A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come.”
The object of her thoughts came through the door. His hair was ruffled, coat discarded, shirt unbuttoned to show the lightly tanned column of his throat.
Her heart skipped a beat as it did often in Haddon’s presence. She was getting used to the feeling.
A decanter of amber liquid dangled by the neck from one of his hands. The other held a lone crystal glass.
Marissa pulled her eyes from that delicious triangle of exposed skin up to his face.
He kicked the door shut with a booted foot and grinned at her. “Would you like some company?” Cradling the decanter and glass, he turned back to the door and the click of the lock sounded. “I’ve brought whisky.” He held up the decanter.
Abducting her from the street. Now locking her in. Plying her with spirits.
Her chest ached in the most delightful way. I adore him.
“I’m not certain you should be in my rooms so late at night,” she answered primly.
“I have discreet servants.” A dark brow lifted. “Reasonably discreet.”
“I’m not sure it matters given your lack of judgement earlier today. Jordana related what occurred. You caused quite a scene.”
His broad shoulders rippled with indifference. “Perhaps I did behave a bit . . . strongly. My concern for your welfare was probably evident.”
“You threatened another gentleman who sought to give me aid.”
A scowl of displeasure crossed Haddon’s lovely mouth. “He was peering up your skirts. And I didn’t think you’d wish to be groped by a complete stranger.”
“As opposed to being groped by you? I’m sure he only meant to assist me. There is also the matter of this robe.”
“Which you’ve chosen to continue wearing.” Satisfaction shone in the silver eyes.
“I want to believe one of your maids relieved me of my clothing upon my arrival in your home. That the same maid put me in this robe before the arrival of Dr. Steward.”
“You may believe what you wish.”
Though Marissa already knew the answer, she asked the question anyway. “Did you undress me, Haddon? And then put me in your robe?”
“I’ve already seen all the important parts.” His eyes shifted to her breasts, lingering on the place where the robe parted. “Despite your futile attempts to hide yourself with an unlimited supply of strategically placed pillows, sheets and poorly knit blankets.” Haddon nodded toward the chair his daughter had vacated a short time ago. “May I?”
“Please.” Marissa took in every delicious inch of him. Her outrage at his actions was all an act and Haddon knew it. She’d never felt so . . . cherished by a man.
“Is the décor still giving you a headache?”
“And my stomach to sour.” She nodded toward the decanter. “I’m certain some whisky would help.”
He poured her a generous amount in the glass and slid to sit on the bed.
Marissa didn’t object, welcoming his weight next to her.
Bringing the glass to her lips, he stopped. “You haven’t taken any more of Dr. Steward’s special medicine, have you?”
“No, and it’s laudanum. Nothing special about it. I don’t care for the stuff.”
“Nor do I. I think you’ll like this much better.” Haddon tilted the glass.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the taste and the feel of Haddon next to her. There was something so intimate about the way he liked to share a glass with her. The whisky was delicious, with a hint of smoke and caramel. “Mmm.”
Opening her eyes to see Haddon watching her, Marissa’s breath hitched at the look in his eyes. There was desire in his gaze, but something else as well, an emotion that sent her own heart thumping hard against her ribcage.
Haddon shifted his focus to the bed’s canopy. “My mother updated things after Anne and I were married, thinking we would spend part of the year in London. But Anne hated town and this house even more. She’d no interest in updating a house she never planned to live in.” He gave her a rueful look before taking a mouthful of the whisky for himself. “So you have my mother’s poor taste to blame for this monstrosity.”
“You’ve told me your wife was unwell. At Brushbriar.”
“She was sickly even as a child. I brought Anne here after we married, to show her the sights, but we left after only a few weeks. She never came again. Eventually, I became tired of asking. The air bothered her lungs. And society irritated her sensibilities.”
“I think that’s the point of society. It offends us all.”
Haddon’s mouth twitched while he held the whisky to her lips again. “My late wife had many lovely character traits, but humor wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t anything like you if that is your question.”
“You find me amusing?” Marissa pretended affront.
“You amuse me. There’s a slight difference.”
“Well, you aren’t like any of my three husbands either, were you to ask the question.”
Haddon chuckled, his voice low. “I assumed as much; there was no need to ask.” He took a swallow of whisky. “Anne and I weren’t compatible in the least which never changed over the course of our relationship. She tolerated the marriage bed only because she loved children and wanted them. She considered it her duty to endure my . . . attentions.”
Having been the recipient of Haddon’s attentions in the bedroom, Marissa couldn’t imagine any woman merely tolerating him. It must have been difficult for a man of Haddon’s passionate nature to have been married to a woman who most would describe as frigid. No wonder he'd come to London so often and indulged himself.
Marissa found herself irrationally angry at a dead woman.
“You were lonely.” She and Haddon were kindred spirits in many ways. The bond she’d felt with him, so apparent from the first time he touched her, strengthened, pulling her tight. Marissa was finally ready to accept such bondage.
“Lonely?” The wicked little grin returned but didn’t reach his eyes. “With four girls? Perish the thought.”
He was making light of his marriage for her benefit, not wanting her sympathy, perhaps. She understood that better than anyone after being widowed three times. “I was lonelier in my marriages at times than I am now. It isn’t unusual.” Difficult to admit, but true, nonetheless. She thought Haddon had probably tried to have a real marriage with Anne and had been rebuffed for his efforts.
“I took advantage of this house by coming to London as often as possible. I spent much of my time here, though obviously it never occurred to me to redecorate. I’d no idea I’d one day be judged for it.” He winked at her.
“Your reputation precedes you,” she said. From what she could glean from the gossips, Haddon had cut a wide but discreet swath through the ladies of the ton, never once maligning his wife. Most thought he’d been widowed years earlier since he rarely mentioned Anne, only his daughters.
His heat-filled gaze flitted over her, touching her skin and sending a warm tingle down between her thighs. “I have not been that man for a very long time, Marissa, if that has been your concern.”
“Oh, I have experience with rakes.” Another excuse she’d given herself not to become involved with Haddon. But common rogues and despoilers don’t carry off notorious widows in full sight of the young lady all of London is certain they’ll offer for.
Haddon was nothing if not intentional in his actions.
“More?” He filled the glass up again from the decanter.
Marissa nodded, waiting for him to bring the whisky to her lips. “You don’t frighten me, Haddon.”
“Good.”
She took a sip of the whisky. “According to Jordana, I’m fearless. She gave me such a compliment after I watched her question the apothecary, Mr. Coventry, on the various methods a woman can use to prevent conception. She must have asked him a hundred questions alone just on sponges.”
Two tiny spots of pink brushed against his sharp cheek
bones before Haddon swallowed the remainder of the glass.
“What am I to do with her?”
“Don’t be distressed.”
“Learning how to mix a poultice is one thing. Please tell me she did not ask after things a gentleman might—”
“I am sorry to tell you that is not the case.” Marissa bit her lip. She didn’t think Haddon would appreciate her amusement at the moment. He looked terribly distraught. “Dissuading her won’t work, Haddon. She is very determined. And please say nothing to her. Jordana trusts me to keep her secret. I do not wish to abuse that trust.”
“I agree. I’ll say nothing. But . . . sponges?”
Marissa tried not to giggle as she watched Haddon pour himself another finger of whisky. A languorous heat was spreading across her chest and through her limbs. She’d missed this, just talking to him, even more so than the physical aspect of their relationship, though that was marvelous.
“How are your quarries? Limestone, correct?”
The flicker of a shadow crossed his face, but it passed quickly. His lips turned up in his patent mischievous grin.
What a devil he must have been as a young boy.
“You were listening at Duckworth’s. Even with Enderly salivating all over you.”
“Ogling my bosom, perhaps, but I didn’t notice any drooling.”
A deep, masculine laugh echoed in the room as Haddon threw back his head in amusement.
The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled deliciously when he laughed. How could any woman find bedding him no more than a duty? He was handsome, yes, but it was the parts no one could see which made Haddon so beautiful.
Desire throbbed in a steady rhythm between her thighs. “Enderly no longer calls on me.” It seemed important to relay the information.
He stopped laughing abruptly, his eyes on her darkening to pewter. “I know.”
“You think you know me very well, don’t you, Haddon?”
“I never meant to marry Lady Christina Sykes.” He shifted off the side of the bed to set the glass of whisky on the side table, before settling next to her again. This time, he was so close her thigh brushed against his. Fingers traced the outline of her leg through the coverlet, circling her knee and trailing down her calf.
“Why haven’t you discarded my robe yet?”
Marissa looked up at the paisley swirling above her head.
“I doubt you’ll find the answer in the bed canopy.”
“The pattern is akin to tea leaves. The answer will appear at any moment.”
Another deep chuckle. “Christ, you’re difficult.” Haddon bent and began to remove his boots. “So stubborn. But worth the trouble.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Taking off my boots.” He held up one hand. “I know what you’re thinking; wouldn’t we be far more comfortable in my room? The answer is yes. The bed is larger and the mattress softer. There aren’t any outdated swirls of paisley to give you fits. But I’d have to carry you down the hall. No telling who we’d run into. I think one scandal today is probably enough.”
“Haddon, you can’t possibly mean to . . .” She sputtered, eyes widening in appreciation as Haddon tossed off his shirt. A line of muscle flexed in the firelight. Oh, she’d forgotten how bloody amazing he looked without clothes. She shut her eyes. “Jordana is home. And I’m . . . injured.”
“If you keep your eyes shut, Marissa, you’ll miss all the best parts,” he said suggestively. “Parts you rather enjoy.”
Heat rose up Marissa’s chest to flood her cheeks. “Are you going to ravish me?” she whispered a bit too hopefully at the sound of his trousers dropping to the floor.
“Yes.” He flung the sheets aside and stretched out next to her, naked and beautiful, the heat of him bleeding through the thin silk of the robe. “If ever,” he paused, nuzzling one breast, “there was a woman in dire need of ravishing . . .” Haddon inhaled sharply, taking in her scent. “Adored.” His teeth grazed the side of her neck. “Savored.” The tip of his tongue slid along the crease of her lips. “It is you, Marissa.”
“Yes.” Her fingers caught in the thick silk of his hair, tugging his mouth to hers.
Haddon’s lips met hers, in a slow, lingering kiss as if he were memorizing the shape of her mouth. Tasting her. Savoring her as he’d promised. There was infinite patience at the press of his lips. A slow burn of exquisite longing like the warm embers of a fire that would burn for hours with very little stoking.
“You’ve led me on a merry chase,” he said as one hand found its way into the robe to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you ready to let me catch you?”
“I’m not a bloody fox or a rabbit, Haddon.” She was ready for him to catch her, Marissa just wasn’t sure what being caught would mean. All the posturing and excuses she’d made about their relationship had been nothing but a waste of time, time she could have spent with Haddon. Even if he left her—when he left her, she corrected herself—she still couldn’t bring herself to regret being with him.
“Answer the question,” he said roughly, pinching the tightening peak of her nipple.
A tear ran down Marissa’s cheek though she tried to stop it. “Yes.”
He kissed the tear from her cheek. “Don’t, Marissa.”
When his mouth fell on hers this time, there was little gentleness, only the sense that Haddon would feast on her. Devour her. His tongue traced the outline of her lips until Marissa’s mouth opened.
Haddon groaned, his tongue sinking between her lips to curl around hers.
Marissa arched against him, her fingers sliding up to cup his scalp, as she struggled to get closer to him. The heat from his mouth spread outward, over her chest and down across her stomach, slowly twisting into an irresistible hum of pleasure between her thighs. She rubbed herself against Haddon, begging him to ease the ache.
How in the world did I keep myself from him?
He flung back the covers, staring down at her. “No more fucking games, Marissa.”
“No,” she whimpered as his finger slid between her folds. “I promise.”
Two large fingers sunk into her, thrusting slowly as his thumb teased around the sensitive bud demanding his attention even as he nipped at the slope of her neck.
The sting sharpened the pleasure building within her to a point, hastening the rush of sensation. His thumb moved in a torturous circle, ignoring the flesh begging for his touch. His lips moved down to her breast, sucking at the taut peak of her nipple. The hard length of him burned into her thigh.
Marissa rocked her hips up into his hand.
“We are not a dalliance.” Haddon’s teeth grazed the tip of her breast. “Do not ever dismiss me, or us, again.”
“I won’t.” She was panting. “Please.” He had a way of stoking her desire until Marissa became mindless with need.
“Not yet, my love.”
Her heart swelled at the endearment, wanting to bask in his adoration for as long as he would give it to her. “Please, Haddon.” Unsurprisingly, he’d managed to unbelt the robe and push the silk aside without her objecting. And he’d not doused the lamp.
Marissa didn’t care.
Teeth nipping at her delicate skin, Haddon moved down to her stomach, while his fingers thrust gently inside her, deliberately not touching her there in any other way.
“You are a terrible man.” She tried to rub herself against him, anything to relieve the tension tightening her body.
“Indeed, I can be. But I want all of you, Marissa. Every delicious, elderly matron inch.” His mouth hovered just above her mound.
“Horrible.” She gasped as his tongue dipped between her legs.
“There will be no more hiding from me.” His tongue teased her, lightly touching the tiny bud, just enough to keep Marissa on the precipice until she was thrusting herself shamelessly into his mouth.
“No.” Her breathing was ragged. “I promise. Only—” The rest of her words dis
appeared into a loud moan. He’d sucked the bit of flesh into his mouth as his fingers curled inside her.
A thousand bits of light appeared before Marissa’s eyes, like the stars in the sky at night, as she arched off the bed. Her thighs tightened, and Haddon growled, pushing one of her legs over his shoulder. His mouth and fingers coaxed her through every bit of her climax, drawing out her pleasure until Marissa lay panting against the bed.
“My lord, but you’re good at that.”
“Does your ankle hurt? Your head pain you?” His voice was rough. Aroused. He wasn’t close to being done with her.
“No. I feel—”
“Good.” Haddon flipped her over on her stomach. His mouth trailed down the length of her spine until he reached her buttocks. “Get on your knees, my love.”
Legs still shaking from her release only moments ago, Marissa did as he asked.
With no warning, Haddon grabbed her around the waist, sinking deep inside her with one hard thrust. He paused, his breath ragged against her ear, and sat back slightly, pulling her with him.
Then Haddon ravished her. Thoroughly. Completely.
It wasn’t gentle. There was little tenderness. Marissa sensed every thrust was meant to possess her. Claim her. Haddon was always demanding in bed, but this was something different. Something primal. As if he really was a Viking raider who had taken her captive.
Marissa’s own arousal barely had time to retreat before his fingers found her again while he whispered, in great detail, all the wicked things he meant to do with her. Every word brought her closer to the edge, but Haddon never allowed her release. When she began to beg, his thrusts became slower, more controlled.
He turned her head, taking her mouth in a slow sensuous kiss. She tasted herself and the whisky on his lips along with all the hunger this man had for her.
“Marissa.” Haddon thrust once more, stroking her flesh until Marissa sobbed as the climax rushed through her body. She heard herself cry out his name over and over, feeling the rush of warmth within her as he found his own release.
Haddon fell to the side with a masculine grunt of satisfaction, pulling Marissa with him. He stayed buried within her, his heart beating madly.
Marissa gave a deep sigh of contentment. Her limbs were languid, weak, her body softening and molding itself to his. She felt completed in a way she never had before, resting in the circle of Haddon’s arms.
Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7) Page 19
