Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7)

by Kathleen Ayers

  Trent swished the whisky around in his mouth, letting the taste soak into his gums. Bitch. “Is there a point to this discussion? My personal life is truly none of your concern.”

  “May I be direct?” Her fingers fluttered delicately over the teacup.

  “Please do. I’d like this visit to be as short as possible,” Trent replied smoothly. Would Pendleton miss Lydia if Trent lost his temper and just snapped her neck? He thought not.

  “My, how things have changed. You used to be much more cordial. But you wanted money then, which we gave you.”

  Trent drained the remainder of his glass. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Marissa Tremaine. I find it easier to call her by the name she was born with than the multitude of names she’s carried since then. I’m almost embarrassed for you, Trent. You’ve made such a fool out of yourself over her in public. All of London is twittering about the scandal brewing. Pretending she was your daughter’s chaperone.” Lydia shook her head. “I fear Lord Stanton will never give you his daughter now, not when you’ve made such an ass out of yourself.”

  “Fortunate, because I never had any intention of offering for her.” He strolled back to the sideboard. “I’d ask if you’d like some brandy, Lydia, but I can already smell that you’ve helped yourself. I hope you’re enjoying it.”

  Lydia’s ghastly white complexion paled further. Her left eye twitched. The teacup rattled against the saucer.

  Trent really didn’t want the added scandal of Lydia dropping dead in his drawing room. She didn’t look well.

  “I would thank you for finally repaying the great favor my husband bestowed on you so many years ago when you were so desperate—”

  “As I recall, Lydia, you advised John not to help me. Anne relayed how you raged about your parlor insisting he might as well have set the money on fire than give it to me. I believe you told your husband I’d be impoverished in a fortnight.”

  “John was far too sympathetic when Anne came begging. He always had a soft spot for her, sickly, weak kitten that she was.” She glared at Trent. “The point is you owe my family a debt.”

  “Which I’ve repaid. Pendleton has the funds to pay off his markers.” Trent swallowed a mouthful of whisky.

  “A truly honorable man wouldn’t expect his money to be returned.”

  A slow burn of anger caused Trent’s fingertips to flutter against his thigh. So that was why she was here; she expected Trent to forgive the loan to Pendleton, even though the sum he’d advanced him was far more than what John had given Trent years ago to save the quarry.

  “An honorable man wouldn’t have such a sum in dozens of markers all over London.”

  Lydia’s cheeks turned a blotchy red. It wasn’t a becoming look. Hard to believe she’d once been considered a great beauty.

  “Did you know Marissa is trying to take the Blue John mine from us?”

  The words startled Trent. “Why would she do such a thing?” he said, confused at Lydia’s declaration. “Perhaps you’ve had too much brandy.”

  Lydia’s lips pursed into a tiny hill, as if reluctant to speak, which he doubted, or she wouldn’t be here. Brandy fumes filled the air as she opened her mouth.

  “Her late husband is reason enough. Reggie was jealous of our luck in finding Blue John on our land. He came to my husband with some fairy tale,” Lydia waved her hand around, “that the mine was actually on his property. Shortly before he disappeared, Reggie even approached John, insisting he’d found a survey, of all things.” Lydia chuckled as if it were the most insane thought in the world. “It was obviously a forgery. A poor forgery, at that, which only fed Reggie’s jealousy and delusions. Reggie was always a little addled. He and John argued. Then Reggie disappeared.”

  Trent’s eyes narrowed on Lydia, watching her twitch about like a drunken squirrel as she sipped her tea. “I’m not as well-versed as I should be in the law in regard to such things, but if the survey is such an obvious forgery, how is it possible Marissa could challenge you for the mine? Surely a forgery would be thrown out of court. And Reggie has been dead for years. What would be the point of doing such a thing now?”

  Lydia jerked again. “Marissa has her powerful family and the Duke of Dunbar’s solicitors behind her. Forgery or not.”

  “Again, I have to ask, why in the world would she be interested in doing such a thing?” Marissa’s family was so wealthy, a Blue John mine would be no more than a pittance to them.

  “She blames us for Reggie’s death. The truth has become twisted in her mind. Madness does run in her family.” Lydia was warming to her topic. “She’s even gone so far as to accuse John of murder. Can you imagine my husband guilty of committing such a crime?”

  Trent could. The previous Lord Pendleton had been a greedy man.

  “Until Reggie’s bones were discovered, we all thought he’d run off with some gypsy and left Marissa. I’m still not sure that isn’t what happened.”

  Trent kept his face carefully composed, refusing to give away his thoughts. Marissa was the furthest thing from being mad. “I’m still not sure why—”

  “She wishes to punish us.” Lydia’s voice raised an octave. “Though we aren’t to blame for Reggie’s death. I came here to warn you, Haddon. Marissa is capable of great treachery. She might even be dangerous to you and your daughters.”

  “I seriously doubt that.” The very thought was ridiculous.

  “Did you know she deliberately ruined Catherine’s engagement to Mr. Kendicott?”

  “Kendicott and Catherine?” The very idea boggled the mind. Kendicott was a crude, often foul-mouthed son of a pig farmer who’d inherited a fortune from his late wife. “Even if you are correct, how in the world would Marissa accomplish such a thing? You’re assigning her a great amount of deviousness of which you’ve no proof.”

  “Poor Catherine was broken-hearted.” Lydia sniffed.

  Trent thought Catherine was more likely dismayed at losing Kendicott’s fortune rather than the man himself.

  “You don’t know her at all.”

  “I still fail to see how I am involved in your quarrel with Marissa. If there is a survey or a dispute about the Blue John mine it isn’t any of my affair and should be handled by the courts.” Trent set down his glass. He wanted the coiled snake drinking brandy out of his mother’s china teacup to depart the premises. He needed time to sort out Lydia’s words. “I’ll see you out.”

  “I fear you are deeply involved, dear boy.” Lydia pierced him with a brutal look, not bothering to move from the sofa even though Trent was showing her the door. “As I told you, Marissa had no reservations about ruining my daughter’s courtship with Mr. Kendicott, and she would have no compunction about doing the same to my son.”

  “Her son fell in love with Petra Grantly. I doubt she orchestrated—”

  “I’m not talking about that little tart,” Lydia spat out. “Morwick is welcome to her. Yesterday as I rode through the park, I spied Miss Higgins, my son’s new betrothed, sitting on a bench and conversing with a handsome gentleman who, after making inquiries, I’m told is Captain Ross Nighter.”

  Trent turned at the mention of the name. Nighter was the gentleman Marissa had been conversing with at the theater. The one he’d accused her of having a tryst with. Lady Waterstone had assured Trent when he’d called on her that wasn’t the case.

  An odd choking sound came from Lydia. It took a moment for Trent to realize the horrible noise was laughter. “I see you know the name, Trent. Nighter is a flagrant womanizer. A dishonorable man, though he served his country. He is also engaged in a torrid affair with Lady Waterstone, Marissa’s closest friend. I am not comfortable with the coincidence.”

  “I think you are drawing conclusions where there ought to be none.”

  “Captain Nighter is a problem for us both, Trent. If you think for one moment Nighter striking up a friendship with Miss Higgins who is betrothed to my son is mere coincidence, then you are a bigger fool than I originally though
t. I see Marissa’s hand in this accidental friendship and unless you implore her to stop this nonsense immediately, we will all end up begging in the streets. She’ll attempt to ruin the girl publicly, in front of as much of the ton as possible.” Lydia put a finger to her lips. “Lady Ralston’s ball, I think. Everyone in London is invited to hear Lord and Lady Ralston announce the engagement of their daughter.”

  Trent said nothing, wishing he could simply toss Lydia out the window. Perhaps start the day over and avoid her visit altogether.

  “You must implore her to cease these attempts to punish me and my son when we’ve done nothing wrong.” Lydia’s eyes gleamed with righteous indignation.

  Trent doubted that was completely true. She watched him far too closely, obviously greedy in her desire for him to believe every word she spoke. Trent’s mind was already connecting the threads of her wild tale, picking out the pieces which held a ring of truth.

  Marissa’s absolute hatred of Pendleton on full display at Duckworth’s.

  “What makes you believe it is Marissa who is behind all your problems, Lydia?” But Trent’s gut told him even before she answered. Hadn’t he sensed a hint of her father, the ‘Old Spider’, dwelling inside Marissa?

  A brittle laugh bubbled up her throat along with the fumes of the brandy in her tea. “Don’t be foolish, Trent. Who do you think bought up all of my son’s markers to begin with?”

  Several days after Lydia’s visit, Trent walked into Marissa’s private parlor where a small table had been set for an intimate dinner. A fire burned and popped in the hearth, casting a cozy glow over the entire room and the woman waiting for him.

  His heart thumped hard twice in a row, as it always did at the sight of Marissa. At times, he felt like a youth in the throes of his first crush, except this was no youthful infatuation. Nor was his feeling for her simple lust. It had gone far, far beyond an uncomplicated physical relationship.

  Trent was madly and completely in love with her.

  His passion for Marissa flowed over him, imbuing his entire being. She made him whole even though Trent had never thought his soul lacking in any way. Looking down into her eyes, glowing like the rarest sapphires, he saw the hint of the hardness glittering in the depths of blue. He was not so foolish to think Marissa was not her father’s daughter. Trent was attracted to the ruthless determination he sensed inside her as much as the generous and giving heart beating in her chest.

  Trent just hadn’t thought he’d witness her bloodthirsty nature firsthand.

  Despite Lydia’s depiction of Marissa as a deranged woman whose grief over her late husband had unhinged her, Trent knew the truth was far more complicated. He’d heard the stories of how Marissa mourned, wearing black for years, suffering the rumors that Reggie had run off with a gypsy or fled to America with his mistress. But there were two sides to every story. Sometimes three. He’d thought to write to Morwick, Marissa’s son, for the truth. But getting a letter to Morwick would take far too long. So he went to the only other person in London who might be able to give him the truth.

  Pendleton.

  Christ, he wished he hadn’t.

  “Roasted chicken,” Marissa announced with a smile. “A favorite of yours, I think.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Jordana told you, I suppose?” None of what Pendleton had confessed to Trent changed his feelings for Marissa. He was pleased she’d worn her hair loose tonight, streaming down her back, the streaks of silver shining in the firelight. Something else Marissa had done for him. No more visiting Mr. Coventry for bottles of hair dye.

  It was a subtle, yet firm announcement of her commitment to him.

  “Possibly,” she said. Standing on her tiptoes, Marissa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth with enthusiasm. There was no overt seduction in her manner, only joy at his presence.

  “You missed me, I think,” he whispered against her cheek, hugging her tightly to his chest.

  “I did.” Her fingers trailed down his jaw. “Very much, though I saw you only two days ago.” A light blush infused her cheeks at having to admit how much she longed for him, as he did for her.

  Trent’s chest squeezed painfully as he looked down into her lovely features, still struggling to accept the truth of Marissa.

  Pendleton had given up everything when Trent had appeared on his doorstep, with little reluctance. It was almost as if the burden was too much for him to carry any longer. Much of the viscount’s usual smug behavior had been wiped from his features as he’d relayed his tale.

  Trent had been so hoping the death of Marissa’s late husband had been accidental.

  The previous Lord Pendleton, John, had indeed murdered his best friend in cold blood. While John had pulled the trigger, it had been Lydia who’d planned everything, right down to the cave where John would hide the body. It had also been Lydia who’d had the foresight to spread the rumors Reggie had run off with another woman so the search for him would eventually end.

  Lydia had done all of that while visiting Marissa daily to offer her comfort. Holding Marissa’s hand while Marissa had wept on her shoulder.

  Evil, spiteful bitch.

  A fierce, almost violent wave of protectiveness for Marissa rolled over him.

  My poor love.

  Trent tucked a dark curl of Marissa’s hair behind one ear. “I missed you as well. I adore roasted chicken. And you.”

  The survey was real, not a fake, the relief at finally telling the truth evident on Pendleton’s face. Lydia, in one of her brandy-fueled stupors, had told her son everything, but by then, Pendleton was already on his way up the political ladder and he’d grown accustomed to the wealth the Blue John mine provided to his family. Still, the guilt had eaten away at him. Pendleton was stealing from his neighbor and had been for years. His parents were murderers.

  Lydia insisted her son keep his mouth shut. Opening it would only result in the loss of his brilliant career.

  “I did warn my mother, Haddon. Marissa surely knew the truth after her husband’s remains were discovered. Her entire family would be coming for ours. I told Mother I feared I would awake one night to find myself being strangled by Kelso or worse, the Duke of Dunbar. I have connections at the Ministry. I know what both of those gentlemen are capable of. The things they’ve done. Marissa wasn’t going to allow such an insult to stand. She’d want revenge. Mother laughed and told me I was weak. Well, she isn’t laughing now.”

  “Are you hungry?” Marissa took his hand.

  “Yes.” He bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, inhaling the warm vanilla scent. “But I think my appetite is for something besides chicken. Elderly widow, perhaps.”

  It had been all Trent could do to stay a moment longer with Pendleton, listening to his fears and regret. Still, he had the presence of mind to make the same request of Trent that Lydia had: implore Marissa to cease in her attack. After all, if Pendleton didn’t marry Miss Higgins, Trent would become impoverished as well. Didn’t he care about his daughters? Did he wish to spend the rest of his life digging in the dirt just to put food on the table?

  She arched against him, her fingers moving beneath his coat to slide it off his shoulders.

  “Marissa bought up all my markers. The legal fees to defend our ownership of the mine are only adding to my debt. She owns me, Haddon. I fear she means to put me in debtor’s prison. Or worse.”

  They undressed each other slowly while their dinner grew cold. Trent’s fingers traced every curve and hollow, memorizing the feel and scent of her. The way she tasted beneath his tongue. Those beautiful creases at the corners of her eyes.

  If she were threatened or hurt, what would Trent do?

  More importantly, what would he do now?

  He’d spent several sleepless nights trying to answer those questions.

  She was laughing, pulling him in the direction of the sofa before falling against the worn cushions, her arms held out to him.


  “Should I put out the fire? The lamp? Plunge us into total darkness?” he teased. “Perhaps cover you with the blanket and use only these strategically placed holes?” Trent held up the poorly knit blanket her niece had made her so long ago.

  “No.”

  Marissa’s shyness had dissipated, at least for now, secure in the promise he’d made to her. She was no longer hiding from him, at least not in this.

  Trent’s heart contracted sharply. Would she have ever told him of Pendleton?

  Marissa giggled but her eyes on Trent were serious. “We have an understanding,” she whispered.

  “We do.” He pulled her on top of him, entering her with exquisite care, groaning with pleasure at the way her body clasped his. The dark curtain of her hair fell around them until all he could see was Marissa as they moved together in unison. As they always had. The two halves of their hearts seeking to find each other and be whole.

  Trent willed for this moment to last forever.

  “I love you,” he whispered, looking into her eyes as his release shattered through him. “I love you.”

  25

  “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered completely. Unfortunately, your reputation hasn’t.” Arabella sauntered into Marissa’s parlor.

  Putting aside her book, Marissa discarded the spectacles on her nose, somewhat relieved for the interruption. She’d read the same page at least a half-dozen times, far too absorbed in Haddon to be able to concentrate on anything other than him.

  He loves me.

  Looking up at her niece she said, “So Adelia tells me, much to her delight.” Haddon had fed her cold chicken as they shared whisky from a single glass after making love on this very sofa. He’d held her for hours afterward, stroking her hair as she dozed and watched the fire.

  I love him.

  “You seem unconcerned about the gossip swirling about you, Aunt,” Arabella said primly. “It isn’t like you to invite scandal.”

  She raised a brow. “You didn’t exactly rush to my aid. Didn’t Haddon ask you to come and retrieve me from his home?”