Simon lifted his gaze while he spoke and Brendan hastily looked away, lest Simon catch him watching Petra.
I’m Hades coveting Persephone, wondering how he could trick her into eating the bloody pomegranate.
He wanted to laugh at the uselessness of trying to avoid Petra, as if such a thing would ease the ache inside of him. The craving for her was like nothing he’d ever known.
Petra turned back to Haddon and as she did so, a honeyed curl fell over her shoulder, dangling impishly just above her left breast. She laughed at something the baron related to her.
Why the fuck was Haddon so amusing? Brendan’s eyes traced the delicate line of Petra’s shoulder to the curl skimming against the exposed skin of her chest. He longed to trail his lips across her skin, to chase that curl across the tops of her breasts and across the delicate expanse of her shoulder. His cock stiffened and Brendan shifted in his chair.
A stockinged foot slid up the line of his calf.
Good God.He must tolerate the lecherous Haddon, the pompous Simon and now Katherine’s foot attempting to insert itself between his legs. He shot her an annoyed look which she returned by batting her lashes at him. She’d been posturing all during dinner, trying to gain his attention and in general behaving as no recently widowed woman should. Katherine licked the rim of her wine glass with her tongue and leaned forward in order to give Brendan a glimpse of her nipples in the shockingly low-cut gown she wore. Possibly he hadn’t made his intentions, or rather his lack of intentions, clear enough to her earlier.
Katherine shot him a look full of promise, practically purring as her foot moved further up his leg. Two more bloody inches and she’d be stroking his cock with her toes.
“I’ve been rather bored since my return from London, my lord.” Katherine dangled her wine glass from one hand. “Perhaps you can tell me what types of amusements can be found here or in Castleton?” Invitation swelled in the depths of her dark eyes. “I would even go so far as Buxton.”
Katherine had never been known for her subtlety. Their affair had started when she had begged him to meet her on the moors, stating she’d found some interesting fossils he might wish to inspect. He’d gone eagerly, his rucksack thrown over his shoulder, before remembering Katherine couldn’t tell a fossil from a plovers print in the mud. She’d been laying across a rock, her bodice loosened and her skirts hiked up to her thighs.
Brendan had been a virgin. Katherine had not.
Their affair continued on and off for years until he had discovered her with the son of a wealthy merchant in a barn in Castleton. He’d toyed with the idea of marrying her up until that point, because he liked Katherine, but didn’t love her. Katherine’s main appeal. She’d apologized, of course, begged him to forgive her, which he had, but Brendan didn’t fancy spending his life being cuckolded. In the end, she’d married Whitfield.
“You are in mourning.” Lady Pendleton admonished her daughter with a brittle show of teeth. “You aren’t supposed to be amused or seeking diversion.”
“Surely a carriage ride with an old friend,” she looked directly at Brendan and her toes wiggled against his leg, “wouldn’t be amiss, Mother. Why, Morwick and I have known each other for nearly all our lives. Played together.”
Christ, could she be more obvious? “I fear I’m rather busy, Katherine, for carriage rides.” Brendan shot a glance down the table and saw Petra hastily return her eyes to her plate. Her cheeks were pink as if embarrassed by Katherine’s behavior toward him.
Well, he certainly was.
Katherine didn’t care for having her request refused, nor did his lack of interest seem to bother her. She was still beautiful, breathtaking if he were being honest, but incredibly self-centered. During his brief stay in London, Brendan had heard the rumors about Katherine. Half the gentlemen in London had been her lovers. He’d no desire to add himself to the list. Besides, he wasn’t interested in her. He returned his eyes to the honey gold of Petra’s hair.
“Brendan.” Katherine pouted. “Are you still traipsing around the moors and picking up rocks? Pebbles and stones and such? You’ve a perfectly good house in London you never use. A complete waste.”
For all that she’d grown up here with him, Katherine had not a shred of curiosity in any of the things Brendan did. She’d never tried to understand why he loved the moors. London and how to get there were all Katherine had ever cared about. And Whitfield had been the heir to a duchy.
“Minerals, Katherine. And I’ve rented out my house to a man with the unfortunate name of Mr. Crank. He’s a well-heeled merchant from Edinburgh.”
“Like I said. A dreadful waste.”
“The minerals or the house? Or are you speaking of Mr. Crank?”
She rolled her eyes. “You are always so glib. I’m sure you’re still climbing about, either up a cliff or down into some dank cave. When we were children, you forced me to venture down below.” Katherine shivered to allow her breasts to push against the silk bodice of her gown. “Dripping spears of rock—”
“Stalagmites,” he muttered.
“Vermin. Spiders. An earl should have more mature pursuits.” She gave him a glance from beneath her lashes leaving no doubt as to what she referred. Her toes returned, pressing against his ankle.
“I like caves. I may even discover my father in one of them.”
Lady Pendleton dropped her fork, her entire face puckering as if she’d sucked a brace of lemons.
His mother choked on her wine. “Morwick.”
Simon gripped his knife as if he’d launch the blade at Brendan.
He couldtry.Simon had never had a very good arm. Wasn’t worth a shit for shooting a pistol either.
