A rush of frustrated anger rose up in Petra. “I’m sure my mother did not intentionally misinform you, my lady.”
“I see.” Her eyes were knowing. Before Lady Cupps-Foster could say more, the door to the small sitting room swung open in a great whoosh, the startled footman stepping back with a bow.
Morwick strode in, bits of dirt falling from his boots and pants as he moved forward. He looked down at the mess he had created and sent his mother an apologetic look.
“Can you not wait to be announced?” She didn’t sound upset, but instead pleasantly surprised. “How lovely of you, and the cloud of dust you constantly wear, to visit me.”
Petra clutched her hands tighter. A wave of awareness washed over her skin, so acute it was nearly painful. She lowered her eyes as the prickling sensation tickled the skin of her neck and arms. He was studying her.
“It’s my house, Mother. I shouldn’t have to be announced,” was his curt reply. Morwick’s heavy tread moved closer to finally settle in a chair across from them, stretching out his long legs to cross at the ankle, bumping the small tea table as he did so. With a careless flick, he took the tattered hat he wore off his head, tossing it carelessly onto a neighboring chair. The ebony curls had been flattened from the hat, sticking to his sweat-dampened neck and cheeks. He wore a cambric work shirt, faded from age, and a pair of equally worn leather breeches. Every bit of his large form was covered with a thin layer of dust.
Lady Cupps-Foster made a face and gave a delicate sneeze. “Could you not have refreshed yourself before visiting? Were you digging something up?”
Morwick didn’t answer his mother; instead his sapphire gaze turned to Petra. “Hello, Lady Petra.” The rasp of his voice was low and deep.
“My lord,” Petra greeted him, the familiar heat rushing down her body.
“Feeling better? If not, Mother doesn’t care for the lily over there.” He nodded toward the pot Lady Cupps-Foster had indicated only moments before. “Brought it home from Castleton one day as a gift.”
Lady Cupps-Foster gave him a faintly annoyed look.
“My mother lacks a green thumb.” He winked at Lady Cupps-Foster, ignoring the look she shot him. “I fear the poor thing is begging to be put out of its misery, should you require assistance.”
“Your mother has kindly already offered the use of her lily, should I need it.” Petra answered with a tilt of her head. “You need not worry for your boots again. I can’t say the same for your hat.”
The gold flecks in his sapphire eyes sparkled back at her. “I stand warned.” He stretched his palms over his thighs.
Calluses stood out on the sides of his hands and the tips of his fingers. How had he come by so many? Lady Cupps-Foster was correct. Looking at him now, she would never guess Morwick to be an earl.
Except for his arrogance and manner—that of a person who answers to no one.
Looking at Morwick’s hands, Petra thought of Simon’s and realized she’d never actually seen them. He always wore gloves in her presence.
He caught her looking. The split eyebrow raised in question. The fingers on his thigh drummed.
“Tea, Brendan? Or perhaps a biscuit?”
“No, thank you.” He held Petra’s gaze. “I’m headed in the direction of Brushbriar later this afternoon, should you wish to write to Lord Pendleton.” A genuine grin split his face. “I’m happy to relay any message.”
“How kind of you.” Petra picked up her discarded biscuit, determined to try a bite, anything to turn her attention away from Morwick. She took a tiny nibble, felt her stomach rebel, and hastily put the biscuit back down.
Morwick picked up his hat, moving it purposefully out of her reach. “I’ve many pairs of boots but I am partial to this hat.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement at her discomfort.
Maybe Petra didn’t care if her stomach settled or not. Meeting his eye once more, she defiantly bit into the biscuit.
* * *
Impudent little thing.
She had a lovely neck of delicate porcelain skin. He wished to feast on the tender expanse, possibly nibbling a line to just beneath her ear. Once there he would suck and nibble until Petra made the delicious noise she’d made when he’d kissed her so long ago. He’d not forgotten.
I’m mad. Completely mad.
Lust aside, Brendan was pleased to see her up and about. His mind screamed to stay away from her, but every other part of his body, especially his cock, didn’t wish to listen. But he should listen.Especiallyin this room, of all places.
When he was younger, Brendan had referred to the favorite room of his mother’s as theMourningRoom, a subtle play on words which no one but his brother Spence had seemed to take note of. This was where Mother had grieved for Reggie. How many times had he seen her here, reading one of his letters, sobbing as she looked up at his portrait?
Too many times to count.
