2. The Shadows of Men
The Shadows of Men
R ecognition flooded Wendy in a wave of relief and fury. She slammed an elbow into his ribs as hard as she could manage, and he grunted, loosening his hold.
Her feet hit the floor, and she shoved him. “You scared the hell out of me, Peter!”
His mocking chuckle should have aggravated her more, but it somehow softened her fury. “You started it. You should know better than to send a man a picture of yourself looking tousled and freshly fucked.”
Her cheeks burned. “That’s not what I look like.”
“But it is.” He reached out a hand and tugged at her unkempt hair. “I just so happened to be nearby when I saw the house was dark. All but your bedroom…”
Flustered, she swatted his hand away from her face and cinched the belt of her robe. “And how do you know which room is mine?”
Rather than answer, he sauntered into her father’s study and dropped into the high-back leather chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Watch the broken glass.” He crossed his legs at the ankle as he lounged back, folding his hands behind his head as if he owned the place.
She tiptoed around the shards. “That vase was an heirloom.”
“Oh, no.” He said dryly, swiping the gold letter opener off the desk to examine the tip. “How come you didn’t go to the party tonight?”
“That silly party? I’d rather save my energy for better things.”
He laughed. “Such as?”
She tried to mirror his nonchalance. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He raised a sharp blond brow with a look of indifference that infuriated her.
She detested his lack of concern. Some part of her deeply wanted to matter to him.
Maybe not him, but to someone. And she despised the existence of such neediness inside of her, so she concealed it as best she could, turning her attention to the mess on the floor.
Her mother’s prized vase was destroyed, and her parents would require an explanation. No one would believe her if she told them Peter Pangbourne had done this.
“I need to find Liza.”
“Who’s Liza?”
“Our housekeeper.”
“She’s out back with some guy’s arm half up her skirt.”
Wendy’s eyes bulged. “She is not.”
He smirked. “Check for yourself. Why do you think the dog’s going nuts?”
Wendy rushed to the window. Sure enough, a couple hid in the shadows of the carriage house. Liza’s body pressed to the wall, her leg hooked around some man’s hip as the tall figure bucked into her.
Wendy gasped and covered her mouth, turning her back on the erotic image.
A million questions raced through her mind.
Who was that man groping the maid? Did Liza know him?
Did she want his hands on her in such a rough and aggressive way?
Liza was only a few years older than Wendy, yet she appeared so…
comfortable in the shadows, doing dark deeds. Where did she learn such things?
“Don’t look so shocked.”
Her eyes met Peter’s. “Who is that guy?”
He shrugged and sauntered to the window to get another peek. “If I had to guess, he probably works for the neighbor. The help’s always fucking other help.”
“Liza has never?—”
He drew back the curtain. “ That is not the body language of an ignorant woman, Wendy.”
“Stop that!” She rushed forward and drew the drapes shut. “They’ll see us.”
Peter laughed. “Dalliance is good for them. When they fuck each other, it keeps them from fucking over us.” He flashed a devious smirk. “Who knew you were such a prude?”
“I’m not a prude, I’m…” She was shocked, intrigued, and very curious. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. “I don’t judge.”
“You’re judging them right now.”
“Am not!”
“Look at you. You’re completely?—”
“Completely what, Peter? I’ll remind you you’re in my house. Choose your words carefully.”
“Because you’re so delicate you might get offended? Please. Call your shock whatever you want, but your innocence is showing. They’re just having fun. Haven’t you ever slipped into the shadows with a man just for the thrill of it?”
The burn on her cheeks intensified, and he drew back, a knowing understanding flashing in his eyes.
“You haven’t? Not even once?”
“That’s none of your business!”
That quickly, he lost interest in her personal escapades, which were few and far between, and shrugged with indifference. “You’re not gonna tell on the poor girl, are you?”
“I would never!” Though she had initially thought this was something her parents should know, she would hate to see Liza fired. Although she was on the payroll, she was also something Wendy thought of as a confidante and a friend.
Gah! How pathetic to think of the maid as one of her closest friends.
She glanced back at the window, but from her current position, she could only make out the lamplight in the mist. Perhaps that was the luxury of a lower social class—the women seemed to have complete autonomy and the freedom to do as they pleased.
Wendy had no idea who Liza answered to when off the clock. For all she knew, the girl lived alone.
If they were friends, Wendy wasn’t a very good one. She settled into one of the button-back chairs, feigning nonchalance while every nerve in her body seemed to vibrate with a sense of impending uncertainty.
Seeing Liza had charged the air with carnal energy. Peter glanced around the room. Each time his gaze settled on the spine of a book, or he touched a unique trinket tied to a personal Darling family anecdote, she felt as if he were touching her in secret places.
His cavalier persona filled her with uncertainty. She didn’t feel unsafe around him, but she also didn’t trust his motives. Something about his careless demeanor mocked her family’s position despite his parents having six times the fortune of hers.
Everything about him screamed wealth, yet he always appeared somehow tousled and half put together, as though he threw his clothes on in a rush. Which made her wonder why she assumed his clothes were off in the first place.
Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she tried to trace his earthy scent. Did she sense a touch of women’s perfume?
She wished he would say something, but he seemed to forget she was there. He pulled a book down from the shelf and paged through the chapters. Dropping into a wingback chair, his long legs landed in a sloppy tangle as if he were bored and forced to wait there.
She tried to think of something clever to say but worried she might be a disturbance.
What did men and women talk about on dates?
She was utterly clueless but knew enough to know that she was not impressing him.
Did she even want to impress him? She certainly didn’t want him to leave with the impression that she was an immature child.
In his silence, the house faintly creaked as it settled.
The lingering trail of her mother’s lavender perfume tinged the air, and the soft prattle of rain tickled the dry leaves that covered the earth.
It was as though time had frozen, and the muffled sounds of London’s typically noisy streets were miles away.
Peter threw down the book he held and sprung to his feet as if catapulted from the wing-back chair and prepared to rush off to his next adventure.
“Wine?” she blurted, strangely compelled to keep him there.
He stilled and shrugged. “Sure.”
Breezing past her, he helped himself to her father’s collection. Uncorking the crystal decanter at the bar, he sniffed it. That was her mother’s personal favorite. Wendy swallowed, hoping he didn’t take enough for her parents to notice.
Liquid trickled into a glass, breaking the silence as the dry scent of flowers and fruit filled the air. He poured with the familiarity of someone who had indulged many times before.
Walking a glass across the room, he slid the long stem into her hand. “For you.”
“Thanks.” She watched his fingers and mimicked his hold of the cup.
Funny how each room could hold such a different feeling in one house. While the nursery was a familiar place of safety and innocence, her father’s study was the opposite. She typically only came in here when her father gave her a lecture.
Peter returned to her father’s chair—a throne of authority in this house—and raised his glass. “Drink.”
She sipped, and a warm, calm bloomed in her chest. The flavor was rather pleasant, softening her posture when it hit her belly. Who knew wine could have such an immediate effect on a person’s tension? No wonder her mother enjoyed her evening glass so much.
Peter studied her, sipping his wine in a silent challenge, and she matched him swallow for swallow. They played this game for several minutes, and by the time her glass was half empty, her worries seemed small and foolish—little laughable wisps of nothing. So she giggled.
“Something funny?”
The wine had placed an unbreakable bubble of amusement in her throat. “Not particularly.” She smiled and slouched back in her chair, studying him with undisguised interest.
While she might not want to marry him, there was something undeniably fascinating about Peter Pangbourne. Perhaps it was his duality. Her father didn’t see the side of him she thought of as his shadowed self, a side of him that intrigued her far more than the facade he adorned in proper company.
When she finished her glass, she decided she liked wine very much. She also decided to unravel the mystery that was Peter Pangbourne.
Lifting her glass, she said, “I think I’d like some more.”
He carried the decanter from the bar. Once wine filled her cup again, he left it on the surface of her father’s desk. How would she replace the stolen contents before her parents returned? The worry disappeared as quickly as it arrived.
Instead of returning to the chair, he casually leaned against the edge of the desk, stretching his legs directly across from her.
She looked up as she sipped her wine, drawn to this darker, reckless side of him. Gentlemen bored her as much as twittering debutantes, but trespassers and thieves… They held an edge of intrigue.