Page 32 of Wicked Again
The trio walked for several minutes with only the sound of their feet crunching on the gravel to break the silence.
Elderly widow. Chaperone.
A burst of laughter filled the air as they passed a group of gentlemen on horseback, one of whom hailed them in greeting.
Haddon waved back.
“I was telling Lady Cupps-Foster,” Jordana began, “about the book I’d purchased at Thrumbadge’s.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Haddon shot Marissa a look of apology. The breeze ruffled the hair around his ears and caught against his collar.
Why must he be so bloody handsome? Couldn’t he have a wart or some other unattractive disfigurement?
“She isn’t.” Marissa nudged Jordana to take out the sting of her father’s rebuke. “I am hopeful to persuade Jordana to read something more appropriate. A fashion magazine, for instance.”
Jordana stopped in her tracks as a gust of wind blew up sharply. “I would never.”
A laugh escaped Marissa at the look on Jordana’s face at the mere mention of readingThe Ladies Pocket Magazine, or something similar before gasping as her clever little hat shifted, becoming dislodged from its mooring of pins.
“Drat.” She reached up and adjusted the brim.
A rumble of thunder rippled across the park as patches of fallen leaves swirled and eddied in the gusting wind. Their time in the park would be cut short, it seemed, by the impending storm.
“I think we’d best turn around.” Haddon peered up at the sky, his eyes the exact color of the gathering thunderclouds.
Marissa cursed under her breath. Next she would find herself composing an ode to his cheekbones or something equally ridiculous.
“My lady?” He quirked a brow at her, a grin tugging at his lips.
“I only said I was in agreement,” she assured him.
Jordana looked up at the sky, sticking out her tongue as the first raindrops began to fall.
Another rush of wind, this one much stronger than the others, had Marissa holding down her dress lest all of London see her underthings. The hat rocked precariously, struggling to stay atop her head, before lifting from her hair and scuttling down the path.
“Bloody hell.”
Neither Haddon nor Jordana showed the least bit of shock at her language which was mildly disappointing. “I apologize, Jordana, I should not have cursed.”
“Oh, I’ve heard my father say much worse.”
“Muchworse,” Haddon agreed, the mischievous smile Marissa so adored fixed firmly on his lips.
Marissa stomped to where her hat had fallen to the ground, sighing at the wet leaves sticking to the brim. Perhaps it could be repaired. She bent and tried to grab at her hat while simultaneously holding down her skirts which were determined to creep up her legs.
Another gust of wind blew across her ankles bringing several fat droplets of rain.
The hat slid away from her and across the wet grass, bumping over a large bush to land well out of her reach.
Damn and blast.
“Leave it,” Haddon said from the path, taking hold of Jordana’s arm. “The sky will open upon us at any moment.”
Marissa wasincrediblyannoyed. At herself. At Haddon. At Lady Christina.And at her bloody hat. “I will not. It is one of a kind, made especially for me.”
As she watched in horror, the wind took her precious, one-of-a-kind hat up into the air where it hovered for a moment before sailing toward an oak tree. The ribbons across the brim tangled on a low hanging branch, the hat swinging in the air, taunting Marissa.
Her new bloody hat.
