‘Old Spider.’ The duke’s eyes were so blue one could see them across the room.” His voice lowered. “Yours are the same color.”
Another flutter started in the space above her heart.
“Thankfully, I was well beneath his notice.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Marissa laughed softly. “My father noticed everything about everyone. He believed that knowledge was power. Even more so than great wealth. My nephew is cut from the same cloth.”
“The pairing of both is a dangerous combination.” Haddon stepped closer.
Marissa’s skin immediately prickled in awareness of him, lifting the fine hair of her arms.
“I will make sure to never underestimate you, as your friend, Enderly, no doubt does.” Haddon tipped his glass in Enderly’s direction.
He was so near her, if Marissa leaned just an inch forward, her breasts would catch against his chest. Just the mere thought tightened her nipples into peaks. Heat flooded up her chest and the column of her neck.
“I grow concerned for your welfare, Marissa.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Why? I’m perfectly fine as you can see and—”
“You look flushed much of the time. Overheated, perhaps.”
Drat.
“I would think you were blushing except a woman of your advanced years . . .” the broad shoulders rolled into a careless shrug. “Well, such a thing is usually reserved for prim young misses.”
Wretch. “Perhaps it is the ratafia.” She nodded to her discarded glass. “It is not a favorite of mine.”
“Then one wonders why you allowed your friend to bring it to you. I’m sure you’d find mine more enjoyable. Something French, I think.” Haddon brought his glass to her lips before she could stop him.
The image of Haddon doing the same thing during their night together flashed before her. He’d brought a bottle of wine to her room, but only one glass. After each sip she’d taken, he had kissed her, eventually dribbling the wine across her naked breasts and—
“Good Lord, Marissa.” His gaze was fixed on her mouth. “I grow ever concerned for your health. I’ll search the room for a physician, shall I?” But he didn’t move, instead he brought the glass to his own lips, tongue running across the rim as he did so. “Delicious,” he said, but Haddon was looking at her.
Desire for him coiled tightly around her.
She took a step back, self-preservation screaming for her to place some distance between them. It was very difficult to think, her usual self-composure deserting her with Haddon so near.
“How is Jordana?” she said, shocked at the husky quality of her own voice. If this interlude continued, Marissa would find herself begging Enderly to rescue her before she made an idiot out of herself. “Have you decided you no longer need my assistance?”
“On the contrary, I seek your guidance now more than ever. Our delay in calling on you is the misfortune of a bad cold that has kept Jordana in bed the past few days. She is finally recovering. I’d thought to bring her to your home for tea this week, if that is convenient.”
“Wonderful,” Marissa lied. Part of her had hoped Haddon would decide he didn’t want her to help with Jordana. If her reaction to him tonight was any indication, Marissa couldn’t trust herself to be in his presence.
A loud clapping interrupted their conversation, breaking the soft bubble of intimacy surrounding them. Lord Duckworth was extolling the virtues of Simon and calling him to the podium.
Haddon looked toward the other side of the room. “Pendleton is about to speak.”
“Then I won’t keep you. I assume you’ve come to listen. You are friends, after all.” Marissa meant to dash away the moment Haddon’s back was turned.
“Oh, I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly,” Haddon said. “More wine?” The glass hovered near her lips.
“No, thank you. I was under the impression the two of you were quite close, and you held him in admiration.”
“Were you? I admire his ambition, I suppose. I am a supporter of his reforms and what he hopes to accomplish as I have a vested interest in his proposals.”
He’d neglected to directly answer her question. She searched his face for any clue as to what his comments meant, but Haddon was difficult to read, only allowing a hint of his feelings to show when he was angry.
As he’d been when I called him a dalliance.
“You own mines.” Marissa had never asked Haddon, assuming him to be involved somehow in tin, copper or lead. Most of the families in Derbyshire held some sort of interests below ground.
“Quarries. Are you sure you don’t want another