Page 42 of Tall, Dark & Wicked
This was going splendidly.
Had she not been certain of Brendan’s feelings before toward the lovely Petra, Marissa was definitely surenow.There was no mistaking the possessive way his larger body hovered over Petra as he led her to her seat, nor the darkening of his eyes as they lingered over the girl. The attraction between the two was difficult to miss, as evidenced by the pout on Lady Marsh’s face.
The same attraction had lit the air at Arabella’s wedding. Brendan had watched every move the girl had made. Even Nick had commented to Marissa privately on Brendan’s interest. When she had confronted her son, suggesting Brendan possibly call on Petra, he had grown angry. Dismissive. He had called Petra apea-wit.
A sure sign of his attraction to her.
Guilt filled her. Her grief over Reggie, witnessed by Brendan and his brother, had distorted their view of love. Maybe to most people, that wouldn’t have mattered. Marriages weren’t usually based on love, but her own with Reggie had been, brief though it was. She wouldn’t trade that time with him, no matter his loss. Unfortunately, she’d not impressed such a thing upon her children.
Brendan must come to terms with his fears or loose Petra—something Marissa didn’t think he was prepared to do. She hoped she was wrong about such a thing, as she would hate to interfere without Brendan’s knowledge, as she had with Arabella.
But first, she must get through the tedium of Lydia’s house party.
With a sigh, Marissa pasted a smile on her face and waved for the footman to fill her wine glass. Perhaps it was time she took another lover. While Marissa was certain she’d never fall in love again, she did adore masculine companionship. She missed having a handsome rogue look at her the way Brendan now eyed Petra. Perhaps once she returned to London.
Contrary to what her sons and nephew surmised, Marissa was notsolelydevoted to her family. While she adored her children, it was difficult to allow herself to be thought of as a woman well past any physical desires or needs simply to spare their feelings. Shedidtake lovers, discreetly, careful never to allow her very overprotective children to find out. Her last lover had been a dark, gruff Welshman in Twinnings where she’d joined Arabella in exile last year. There was also the problem of her nephew, His Grace, the Duke of Dunbar. Nick would pretend amusement should he find out she’d taken a lover, but in reality, she feared her nephew would take matters into his own hands and her lover would discreetly disappear. Lord Cupps-Foster, cad that he was, had suffered such a fate. She’d no idea what a misfired pistol could do to someone.
Her eyes ran over Lord Pendleton. Simon. A priggish boy grown into a rigid, unbending man. Simon would destroy Petra and make her miserable within a few months. He would suppress the wild nature Marissa suspected lay beneath Petra’s ladylike manner, which would be a terrible pity. Lady Marsh seemed set on the man mainly because she wanted the prestige of having an up-and-coming politician connected to the Marsh family at the expense of her daughter’s happiness.
Marissa didn’t dislike Lady Marsh, and in fact empathized with the woman who’d never gotten over the death of her eldest child. But she was far too controlling. Lady Marsh and her domineering nature were suffocating Petra. Anyone could see it.
Marissa sipped her wine, pretending to listen to something Lydia droned on about. The woman was dropping names and hints about her vast wealth, boasting about Simon’s accomplishments and the stature of the Pendleton’s. It was laughable, truly. As she looked up, glass hovering at her lips, Marissa caught the eye of the man seated to Petra’s left. Lord Haddon.
Haddon toyed leisurely with the stem of his wine glass, as his eyes lowered and fell to her lips. After a moment he looked directly at her again, a lazy smile on his lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled in the most becoming manner.
Heat rushed up Marissa’s cheeks.Goodness.She hadn’t blushed in ages.
17
Simon’s dark eyes held no hint of welcome for Petra as she entered the dining room and approached the mahogany table laden with silver and fine porcelain. A black, murderous look was thrown in the direction of Morwick. Simon gave a stiff tilt of his aristocratic chin to Petra as she took her seat and adjusted her skirts. Mother received a pursing of Simon’s lips which may have passed for welcome.
A soft chuckle sounded from Morwick as he left Petra at her seat, clearly enjoying the disruption he had created.
The moment Morwick’s warmth left her side, Petra ached with his loss. She’d not realized how much she missed him until he’d appeared again. She went over their brief conversation in her mind, trying to discern what he had hoped to gain from teasing her in such a way. Her eyes searched out Morwick as he sat down, but he looked away and instead began speaking to Katherine.
Petra looked down at her plate, pretending to admire the spray of blue roses circling about the edges. Given Simon’s mood and Morwick’s amusement over angering his host, Petra again considered that perhaps she was only a means for him to annoy Simon. Perhaps this was a game between the two men and she nothing but a pawn.
That’s not at all a comforting thought.
The mood in the dining room became tense as Morwick deliberately took his time in finding his seat. Only Katherine looked at Morwick with welcome.Fartoo much welcome.
Petra’s hands clutched tightly in her lap. She studied her plate and wished to be somewhere else.
Thank goodness for the Divets.
As dinner was served, the couple carried the bulk of the conversation around the table, regaling those present with their travels across America. Mr. Divet resembled a well-dressed monk, with a fringe of snow-white hair surrounding a bald pate. He laughed uproariously at his own jokes, and drank far too much wine, much to Lady Pendleton’s displeasure.
Petra thought him marvelous.
Mrs. Divet was a tall, willowy woman possessed of pale blue eyes, with hair the color of copper. The contrast between their appearances couldn’t have been more pronounced. Mr. Divet would have gone unnoticed had he been walking about the docks or sitting in a tavern, while Mrs. Divet was fine-boned and aristocratic in appearance. She clearly adored her shorter, plumper husband, gazing at him in adoration as he spoke. The Divets were completely in sync, finishing each other’s sentences or reminding one another of a forgotten tidbit. Their eyes caught and held while they talked and every so often, Mr. Divet would lift his glass in his wife’s direction and tilt his head, with a murmured, ‘Hear, hear, Mrs. Divet.’ The Divets were an odd pair, mismatched in every way, but clearly in love. When the conversation steered to Simon and Parliament, Petra caught Mr. Divet winking lustfully at his wife, who batted her eyes in return.
“They are quite a pair, aren’t they?” Her dinner companion to the left, Lord Haddon, commented with a grin. “My late wife was great friends with Edith.” He pointed a fork discreetly. “Mrs. Divet. I’ve known them for ages. She’s a great help with the girls when called upon for a more feminine hand than I can offer. There was no one happier to see her return from her travels than I.”
“How many daughters do you have, Lord Haddon?” Haddon was an attractive man, especially when he smiled.
“Four. Jordana,” he pointed to a lovely girl who was seated next to Mrs. Divet, “is the eldest. It’s nearly time for her first Season.” He took a sip of his wine, and the tiny lines around his eyes deepened. “I shall be buried in laces and fripperies, drowning in gloves and petticoats. The air around me constantly scented with lavender. I had to purchase two male bulldogs so I shouldn’t feel so outnumbered.”
Petra laughed. Haddon was quite charming. “Your situation appears dire, my lord.”
