Of course he was.
“You’ve saved me the trouble of sending you a note tomorrow. I’ve been invited to a small gathering next week at Lord Duckworth’s and was hoping you’d allow me to escort you. Lord Pendleton is speaking about the bill he is trying to gain support for in Parliament.”
“I’d love to attend. Lord Pendleton is a passionate speaker and his reforms of great interest to me. I’ve been following his career for some time given that my late husband’s estate borders the Pendleton estate, Brushbriar.”
Surprise colored Enderly’s features. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Lord Pendleton.” Ambition flared briefly in his eyes; he was likely already deciding how his association with Marissa could benefit his own relationship with Simon. “He’ll be delighted to see an old friend, I’m sure.”
Marissa doubted that. “I haven’t seen him in years,” she lied smoothly. “It will be delightful to see him again.”
“Wonderful. I’m pleased to escort you.”
“I look forward to it.”
Enderly, obviously realizing he’d ignored Adelia and ever polite, proceeded to ask her about the weather, a topic neither of them found the least interesting. But it did allow Marissa the opportunity to watch Haddon discreetly.
A pretty, overly endowed brunette appeared to have him captivated, whether by her display of bosom or her sparkling wit, Marissa wasn’t certain. She was blushing and giggling as she looked up at Haddon, completely oblivious that Lady Christina Sykes seemed about to do her bodily harm.
Miss Priscilla Archer. The girl’s name popped into Marissa’s head. And she has a spectacular bosom. Doubtless much perkier than my own.
Haddon lifted his head and caught her watching him. His tongue flitted out to run along his bottom lip.
Marissa’s body swayed of its own accord in Haddon’s direction, like a plant desperately seeking the sunlight, drawn to him regardless of her feelings on the subject.
He took in Enderly, a spark of dislike shining in his eyes. Raw possessiveness flashed across his features, starkly apparent against the bold slash of cheekbones, before his chin jerked back to Miss Archer.
Marissa put a hand to her throat. Perhaps Haddon did have Viking ancestors. For just a moment he had looked quite . . . savage. A tiny thrill shot through her.
I should never have called him a dalliance.
It changed nothing, however. The pull between her and Haddon only reinforced Marissa’s decision not to involve herself with him again. Such passion would certainly destroy her, especially when Haddon’s interest dimmed as it was bound to do.
“My lady?”
She refocused her attention on Enderly, hoping the heat she felt creeping up her chest hadn’t resulted in a flush across her skin. “I’m so sorry. I fear I’ve a terrible headache, Mr. Enderly, and must take my leave.”
“My dear, I’ll escort you home.” His brows drew together in polite concern.
“There’s no need,” Marissa assured him, stopping his gallantry with the slight press of her fingers on his sleeve. “Stay and enjoy yourself.”
“If you’re certain?”
Adelia rolled her eyes at Enderly’s false protestations.
“I am.” She winced as if the pain in her head was unbearable.
“I’ve a mind to gamble a bit tonight at any rate. But only if you’re sure?” At her slight nod, he continued. “I’ll call upon you soon, my lady. And look forward to our evening at Lord Duckworth’s.” Bowing to both her and Adelia, Enderly wandered off in the direction of the room set aside for cards, snaring a glass of wine from a passing servant as he moved through the crowd.
“Decrepit,” Adelia said, tapping Marissa with her fan. “I find nothing to recommend Enderly. He looks like a wizened gull with all that hair. Though I suppose for a man of his years, possessing any hair is a point in his favor. Do you really mean to,” Adelia lowered her voice, “take him to bed? When you’ve obviously—”
“Adelia,” Marissa cut her off. “While I appreciate your assessment of Enderly as a lover, I am not yet at such a point that he is under consideration.”
Her friend blew a puff of frustration between her painted lips. “Fine. Wallow in his feeble form and take pleasure in his ancient arms.”
“Stop.” She tried not to laugh at Adelia’s antics. Adelia was unashamed and forthright about her tendency to take younger lovers with no fear of risking her heart, nor did she give a fig for any gossip directed at her.
Turning, she dared another look in Haddon’s direction, but there was no sign of those striking cheekbones and broad shoulders anywhere in the ballroom.
“I saw the look Haddon gave you, Marissa,” Adelia said in an urgent whisper. “Do not be a fool. He nearly set you aflame with merely a glance.”
“Good night, Adelia.” Marissa pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek. “Try to keep yourself out of trouble tonight.”
“Trouble will find me.” Adelia winked. “In the form of a ravishing young soldier with golden hair. I plan to inspect him for battle scars. He’s no Viking though,” Adelia whispered before moving off in search of adventure.
Marissa took her leave of the ballroom, wondering at Adelia’s ability to move from lover to lover with little damage to herself. It was unfortunate Marissa couldn’t behave in the same way. Or rather she could, only not with Haddon, for some reason.
Sighing with relief at the cooler outside air, Marissa caught sight of her driver and strode to her waiting carriage, the stale smell of powder and talc which often pervaded events such as these no longer invading her nostrils.
Settling herself against the leather squabs, Marissa’s skirts ruffled, and a whiff of Haddon’s spicy scent filled the inside of her carriage along with the memory of their dance tonight. He was a graceful dancer, the sinuous movement of his hips subtly commanding Marissa to follow his lead.
Haddon made love in much the same way.
Her heart raced as if she was still a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush. Hopeful. Giddy. A heady feeling of intoxication, one she hadn’t experienced since Reggie.
Marissa looked out at the dark streets of London as her carriage rolled toward home, thinking of Haddon and Reggie. Wanting Haddon felt like a betrayal. Silly, she knew, especially since her late husband had been gone for more than two decades. Reggie had been taken from her when Marissa was so young, she often considered his death to be the end of her innocence.
I was never truly innocent.
She sighed and leaned her head back. As the beloved daughter of the Duke of Dunbar, a man known for his brutality in dealing with those who opposed him, Marissa had learned early on the nature of deviousness. Of revenge. How to exact punishment on those who harmed the duke or his family. Henry, her father, had doted on Marissa, blatantly favoring her over her older brother, Phillip, the heir. Her brother had never understood Henry or what he was capable of.
Kelso, Marissa’s first husband, had incurred Henry’s wrath by ruining Marissa during a ball when she was barely seventeen. A notorious libertine, Kelso had kept a multitude of mistresses and had spent nearly every night in his cups with a whore on each knee. Marissa’s marriage to him and his flagrant affairs had been the talk of London, humiliating her to the point she’d made the mistake of complaining to her father, though he likely already knew.
Henry knew everything.
Kelso died in a brawl soon after, in an alley just a block down from his club. He’d left her a widow with a small son at the age of eighteen.
Cupps-Foster, her third husband, was a hothead. She should never have agreed to wed him. He’d made the mistake of treating her poorly in front of the duke during a dinner party. Barely a week later, Cupps-Foster had found himself challenged to a duel by a mysterious gentleman at White’s over the slightest of insults. The pistol Cupps-Foster had used for the duel backfired, blinding him. His dueling opponent finished the job, then disappeared from London.
Henry had detested Cupps-Fost
er as had Marissa. She didn’t mourn him.
Only Reggie, her second husband, had truly loved her, but still, she’d never been first in his heart. Fossils. Ore. Nature. Trees. All took precedence over Marissa. But she’d loved him so much she hadn’t cared. Perhaps it had been her youth which had allowed her to lose herself so completely in Reggie. She’d never contemplate such a thing now.
If Reggie was still alive, would we be happy?
Marissa wasn’t sure.
But nothing changed the fact that Reggie had been murdered by his best friend for a mine full of Blue John. Lydia had sat in her parlor at Brushbriar for years surrounded by her wealth, all of it bought with Reggie’s blood. Marissa knew she couldn’t prove who had murdered Reggie, and even if she could, John had died years ago. But she could take the mine. Simon’s career. Lydia’s beloved Blue John and the wealth it provided.
I am my father’s daughter, after all.
4
Marissa smiled indulgently while Arabella prattled on about Lily, as new mothers infatuated with their children were wont to do. She listened absently, systematically reviewing the list of projects before her, mentally checking off each completed task. Marissa prided herself on excellent organization.
Correspondence had been updated. Invitations accepted. A new butler, Greenhouse, had been hired and installed to run her household, though he was a bit staid for her tastes. She’d remodeled several of the upstairs bedrooms, knocking down a wall to create a large guest suite for Brendan and Petra when they arrived for the holidays.
The pair certainly couldn’t stay with Lord and Lady Marsh. Petra still wasn’t speaking to her parents.
A dozen new ballgowns had been ordered from her favorite modiste along with a gorgeous green velvet riding habit with a matching hat. Marissa adored hats.
She’d helped nurse Spencer, her eldest son, from the wound he’d received in an altercation shortly after marrying Lady Elizabeth Reynolds, the details of which she still wasn’t completely clear on. Elizabeth was a delightful girl who didn’t tolerate any of Spencer’s nonsense. Marissa wholeheartedly approved of her new daughter-in-law.
All her ducklings, as she called her two boys, niece and nephew, were now married. Happily. A true rarity in the ton. Four love matches. And they would all be together for the holiday season.
“When Rowan comes home,” Arabella gushed at the mere mention of her husband, “Lily smiles up at him and makes the most delightful gurgling sounds.”
Marissa nodded. Lily was most likely experiencing stomach distress and not actually smiling at Rowan. She was little more than an infant. But Marissa chose not to mention such a thing to Arabella.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes. She’d filed the survey map and asked her solicitors to determine validity and challenge Pendleton’s ownership of the Blue John mine.
She didn’t give a fig for the money or the mine, really. But what she did care about was that her request to determine ownership would be tied up in court for years. Requiring thousands of pounds for Pendleton to defend. His solicitors were bleeding him dry already.
“Aunt Maisy?” Arabella touched her knee. “Where have you gone?”
“Only imagining how lovely it will be to have us all together for the holiday season,” she said, dragging her attention back to Arabella. “I know we should escape London, but I find town to be much more convenient than if we were to retreat to the country.”
Her niece cocked her head. “Really? You are simply thinking of cooked Christmas goose and a seating chart for dinner?”
“Don’t be silly. Whatever else should I be thinking of?” A pair of silvery eyes above striking cheekbones floated to mind. Marissa pushed such thoughts aside.
Arabella set down her teacup with a small clatter. “Brendan has written me.”
Marissa took in her niece’s smug little grin. It was no surprise her younger son would write to Arabella. The two cousins had been close for most of their lives. But had Brendan written her concerning Reggie. . .or his discovery of Marissa with Haddon?
“I didn’t think you found his searching for fossils to be so entertaining,” she hedged. Brendan, much like his father, adored fossils and rocks. He’d studied geology and spent most of his time in caves or scaling cliffs and had led a primarily solitary existence until meeting Petra. “I suppose you’re disappointed you won’t be able to torture Petra any longer without him objecting.”
“I’ll still torment my sister-in-law, only much more discreetly.” Arabella gave her a prim look. “Petra and I have reached an understanding of sorts.”
“I’m happy to hear it.”
“Brendan told me about Reggie.”
Marissa swished the tea around in her mouth, thinking carefully about what she should say to her niece, uncertain as to what Brendan had told her. The family had been informed of the discovery of the late Earl of Morwick’s remains and his burial. But not of how he’d died, exactly. Or why.
“I see. And what did Brendan impart?”
“Everything.” Arabella’s dark eyes flashed as she popped a biscuit into her mouth. “No wonder you and Lady Pendleton are no longer friends. She had your husband murdered for a bloody mine full of Blue John.”
Marissa’s hand trembled slightly at Arabella’s assessment of the situation. It was still difficult, at times, for her to hear the truth spoken out loud. The sheer treachery of her former neighbors boggled the mind.
“I see he has told you everything. And since he has, then you must be aware Brendan promised he would not retaliate against Viscount Pendleton or his family,” Marissa said.
“But you made no such promise, Aunt Maisy, did you?”
Marissa took another sip of tea. “No, I did not.”
“Brendan left you a loophole. Intentionally, I think,” Arabella said. “Unlike Viscount Pendleton or his mother, I am not so foolish as to assume you would not take matters into your own hands. Doesn’t Lady Pendleton know who your family is?”
“Lydia has never been especially impressed by my heritage, I don’t think, daughter of the Duke of Dunbar or not.”
“Then she’s very foolish. You’ve done a good job at hiding your true nature from her. Much better than I hide mine.”
That was surely true. Arabella was a cunning little thing, though much less dangerous than before she’d married. And her niece was correct; Marissa was her father’s daughter. She’d learned well from Henry how to slowly destroy an adversary in the most excruciating way possible. An education Marissa was putting to good use on Pendleton.
“I know Brendan made a grand gesture for Petra’s sake—”
“He did,” Marissa said.
“Brendan loves Petra very much,” Arabella said. “I’m not sure exactly why—”
“You just said you reached an understanding with Petra. I would think as part of that, you would have a better opinion of her.”
“I have. But it doesn’t detract from the fact I think her weak-willed at times and far too obedient. A true milquetoast. Still, I don’t begrudge Brendan for wanting to protect her.”
“Petra is far less demure and well-behaved than you remember her, Niece. You should watch your step in the future,” Marissa warned. “Brendan worried far more for Petra’s reputation than she did herself, but then, he knows Lydia. Lydia maintains a large network of friends here in London who would be only too happy to destroy Petra in retaliation for her throwing over Lydia’s precious son. It brings her joy to ruin others. There are many ladies and indeed some gentlemen who can testify to the fact.”
“I find it ironic given her own daughter’s reputation.”
“Indeed, but Lydia doesn’t believe she has to play by the rules others follow. She managed to keep the worst of Catherine’s peccadilloes out of the gossip columns. A distant relation at the newspaper was her key to doing so. Lydia exerted undue influence over him.”
Not any longer. The Honorable Mr. Kensington has recently left for other opportunities.
Maris
sa allowed herself a small gleam of satisfaction.
“Piddling stuff.” Arabella pursed her lips. “Viscount Pendleton, respected member of Parliament and rising political star, is heavily in debt. That is what is important, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. I filed the survey Brendan found in Buxton and again in London shortly after I returned. Even Simon is not powerful enough to stop the court from freezing the proceeds of the mine until ownership is determined, which I may have suggested until the issue is resolved.”
“Oh, Auntie, you are terrible.”
Marissa shrugged. “It hardly matters what they agreed to when the information came to light. Simon, no doubt under his mother’s tutelage, has already stopped paying Brendan the lease and giving over half the profits, as he agreed to do. What else could I do but ensure no one has access until the courts decide? Allow my son to continue to be robbed of his birthright?”
“Pendleton has markers all over London. I assume you’ve already started to purchase them?”
It didn’t surprise Marissa her niece was well aware of Pendleton’s money woes. Nor that she had ascertained the first part of Marissa’s strategy. Rowan, Arabella’s husband, was involved in a variety of financial ventures and would have mentioned it, considering Simon had nearly married Rowan’s sister, Petra.
“A few.” Discretion at this part of her plan was required. Marissa didn’t want Lydia or Simon to catch wind of her intentions until it was far too late.
“Then allow me to handle the rest. Discreetly, of course. As you know, Rowan purchases the debts of others anonymously.”
Marissa was well aware. Rowan used debt as leverage often for property or a business he wished to purchase. Her nephew, Nick, often said his brother-in-law considered all of England nothing more than a large chessboard in which Rowan was determined to be three moves ahead of everyone else.
Henry would have approved of Rowan.
“One of Rowan’s solicitors can purchase Pendleton’s markers. No one would ever suspect you, respected widow of the ton, are behind such a thing, and we’ll keep it that way.”
Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7) Page 4