Page 8 of Wicked Again
Haddon had been married very young in a match arranged by his father. His wife had been sickly and bed-ridden during the latter part of his marriage, the birth of his youngest daughter destroying what remained of her fragile health.
In between bouts of lovemaking, they’d whispered to each other in the dark and Haddon had told Marissa of his marriage.
Another thing she hadn’t done with a previous lover.
Dalliance.
He had left out his former rakish reputation, and well he might. Though discreet, Haddon certainly had cut a swath through the ladies of London. But unlike most husbands who wouldn’t have cared to be saddled with an ill spouse, he’d been with his wife when she died, at her bedside. After, he had not returned to London to pick up the threads of his life; instead, he’d stayed away from town, choosing to remain with his daughters in the country. Another thing most gentlemen would not have done.
“I brought Jordana to London with me.” He mentioned his eldest daughter, to whom Marissa had been introduced to at Brushbriar.
“And how does Jordana like town?” Marissa found it hard to have a casual conversation with Haddon, especially when his hips kept brushing hers.
“As well as can be expected. But I thought she might enjoy some time here before making her debut. Ease her into things, so to speak. Jordana has a tendency to be stubborn.”
Marissa thought that a gross understatement. Haddon’s eldest had made it no secret at Brushbriar that she’d wished to be anywhere but there. Nor did she show the slightest interest in London or society. Haddon was wasting his time trying to introduce her to life in town. Jordana was defiant and prone to sulking, behavior that would not endear her to a future husband. She reminded Marissa a great deal of her niece, Arabella.
Haddon twirled her, the motion forcing her more fully against his chest. The distance between them was only one tiny, heated inch.
“You left before I could tell you goodbye,” he said, breath warm against her temple.
“Did Ineedto tell you goodbye?” Her own guilt at not doing so made her reply sharper than she intended.
His grip on her tightened. “I suppose not.”
“After the discovery of my late husband’s remains, I was in shock, as you can imagine.” That was putting it mildly. The anger which filled her had frozen the blood in her veins until Marissa could think of nothing but how she would punish Simon and Lydia.
“I’m sure you were.”
“I wasn’t up to receiving callers, nor did I wish to receive polite condolences,” she said.
“Of course,” he agreed coolly.
Marissa bristled. Something about his calm manner, his instant agreement with her, smacked of judgement. It was clear by his attitude Haddon thought sheshouldhave received him. Sent him a note. Told him goodbye. She didn’t care for him acting the discarded lover.
Dalliance.
“Ours was abriefacquaintance, Lord Haddon,” Marissa said politely, allowing a hint of chill to enter her words. “Little more than a dalliance, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
He looked down on her, eyes like quicksilver. A touch of pink shone on his magnificent cheekbones, a sign of his annoyance, perhaps, though it could have been a trick of the light. “A dalliance?”
“Atryst, if you prefer.”
“A tryst?”
Would he repeat everything she said? “Our relationship would have invited speculation and unwanted attention, both things I don’t care for. An older widow carrying on with—”
“Dear God, Marissa.” He looked away from her, the corner of his lip lifting into something resembling amusement. “You didn’t seduce some innocent young lad; stop behaving as if you did.”
“Ididn’t do any seducing,” she shot back.
“Debatable. I was under the impression we seduced each other, not out of boredom, as I’m sure will be your next point, but because we weremeantto.” His broad shoulders gave a soft roll.
Marissa stayed silent, uncertain how to respond.
“You know, I never reallyconsideredyourelderlystatus at the time, but you brought it up so often during ourbriefacquaintance, perhaps your concerns have merit.”
“They do?”
