“Lord Morwick,” Mother said in a surprised tone, clearly unsettled by his unexpected appearance. “My goodness, you are the last person I thought to see.”
“I could say the same, Lady Marsh. You are quite far from your usual habitat of London.” His tone was polite though Petra could have sworn she detected a hint of sarcasm. It was difficult to tell since everything he said sounded mildly sarcastic.
“I happen to live here,” he continued. “My estate is close by, or relatively close.” He pointed over his shoulder to a spot in the distance. “I’ve been out fishing and caught nothing. Except for the two of you.” This time when he looked at Petra, the gold flecks in his marvelous eyes caught the light in the coach.
Petra suddenly felt quite warm despite the chill in the air.
“What a lucky occurrence, Lord Morwick.” Mother wasn’t pleased. Even though she’d chosen to accept her son’s marriage to Arabella, as she’d had no other choice, Mother was not enamored of anyone related to the Duke of Dunbar, though Mother liked the duke well enough. “Will you be able to assist us with our coach?”
“I’ve a man in my employ who’ll be able to fix your wheel, but you’ll not get to Brushbriar tonight. Besides the broken axle, Pendleton’s estate is at least a three-hour ride in the opposite direction.”
Mother’s face collapsed. “But we areexpectedat Brushbriar today. Lord Pendleton will be most concerned. You are acquainted with Lord Pendleton, I assume?”
“We are well acquainted, Lady Marsh.” He didn’t elaborate, but Petra thought his tone sounded dismissive. He looked down the road then back at the horizon. “The sun is beginning to set. It would be best if you and your daughter,” he finally gave Petra some acknowledgement, “come to Somerton with me.”
Mother’s lip quivered at the thought of spending the night under Morwick’s roof. She was eyeing him as if he were some wild animal. “I hate to inconvenience you. Perhaps there is an inn nearby?” Her mother sounded so hopeful.
“There is not.” The response was clipped as if Morwick were already tired of dealing with Lady Marsh. “My mother is in residence and will be thrilled for your company.”
Petra’s stomach cramped again. The last thing she wished was to accept the hospitality of Lord Morwick underanycircumstances, but especially when she felt so dreadfully ill. At least she wouldn’t have to greet Simon in such a state.
“Thank you, Lord Morwick. We gratefully accept your offer. If you are certain we aren’t an inconvenience.”
“Perish the thought.” A tiny bit of derision colored his reply as the left side of his mouth ticked upward.
Petra found her gaze focused on his mouth. Hastily, she looked away. It seemed strange those lips had once been on hers.
“Idolook forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lady Cupps-Foster.” Mother bestowed a genuine smile on Morwick while plucking at her skirts.
“She often tells me I am poor company. She’ll be most pleased to see you regardless of the circumstances.” Again, there was a hint of mockery. “I’ve already sent one of your grooms to my home to retrieve a carriage. He should return within the hour.”
“Then this is a happy accident,” Mother replied, accepting Morwick’s assistance as he took her hand and helped her out of the coach. “Isn’t it?”
Petra didn’t think so. She found this a mostunhappyoccurrence. She was ill, not at her best, and must now spend the evening in the company of a man who had insulted and…ravagedher.
The ebony curls came back through the door, flicking drops of moisture on Petra and looming over her like a villain in a lurid novel. Did he have to be sobloodyintimidating?
“Are you injured?” Could he sound any less concerned with her well-being?
“No, my lord. At least no more so than our last meeting.” The last bit slipped out before Petra could think better of it.
A tiny grimace flitted about the full lips. “I barelyrecallour last meeting. Your brother’s wedding, was it?”
The very nerve of him. My God, he’dkissedher. Why hadn’t she slapped him? Perhaps he would have rememberedthat.“Stop looking at me as if I were spoiled pudding,” she said back to him. “It’s rude and impolite.”
Heat slid over her arms and across her chest. Another disturbing development, and one which infuriated Petra. “Have I done something to annoy you, my lord? Besides my mere presence, of course.”
The gold strands in his eyes sparked. “A rather spirited retort. How out of character for awell-manneredyoung lady such as yourself. Perhaps you’ve hit your head.” His lips twitched again.
He was enjoying her discomfort. “I’mquitespirited,” she snapped. “Terribly so.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He leaned closer, the heat of his body chasing away the last of the chill clinging to the inside of the coach. Not that Petra was cold; on the contrary, she felt hot all over. Dear Lord, she hoped she hadn’t caught a fever of some sort.
“You smell very piney,” she said. He smelled of the moors and the fresh air, an incredibly intoxicating scent. “Like a giant tree.”
“I’ve been outdoors. Fishing. And it isn’t the insult you perceive it to be.”
His lashes were unusually long and lush for a man. And a small scar bisected his left eyebrow. She hadn’t noticed a scar at Rowan’s wedding, so perhaps it was recent. According to gossip, he was famous for fist fights and brawling in taverns. He was probably loaded with scars and cuts…all over.
