Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,21

Pendleton.

Simon was watching them approach, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if Marissa were the Thames reeking in the middle of summer.

It was very difficult not to smile at his discomfort.

“Lord Pendleton.” Enderly bowed. “Thank you for your kind invitation this evening. I look forward to your speech later.”

“Enderly.” Simon inclined his head. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Your guidance in crafting some of these proposed reforms, as a fellow mine owner—”

Marissa made a small sound of derision.

“— has helped me to understand all viewpoints, especially those in the opposition. Your support has been instrumental.”

Enderly preened under Pendleton’s regard. “You are too kind, my lord.”

“Not at all.” Simon’s unwelcoming gaze settled on Marissa. “Lady Cupps-Foster. How surprising to see you here this evening,” he said, failing to take her hand in greeting. “I didn’t realize you followed politics or were acquainted with Enderly.”

“Lord Pendleton.” Marissa nodded politely. “I couldn’t resist coming tonight, especially after Mr. Enderly’s kind invitation. It gives me an opportunity to apologize for leaving your house party so abruptly this past summer. I regret I could not thank you and your mother properly for your hospitality. But I’m sure it was understandable given the circumstances.”

A tic appeared below Simon’s left eye. “Of course.”

“My son wanted me to send his regards. He especially enjoyed his stay at Brushbriar as you know. Why, if not for your house party, Morwick never would have met his lovely wife.” A delicate laugh bubbled up. “He and Lady Morwick wanted me to express their congratulations on your success.”

Simon’s cheeks reddened, mouth thinning until his lips had nearly disappeared. The resemblance to his mother, Lydia, was notable though not especially favorable.

Enderly cleared his throat, gaze darting between Simon and Marissa. Her escort for this evening couldn’t fail to notice the tension hovering in the air, though Enderly could be a bit unobservant. He’d failed to notice Marissa’s lukewarm interest in him, for instance.

“A word, if I might, Mr. Enderly?” Simon dismissed her with a flick of his chin.

Marissa didn’t mind his rudeness. She’d expected no less.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Enderly nodded to her and moved away, not waiting for her to answer as he followed Simon, his horror at discovering she and Simon weren’t cordial shadowing his craggy features.

Simon and Enderly had wandered to an area at the far end of the room. Every so often, Enderly would cast a glance in her direction. He didn’t look pleased.

Good. It appeared she’d been right in her assumption that Enderly would leave her be with little effort on her part. Thankfully, she’d had the foresight to order her driver to meet her at Duckworth’s. Her carriage was likely already outside.

Marissa intentionally moved in the opposite direction of Enderly and Simon, stopping only to study a portrait of a severe looking woman who very much resembled Duckworth, down to the matching moles they both bore on their chin. She pretended to sip her ratafia and finally gave up, setting the glass down on a nearby table.

Disgusting. Ratafia should be banned from being served in polite society.

Once Simon began what was bound to be a boring speech, Marissa planned to take her leave discreetly.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

A delicious ripple rolled up from the base of her spine at the words coming from the darkened alcove to her left. Marissa immediately smoothed the velvet skirts of her gown as she turned, a nervous habit she’d had since she was a girl.

How long had he been watching her?

Haddon’s lean form stepped out of the shadows, a glass of wine hanging from his fingers. His silver gaze flickered over her as he sipped the ruby-colored contents of his glass. When his eyes finally met hers, a lazy grin crossed his lips in greeting.

The pulse in her throat fluttered at the sight of him. “Lord Haddon.”

“Hello, Lady Cupps-Foster. Imagine my shock at finding you lurking about a dull political gathering. Though perhaps not so strange given your familial connections.”

The observation, coming from Haddon, didn’t surprise Marissa in the least. He paid attention, to a great many things. Enderly had never asked Marissa about her father, the late Duke of Dunbar, nor the power he’d wielded, assuming, incorrectly, that as a woman, Marissa was oblivious to the workings of her family. As her niece had inferred, Marissa was just very good at hiding her true nature.

“Did you know my father, the duke?”

“I met him only once. I found him terrifying, especially when a gentleman referred to His Grace as the