Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7)

by Kathleen Ayers

  “Lady Cupps-Foster.” The light, spicy scent Haddon favored hovered about his broad shoulders as he bowed before her.

  Marissa inhaled sharply, filling her nostrils. Haddon’s scent had stayed with her, lingering along with her memories of him and the night she’d spent in his arms.

  He took her hand, eyes flitting across her bosom as he straightened, a soft purr of male appreciation coming from his chest. The brush of his lips against her knuckles sent a tendril of warmth from her core to slide between her legs. But the touch of his tongue made her knees buckle.

  Marissa abruptly snatched her hand from his.

  A mischievous grin crossed his lips, meant to disarm her and indeed any lady he bestowed it upon. It made him quite irresistible.

  An image of Haddon walking toward her, naked, the same grin firmly in place on his lips, flitted before her eyes.

  The ballroom had grown very warm. She resisted the urge to fan herself.

  Realistically, for any woman her age, there was always bound to be someone in the room she had been involved with. Two of Marissa’s previous lovers were at the Cambourne ball tonight, in fact, though she couldn’t for the life of her remember how they looked naked, nor, upon greeting them tonight, had she felt as if her heart might burst from her chest.

  “Lord Haddon, how lovely to see you again.”

  “Isn’t it though?” His grin widened further. “Dance with me?” he said as the musicians began to play. Without waiting for an answer, Haddon took her hand in his and led her out to the dance floor, his grip on her fingers tight as the sapphire skirts of her gown wrapped around them both.

  Marissa had always found the sensation of silk hugging her to a gentleman as they danced to be mildly erotic, though much more so with Haddon than, say, Enderly.

  Haddon was a graceful dancer, confident and agile. Turning her expertly, he brought Marissa closer to the lean lines of his body with each twist of his hips. They moved easily together, as if they’d danced many times in each other’s arms.

  In truth, they had only danced once before.

  The warmth of his palm splayed intimately across the small of her back, fingertips pressing into the skin at the base of her spine.

  The pressure was seductive. Enticing. Haddon had kissed that very spot during their night together, as well as a great many other places.

  She saw Adelia out of the corner of her eye watching them with a smug look.

  “How have you been, Marissa?” The husky growl of her first name sent bits of flame across her arms. “Enjoying London?”

  “I’m quite well, thank you. I didn’t realize you’d come to town.” The tips of her breasts chafed against the fabric of his coat, stroking her nipples each time he turned her; it was distracting, to say the least.

  A tiny smirk crossed his beautiful mouth. He knew she was lying.

  “I don’t come as often as I did before my wife died. My daughters require my attention, as does my estate. London does not.”

  Haddon had been married very young in a match arranged by his father. His wife had been sickly and bed-ridden during the latter part of his marriage, the birth of his youngest daughter destroying what remained of her fragile health.

  In between bouts of lovemaking, they’d whispered to each other in the dark and Haddon had told Marissa of his marriage.

  Another thing she hadn’t done with a previous lover.

  Dalliance.

  He had left out his former rakish reputation, and well he might. Though discreet, Haddon certainly had cut a swath through the ladies of London. But unlike most husbands who wouldn’t have cared to be saddled with an ill spouse, he’d been with his wife when she died, at her bedside. After, he had not returned to London to pick up the threads of his life; instead, he’d stayed away from town, choosing to remain with his daughters in the country. Another thing most gentlemen would not have done.

  “I brought Jordana to London with me.” He mentioned his eldest daughter, to whom Marissa had been introduced to at Brushbriar.

  “And how does Jordana like town?” Marissa found it hard to have a casual conversation with Haddon, especially when his hips kept brushing hers.

  “As well as can be expected. But I thought she might enjoy some time here before making her debut. Ease her into things, so to speak. Jordana has a tendency to be stubborn.”

  Marissa thought that a gross understatement. Haddon’s eldest had made it no secret at Brushbriar that she’d wished to be anywhere but there. Nor did she show the slightest interest in London or society. Haddon was wasting his time trying to introduce her to life in town. Jordana was defiant and prone to sulking, behavior that would not endear her to a future husband. She reminded Marissa a great deal of her niece, Arabella.

  Haddon twirled her, the motion forcing her more fully against his chest. The distance between them was only one tiny, heated inch.

  “You left before I could tell you goodbye,” he said, breath warm against her temple.

  “Did I need to tell you goodbye?” Her own guilt at not doing so made her reply sharper than she intended.

  His grip on her tightened. “I suppose not.”

  “After the discovery of my late husband’s remains, I was in shock, as you can imagine.” That was putting it mildly. The anger which filled her had frozen the blood in her veins until Marissa could think of nothing but how she would punish Simon and Lydia.

  “I’m sure you were.”

  “I wasn’t up to receiving callers, nor did I wish to receive polite condolences,” she said.

  “Of course,” he agreed coolly.

  Marissa bristled. Something about his calm manner, his instant agreement with her, smacked of judgement. It was clear by his attitude Haddon thought she should have received him. Sent him a note. Told him goodbye. She didn’t care for him acting the discarded lover.

  Dalliance.

  “Ours was a brief acquaintance, Lord Haddon,” Marissa said politely, allowing a hint of chill to enter her words. “Little more than a dalliance, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”

  He looked down on her, eyes like quicksilver. A touch of pink shone on his magnificent cheekbones, a sign of his annoyance, perhaps, though it could have been a trick of the light. “A dalliance?”

  “A tryst, if you prefer.”

  “A tryst?”

  Would he repeat everything she said? “Our relationship would have invited speculation and unwanted attention, both things I don’t care for. An older widow carrying on with—”

  “Dear God, Marissa.” He looked away from her, the corner of his lip lifting into something resembling amusement. “You didn’t seduce some innocent young lad; stop behaving as if you did.”

  “I didn’t do any seducing,” she shot back.

  “Debatable. I was under the impression we seduced each other, not out of boredom, as I’m sure will be your next point, but because we were meant to.” His broad shoulders gave a soft roll.

  Marissa stayed silent, uncertain how to respond.

  “You know, I never really considered your elderly status at the time, but you brought it up so often during our brief acquaintance, perhaps your concerns have merit.”

  “They do?”

  “You’re a highly intelligent woman. Older and wiser than I. Shouldn’t I listen to your counsel?”

  The heat of him bled through the thick silk and layers of petticoats, caressing her skin as they danced. Each time he spun her, Haddon managed to notch the length of one muscled leg into her skirts and between her legs. Deliberately.

  “Stop doing that,” she hissed beneath her breath. A slow, honeyed ache followed the movement, driving her mad. “Do you intend to cause a scene?”

  “What? This?” He pulled her a fraction of an inch closer and moved his thigh into her skirts again, sliding his leg in a sinuous motion. “I’m merely dancing.”

  A flutter of arousal slid down the length of her body at Haddon’s very calculated teasing though Marissa was doing her best t
o ignore the sensation. Desperate to provide a distraction, she said, “I see you’ve made the acquaintance of Lady Christina Sykes.”

  “An incomparable beauty with an impeccable lineage,” Haddon acknowledged. “A gentleman could do worse than to wed her. She’s a lovely girl.”

  “She’s very young,” Marissa said, hating the prick of jealousy at the thought of Haddon dancing with Lady Christina the way he danced with her.

  “You don’t sound as if you approve. Shouldn’t I seek someone closer to my own age? I’m barely out of the schoolroom, after all.” The mischievous grin, the one she found so endlessly endearing, floated across his mouth.

  Marissa forced herself to smile up at him. “I’m sure my approval is of no consequence. I’m only concerned.”

  “How very maternal of you, Marissa.”

  She deliberately stepped on his toe.

  Haddon grunted in pain.

  “Lady Christina is barely older than Jordana,” she said. “But it is none of my affair who you deem a suitable bride. If your aim is to find a wife, Christina Sykes would serve as well as any.” She forced the words up her throat though they left a bitter taste.

  Spinning her about, he gave her a wolfish grin before murmuring, “The lady doth protest too much.”

  Her heel ground into the top of his foot. “Pardon me. I seem to have two left feet this evening. Goodness.”

  Haddon’s fingertips dug into the silk at her hip. “I’m only acknowledging the vast difference in our ages. One you’ve brought to my attention repeatedly during our previous dalliance. Are you old enough to be my mother?” He pretended to consider the question. “Good lord, how depraved I am.”

  Marissa was going to slap him, right here in the middle of a dance with most of the ton watching. “While there is an age difference, my lord, I assure you—”

  “And in regard to Christina,” he interrupted her tirade, “you also suggested during our dalliance that I need to remarry. Truthfully, I hadn’t considered wedding again until you brought it to my attention. Again, I’m thankful for your guidance.”

  She bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t refute his claim. Haddon was correct on all counts. She had been the one to bring up his need to remarry and produce a male heir. At that moment, Marissa could have cheerfully kicked herself for reminding him of his duty.

  In addition to his age and his need for an heir, there was also the added complication of Simon and his murderous mother Lydia. Haddon and Pendleton were friends.

  Haddon was wrong for her in every way she could imagine.

  “I’ve something I wish to discuss with you, my lady.”

  “Oh?” There was a slight, hopeful leap of her traitorous heart before remembering it would be best if she didn’t allow him to seduce her again. Haddon was far too dangerous. They could remain acquaintances and nothing more.

  “May I call upon you? I would prefer not to have a private discussion here.”

  “Yes, of course,” she agreed, ignoring the slight racing of her pulse.

  The dance ended, and Haddon led her off the dance floor, a wisp of a smile hovering on his lips. But instead of leaving her where she’d stood with Adelia, Haddon purposefully took her to the opposite side of the ballroom; an area populated with elderly matrons, wallflowers and spinsters.

  A strangled sound bubbled from her lips.

  “Something wrong, my lady? Didn’t you enjoy our dance?”

  “I did. Immensely.” If she wasn’t sure it would cause a scene, Marissa would wrench her fingers from his.

  Once he seemed satisfied Marissa stood with the most undesirable women in the room, Haddon bowed again over her hand, hiding his enjoyment at her discomfort behind a polite, bland smile.

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Cupps-Foster.” Haddon turned and, without another glance at Marissa, sauntered back across the ballroom.

  Damned difficult desirable woman.

  Trent Ives, Baron Haddon, flexed his fingers against his thighs and strode away from the only woman at this bloody ball who held his interest. He’d come tonight specifically hoping to see her, and he hadn’t been disappointed. Dancing with Marissa, holding her in his arms until the warm vanilla scent she favored filled his nostrils, was worth having to listen to the people around him prattle on about their own self-importance.

  Trent looked down at Lady Christina Sykes, the daughter of a marquess who was trying to amuse him with a story about a stray dog she’d found wandering about her gardens. He kept a polite smile pasted on his face as she chattered away, all the while watching Marissa from across the room.

  He loved her in blue; the color enhanced her eyes, making them sparkle like sapphires. She’d been wearing a gown of nearly the same hue when they’d danced together at the Pendleton house party.

  I had no idea how one dance would change everything.

  He’d known who Marissa was, of course, when he met her at Brushbriar. Everyone in the Peak District knew the tragic story of the late Earl of Morwick’s disappearance. And of his widow’s grief.

  When he’d come to her rooms later that night with a bottle of wine and one glass, intent on seduction, Marissa hadn’t turned him away.

  Instead I was ruined. His heart gave a thump.

  An older gentleman was fawning all over Marissa, ogling her bosom, which Trent admitted was justified, especially in that gown. Trent rarely lost his composure, remaining calm even in the maelstrom of four rather high-spirited daughters. But unexpected possessiveness flared up as Trent watched her smile and place her fingers on another man’s arm.

  Trent turned his attention from Marissa back to Lady Christina, who had been joined by Miss Archer, both women busy smiling up at him and batting their lashes. His body was still humming with the awareness of Marissa, her scent still clinging to his coat.

  Patience.

  Something else Trent was good at.

  3

  “Oh dear, you don’t look the least pleased,” Adelia piped up from behind Marissa, casting a glance at an elderly matron whispering to her companion with ill-concealed distaste. “And you’re quite flushed.” Adelia linked her arm with Marissa’s, walking them both away from the wall of undesirable women. “Your Lord Haddon is scrumptious.”

  “He’s not a cucumber sandwich, Adelia,” Marissa snapped. “And he’s most definitely not my Lord Haddon. He’s too bloody arrogant.” Haddon had certainly made his point by depositing her amongst these women.

  “Most men who look like that are, my dear. My darling young soldier is just such a man. Crooks his finger, and I can’t help but rush to his side to be entertained.” Adelia gave a small laugh.

  “I shouldn’t worry. A young lady as pedigreed and gently bred as Lady Christina Sykes will likely sob and collapse into a mound of ribbons on her wedding night. I’m sure her mother has taught her to endure. If Haddon were to marry her, he’d be bored within a fortnight, if not sooner. And he’s much too delicious to be bored. I should offer him my companionship while he’s in London.”

  Marissa snapped her head around. “You’ll do no such thing, Adelia.”

  Adelia pursed her lips in pretend shock. “I was only joking, Marissa. My goodness, no need to be so. . .territorial.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s only my head has begun to ache.” She placed a hand to her temple. Her head did hurt, both from the press of bodies in the Cambourne ballroom as well as from seeing and sparring with Haddon. “My apologies for my ill humor.” Marissa took Adelia’s hand. “I fear I must take my leave, Adelia.” She’d no desire to be at the ball a moment longer.

  “Marissa, you cannot leave yet. The evening is young. You’ve only danced once.”

  Once had been enough.

  “Enderly has just arrived.” Adelia pointed with a flick of her fan to a distinguished gentleman.

  Catching sight of Marissa, the older man changed course with a wave and headed toward her. Tall and fit for his age, Enderly’s form held only a touch of softness around the middle. He
still had a full head of hair, though it was not the rich brown of Haddon’s but the color of new fallen snow. Enderly did cut a dashing figure, she assured herself.

  Marissa cast a sideways glance to Haddon across the ballroom.

  It was like comparing an aging Persian cat to a sleek black panther.

  I’m being unfair. Enderly is perfectly respectable.

  Enderly, member of Parliament and wealthy mine owner from Cornwall, was perfect for Marissa. Widowed and in possession of a slew of sons and grandchildren as well as an immense country estate overlooking the ocean, he was significantly older than she. Enderly would never stay up all night debauching her.

  “Lady Cupps-Foster.”

  Marissa looked up to find Enderly taking her hand with familiarity. The pale blue eyes twinkled at her. He smelled subtly of pine and mint. Not the least exotic.

  “Mr. Enderly.”

  Enderly spared a glance at Adelia but didn’t take her hand. “Lady Waterstone.”

  Adelia made a muffled reply. She didn’t care for Enderly.

  “You’re looking quite lovely, my dear.” His eyes strayed to her neckline in appreciation of her bosom but didn’t linger overlong. She thought he was probably more interested in the diamond around her neck.

  There was no shock of excitement at Enderly’s presence. No whisper of arousal sliding up her silk-clad legs.

  No chance he might break her heart.

  Marissa bestowed a lovely smile on him. “Thank you, Mr. Enderly.”

  “What a magnificent necklace,” he said.

  She’d been correct. His admiration had been for the diamond around her neck and not her bosom. Marissa tried to summon up a modicum of disappointment and found she couldn’t. “A gift from my father on my twentieth birthday.”

  “A mere addition to the jewel of your beauty, my lady.”

  Nodding in acknowledgement of what was a weak compliment and ignoring Adelia’s mutter of disdain for Enderly, Marissa said, “I wasn’t sure you’d attend tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t miss the Cambourne ball, my lady, though I’m here more to play cards than to dance.”