Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,23

sip? You look thirsty.”

“Quarries? You mean . . . rocks?” She allowed him to press the glass to her lips, moderately concerned someone might notice them tucked away at the edge of Duckworth’s drawing room. Like Enderly. But everyone’s attention was taken by Simon who was rousing those gathered with his fiery speech.

A low chuckle came from him. “You don’t have to sound so appalled, Marissa. I don’t do the digging myself, at least not anymore. I suppose stone isn’t glamorous in the least. Not like Pendleton’s Blue John.”

“No.” Marissa tensed at the mention of Blue John. “I suppose not.”

“Or the tin mines your friend,” he emphasized the word in an icy tone, “Enderly owns in Cornwall. I quarry limestone, granite, gritstone and the like. Someone has to provide building material for,” he gave a negligent wave, “all these fine houses. For streets, garden walls and the like.”

Stone had to come from somewhere, but she’d never given it much thought.

“I have two quarries which provide employment for most of the men in the small villages surrounding Buxton. I never have to despair I’m poisoning the water with lead, so I can sleep at night. I’ll never be ridiculously wealthy on the level of Pendleton or your family, for instance, but I have more than enough for myself and the girls. And a wife.” He winked at her.

“It sounds like a lucrative enterprise.” The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Haddon’s plans to take a wife, especially since the mere thought soured her stomach. Nor did she wish to debate the merits of Lady Christina Sykes who was probably the frontrunner in his quest for the new Lady Haddon. If only Marissa had not refused him—

He never asked to rekindle our affair.

The knowledge that he hadn’t stung again.

“I’ll allow you to continue with your evening, Lord Haddon.” Marissa wanted to leave, to blot out the image of Haddon and Christina Sykes because it bothered her far more than she wished it to. “My carriage is waiting outside.”

One dark brow lifted at that. “I can see you home.”

“That isn’t necessary, Lord Haddon. Please excuse me.”

“As you wish.” Bringing her knuckles to his lips, he murmured, “Good night, Marissa.”

Marissa turned and walked blindly through the back half of the drawing room toward the door. No one noticed her exit; everyone in the room was focused on Simon expounding on his own wonderfulness. Sparing not a thought for Enderly, who might wonder at some point about her disappearance, Marissa made her way to the door.

She could still feel the press of Haddon’s fingers against her own.

Drat.

6

Marissa pulled out two of the large ferns in the vase, put them aside, and rearranged the spray of peonies and roses. Sticking one fern back in, she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“Much better.”

Her household staff, though they certainly tried, couldn’t make a decent floral arrangement if Marissa laid out a diagram for them. What was the point of spending a large sum of money at the flower market only to have them tossed in a vase without any care for how they looked?

Haddon was calling today.

She despised the trickle of anticipation at the thought. Of course, this time, he was bringing Jordana.

Marissa looked up at the clock. They were due to arrive shortly.

Fluffing a stray peony, she nodded to herself, satisfied at her handiwork. It shouldn’t matter if her flowers were arranged so artfully, other than that Haddon had remarked on such a thing when he'd last been in her drawing room.

After arriving home from Lord Duckworth’s, Marissa had spent the remainder of her evening nursing a glass of whisky and convincing herself she must tell Haddon she’d changed her mind about Jordana. She’d prepared a list of excuses. Even written a note to Haddon.

It would have been the wise thing to do, refusing to take on his rebellious daughter, but instead she’d tossed the hastily written note into the fire.

Now here she stood, furiously moving about the peonies in some ridiculous belief her talent at floral arranging was something which would please him.

Greenhouse knocked and quietly opened the drawing room door at her summons.

Marissa turned to the doorway, heart beating about in her chest, expecting to see Haddon, but was only greeted by a sullen-faced feminine replica. She’d forgotten how much Jordana looked like him. The same quicksilver eyes. Matching cheekbones. The dark hair.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Jordana, how lovely to see you.” Marissa came forward, peering into the empty hallway beyond,