Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7)

by Kathleen Ayers

  “I would even go so far as to call her dictatorial.” Spencer bent down pretending to inspect something at his wife’s feet.

  “Kelso,” Elizabeth hissed under her breath, cheeks turning red as she spared a discreet look at Marissa. “Remove your hand from beneath my skirts this instant. I am trying to enjoy the play.”

  Marissa turned her head with a smile, pretending not to hear Elizabeth’s rebuke. Her son and Elizabeth were very much in love, despite Spencer’s reputation and the age difference between them.

  I never thought you a coward, Marissa.

  Haddon and the words he’d uttered, the slash of his cheekbones tinted pink with anger, invaded her thoughts more often than she wished. She had a terrible, gnawing suspicion she’d made a mistake that day, one which could not be fixed. It didn’t help that every time she opened the papers, the gossips linked him to Lady Christina Sykes.

  Spencer snapped his fingers before her nose. “Mother, stop this instant, or I’ll get the smelling salts.”

  Marissa gave him an indulgent look. How she’d missed him while he was on the other side of the world for so many years. All of her ducklings, her sons, niece, and nephew, were happy. Marissa saw that as a personal achievement. And they would all be together during the holiday season for the first time in years. Her heart should have been full. Marissa should be happy.

  Yes, but I am not.

  “Now that you are no longer instructing Arabella how to be a young lady, a useless task in my opinion—”

  “Not so,” Marissa said, her eyes still on the play.

  “My cousin is as horrible as ever. Malden has only taught her how to hide it behind affability. Every time she smiles, I’m frightened out of my wits. Her pleasantness is unnatural.”

  “Spencer.” Marissa shook her head. “Arabella is content.”

  “At any rate, she tells me you’ve taken another difficult young lady under your wing. Truly, Mother, you are a glutton for punishment.”

  “I am only offering my guidance.”

  Spencer’s lip twitched with amusement. “Will you start a school, Mother, for wayward, mercenary young women in the hopes of turning them into demure little ladies? My wife could benefit from your guidance, I’m sure. Spending years in a convent didn’t make the least impression on Elizabeth. When can I expect you to take her on?”

  Elizabeth twisted, pinching Spencer’s upper arm, before returning her attention to the play.

  “Ouch.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek.

  “Elizabeth is perfection as you well know. She is a master at dealing with adversity already. I fear there is little I could teach her.”

  Elizabeth leaned sideways across her husband’s lap. “Thank you, Marissa, for noticing my struggles. Every moment is a trial. I pray daily for strength.”

  “Sassy little nun,” Spencer muttered.

  “Honestly, dear,” Marissa said, placing a hand on Spencer’s arm. “I’m more concerned Arabella has turned into such a gossip. One would think with Lily’s birth and her involvement in Rowan’s various enterprises, she’d be too busy to worry overmuch about me. My life is lacking in excitement. Some might even say I’m boring.”

  “You are the furthest thing from boring, Mother. In fact, it is my understanding,” a tiny snort left him, “that you are the life of the . . . house party.”

  Bloody Hell. These were not topics Marissa wished to discuss with her adult children. “Was it Brendan or Arabella who told you? The two of them gossip like a pair of elderly ladies over tea.”

  Spencer, her dangerous, deadly son, a former assassin and a man few would cross, was giggling like a schoolboy beside her. As if the idea his mother had been caught in a compromising situation with a gentleman was the most humorous thing he’d ever heard.

  “Brendan told me. He was appalled by your lack of discretion.” Another snicker.

  Damn it.

  “I wonder that your brother didn’t just put an announcement in the Times. He’s told nearly everyone,” Marissa said in a crisp tone. “I think Nick may be the only one who has not poked fun at me,” she said, referring to her nephew, the duke.

  Spencer took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m only teasing, Mother. You’ve every right to a life of your own. I’m actually glad you’re enjoying yourself. And though Brendan was a little upset at the time, he likes your . . . friend.” A giggle erupted from him.

  Marissa snatched back her hand. What an appalling conversation to have with Spencer, though she was relieved somewhat to know Brendan thought highly of Haddon. “It was only a dalliance, at any rate. It wasn’t as if I had an understanding with him.”

  Spencer cocked his head. “Is that why you’re squiring about Lord Haddon’s daughter? Because he was merely a dalliance?”

  Marissa swallowed and turned her attention back toward the play where the leading man was overacting in a dreadful manner and skipping across the stage.

  This really is a terrible performance.

  “His daughter, Jordana, is without the instruction of an older female. The poor thing is terribly awkward, having been raised in the country and without any guidance. I’ve only stepped in until Lord Haddon’s sister arrives in town to take charge of her.”

  At least, that was Marissa’s assumption. There had been no communication between her and Haddon since their argument in her parlor.

  I called him meaningless.

  An image of Haddon that day refused to leave her. He’d been not only angry but utterly wounded. Marissa pressed her fingers over her heart. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Hadn’t known until that moment that she could.

  “Well,” Spencer said, bringing Marissa’s attention back to their conversation, “your work with Arabella certainly speaks for itself.”

  “Your cousin is very happy. Her marriage is a love match though they had a bumpy start.”

  “I blame Malden for her improved manner and not you.” He shrugged. “Still, I was surprised to hear you’d taken on another project. One would think you busy enough with what you’re doing to Pendleton and his mother.”

  Marissa pursed her lips. She didn’t even bother to ask how he knew. It seemed she was to have no secrets at all. Now they would all be meddling. “And what is it you think I’m doing?” she whispered in his ear, not wanting Elizabeth to overhear her.

  Spencer lowered his voice. “Be quicker if I just slit his throat. I’ll make it look like an accident. Very clean. Unless you wish him to suffer.”

  Marissa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and shook her head. “No, dear. No murder.” She’d forgotten how bloodthirsty Spencer could be. “You promised Elizabeth you won’t do such a thing again.”

  Spencer scowled. “I did. But she might allow an exception given the circumstances.” He shot a glance at his wife who seemed enthralled with the play, though Marissa was certain Elizabeth was listening. “I heard Lady Pendleton’s a sot. Had a bit too much to drink the other night during a dinner party Pendleton held for some of his political allies.”

  A recounting of the incident had been in Tomkin’s last report to Marissa. The thought of Lydia drunkenly waving about a glass, drops of wine flying across to sprinkle the guests at a political dinner while her son watched in horror, was priceless.

  “Sent his mother up to her room before the last course was served. Can’t afford to have his betrothal to Miss Higgins ruined by Lady Pendleton’s drunkenness, though I understand the girl’s father has agreed to the match and the contracts signed. But I expect the betrothal is about to be broken despite Pendleton’s best efforts, isn’t it, Mother?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “It’s unfortunate you don’t have another son to ruin the girl for you.”

  “Your brother ruined Petra because he loved her. Her relationship with Pendleton had little to do with it.” Simon had moved quickly to secure Miss Higgins before Marissa had had an opportunity to stop the courtship, and now the contracts had been signed. He’d h
ave the money to pay off his markers, which Marissa now owned. She’d been careless, taunting Lydia at Arabella’s charity event and should have anticipated how Simon and his mother would react.

  I wasn’t thinking clearly because of Haddon.

  Her revenge had now become more complicated, but not insurmountable. A compromising position would have to be arranged for Miss Higgins with a gentleman who was not Viscount Pendleton. It would take some planning and must be executed flawlessly, but it was possible.

  Miss Higgins would only have to be coerced, gently, into betraying Simon, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. He hadn’t bothered to even court Miss Higgins, just her father. Any gentleman who paid the poor girl a bit of attention could likely seduce her.

  “It isn’t a love match, Spencer,” she said a bit defensively.

  In fact, the instrument of Miss Higgins’s future ruination was, at this moment, sitting in a box with Marissa’s friend, Adelia. She meant to make his acquaintance, in spite of Tomkin advising her against doing so. But she’d insisted. An ex-soldier, the gentleman in question had served with Tomkin’s son somewhere in Canada. Ironically, he happened to be the same gentleman tupping Adelia.

  The world was full of coincidences.

  “You’d ruin that poor girl just to get at Pendleton?” Spencer looked incredibly disapproving, which Marissa thought hypocritical of her son given his past.

  The guilt she’d been trying to ignore reared up.

  “I didn’t think you so moralistic, Spencer. Besides, how else am I to ensure they don’t marry?” Marissa did feel horrible she might harm Miss Higgins and destroy the girl’s reputation. She’d be forced to return to Cornwall in disgrace. “At any rate, I’m still working out the details.”

  “I’m hardly what one would consider a moral, upstanding citizen, as you well know. But you’ve always seen yourself as a protector of young ladies.” Spencer paused as his brows knit together. “I find it entirely out of character for you to harm one.” He took her hand and leaned close again until his lips brushed her ear. “I’ll get rid of him. And Lydia. I’d enjoy doing so. Elizabeth need never know. They had the audacity to murder your husband and steal from my brother.”

  “No,” she said softly. “I need to do this for Reggie.” She pressed his hand to her cheek. “And myself.”

  Spencer leaned back slightly, still scowling at her. “Very well. You’ve called in his markers?”

  “I did this morning. I’ve given him until the end of the month to come up with the sum, which he will not be able to do.”

  “Why not force him to pay immediately?”

  “I want them to suffer.” Marissa’s voice turned brittle. “Worry. Fret. I want Lydia stumbling about drunkenly, terrified of being poor. She’ll have a measure of relief thinking her son has bagged Miss Higgins. Which will make the loss of her that much sweeter.”

  Spencer regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.

  “What is it?” Marissa patted his hand.

  “I just never noticed how much you remind me of Grandfather.” He took her fingers, pressed a kiss to the tips and returned his attention to the play.

  15

  Thank goodness the lights were flickering for intermission. Marissa tapped her foot as she waited for the curtain to come down.

  “I believe I’ll stretch my legs and visit Lady Waterstone for a moment.” Marissa stood. “I did promise if I attended tonight, I would stop by her box.”

  Spencer glanced at her, disapproval still hovering at the edges of his mouth. Her son could go hang. How dare he condemn her actions while simultaneously offering to garrote Lydia with her string of pearls for Marissa. She wasn’t going to murder anyone.

  Marissa meant only to meet Captain Ross Nighter, the man Tomkin had hired. Perhaps she’d have an opportunity to speak to him and outline her expectations for Miss Higgins. She didn’t want the girl harmed in any way by Nighter.

  No, you’ll handle that part yourself.

  The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Reggie.

  Marissa wasn’t having any of it. She was conflicted enough about what she meant to do. She pushed the voice aside along with her guilt.

  When she arrived at Adelia’s box, her friend was sipping wine, her buxom figure draped over a large, bulky shape in a chair facing the stage.

  Captain Nighter.

  Marissa came forward. She’d not confided the circumstances of Reggie’s death to Adelia, only that his remains had been found. It was one thing to discuss lovers and children, quite another to inform your closest friend you were ruthlessly destroying one of London’s most brilliant politicians because his father had murdered your husband decades ago.

  Adelia wouldn’t understand Marissa’s need to avenge Reggie. Just as she wouldn’t comprehend why Marissa had refused Haddon.

  Damn it. Stop thinking of him.

  “Marissa, darling.” Adelia rushed forward, resplendent in an emerald gown which was the perfect foil for her auburn hair. “I was hoping you’d stop by. It’s a dull play, don’t you think?”

  “Atrocious,” Marissa agreed.

  “But the leading man is delicious, is he not? Who cares how poor his acting is?”

  “Adelia, you’re incorrigible. Aren’t you already otherwise engaged?” Marissa nodded in the direction of the chair facing the stage. She could just make out the profile of a man. Aquiline nose. Strong jaw.

  “Yes, but one must always be prepared for the inevitable,” she said. “Until then, I’m enjoying myself immensely.” She tugged at her bodice. “Nighter is very impatient, but I knew you’d be coming by.” Fluffing the lace at her neckline, she said, “He’s here, you know. I saw him as we came in. Those magnificent cheekbones are impossible to miss.”

  “Who is here?” Marissa said, pretending indifference.

  “Your Lord Haddon.” Adelia shook her head, the ringlets at her temples bouncing vivaciously. “You’ve taken the daughter but not him. Foolish girl.” Adelia wagged a finger. “Now he’s taken up with that little twit. He’s in Lord Stanton’s box tonight.”

  Marissa’s heart thudded painfully at the words. “Lady Christina Sykes?” It wasn’t unexpected, given the way their names were linked in the gossip columns. What was surprising was how much Marissa hated hearing Adelia confirm their relationship. Up until now, Marissa had been able to pretend it was nothing more than gossip.

  “And Miss Ashley. Or Miss Higgins.” Adelia laughed. “Your Lord Haddon certainly is making his way through this season’s debutantes. Though not we merry widows. I can’t seem to catch his eye though I’ve been trying. Perhaps he doesn’t care for redheads.”

  A low sound came from Marissa before she could stop it.

  “Well?” Adelia lowered her voice to a whisper. “You aren’t interested though why that is I can’t imagine. Haddon has that look to him. Every inch a man.” She wiggled her brows.

  “Adelia—” Marissa warned.

  Adelia leaned back, smug smile firmly in place. “Well, it does seem such a waste. But very well, I’ll keep my distance. Don’t be cross with me, darling.”

  Marissa’s fingers flexed. She was horrified to find both hands had been curled into fists. The thought of Adelia, or anyone else, bedding Haddon was so abhorrent, she nearly slapped her closest friend. She’d always assumed Spencer had gotten his bloodthirsty tendencies from his grandfather, the ‘Old Spider.’

  Apparently not.

  “You were saying something about Miss Higgins?”

  Adelia spared a glance in the direction of the balcony, where a disgruntled sigh filled the air from Captain Nighter. “Regina Higgins, the younger sister of the lady whose engagement to Viscount Pendleton will be announced soon. She’s developed a tendre for your handsome baron.”

  “Adelia.” A masculine grunt came from the chair. “I’m bored.”

  The dark outline stood, taking the shape of a towering, well-built gentleman.

  Adelia giggled and went over to take his arm, propell
ing him forward, but Nighter’s eyes remained on Marissa, one brow quirked in question.

  He was breathtakingly handsome, much more so than Marissa had expected, though Adelia had always displayed good taste in men, if not judgement. Candlelight glinted on the burnished gold of his close-cropped hair, dipping to trail across his exquisitely sculpted features. His mouth was full and wide—sensuous lips with just a hint of cruelty tipping up one end.

  He was quite possibly the most beautiful man Marissa had ever seen.

  It was Nighter’s eyes that tipped Marissa off and belied his angelic looks. Pale blue, like the crust of winter’s first snow, and just as devoid of any warmth. Or humanity. How old had Adelia said he was? Twenty-five? Much too young to have become so . . . soulless.

  Nighter stood over Marissa, his immense, muscular form dominating the small space of the box. The full lips twisted into a charming smile, chilly gaze lingering over her bosom before lifting to take in her face.

  Marissa stared down her nose at Captain Nighter. Or as much as was possible with a man of his height. She put aside her initial misgivings. Tomkin trusted the young captain, telling Marissa that Nighter was an honorable man who did dishonorable things.

  Like compromising a young girl for a purse of gold.

  If Nighter so much as curled a finger in Miss Higgins’s direction, the poor thing would melt into a puddle at his feet. Exactly what she was meant to do.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” The gravelly voice echoed in the box.

  “Captain Nighter, may I present my dearest friend, Lady Cupps-Foster.” Adelia twirled about nervously.

  Nighter didn’t bother to hide his blatant assessment of her. “My pleasure, Lady Cupps-Foster.” He took her hand politely, holding it a moment longer than necessary while Adelia fumed at his side.

  “Captain Nighter. How lovely to make your acquaintance.”