A deep masculine laugh came from him. “You’ve been to the portrait gallery and seen the atrocious painting of great auntie Barbara. I’ve tried to find out what breed of dog she’s holding but there isn’t a record. I’m convinced my ancestor had a pet piglet. Mam Tor means ‘mother hill’. The land often slides beneath the peak and forms multiple, small hills. As if Mam Tor were constantly giving birth to more peaks.” He looked back at the drawing.
“The detail is amazing. He was incredibly talented.”
“He disappeared around the time I was born.” Morwick’s eyes held a faraway look. “Somewhere out on the moors. I’m sure you’ve heard the tale; everyone in London knows it. I was reminded of such when I visited for Arabella’s wedding.”
“Actually, Arabella told me when I informed her we were traveling to the area.”
“Oddly enough, Reggie didn’t take this.” Morwick nodded to the battered pack sitting on the table. “Nor any of his tools.”
“Perhaps he went to meet someone,” Petra mused, her finger rubbing over the signature on the drawing. The glass was dirty and in terrible need of a good dusting.
Morwick’s gaze on her was suddenly frigid; Petra had the sense she’d said something wrong.
“Did Pendleton mention something to you?” Morwick questioned.
“No, of course not. I only meant if your father left to do his usual exploring, why wouldn’t he take his backpack or any tools? Surely you’ve thought the same thing.”
“I have.” His large body relaxed, the tension easing out of him at her reply. “The entire area is rife with holes, caves, underground rivers. He could have easily taken a wrong step and fallen into the ground or into a crevice. Men came from Castleton and Buxton to search for him. Brushbriar’s staff as well as Somerton’s scoured the moors. Nothing was ever found. Not even so much as his hat. Vanished into thin air as if he’d never been.”
What an incredibly sad story. Arabella’s eyes had watered when she had told Petra, though she had blamed it on her delicate condition. A rush of sympathy filled Petra for Morwick, but especially for Lady Cupps-Foster. To have her husband disappear while she was with child and never know what became of him? It was horrible. “I’m sorry.” She had the urge to comfort him. Stroke the dark curls back from his forehead and press a kiss to his temple. The idea was ludicrous, of course. Morwick didn’t strike her as the type of man who required such comfort.
“Mother still grieves for him, but I never knew Reggie. Though growing up with your mother in a constant state of mourning was rather unsettling. I didn’t realize she had gowns in any other colors until after I left the nursery. I couldn’t imagine caring so deeply for someone or worse allowing their loss to devastate you in such a way.”
Petra stilled, momentarily puzzled by the lack of emotion in his tone. She thought he could imagine and didn’t wish to. It was a subtle warning, she realized.
“But my mother and Reggie would not be denied. Theirs was a great love-match, though my grandfather, His Grace the Duke of Dunbar, didn’t wish them to marry, saying prophetically the relationship would end in tragedy for my Mother. Henry,” his eyes twinkled with affection as he mentioned the old man’s name, “was quite vocal in his opinion. My grandmother changed his mind, I’m told. But Henry was right. The marriage was cursed. Love, in the end, almost destroyed my mother.”
Morwick looked at her intently, his gaze lingering on her mouth before moving to the top of her bodice.
“I disagree,” Petra said softly, warmth spiraling down her chest at his perusal.
“I would expect you to, proper young lady that you are. Your head’s been filled with romantic fluff.”
She looked him in the eye, returning his assessment of her in a very unladylike manner. Something about Morwick invited the most brazen thoughts and actions. “Romantic fluff?”
“You should leave, Perfect Petra.” His voice was raspy and low, stirring the hair along her forearms. “I’ve work to do.”
The air between them sparked as if lit by dozens of fireflies. Petra closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in his scent, allowing the delicious sensation to seep into her bones. The attraction between them was real. It drifted and flowed in a continuous ebb around them both.
“Why did you kiss me?” Brazen. A proper lady would never ask such a thing.
Morwick’s hands fell from the small stone he was worrying between his fingers. The lopsided smile tightened with annoyance at her question until it more resembled his usual frown.
Petra moved toward the table holding his samples as his eyes followed her movement like a large, savage animal, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.
“I found it the only way to stop your tirade,” he murmured. “You’d become quite hostile. I was concerned for my personal safety.”
“Of course. I may have attacked you with a hair pin.” Petra came around until she stood before Morwick, knowing she was deliberately provoking him. To what end, she wasn’t entirely sure, except that his declaration earlier on the matter of love bothered her. “But I don’t believe you.”
The small square of skin exposed at the base of his throat was incredibly distracting, even if he was covered with dust. Dark hair sprinkled across the tanned skin. Perhaps Morwick’s entire torso was sun-kissed in such a way. She wondered what he would taste like—
“Jesus, Petra.Leave.” The husky whisper rippled down her spine.
“You haven’t answered my question.” Petra looked at him boldly, well aware of her unladylike behavior and not caring what madness possessed her.
Morwick stood abruptly, leaning over her to place both his palms on the table, one on either side of her. When he had kissed her before, he’d made the same attempt to keep from touching her.
Petra arched toward him, fascinated at the way his dark lashes fell against the top of his cheeks as he lowered his eyes. The soft brush of his breath caressed her neck, disturbing the fine hairs below her ear. “I’ve work to do. You’re distracting me.”
