Page 64 of Wicked Again
“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 ameredalliance.”
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 foryou, 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?”
