘There’s no map. No survey.’
‘If Morwick suspects he’ll go to his cousin, the duke.’
“Brendan—”
“Son of a bitch.” Brendan looked back at her. “The property line is all wrong.” Then he hastily folded the paper again, placed it back in the oilskin. “We need to go.”
“He moved the property line, didn’t he? Simon’s father?”
Brendan gave her a hard look. “How would you know that?”
She hated the suspicion in his tone, as if she’d been in cahoots with the Pendleton’s, but Petra chose to ignore Brendan’s sudden mood shift. He had just found his long-dead father’s remains in a cave, likely murdered, and he was now holding the reason for that murder in his hand. And she was betrothed to the man whose father had likely committed the crime.
“I was eavesdropping. Accidentally. At the time, I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but now…well, now it makes sense.” She related the conversation she’d overheard, leaving out the part where Simon found her to be docile and boring.
His lips tightened into a hard, unyielding line. “Were you ever going to mention such a thing to me? I suppose you couldn’t, Simon being your betrothed and all.” Brendan fairly seethed with anger. “I admire your protection of him.”
“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think, Morwick? Especially after…” She blushed thinking of the night before. “Things.” She waved about her hands. “I told you I didn’t know what to make of the conversation. How would I know what such a thing meant? When was I supposed to impart such information to you? And for the record, I was not attempting to protect Simon.”
The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. My God. Could he actually believe shewantedto marry Simon? “You are not to mention you saw me today or what we found. Do you understand? It’s for your own good.”
“You really think I withheld this information from you?” She walked past him to the rope dangling down from above. “No, don’t answer. I can see that you do. Fine. I’m ready.” Now she was angry as well.
He came up behind her, looming over her smaller form. “I’m going to go up. Then I’ll send the rope back down with a loop in it. You’ll sit in the loop like you’re merely on a swing. I’ll pull you up very slowly. You stick out your feet and pretend you’re walking up the rock like this.” He moved his fingers to mimic what he wished her to do.
“Got it. I understand,” she said pointedly, wishing she didn’t want to burst into tears. Brendan was behaving like an idiot. He’d told her he meant to have her and now…well, now he’d found a reasonnotto have her.
Petra watched him crawl back up through the hole. Hurt, distraught, and filled with purpose.
When he pulled her up from the rock, Brendan waited while she put herself to rights, using the water from a bottle he carried with him to wipe her face clean. His manner was polite and nothing more.
Thunder grumbled again in the air around them. The wind had picked up since she’d fallen into the ground, and she could smell rain coming. The sky had gone dark, shadowing the moors. If she didn’t return soon, she’d be soaked to the skin.
She’d seen no one this morning but her mother, so it was likely no one had noticed her fleeing Brushbriar for the moors earlier. Her mother would be too embarrassed to admit to an argument with her daughter and had likely told everyone Petra was resting.
“Go in through the servant’s entrance,” Brendan instructed her. “Go directly to your room.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, satisfied by the way his eyes narrowed. He clearly didn’t care for her attitude, which now matched his own.
Without a backward glance, Petra set off for Brushbriar.
27
Brendan watched the streams of water running down the window and knew as much as he wished it, he and his mother could not return to Somerton tonight as he’d planned. He’d have to spend one more night under the roof of the family who had murdered his father.
As soon as he had seen the survey map and his father’s remains, Brendan had wished to destroy Brushbriar and everyone in it. He’d lashed out at Petra, unfairly, and intentionally driven her away. At the time all he could think of was his mother’s grief and Pendleton’s treachery. He’d accused Petra of protecting Simon.
Christ, I’m such an ass.
The urge to confront Simon and Lady Pendleton made his skin itch, but he did not. There was no real proof save the map he held in his hands. His grandfather, Henry, would have cautioned patience, ruthless old bastard that he was. Henry, were he still alive, would have quietly destroyed Pendleton and Brushbriar brick by brick for the insult done to his daughter. He would have advised Brendan to do the same and get started on doing so immediately.
He’d declined to go down to dinner, citing exhaustion and over exertion from his climbing. His host would be relieved at his absence. Besides, Brendan didn’t think he could look at Pendleton or his mother over roasted pheasant and not scream his accusation out loud. As he visited his mother in her room, thinking to tell her of the day’s discovery and its implications, he found he could not. She’d been humming and chattering about nothing in particular and seemed oddly eager to go down to dinner.
He would tell her once they were home at Somerton.
