Page 77 of Wicked Again
“I fear you aredeeplyinvolved, 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’snewbetrothed, 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 merecoincidence, then you are a bigger fool than I originally thought. I see Marissa’s hand in thisaccidental friendshipand unless you implore her tostop this nonsenseimmediately, we will all end up begging in the streets. She’ll attempt to ruin the girl publicly, in front of as much of thetonas 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 donenothingwrong.” 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 daysafter 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 wasmadlyandcompletelyin love with her.
His passion for Marissa flowed over him, imbuing his entire being. She made himwholeeven 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.
