“Thank you.” Mother gushed at Lady Cambourne’s praise.
Petra stood and dipped politely to the Dowager. As she lifted her head, the older woman winked at her and Petra smiled back.
“Whatever were you discussing with Lady Cambourne?” Mother sniffed at Petra suspiciously as the feather in her headdress quivered in accusation.
“Nothing at all. She wished to know about my Season and the various gentlemen I’d met,” Petra said smoothly. “I believe she has a match in mind for me.” The last bit was a lie, but one Mother would immediately latch onto.
“Very good, Petra. It doesn’t hurt to have her ear. She’s known to be an excellent matchmaker. I mentioned Lord Dunning to her, but she seems unimpressed by him. Perhaps he will not be as good for you as I first thought.” Mother’s brow wrinkled as she led Petra toward the door. “Dearest, Lady Cupps-Foster has gone missing. The gentlemen will be joining us soon to bid goodbye to Rowan and,” Mother swallowed, obviously finding it difficult to say the words, “his wife. I would go myself, but I need to shepherd everyone out. I believe she wished to refresh herself but has perhaps become lost.”
“Of course, Mother.” Petra clasped her hands, obedient as always, telling herself to ignore the flash of irritation at the request. Mothercouldhave sent one of the servants.
Heels clicking smartly on the freshly polished tiles of the hall, Petra headed in the direction of one of the smaller parlors which had been set aside for the ladies’ use.
Passing the library, Petra slowed at the sound of Lady Cupps-Foster speaking to someone. She started to announce herself but then heard the dark rasp of Lord Morwick’s voice.
Petra stopped, surprised at the sudden flapping of butterflies in her stomach. Mother’s voice echoed in her mind, instructing Petra to turn around, as ladies did not eavesdrop on private conversations.
Petra, careful to step lightly, ignored her mother’s imagined voice and moved closer to the door, which had been left ajar.
“Can you not behave for the length of time it takes for your cousin to be married?” Lady Cupps-Foster reprimanded.
“Is that why you’ve pulled me aside like an errant youngster?” A masculine snort.
“You drank far too much wine at brunch.”
“The only way to tolerate my dinner companion.”
“Petra is a lovely young woman, and much sought after. I marked your interest in her. You could stay a week or so more, Brendan. Perhaps call on her.”
“Are you joking, Mother? Perfect Petra? She’s yet another empty-headed pea-wit whose only purpose is to land a titled husband. A porcelain doll, lovely but lacking a brain. My boredom in conversing with her was only made palatable by the wine.”
Lady Cupps-Foster made a dismissive sound and marched out of the library as Petra sunk into one of the alcoves.
Of all the unmitigated gall.First ogling her during the ceremony then dismissing her out of hand during the brunch when she tried to be polite. She was still fuming when Morwick walked out of the library. He paused, clearly sensing her presence, and turned in her direction.
Her hands crawled from her sides in an attempt to clasp themselves demurely, as she’d been instructed, and failed.
“I thought properly bred ladies didn’t eavesdrop.” Morwick moved closer, leaning against the wall, clearly amused by the mounting rage that must have been visible on her face. He loomed over her, large and intimidating, like an angry bear or some other beast. “What are you going to do? Call me a dreadful cad?”
Red flashed before Petra’s eyes, and she had to restrain herself from stamping her foot. Later, she would count the moment as one of the few times she’d ever lost her temper.
“I am not a bloody pea-wit, youmonster.” Petra had the momentary satisfaction of watching his eyes widen at the anger she threw back at him. “Possiblyyouare accustomed to dim-witted women as I cannot imagine any young lady with a modicum of intelligence expressing the slightest interest in you. Agentlemanwould not comport himself in such a way. I only wish I could have availed myself of the wine to blot outyourpresence. Perhaps become—”
The remainder of her diatribe was cut short as Morwick’s mouth fell on hers. He placed his hands, palms flat, on the wall behind her, neatly trapping Petra between his arms. His lips were relentless and hungry, demanding her surrender, ravaging Petra until she felt light-headed. Her hands flew out to grasp the lapel of his coat, holding on for dear life. The kiss deepened, becoming gentle and coaxing until Petra tentatively kissed him back, mimicking the movement of his lips on hers.
A growl of satisfaction sounded from the large male holding her captive.
“Lady Cupps-Foster.” Mother’s voice sounded from further down the hall. “Goodness, have you seen Petra? I sent her after you. Where has she gotten off too?”
Morwick broke the kiss, eyes burning with blue flame, and took a step back, regarding her with an odd intensity.
Petra swallowed, her fingertips flying to touch her swollen lower lip. She moved down the wall until she had put enough distance between herself and Morwick, hurrying toward the sound of her mother’s voice. She’d never been kissed in such a way nor felt such…astirringwithin herself. It was as if she’d been out in the snow for hours and was suddenly in front of a hot searing fire. It was unsettling and uncomfortable.
And wonderful.
Shaken, Petra went to her mother’s side. She dared not look back or lift her eyes as the guests shouted congratulations to the bride and groom, too afraid she’d catch his eyes.
Petra never wished to see the Earl of Morwick again.
