Page 18 of Tall, Dark & Wicked
An exquisite longing shot down from between Petra’s breasts, swirling across her stomach to linger and feed the ache starting between her thighs. “You haven’t answered my question, my lord.” She wondered at the seductive quality of her own voice.
“Because I wanted to.” Morwick’s lips brushed the curve of her ear.
The book fell from Petra’s hands, tumbling to the floor.
“I’m very busy.” Morwick said as he leaned back, breaking the spell and making Petra feel like an idiot. The handsome features were once more contorted into irritation. “You should go, Lady Petra.” Bending down, his hand brushed her skirts as he picked up the fallen book. He glanced at the title and smirked. “Your book. Lord Thurston.”
Petra likened the change in his mood to someone snuffing out a candle, suddenly leaving the room in darkness. Disappointed and embarrassed, Petra could think of nothing but escaping his presence. “Of course. My apologies for the intrusion. Thank you for the lesson in geography, Lord Morwick.”
“Geology,” he snapped, shooing her out with a wave of his hands.
She turned and strode from the room, anger flaring at being dismissed. “Cantankerous, ill-mannered—” she muttered under her breath.
“I can hear you.”
Petra did not shut the door quietly.
* * *
All men havemoments of madness. Brendan’s madness was far beyond such a time constraint.
Women, particularly attractive, demure young ladies in possession of a surprisingly saucy tongue, shouldn’t be permitted to go about smelling like roses and sugar cookies. Brendan hadn’t quite figured out how Petra managed such a thing. She should also not be permitted to visit him, unchaperoned, when he was filled with lust at the mere sight of her.
Even being rude to her wasn’t driving Petra away. She kept coming back for more of his ill-mannered behavior. Why she tolerated his insults, Brendan had no idea. And worse, she didn’t seem to be frightened by him.
I want her.
That was the rub. He didn’t wish to lust after Petra. Didn’t wish to dream of her beneath him moaning his name. His desire for her was unwelcome. Unwanted. The entire endeavor was fraught with disaster. Soon, she’d leave Somerton for Brushbriar and the comforting arms of Pendleton. After leaving Brushbriar, Petra would return to London and marry Pendleton. As she should.
Brendan glanced at the stone he’d picked up earlier in the day, the one which reminded him of Petra’s hazel eyes. Grabbing up the stone, he threw open the drawer to his desk and tossed it into the depths to be lost amongst the collected junk of his wanderings, never to see the light of day again.
7
Brendan waved away his valet with an angry flip of his wrist. “I’m headed out to the moors, Woods. No need to dress me.” He scratched his chin. “And I’m in no need of a shave just yet. It can wait.”
“Youarein desperate need of a shave, as you are every morning. I beg you, my lord, either grow a beard and mustache and save us both this tedious conversation, or allow me to shave you.” Brendan’s much shorter valet brandished shaving soap and a razor in his gloved hands. A towel was flung over one forearm.
“What difference could it possibly make whether I am clean shaven or not? I doubt anyone I might encounter on the moors will care what I look like. You’re being ridiculous. I order you to put that away.”
Woods gave a long-suffering sigh of defeat, knowing he’d lost the current skirmish. Woods had been Brendan’s valet for nearly fifteen years and undoubtedly suffered quite a bit in his employ. Serving as Brendan’s valet had to be a thankless endeavor.
“Lady Cupps-Foster will assume I’m not doing my job. At the veryleastallow me to help you dress.”
Brendan threw up his hands. “Very well. Dress me as if I’m a doll.”
He found the entire need for a valet to be silly. The thought a grown man couldn’t dress himself without assistance because he bore a title was ridiculous.
Woods cocked a brow at him. “Yes, my lord. I’ve never known an earl as delicate and fine boned as you. Very much like a doll.”
“I should send you packing for your insolence.” Brendan fired Woods on a near weekly basis, all well-deserved, of course.
“Of course,my lord. I’ll gather my things as soon as you’re dressed.”
“My buckskins and one of my old shirts. Something I can ruin without you feeling as if you need to mend it.”
The valet strode to the armoire, bringing forth Brendan’s worn buckskins, holding them between his fingers as if the clothing were a poisonous snake. “Will I be leaving Somerton immediately, my lord? I do hope I’ll have an opportunity to pack.”
“You are to leave this instant.” Brendan snapped back as the valet next produced one of Brendan’s oldest shirts.
