A charge of excitement shot up her spine as she felt the tug at the laces of her stays.
Haddon cursed, a vile oath, before bending to nip lightly at her shoulder. The heat of him left her back as he padded to the fire where Marissa had hung his coat.
The firelight caressed him as he moved, glancing off the muscle lining his buttocks and thighs. Haddon was sculpted, like one of the dozens of statues that seemed to populate everyone’s homes and gardens. Marissa hadn’t ever thought of a man being beautiful, until Haddon.
“The curve of your hip is lovely,” she blurted, half ashamed she’d said such a thing out loud, especially because she sounded like a nitwit.
A sound of satisfaction came from him as he turned back toward her, holding up a small pocketknife. His free hand splayed over his hip. “I’m beautiful here?” The hand moved, his fingers wrapping around the hard length between his legs. “Or here?”
Marissa inhaled softly, feeling the answering throb between her legs. “Both.”
Laughing softly, Haddon came toward Marissa again and pressed a kiss just beneath where her hair was gathered in her now battered chignon.
A pop sounded as the fastenings of her stays were cut.
Torn dress. Stays cut from me. Whatever will I tell Felice?
As the remainder of her stays fell away from her waist, Marissa took a deep breath. Heavenly. Almost as lovely as the slow burn of kisses Haddon was placing at the top of her spine. His fingers tore her chemise, pushing it down over her shoulders, until it, too, fell into a damp pile around her ankles.
Fingers toyed with her garters.
“I think we’ll leave these on,” he murmured against her neck as two hands came from behind her to palm the underside of her breasts, squeezing as if testing the weight.
“You have the most delicious bosom ever created.” A thumb flicked against one taut nipple. “So perfect.” His blunt fingers rolled the globes of flesh back and forth. “I’m a great admirer.”
Marissa trembled as a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips at his ministrations. She was standing nearly naked—oh, very well; she supposed still wearing stockings couldn’t actually count as being partially clothed—in her parlor with Haddon.
I’m naked.
Suddenly conscious of the fact, Marissa tilted sideways toward the sofa, kicking away the remnants of her clothing. She grabbed at the blanket she’d left there last night, a terrible use of good yarn with more than a few holes. But Arabella, in a fit of domesticity when she was all of thirteen, had knit the blanket for Marissa.
Her niece had many skills, but knitting wasn’t one of them.
The blanket was a study of slipped stitches and uneven edges. One corner had nearly unraveled. Still, Marissa grabbed at it, determined not to stand naked before her lover—
“You are beautiful to me.” Haddon’s eyes slid down her shoulders to where she’d clasped the blanket against her breasts. “Please don’t hide from me.”
Tilting her chin up with his thumb, Haddon’s mouth fell on hers. Urgent. Hot. With no shred of the gentleness or patience he often displayed. It was as if he’d been starving for months and finally been presented a banquet.
Fingers sunk into her hair, releasing the remainder of the thick, wet mass until it streamed in disarray over her shoulders. Droplets struck her cheeks as he cupped them and pulled Marissa forcefully against him.
The blanket dropped to the floor.
“I thought I could wait. Drag this out for several hours. But I want you too much.” His words were a dark hiss against her lips.
Marissa’s back arched, groaning as her breasts pressed against the heat of his chest, her taut, sensitive nipples, catching at the whorls of dark hair on his torso. Shamefully, she rocked her hips against him, already near mindless from the assault he’d made on her body.
Mouth not leaving hers, he brought her down with him as he sat on the sofa. Haddon’s eyes had gone the color of old pewter, glinting softly in the muted light of her parlor. He took hold of her hips and positioned her across his lap. Pulling her forward, Haddon’s thumb sunk beneath her folds, rotating and teasing.
“Trent.” A broken whisper left her.
His mouth latched onto one nipple laving the taut peak as he entered her with one hard thrust.
“Jesus.” A grunt of pleasure came from him. “Marissa.”
Marissa became a wild thing, her body writhing against him, hips rocking to meet every thrust. Haddon filled her. Absorbed her. Forced her to accept the truth.
He pushed down with his thumb, his mouth swallowing the scream of pleasure she made as she climaxed. Her body jerked, inner muscles fluttering and pulling him deeper.
A groan left him.
The pleasure was so intense, Marissa’s mind went still for a moment, something that rarely happened.
Haddon flipped her over until she lay on the sofa beneath him, still buried inside her body. He held still for a moment, nuzzling the side of her neck before crooking one of her legs over his arm and took her with full, deep thrusts. When her pleasure began to build inside her again, Haddon sensed it and smiled.
Each thrust became slower, more deliberate, as their bodies rocked together, dragging out each exquisite sensation. Haddon looked down at her as he found his release moments after she again found her own, his eyes shining like quicksilver, her name on his lips. The feeling of completion, of finding the lost part of herself, was so overpowering, Marissa almost didn’t breathe.
It was absolutely terrifying.
Haddon’s breath was warm and ragged against her neck. He shifted slightly to take his weight from her, leaving her cold and wanting him.
This is what happens. I’ll grow to need him, and then he’ll disappear.
He pulled her close, his skin heated beneath her cheek, the beating of his heart strong and fierce.
Why him? Not even with Reggie—
Marissa firmly pushed the thought away. While Haddon’s desire for her was intense at the moment, it would fade in time. One day soon he would tire of her, especially given their age difference. Most affairs ended in disinterest on the part of one partner or the other. If her three marriages and infrequent affairs had taught Marissa anything, it was that nothing was forever. She had her family. Her friends. Great wealth. If her life wasn’t blissfully happy, it was at least somewhat content. Or would be once she destroyed Lydia and her priggish son.
Yes, but Haddon—
Had to stay nothing more than a dalliance. Unfortunately. She wasn’t like Adelia who could flit from lover to lover without having her heart compromised.
Marissa touched her tongue to his skin, wanting to savor the taste of him. A tear ran down her cheek. When Haddon ended the affair, and he was bound to, it would be far worse than losing Reggie.
“Please don’t be afraid, Marissa,” Haddon said quietly, his arms tightening around her.
Horrified he’d guessed at the direction of her thoughts with so little effort, Marissa struggled to be released, feeling exposed.
A sigh of frustration came from him, but he let her go. His eyes followed as she slid along the sofa until she was behind him. Snatching the poorly constructed blanket, Marissa wrapped it around her body, hiding herself as best she could.
Haddon sat up, completely unabashed to sit naked in her parlor with her standing before him. He reached for her, lips tilting in a grin, but Marissa danced away.
The smile faded. “Who made you that blanket?”
What a thing to ask at a time like this. She grabbed the corner to wrap it more tightly around her, frowning when it unraveled in her hand. “My niece, Arabella, when she was thirteen. It was a gift to me on my birthday. One of her first efforts.”
“That explains the craftsmanship. By the way, your left nipple is popping through one of the holes.”
He needed to leave. What had possessed her to bring him here and then—
“This was a mistake, Haddon,” she said firmly. “It cannot happen again.”
>
“I was a dalliance, now I’m a mistake. I suppose,” he bit out, his voice frosty, “that I’m to be dismissed yet again. Now that I’ve served your needs.”
“Served my needs?” How incredibly . . . ugly that sounded. And derogatory. Couldn’t he sense how difficult this was for her? But perhaps it was for the best he assume she thought so little of their relationship.
Her heart gave a dreadful lurch.
“You didn’t seem to mind,” she shot back in the voice she used when dissecting someone who had earned her wrath.
Haddon stood abruptly, picked up the empty glass he’d discarded earlier and brushed past her on the way to the sideboard. He spilled a healthy dose of amber liquid into the glass. “You don’t mind, do you? Thirsty work and all.” The very tops of his cheekbones had pinked, a tell-tale sign of his mounting anger.
Well, she was rather annoyed herself. How dare he make this her fault. “I didn’t kiss you in the park.”
The glass hovered at his lips. “You asked me here.”
“To warm up after you rescued my hat,” she snapped back.
Lord, that sounded ridiculous.
Haddon snorted in disbelief and downed the whisky. Setting the glass down with a clatter, he said in a bland tone she instantly detested, “What did you think would happen, Marissa? We were going to sip tea and eat these sandwiches? And for the record, I don’t care for watercress.”
“Yes. Not for . . .” She waved a hand in the direction of his perfect, naked body. “This.”
“We made love, Marissa. Christ. Just say it.”
“It was only sex, Haddon. And it must not happen again.” Her voice faltered at the lie.
“I see.” He walked to his still damp clothing, jerking on his shirt and trousers. Throwing on his waistcoat, Haddon shoved his cravat into a pocket.
Marissa shut her eyes for a moment. If her heart would just stop reaching in his direction, this conversation, as hurtful as it was, would be far easier.
“This would never work.” She pointed at the two of them. “An indiscretion with a much younger man—”
“Indiscretion. Mistake. Dalliance. Make up your mind. I think you fear it would work far too well. I never took you for a coward, Marissa Tremaine.” He pulled on his coat and shot her an icy look.
Coward? Her own anger, both at herself and him, bubbled up her throat. “You think I’m unaware of your intention in coming to London? I know it isn’t only for Jordana.”
Haddon paused in the act of pulling up his boots, not bothering to look at her.
“You’re here,” Marissa said, annoyed he didn’t even have the courtesy to look at her when she was speaking, “to find a wife, aren’t you? You need an heir. You didn’t come to London to have a meaningless affair with a notorious widow, many years your senior. Of that, I’m certain.”
The large body grew still. His hands stretched over the top of his thighs, fingers curling ever so slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick and hoarse, as if it were painful to speak.
“You have no idea what my intentions are in London, Marissa. You’ve never asked.” When he finally deigned to look at her, his silver eyes shone with misery. The absolute anguish at her rejection of him, her assertion they meant nothing to each other was laid bare for Marissa to see.
Pressure filled her chest, a terrible suffocation in which she struggled for air.
Marissa reached out her hand. What had made her say such an awful thing? It wasn’t meaningless to her, and it certainly wasn’t to him. How could she have made such a dreadful miscalculation? “You misunderstand. What I meant is—”
“I don’t. Misunderstand, that is. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear, my lady.” Without meeting her eyes, Haddon strode to the door. “Thank you for the whisky, Lady Cupps-Foster. Unfortunately, I can’t stay and avail myself of the repast you’ve had prepared. I deeply appreciate your time and efforts in befriending Jordana. She’s grown very fond of you in a short time, and I don’t wish to disrupt her progress.”
Marissa hated the clipped tone of his speech, nor did she care for the detachment he regarded her with. It was as though a large wall had been erected between them, one made of ice and frost.
“I would consider it a great kindness if you would continue in your plans to help Jordana with her new wardrobe. I assure you, once my sister arrives in town, she’ll take Jordana well in hand and leave you to other pursuits. In the meantime, I’ll trouble you no longer, my lady. You may send the bills for the dressmaker to me and any other expenses you incur while assisting my daughter.”
Haddon.
He was taking himself from her life. Just as she wished. But there was no elation. No feeling of relief she would be spared the temptation. Only a terrible, aching loneliness. “Thank you. I appreciate your consideration, my lord.” Now that he was leaving, Marissa had no idea how to fix things between them and take back the awful words she’d spoken.
I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.
Haddon strode to the door, purposefully avoiding her as Marissa pulled the tattered yarn of the blanket around her shoulders.
He didn’t bother to say goodbye.
12
“Miss Clare Higgins,” Arabella whispered to Marissa as they settled themselves into their seats at the Chenwith Society. A well-known physician, Dr. Linwood, was speaking of the health of those who toiled away below ground, especially children. After his remarks, there would be an auction.
Marissa was pleased to see an item donated by Lady Pendleton. A small egg of Blue John. Her nemesis would be here today just as Tomkin had informed her.
She smoothed her skirts and took in the room, filled to the brim with society’s wealthy ladies, all of whom had taken a break from their exhausting ritual of calling on each other to throw their support behind one of Arabella’s charitable causes.
A cause Simon, and his mother, Lydia, were supposed to give a fig about, given his efforts in Parliament. Though, Simon’s bills stopped short of actually caring for the physical well-being of the children who worked in the mines. But the Chenwith Society was very high profile, with many prominent donors. Viscount Pendleton had to give a show of support.
“She’s the daughter of—”
“The Honorable Sir Richard Higgins,” Marissa finished for her niece. “Member of Parliament and owner of several banking institutions in Cornwall.” Enderly had mentioned the name to her on more than one occasion when he’d escorted her about, though she’d not seen him since the evening at Lord Duckworth’s. “Sir Richard is well thought of, in addition to being powerful.”
“Quite so,” Arabella mused. “Miss Higgins also possesses an enormous dowry along with her political connections. Her father has a habit of collecting politicians and keeping them in his back pocket. I’m sure the thought of having a son-in-law to count among that number is making him positively lightheaded.”
Marissa plucked a loose thread from her bodice. She’d have to have a word with Felice. Her maid had manhandled the lovely new dress of striped brown silk.
Yes, but nothing compared to what Haddon did to the dress I wore to the park.
Pain nipped at the edge of her heart. No good would come of thinking of Haddon.
“He was made a knight several years ago,” Arabella continued, “and seeks a much loftier title to elevate his family, like that of viscount.”
“Sir Richard will be disappointed.” Marissa was adamantly opposed to Simon marrying little Miss Higgins. Her dowry would save Simon and Lydia the horror of their mounting debts, of which Marissa owned nearly all.
“How will you stop it?” Arabella whispered. “I know you meant to discredit Pendleton in some way but unlike most politicians, he seems a most honorable man.” Arabella paused. “Aside from his duplicity involving the Blue John mine. He has never set foot in Elysium or any other gambling hell I could name. He does not keep a mistress. No perverse tastes we could exploit. It is difficult to catch him in a compromising positio
n if he never puts himself in one. Higgins will not be put off by Simon’s financial straits either, not when his daughter can be a viscountess.”
“I’ll find another way,” Marissa answered. Mr. Tomkin was still digging, but Simon, for all that he had stolen from her son for years, had otherwise not taken a wrong step. Marissa had at least managed to interrupt the courtship of Simon’s sister and Mr. Kendicott of Buxton. Shamefully, Catherine had been discovered with Mr. Doren, another gentleman caller, in flagrante, among the well-tended flower gardens of Brushbriar. Kendicott had been horrified and was busy ruining Catherine’s reputation all over Derbyshire.
Shortly after Kendicott had ceased his pursuit of Simon’s sister, another cartload of Blue John from Brushbriar had found its way to private auction in Castleton.
“Pity that more can’t be made of Catherine’s behavior,” Arabella said. “But she was known for her indiscretions during her marriage.” Her niece put a finger to her lips. “I can’t remember whose ball—”
“Lord and Lady Rutland’s,” Marissa answered automatically.
“Yes, Lady Rutland’s. Do you recall Catherine’s gown? The bodice was cut so low, that when she curtsied to the Marquess of Vere, her breast popped out.”
“Yes. It was quite the stir.”
Utilizing her contacts, Marissa had made sure the scandal involving Catherine and Mr. Kendicott was alluded to in the London papers. But no one seemed shocked by Catherine’s behavior nor did it reflect badly on Simon. Everyone knew what a slut Catherine was.
“It was never about Catherine’s reputation,” Marissa said to her niece. “Though it would have been lovely if his sister’s reputation caused Simon some embarrassment. I simply wished to avoid Kendicott bailing Simon and Lydia out of debt.”
“You succeeded,” Arabella said with a nod.
The claim for the Blue John mine was making its way slowly through the courts, something Marissa was doing purposefully in order to drag out the process and cost Simon as much money as possible. Until ownership was decided, the mine remained open and the profits put into a trust. She’d not wished to take away the livelihood of the men working the mine, only Simon’s.
Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7) Page 11
