Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7)
Page 2
Marissa blinked. Must he be so blatant?
Brendan made a guttural sound and took a menacing step in Haddon’s direction. “Get the f—”
“Good morning, Lord Haddon,” Marissa said sharply, cutting off Brendan’s string of vulgarities.
If the two men came to blows in her room, everyone would wonder why Haddon was here, defeating the purpose of her dismissing him. Besides, there was a much larger scandal brewing, one which would rescind her welcome at Brushbriar. Unless she was very much mistaken, Brendan had just admitted to ruining Petra.
Haddon didn’t move, the grip on his boots so tight his knuckles whitened. He didn’t care to be dismissed—Marissa could tell. In fact, he was bloody furious about it. “We will talk later.”
“Please excuse yourself, Lord Haddon.” She tipped her chin toward the door, commanding Haddon with her eyes to leave. Didn’t he understand the situation?
From the absolutely chilling look he gave her, Haddon did not understand Marissa’s plea for him to leave. He seemed about to comment but must have thought better of it. Instead his lean form bent smoothly into a mocking bow. “Good day, Lady Cupps-Foster.”
Marissa held her ground. She hadn’t wanted them to part in such a way, but maybe it was for the best. There was nothing to be gained by continuing their association beyond this house party. Even so, she took hold of the bedpost in an effort to keep herself from running to him.
He was only a dalliance.
He had to be.
Haddon shot her another frosty look.
She lowered her eyes. Marissa told herself he was only annoyed at being dismissed, his ego bruised at having been asked to leave a woman’s bed. She doubted it had ever happened to him before.
Marissa didn’t look up again until she heard the door close.
Brendan stared at the door for a moment before turning to face her. She expected a barrage of questions or even an angry rant from her son, but his pained expression immediately put her on guard.
“What is it?” A slow spill of dread crawled up her spine.
“You’ve got to pack and leave for Somerton immediately, Mother. I’ve ruined Petra.”
Marissa wasn’t shocked by her son’s confession. Brendan and Petra belonged together. Anyone could see it. You’d have to be blind not to. “I assumed as much, but—”
“Mother, I’ve found Reggie.”
“Reggie?” Marissa’s knees buckled at the unexpected news. Her Reggie? Brendan’s father, the previous Earl of Morwick had disappeared so long ago, leaving no trace, she’d finally come to terms with the possibility that he would never be found. There were even rumors, horrible ones, that Reggie had run off with another woman, but Marissa had never believed such a thing. He’d loved her. Reggie had left one day to hike and collect the fossils he loved and never returned. “But, how?”
“His remains were found in a cave, less than an hour’s walk from Brushbriar.”
“That isn’t possible.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t headed toward Brushbriar that day, but up toward the tree line. And John led dozens of men to look for him.” Indeed, the entire countryside had searched for days as John, the current Viscount Pendleton’s father, had become increasingly distraught looking for his friend. Lydia had sat with Marissa for hours waiting for news of Reggie. But he’d never been found. Things had soured with her neighbors soon after. Pendleton had found a large vein of Blue John on his property and Lydia, absorbed with her newfound wealth, had had little time or inclination to tend to Marissa in her grief. The house party was the first time Marissa had been to Brushbriar in years.
“There’s more, Mother.” Brendan gently took her fingers, guiding her to sit on the bed. A stricken look had come over his features as if he couldn’t bear to impart anything further.
“It’s all right, Brendan. I won’t fall to pieces. I’m only surprised.” The news had taken her unawares, but just knowing that finally her beloved Reggie had been found would give Marissa some closure to that chapter of her life. She’d worried for years he hadn’t had a proper burial, his soul trapped forever in limbo. “Did you find him?” Her voice caught. “At the bottom of a ravine? Lodged in a crevice? I was always afraid he’d fall and break his neck. He did so love to roam about and—”
“He was murdered, Mother.” Brendan’s voice shook. “Father was shot.”
“But—” Murdered? Reggie had no enemies. None. He’d been kind. Loving. Absentminded. It was why she’d always thought he’d simply tripped into one of the holes in the limestone while out walking. Flashes and bits of her life with Reggie flew before her eyes in such a fury, she became dizzy.
I loved him so much.
“Are you sure?” she asked, even knowing as she voiced the question that Brendan wasn’t the sort to speculate. He had to be sure, or he wouldn’t have told her. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“For Blue John, Mother. An entire mine full of it.”
“What? No!” She shook her head. “It can’t be true.” Ice seeped up her arms in a cold embrace, the shock threatening to overwhelm her. John and Lydia had become very wealthy after the discovery of the Blue John. Her fingers clutched at Brendan’s arm as she struggled for breath.
It can’t be true.
“The mine isn’t on Pendleton’s land, but mine.” Brendan tenderly wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to his chest. “I found the proof, Mother. It was Simon’s father, John, who shot him.” Brendan’s voice caught, deceptively soft. “And Lydia helped. Simon has known the truth of it for years.”
As Brendan finished speaking, he pressed a kiss to Marissa’s temple before pushing her face against his chest in time to stifle the anguished scream erupting from her lips.
2
“My vision of a widower is an older gentleman with gout. He doesn’t exactly fit the bill, does he? I’d no idea,” a pause, “that he was moldering away in the country.”
“I doubt very much he lacks for companionship, despite being so far from London. I wonder if he’s looking for a wife. He has been gone from society for some time. Hopefully he hasn’t brought those dreadful daughters along with him.”
“I’m sure he has.”
“I suppose a new wife could send them all off to boarding school.” A twitter. “He’s quite skilled in the bedroom, according to the gossips. Perhaps I shall take him as a lover.”
The smile on Marissa’s lips faltered at hearing the conversation behind her. The newspapers had been full of the handsome widower’s return to society after so many years. Although, if he was looking for a new wife, Marissa wondered that he had to come all the way to London to find one. Haddon could surely have found someone closer to home. Although, she supposed London held a variety of amusements for an attractive, charming gentleman.
“Haddon has many admirers.” The woman behind Marissa lowered her voice to a discreet murmur. “He’ll have no trouble finding a wife among them.”
A small speck of pain, unexpected and unwelcome, tightened across her chest. Marissa was sure she’d left anything akin to tender emotion behind in the Peak District. Purposefully.
“Marissa? What is it?”
Adelia, Lady Waterstone, Marissa’s closest friend and confidant, peered at her, pretty face alit with concern. “I daresay you’ve become quite pale. Shall I pinch your cheeks?”
Adelia’s tower of auburn hair tilted in Marissa’s direction. Styled in an elegant display of curls and ribbons, her hair appeared to be more the topping of a cake than a coiffure. Diamonds swayed dramatically from Adelia’s ears as she made a great show of examining Marissa for some defect.
“I don’t need my cheeks pinched, Adelia. It is only all the smell of pomade in the air which makes me a bit ill. Reminds me unpleasantly of Cupps-Foster.” Marissa hadn’t cared much for her last husband, who had worn an excessive amount of pomade and whose breath had always carried the scent of peppermints and gin. Thankfully the marriage, like her first two, had been short-lived.
Marissa put a finger to her lips, quieting her friend and nodding. They both stayed perfectly still for a moment longer, but the two women’s conversation had turned to the disparagement of Lord Talbot’s waistcoat before the rustling of skirts met her ears and the women moved away.
“Germania Woodstock and Rowena Helmsworth. Two gossiping ninnies on the search for new lovers to ease their boredom with their husbands. They’ve gone to circle the refreshment tables and cast their nets elsewhere.” Adelia looked at someone over Marissa’s shoulder. “What had you so captivated, darling? Surely it wasn’t Talbot’s choice of clothing.”
“I thought I overheard something of interest, but I was mistaken.” The last thing she wished to discuss with Adelia was Haddon. Her friend would latch on to the fact that Haddon was not only attractive, but younger and speculate as to how Marissa had managed to meet such a gentleman. She’d ask endless questions, none of which Marissa wished to answer.
I’ve only just managed to put thoughts of Haddon aside.
Not completely, but—
“You’re frowning.” Adelia snapped her fan against Marissa’s wrist. “Women our age can’t afford the wrinkles so stop this instant.” She nodded toward Marissa’s dark hair swept up into an elegant chignon. “At least you took my advice. Your maid did an excellent job.”
“She did. The apothecary mixed exactly the correct shade, as you said he would.” Adelia had suggested to Marissa several weeks ago, when she was bemoaning the gray in her hair, to seek out a small shop tucked away in an alley just on the other side of Bond Street. Mr. Coventry’s apothecary specialized in lotions, dyes and other tricks to assist in the illusion of youth or prohibit an unwanted pregnancy.
At least I’m in no need of those services. There were times Marissa bemoaned the fact she could no longer have a child. It reminded her unpleasantly of her age.
“I don’t know what I’d do without Mr. Coventry. The man is a treasure.” Adelia espoused the virtues of the apothecary.
Marissa eyed Adelia’s mass of auburn hair. She’d never seen a spot of gray. Her friend must spend a small fortune at Mr. Coventry’s shop.
“Dear Lord, who is that?” Adelia stopped waving her fan, her eyes stuck on the far corner of the ballroom. “My God, look at those cheekbones.” She made a low purr. “He has the look of a Viking or some other delicious. . .marauder.”
“How would you even know what a Viking looks like? And they were rather barbarous, Adelia. Burning down convents can hardly be considered seductive.”
Adelia shrugged. “Allow me my fun, Marissa. Not all of us are determined to become dull matrons. Especially when there are gentlemen like him floating about. My, he looks very capable, doesn’t he?”
Marissa turned slowly, knowing the moment Adelia had extolled the virtues of his cheekbones it would be Haddon she’d see.
She was right. He did have the look of a bloody Viking, standing against the far wall with his arms crossed, his powerfully masculine form a contrast to the dandified gentlemen surrounding him. Spectacularly dressed in dark evening wear, expensively cut and tailored to fit him like a second skin, Haddon was drawing every feminine eye in the Cambourne ballroom.
And why would he not? Marissa took in the stretch of his coat across his broad shoulders, admiring the flex of muscles beneath the fabric. Haddon needed no padding, as some gentlemen were wont to use, in order to cut such a fine form. Marissa had traced the lines of all that beautiful sinew with her own fingertips and could testify to the fact.
A delicate shiver tickled her skin.
Marissa had been on the receiving end of Haddon’s attentions, and despite her determination to put him from her mind, relived every second with pathetic regularity. It was really rather sad. She hadn’t taken a lover since returning from her visit to the Peak District. Not since Haddon.
He looks smashing.
They hadn’t spoken since that fateful day at Brushbriar, when Brendan had stormed into her room and informed her his father had been murdered by their hosts. Marissa had fled the estate after dressing, barely pausing to inform Brushbriar’s startled butler she’d send for her things. The news of Reggie, the absolute rage filling Marissa at the duplicity of John and Lydia, had managed to blot out everything else.
Even Haddon.
She’d felt guilt over not speaking to him again, not even to tell him goodbye. But at the time, Marissa hadn’t been capable of coherent thought. He’d written her, asking to call. But she’d ignored his letters, telling herself it was best they not continue their relationship.
It was not a relationship. It was a dalliance.
Marissa had only stayed in the Peak District long enough to arrange a quiet burial for Reggie. The tears she’d cried as he was laid to rest were full of more anger than grief. Her husband had been killed by his best friend. Not a unique tragedy, she supposed, but one she intended to avenge. She’d left as soon as Brendan had wed Petra.
Her eyes strayed to the angelic-looking young lady hovering at Haddon’s elbow, adoration shining from her pretty features as she gazed up at him.
Lady Christina Sykes, daughter of the Marquess of Stanton. Lady Christina was speaking to Haddon, her hands fluttering delicately as she sought to retain his attention. His dark head tilted in the direction of her shining gold coiffure, giving the appearance he was hanging on her every word.
Marissa had her doubts. Nothing Christina Sykes had ever said was of the least import.
Haddon chose that moment to look up, silver eyes flashing at Marissa from across the ballroom as he caught sight of her. A small frown appeared on his beautiful lips.
“Oh my.” Adelia raised a brow, looking askance at Marissa. “You know him.”
“Not well,” she lied smoothly, wondering what Haddon was thinking. Warmth crept up her body the longer he watched her, as if she were sinking into a warm bath.
Adelia snorted in disbelief. “Really?”
“Don’t make such a sound, Adelia. It’s reminiscent of a pig.” She ignored the quiet hiss of outrage from her friend, unable to tear her gaze from Haddon’s. The attraction between them, the one she so desperately wished to ignore, sparked sharply to life. The flame snaked through the crowd of well-dressed society to embrace Marissa, just as it had during the house party at Brushbriar. She’d spent months telling herself they’d been drawn to each other only out of boredom.
How very wrong she’d been.
“I made his acquaintance while visiting Brendan this past summer,” she heard herself say to Adelia. “At a house party, of all things. A rather dull one.” Her pulse fluttered madly as Haddon excused himself from Lady Christina Sykes and strode purposefully in Marissa’s direction, stalking toward her as a hunter does its prey.
Oh, dear.
Lady Christina pouted dramatically at Haddon’s departure, which made her even more exquisitely beautiful. Like a hothouse rose.
“Naughty girl. Taking up with a gentleman like that,” Adelia murmured. “And not telling me. Here I was, growing concerned that you seem to prefer solitude or worse, that you only desire to surround yourself with bland, decrepit things like Enderly. Haddon shows much more promise.”
“Enderly is far from decrepit.” Enderly was a lovely older gentleman whose acquaintance Marissa had made upon returning to London. His interests were in politics and politicians, and he was particularly enamored with Viscount Pendleton. Marissa was marginally attracted to Enderly, but far more interested in his political connections. An affair with Enderly would be pleasant. He wouldn’t devour her like a starving man nor threaten her heart in the least. An understanding with him would be considered appropriate and respectable.
Versus an affair with Haddon, which would not.
Adelia shot her a knowing look. “Tell me.”
Marissa kept her expression bland. “Ther
e’s nothing to tell, Adelia.”
Adelia swatted her with her fan. “Liar.”
Haddon stopped halfway across the ballroom to speak to two gentlemen, neither of whom Marissa recognized. One slapped him on the back in greeting and pointed in the direction of the room set up for cards. He smiled and nodded, but the silver gaze never wavered from Marissa.
“Goodness. I’ve torn the ribbon on my slipper,” Adelia said from beside her.
“Adelia, don’t you dare desert me at such a time.” Marissa lifted her chin in polite inquiry, making sure her features displayed none of her inner turmoil. She instructed her heart to be still and not flop about in her chest as if she were having a fit of apoplexy. Had he affected her this way when she’d first seen him at the house party across the length of Pendleton’s dining room table?
Yes. I nearly melted into a puddle as he watched me sip my wine.
“I must repair my slipper immediately, darling. I wouldn’t want to trip when I’m claimed for a dance, as we both know I will be. You can thank me later. And I’ll expect a full recounting.” She winked, wandering off into the crowd though Marissa doubted Adelia would go any further than the refreshment table. She was far too curious.
“Damn,” she said under her breath as he drew closer, automatically smoothing down the folds of her new gown. A stunning creation of sapphire with brilliants sewn across the bodice and skirt with silver thread, the color matched her eyes. An egg-shaped diamond, a gift from her father some years ago, hung from her neck, drawing attention to her dangerously low neckline and the swell of her breasts. Diamond and sapphire earrings dangled from her ears. And with a silent thank you to Mr. Coventry, not a spot of gray shone in her dark hair. She looked her best to greet her former lover.
Dalliance.
Despite wanting to forget him, the memory of Haddon never left Marissa, no matter how busy she had kept herself since her return to town. The destruction of Simon and his mother did take up a great deal of her time. And of course, she had holiday festivities to plan. Haddon shouldn’t have entered her thoughts at all.