Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7)

by Kathleen Ayers

  “Come, Aunt.” Arabella took Marissa’s arm. “There’s someone I wish to introduce you to. Good day to you Lady Higgins. Miss Higgins.”

  Arabella pointedly ignored Lydia, but Lady Higgins was far too enamored of becoming a close friend of the sister of a duke to notice. Marissa’s niece had learned well how to be charming and inviting to others, a stark contrast to the sour, staid woman she’d been before her marriage to Rowan. What a change love had wrought in Arabella.

  I was right about Rowan. Marissa allowed herself a congratulatory moment.

  She and Arabella returned to their seats, settling their skirts around them. The chairs were terribly uncomfortable and devoid of any padding. Her back would be aching in a matter of minutes. Another result of growing older.

  Arabella leaned toward her and whispered, “What in the world did you say to Lady Pendleton? I nearly mistook her for a corpse until she blinked. And was that brandy on her breath?”

  “She smells like a Christmas punch. And I only reminded Lydia she could ill afford to scare off Miss Higgins. I may have also mentioned the scores of solicitors at my disposal who were intent on dragging out the court proceedings. But I was at all times polite.”

  “Oh, you are dreadful, Aunt.” Arabella squeezed Marissa’s arm. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

  13

  “Lord Pendleton to see you, my lord. Shall I send him in?”

  Trent sat back in the leather chair before his desk, pushing aside the small pile of invitations he’d been replying to. Lord Stanton had invited him to the theater, doubtless at the bequest of his daughter Lady Christina. Before the day in the park with Marissa, Trent would have refused.

  He scratched off an acceptance. “Send Lord Pendleton in.”

  At least Pendleton would provide a distraction because he was in dire need of one. He’d seen little of the viscount since arriving in London save for the one political gathering Trent had attended. And he’d only gone to Duckworth’s because he suspected Marissa would be in attendance with Enderly.

  A tiny squeeze pinched his heart.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting you.” Pendleton wandered into Trent’s study with his customary superior attitude and took a seat on the leather sofa. His gaze flitted about the comfortable yet hardly luxurious room, probably comparing Trent’s study to his own which was covered in expensive furnishings and the obligatory Blue John.

  “Not at all.”

  Pendleton always assumed visits from him, rare though they were, would take precedence over anything else Trent was doing. Pompous ass.

  Was Pendleton’s snobbish behavior a contributing factor to Marissa’s blatant dislike of the man? He could understand why Pendleton didn’t care for Marissa; after all, her son had ruined the young lady Pendleton had planned on marrying last summer. The woman in question was now the Countess of Morwick. But it was Marissa’s animosity toward Pendleton that had genuinely surprised Trent because it contrasted so sharply against her earlier behavior at Brushbriar. Watching the two interact from across the room it was hard to mistake the deep undercurrent of loathing between them. The sight unsettled Trent because he didn’t know where such hostility had come from. Or why.

  Thinking of Marissa brought with it the expected wave of hunger for her. A gnawing ache which refused to go away. He’d not seen her since she’d dismissed him, yet again, from her presence, though Jordana continued to visit Marissa.

  I’m still very angry at her.

  Trent possessed a temper, one which he had learned to keep in check over the years. Another flaw of his he’d had to learn to control when raising four girls. The entire countryside wondered at his idiocy at not immediately remarrying or keeping nursemaids for his daughters. But fatherhood had made Trent a better person, one he would not have been had his wife lived.

  The selfish rake he’d once been wouldn’t have deserved Marissa.

  Hell, I’m not sure I do now.

  Pushing aside his thoughts, Trent made his way to the sideboard. A visit from Pendleton required spirits. “Scotch? I may even have some brandy somewhere.”

  “Yes. I’d love a glass. Scotch.”

  Trent raised a brow. His unexpected guest rarely had a drink before dinner, and it was only mid-afternoon. In fact, in all the years Trent had known him, Pendleton had never sought Trent out for a drink or friendly conversation.

  So why was Pendleton here?

  Trent splashed scotch into two glasses and handed one to his visitor before taking a seat in a chair across from Pendleton.

  Pendleton sat with his legs spread, rolling the crystal glass between his palms, a sure sign of some distress. It was rare for him to show a lick of emotion. The only exceptions were the passionate speeches Pendleton gave or when he defended his stance against the opposition. Trent was convinced the only thing Pendleton truly cared about was achieving his dream of Prime Minister. Everything else was a very distant second to that desire. The broken betrothal to Petra Grantly was only an inconvenience to a man like Pendleton.

  Trent wondered if Pendleton even remembered her name.

  “I find I’m rather . . . embarrassed to be here, Haddon.” Pendleton tossed back the contents of his glass before pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if in terrible pain.

  That was something different. “Because I don’t think your current bill goes far enough?” Trent said, sipping at his drink.

  Pendleton gave a snort. “No.” He waved a hand dismissing Trent’s comment. “A difference of opinion and one you’ll see I’m right about. You fail to see the larger picture, as you so often do. The greater good must be served.”

  Christ, Pendleton thought himself the savior of all of England.

  “What can I help you with? Is Lady Pendleton well?” Trent cared little for Pendleton’s mother, a disingenuous woman he had never liked. Once his wife had died, Trent had declined to spend much time in Lady Pendleton’s company. She was a grasping, selfish woman with an over-inflated ego and an air of superiority her son had inherited. Pendleton’s mother had never had much use for Trent which was why the invitation to her little house party had been a complete surprise.

  Except, Pendleton’s sister was . . . not discreet in her . . . friendships. Trent supposed Lady Pendleton saw an opportunity to foist off her scandal-ridden daughter on some unsuspecting country bumpkin. Like Trent.

  As if I’d have Pendleton’s sister around my girls.

  “My mother is fine,” Pendleton said. “She’s here in London. Arrived a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh? I wasn’t aware.” Ignorance had been bliss. Now that he had been informed of Lady Pendleton’s presence, manners dictated he call upon her. He would put it off as long as possible.

  “Another, if you please, Haddon.” Pendleton held up his empty glass. “This isn’t a social call to discuss my mother.”

  Well, that was a relief.

  “I’m only here,” Pendleton’s lip curled a bit, “because there isn’t anyone else I can turn to without an enormous scandal erupting—something I wish to avoid.”

  Trent got up again but instead of taking Pendleton’s glass, he went to the sideboard and just grabbed the decanter. Pouring out nearly half a glass, Trent set the decanter on the small table between them before handing Pendleton his scotch. “Things must be dire indeed if I am your only hope.”

  Pendleton glared at Trent over the rim of his glass.

  Trent and his girls were only tolerated because Trent’s late wife had been related to the current Lord Pendleton’s father. A familial tie not widely known, largely because Lydia didn’t wish it to be. She found the connection be of little use to her and thus not worth her acknowledgement.

  Unless Lady Pendleton needed something from Trent. Like his presence to round out a house party.

  A vision of Marissa, her lovely face turned in his direction as she slept, the tangled mass of her hair stretching across his chest, filled his mind. He could have watched her sleep for h
ours that night. Trent had traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip, marveling at the precious gift he’d found at Lady Pendleton’s stupid little house party.

  Can I not go more than a few minutes without her invading my thoughts?

  No. No he could not.

  “I require a favor.” Pendleton regarded Trent with determination.

  How mortifying that must be for him. Pendleton far preferred lording over all the lesser beings in his orbit and bestowing favors upon them. And he considered Trent to be a much lesser being.

  Trent leaned back in the chair. “A favor?”

  Pendleton’s gaze had grown downright chilly, his nostrils flaring out until he resembled an annoyed bulldog. “As you know, I’m courting the daughter of Sir Richard Higgins.”

  “Congratulations.” Higgins owned several banks and was well known in political circles. Ridiculously wealthy, Higgins sought influence and power, which he would have after buying Pendleton for his daughter. “Which one?” Trent asked. Higgins had more than one daughter. Five, to be exact.

  “The girl in the middle. Clare.”

  A resounding vote of affection if Trent had ever heard one. If Higgins decided to switch out one daughter for another, would Pendleton even notice?

  Unlikely.

  “I’m assured my suit will be accepted. Higgins and I are in complete agreement.”

  Apparently, Miss Clare Higgins had not been consulted. Pendleton had assumed the same thing about Petra Grantly, but Trent thought it wise not to bring up Pendleton’s past assumption.

  “I’m sure you’ll be very happy.”

  Pendleton opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, lips thinning as he took in Trent.

  My God. He really does dislike me. Quite a bit.

  “We are family, Haddon, are we not?” Pendleton said in a slightly malevolent tone.

  Trent suddenly had a very bad feeling about this conversation. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Pendleton gave a negligent wave of his hand. “We’ve had our differences, I know. But at the end of the day, we are family. I find myself in a bit of an unwelcome situation. If my situation became widely known”—he lifted his palms—“it would reflect poorly on me. Maybe even damage my effectiveness in Parliament. My opponents would have something to use against me.” He took another sip of his scotch. “All those bloody reforms you so adore wouldn’t stand a chance without my support.”

  “I concur.” On that point, Pendleton was correct. While Trent often thought his reforms didn’t go far enough, those bills wouldn’t exist at all without Pendleton. “What is this about?”

  “My estate is deeply in debt. My mother and sister have been overspending for years and it is only recently I’ve managed to tighten the purse strings, but it is too late. If my sister could have managed to marry Kendicott, I wouldn’t be sitting here. But,” his lip curled in disapproval, “she’s managed to muck things up with him. The son of a pig farmer. I should toss her out.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  Pendleton’s eyes slid over Trent, searching for signs of mockery. Satisfied there were none, he continued.

  “I’ve been selling bits and pieces. Items my mother had made from Blue John. Ridiculous little objects she had to have. It’s all worth a fortune, but still, it isn’t enough. I’ve markers all over London, Haddon. Large sums.” He pierced Trent with a hard look. “The duns are already beating at my door. Imagine my embarrassment.”

  How mortifying for Pendleton who would see himself above such things.

  “The vein of Blue John has finally run its course?” Trent asked. Pendleton’s Blue John was the second largest deposit in England.

  “No. The mine is still profitable.” A choked laugh came from Pendleton. He ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair and across his face.

  Trent waited, but Pendleton said nothing further concerning the Blue John or the mine.

  “I have ambitions, Haddon. Melbourne will not be Prime Minister forever. I cannot afford to become destitute and thrown into debtor’s prison. Nor do I wish to be called a fortune hunter while trying to secure Higgins’s daughter. The girl is skittish enough. And I need Higgins’s support.”

  “No, of course not.” Get to the point, Pendleton. Even in his anxiety and begging a favor, the man still managed to be long-winded, as if Trent had nothing better to do but listen to him.

  “My markers are being bought up, Haddon. Anonymously. My fear is one person, possibly with political motivation, is behind the collecting of my debt. This individual could seek to use my debt as leverage. Possibly even try to wield power through me, and thus into Parliament. And I’ll have little choice.”

  “We all have a choice, Pendleton.”

  “How naive you are.” An ugly choked sound came from him. “You’ve no concept of the workings of government. How one hand rubs the back of another.”

  Trent was liking this conversation, and Pendleton, less and less.

  “Your late wife knew how things worked, for all that she’d been raised in the country. Anne wasn’t shy about running to my father when you were in trouble. An accident at the quarry. You also had nowhere else to turn, as I’m sure you recall.”

  Trent’s fingers tightened on his glass. “I do.”

  Barely twenty-four, with a small child and another on the way, Trent had only just buried his father and become Baron Haddon. His inheritance had consisted of an estate that was barely solvent and a struggling quarry. Trent’s sister needed a dowry and his younger brother’s tuition at Harrow was a small fortune. He was already in dire financial straits before the accident.

  Trent’s father had refused to modernize the lone quarry he owned. Fifty men had died during the cave-in, buried alive beneath an enormous pile of rock, leaving their families destitute. It had been an obligation for Trent to provide for those men’s wives and children. The quarry was also the largest employer in the area for miles. If the quarry didn’t reopen, not only would Trent become impoverished, but so would most of the families in the area. So many lives had depended on him. Anne, against Trent’s wishes, had gone to her great-uncle, Lord Pendleton, who was flush with cash from the Blue John mine his family owned. It was assistance Trent hadn’t wanted to accept, but he’d had little choice.

  “So, you see why I’ve come. My father never asked you for repayment for the funds he gave you, but I believe, honorable man you are,” Pendleton narrowed his eyes, “that you insisted you would return the favor one day. In fact, you wouldn’t take the money until he agreed.”

  Trent knew very well what had been said; Pendleton need not remind him. The burden of being indebted to Pendleton for so long had weighed heavily on him for years.

  “You were so bloody grateful, throwing around such a promise. My father never had need for a favor, but I do.”

  The scotch soured in Trent’s stomach despite the fact he now wanted to drink the entire bottle.

  “Don’t worry, Haddon. Unlike your agreement with my father, I will make this only a temporary loan. I plan to repay you. Once I secure Clare Higgins and her dowry. I’ve already had my solicitor draw up papers to that effect.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Pendleton was a prig, but he was honorable. It was literally the only thing Trent found likable about the man.

  “Already done.” Pendleton’s mouth contorted into a semblance of a smile. “I don’t want to cause you any undue distress. We are family, after all.”

  How fucking noble of him. After the completion of this transaction, Trent meant to sever all contact with Pendleton once and for all. “How much?”

  Pendleton’s carefully constructed façade cracked for a moment, the fear at his circumstances bleeding through.

  “A great deal.”

  14

  Marissa shifted in her chair, desperate to get comfortable. Her back was already aching. She must remind Spencer to have his box at the theater updated with furniture that one could actually relax in.

  Lifting
her chin to better see the stage, Marissa winced as the leading lady began an overblown speech to the actor playing the gentleman who was courting her, though she loved another.

  Marissa adored the theater, though not this play. The strident voice of the actress below grated on her nerves, reminding her unpleasantly of Lady Christina Sykes. Which in turn made her think of Haddon. Something she was trying desperately not to do.

  I never took you for a coward, Marissa.

  Marissa’s fingers folded into her lap. She hadn’t taken herself for one either.

  “I said, Mother,” said a voice laced with sarcasm, “I’m planning on assassinating the entire cast because the play is terrible. I’ve seen better performances in the private rooms at Elysium. Will you wait with Elizabeth while I do so?”

  Marissa blinked, still thinking of Haddon. “Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer.”

  A dark laugh came from her eldest son. “What has you so preoccupied that you cannot even spare me a moment of your attention? I’ve been gone from London for literally years, and I can’t hold your interest for the length of this poorly acted play?”

  Spencer was being dramatic. “If you will recall, I showered you with attention when you first arrived. You were so appreciative of my efforts to nurse you back to health that you asked your wife to tell me to leave. You referred to me as Smother and not Mother for an entire week.”

  An appalled look crossed his handsome face. “I did no such thing. I can’t believe my wife would disparage me to my own mother. But Elizabeth is a sneaky little thing. Don’t be fooled by her innocent demeanor.” He nodded in the direction of the elegant, ebony-haired young woman seated next to him, who was listening in rapt attention to every word the actors on stage spouted.

  The expression on her son’s face spoke of his utter adoration for her. Spencer was completely besotted with Elizabeth. As well he should be. Elizabeth smoothed out Spencer’s caustic edges, bringing him out of the darkness that so often surrounded her son. Marissa thought her newest daughter-in-law quite marvelous.