Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7)

by Kathleen Ayers

  “He’s aspiring to footman. I believe he was a groom not a week ago.”

  “Whatever he is, my opinion is the lad should be sacked for allowing a small case holding several bottles from an apothecary shop,” another smile hovered at his lips, “to fall on his employer’s head.

  Her hair dye. “Did any of the bottles break?” she asked cautiously, not wanting to disclose the contents.

  “No. Had you been paying the least attention to your own safety, you would know that.” His voice roughened. “Instead, you were too occupied watching me and Lady Christina Sykes. A girl who you find too young for me but one you are convinced will give me the heir you assume I require.”

  “All titled gentlemen require an heir.” She tried to pull her hand away.

  “And whom you claim, very firmly, you don’t care if I marry. Which I think we can both agree is a lie.”

  She tugged at her hand and he finally let go. “I wish to go home.” His observations made her sound ridiculous. Clasping her hands, she stared straight ahead, dismissing him.

  “Good Lord, really? Not only can you not dismiss me in my own home, but you aren’t going anywhere.” He ran a hand through his hair causing the ends to stick up like spikes. “You aren’t to be moved, according to Dr. Steward. At least for the night.”

  The night? She couldn’t stay with Haddon. “Just send a note—”

  “I’ve already sent word to your niece, Lady Malden. She declined to come and fetch you, by the way.”

  Well, this was mildly embarrassing.

  “Spencer, then.” She waved a hand. “Lord Kelso. He’ll come fetch me.”

  “Unfortunately, he can’t. He and Lady Kelso left this morning for Gray Covington. No one is coming to your rescue.”

  Admittedly, it was slightly thrilling to be held captive by Haddon, despite his sudden air of annoyance. She preferred his concerned demeanor of a moment ago. But at least he wasn’t coldly furious as he’d been at the theater, thinking Nighter was her lover.

  I don’t want another lover.

  “But I’ve none of my things,” Marissa said tartly. Lifting the covers, she was shocked to see not the clothing she’d worn to take Jordana shopping, but a silk robe. At least she still had her chemise on. She sniffed at the silk. It smelled of Haddon.

  “I appear to be wearing a man’s robe.”

  “You are. I’m thrilled to see the little knock on your head didn’t damage your eyesight.”

  “Does this garment belong to you?” Heat washed up her chest to her cheeks. Good grief. The physician had seen her wearing Haddon’s robe. “What will Dr. Steward think?”

  He didn’t answer, but a mischievous glint entered his eyes. “You are my guest for the night until I can be assured you are well.”

  “How kind.”

  “It’s the least I could do for my daughter’s elderly chaperone.”

  He tried to take her hand again, and she slapped at it.

  “Marissa, I’m teasing.” Haddon laughed. “I don’t give a fig about your age. I never have.” Leaning over, he took a strand of her hair between his fingers. “And while your precious little bottles from the apothecary weren’t damaged, you need not visit Mr. Coventry on my account.”

  “It isn’t for you. How presumptuous.” He needn’t know she’d only visited the apothecary for the first time after returning to London.

  “I prefer the silver in your hair. It’s beautiful, like a slice of moonlight on a dark night. And it matches my own.”

  Marissa’s eyes took in Haddon’s full head of hair, discerning only a sprinkling of gray. She’d never noticed before; why, she wasn’t sure. “You’re mistaken. I didn’t do it for you.”

  A soft chuckle came from his chest. “I must be. Forgive me.” Placing his hands on either side of her head, Haddon leaned over her as if he were about to bestow a kiss.

  Her lips parted, eyes falling shut as Marissa’s pulse raced in anticipation.

  The brush of his lips against the curve of her ear sent a slow, delicious burn down the length of her body. “Both myself and Dr. Steward were relieved,” he murmured, “to find out I was not a mere dalliance.”

  Marissa’s eyes snapped back open. Haddon’s mouth was inches from hers; he was so close, their noses nearly touched. She pushed at him weakly with both hands.

  Haddon caught her fingers, moving her hand until it lay over his chest.

  His heart thudded dully beneath her palm, each beat calling to her. “Get some rest,” he said, sliding off the bed. “I’ll check on you later.”

  Once Haddon left, Marissa stared at the closed door for the longest time. Fingers shaking, still warm and tingling from the feel of Haddon, she clasped the blanket, pulling it up to her chin, listening to the quiet sound of her own heart as it beat out the truth.

  Marissa had driven Haddon away in a useless attempt to save herself and avoid the thing she feared the most. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered.

  I’m in love with him.

  20

  Marissa awoke sometime later, groggy from the medicine the doctor had given her, which, she was certain, was laudanum. She kept her eyes closed as the remnants of her dream lingered at the edges of her mind.

  Reggie was sitting in his study, surrounded by rocks and fossils, digging away at a large chunk of gritstone on the table, determined to find something of value. He did so love his rocks.

  When she approached him, Reggie waved her away.

  “I’m working, Marissa. Go up to bed.”

  “But—" She started to protest.

  “I’ve left you something on your pillow.” He turned, inky black curls falling over his forehead, and smiled. “Off with you.”

  Marissa blew him a kiss before climbing up the stairs to their rooms at Somerton. As she moved closer to the landing at the top, the scene around her changed from the estate in the Peak District she’d lived in with Reggie, to her house in London. When she reached her chambers, Marissa threw open the door and rushed to the bed. Reggie was often absentminded, but he was good at surprises. He sometimes left her love notes, or a pretty stone he’d found. A small token, but one which was a reminder of how much he loved her.

  Marissa moved closer, parting the bed curtains.

  How odd. She didn’t remember having bed curtains.

  Haddon was in her bed, asleep. On her pillow.

  A tear slipped from beneath her lashes, and she lifted a finger to wipe it away.

  Damn it, Reggie. I see your point. I’m not an idiot.

  “You’re awake.”

  Marissa opened her eyes to see Jordana curled up in a chair at her bedside, an oversized book on her lap. Turning her head, Marissa read the title with a grimace. Discourses on the Nature and Care of Wounds.

  “Why can you not read poetry? Or a lurid romantic novel?” she said. “Wounds, Jordana?”

  “Despite your best efforts,” Jordana replied, closing the book with a snap, “I fear I will never be a proper young lady. But for you, I will try. If you don’t like this book, I have one with drawings of the human heart. Would you like me to show you?”

  “Goodness, no.” The very idea would compel Marissa to take another swallow of the medicine Doctor Steward had left behind, and she detested laudanum. No wonder she felt hazy.

  “How are you feeling? I’ve checked your pupils—”

  “You did what? While I was asleep?”

  “I overheard Doctor Steward tell Papa what to look for. Are you well?”

  “I am, but not so recovered to allow you to read to me from such a thing.” Marissa tilted her head in the direction of the book. “I fear I am squeamish at best.”

  “Only of medicinal things? I truly thought you might have a fit of apoplexy when I asked Mr. Coventry about the little sponges he sells. I wasn’t sure how I would explain that to my father.”

  “You shouldn’t even know of or ask about such things.”

  “I think you are incredibly brave, Marissa. You took me on and,” s
he said conspiratorially, “everyone in London has heard of your niece.”

  Marissa placed a hand over her eyes. “I fear my influence has not been beneficial.”

  “Do not blame yourself. One moment I had settled myself in the carriage—”

  “Leapt in,” Marissa corrected her. “Your jumping was reminiscent of a grasshopper.”

  Jordana bit her lip. “I may have startled the footman. George is new.”

  “His name is George?” Marissa tucked the name away.

  “Yes. And he has a nervous disposition to begin with—”

  “All the more reason for him not to be my footman. How do you know his name?” Marissa narrowed her eyes. Was Jordana flirting with a footman? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened.

  “Greenhouse told me. George is his nephew.”

  Well, that explains things.

  “I think he became more clumsy thinking he would displease you,” Jordana finished.

  “Well, I assure you, allowing my own purchases to assault me, like an attack from the heavens, did not endear him to me. Your father wants me to sack him.” Marissa shot her a look. “But I won’t.”

  “Papa was very upset,” Jordana said in a serious tone. “Very.”

  “I’m sure Lord Haddon was only concerned for your safety. You’d been entrusted to my care, and after seeing what my groom and driver managed today, chances are he won’t allow you out with me again.”

  “I doubt that.” Jordana placed her elbow on the arm of the chair, propping her chin up with one hand. The silvery eyes held a hint of mirth. “I’ve rarely seen him in such a state, which is saying something as he lives with me and my horrid sisters. Yes,” she leaned forward, “all the tales of us are true. Even so, Papa rarely raises his voice, not even when a slew of governesses quit or the dancing instructor he hired from London ran out of the house. But that was because Poppy stuck a frog down Mr. Monograt’s trousers.”

  “I see.”

  “You wouldn’t have liked Mr. Monograt,” Jordana rushed to assure her.

  “Possibly. Lord Haddon possesses a patient and calm demeanor.” No one was more appreciative of such a character trait than Marissa.

  “I would not have called him patient or calm earlier today.”

  Marissa plucked at the coverlet. She didn’t care for the turn of this conversation. “I’m surprised he noticed us at all. But how fortuitous he was there.”

  The silver of Jordana’s eyes shifted, making her appear much older than she was. “I’ve only ever seen him run so fast one other time,” she said matter-of-factly. “When Martie fell from her horse while riding bareback.”

  “Bareback? That is hardly something a young lady should be doing.”

  Haddon had run to her aid? In the middle of Bond Street?

  “We Ives girls are not proper young ladies.” Jordana blinked innocently. “Though I suppose you will change all that.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Jordana,” she stuttered. “I can’t imagine I’ll be involved at all with your sisters, though I should like to meet them. Once your aunt arrives, I doubt she’ll need my assistance though I’m happy to help her where necessary.”

  Jordana rolled her shoulders, a careless gesture Marissa had often seen Haddon make. “Papa wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch you.”

  Oh dear.

  “Everyone on Bond Street saw. Even horrid Lady Christina Sykes and Lady Stanton. Another gentleman rushed to your aid after watching you fall. Papa threatened him with bodily harm if he so much as laid one finger on your skirts. Lady Stanton was horrified. Lady Christina nearly burst into tears. She kept asking her mother why Lord Haddon seemed so concerned for my chaperone.”

  This was far worse than she could have imagined.

  Jordana leaned forward. “Papa ordered your driver to take your packages and return home. He bent down, in full view of everyone, and picked you up in his arms and carried you down the street to his carriage. People were gawking. A small crowd may even have gathered. Papa didn’t spare a glance in my direction to make sure I was following behind him.”

  “I see.” My God, Haddon basically abducted me from Bond Street in broad daylight.

  “Once we were settled in our carriage, I was shocked when Papa held you in his lap all the way home. I would go so far as to say he cradled you. Rather improperly, I might add.”

  Marissa swallowed. “Well, I was unconscious and could not correct him. I rarely faint but I suppose with the shock of the boxes falling atop me . . .” She stared right back at Jordana. “I shall bring him to task for creating a scene.”

  “I would call it more a spectacle.” Jordana sat back with a look of satisfaction.

  “You’re enjoying this far too much.” All of London was probably aware of what had occurred on Bond Street, and if not now, they surely would be this evening. Everyone would know she was at Haddon’s and speculate on their relationship.

  A tiny thrill ran through her.

  Very much like a Viking marauder. One who saved my shoe and my hat. And now me.

  “I’m fairly certain my father won’t be marrying Lady Christina.”

  “The future is not set in stone.” But Jordana was probably right. Lord Stanton would never allow his daughter to marry Haddon under the circumstances, even if Haddon wished it. And Marissa didn’t think he did. “You should not sound so pleased, Jordana.” It appeared the scandal she’d wished to avoid had found her anyway.

  Although it was satisfying to know Lady Christina’s hopes had been dashed by an elderly widow.

  Marissa’s stomach growled. Loudly. “Jordana, dear, did I miss supper?”

  “I’m afraid you did.” She stood and clasped the large book to her chest. “I’m to let Papa know the moment you are awake.”

  “I’m sure that isn’t necessary.” Haddon had staked his claim on Marissa in front of a large percentage of the ton. It was wildly inappropriate. And terribly romantic. He’d declared his intentions toward her. Publicly.

  There will be no going back now.

  The soft flutter started again in her chest. His presence in her life was either going to give her apoplexy or keep her heart beating. She thought the latter.

  “I don’t wish to bother him,” Marissa said.

  “It isn’t any bother. I’m sure he’ll be up directly. And I’ll have something for you to eat sent up.” She nodded to a small valise next to the bed which Marissa recognized as hers. “And a maid.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Jordana paused before the door. “I am grateful you weren’t seriously hurt, Marissa.” Her gaze fell to the floor as her toe drew a design in the rug. “Even though I’ve not grown used to society or London, I find I have grown used to you. You’ve made London bearable for me.” The shy, almost tentative smile crossing her lips transformed Jordana’s entire face, giving Marissa a glimpse into the striking woman Jordana would one day become.

  Jordana is lovely, and best of all, she doesn’t know it.

  “I’ll send a maid right up.” Jordana shut the door softly behind her.

  Both father and daughter have such a hold on my heart.

  Marissa turned her eyes back to the perusal of the hideous canopy above her head, wiping another tear from her cheek.

  21

  A tray arrived a short time later, a bowl of hearty soup and fresh-baked bread with butter. Marissa felt immeasurably better after eating and after the arrival of a maid who brushed out her hair and helped her see to her needs. Her ankle felt much better as did the ache in her head.

  “My lady,” the young maid said. “Shall I help you into this?” She held up a plain cotton nightgown from the valise Marissa’s own maid, Felice, had sent over.

  Marissa looked down at Haddon’s robe which she was still wearing. She’d rolled up the sleeves and belted it tightly to help hide the fact she’d discarded her chemise to wash earlier. Toying with the sash, Marissa shook her head.

  A decision of sorts had been
reached between her and Haddon. Unspoken, but there, all the same. Marissa had known from the second she’d awoken to Haddon at her bedside, holding her hand with no concern over Dr. Steward observing them.

  The dream she’d had earlier came back to her. Reggie obviously approved.

  “I believe I’ll stay in the robe.”

  The maid only nodded and began folding up the nightgown to place back in the valise.

  “My ankle is paining me,” Marissa hastened to explain to the girl. “I’m much more comfortable as I am.”

  “Very good, my lady.” The maid bobbed and left the room.

  Once the girl left, Marissa’s head fell back on the pillows. A delicious scent lingered on the silk as if she were enfolded in Haddon’s embrace. For the first time in years, at least in recent memory, Marissa could do nothing but allow someone to take care of her.

  It was a novel concept, one she’d never been faced with before.

  Her first husband, Kelso, had been such a flagrant rake, he’d never spared a thought for her comfort or well-being. Shortly after their marriage, he’d left Marissa in charge of everything; it was Marissa who had ended up managing Kelso’s holdings as well as the household.

  A blessing, as it turned out. It had prepared her for the future.

  Once she had given birth to Spencer, she had rarely seen her husband at all.

  Reggie, bless him, had truly loved her, but even so, she’d always come in second to his love of rocks and minerals. When he’d disappeared, she had been suddenly left to manage the affairs of both her young sons until they could do so on their own. When her brother and his wife had died, Marissa had taken on the care of Nick and Arabella, her niece and nephew. Those years had passed in a blur of activity.

  Cupps-Foster, Marissa barely remembered. Or her reasons for marrying him. He had never shown her the slightest regard once they’d wed, not that she would have welcomed it.

  None of her husbands, even Reggie, would have carried her off as if she were something rare and precious, creating a scandal in the process.

  Something told Marissa Haddon didn’t care.