not to assist a young girl in need.
Generous of heart.
Jordana did need guidance. But she could have waited until Trent’s sister arrived in London with the rest of his girls. He’d brought Jordana with him purposefully, thinking his eldest daughter would enjoy the experience of life in town. And be of help if Marissa decided to be difficult.
Which she had.
Christ, he could read her like a book.
Trent knew she was older than he was; should he forget, he had no doubt she would remind him of the fact. He’d taken to making references about her age just to watch her reaction. Leaving her with the wallflowers and elderly matrons at the Cambourne ball had been inspired. The look on her face had been priceless.
No more than she deserved. Trent had turned forty at his last birthday. He wasn’t some schoolboy. Couldn’t the bloody woman see she could have been sixty and it wouldn’t have mattered? His heart didn’t care how old she was.
“Here, Papa.”
Trent reached up, rapping on the roof to alert the driver.
He had given Marissa the space she’d needed after her late husband’s remains had been discovered. It had pained Trent that she didn’t send for him or reply to any of his notes. But when news reached him that Marissa had fled back to London, without so much as telling him goodbye, Trent had taken a bottle of whisky to his study and thought long and hard about a woman whom he desperately wanted but who didn’t seem to want him.
She’s afraid.
He’d seen the way the sapphire of her eyes warmed when he’d approached her at the Cambourne ball. The way her luscious form bent in his direction whenever he was near, whether she realized it or not. Her jealousy over Lady Christina Sykes which she was incredibly poor at hiding. And the blushing. If he didn’t know better, Trent would assume Marissa was constantly feverish.
She was not unaffected by him. The intensity of the attraction between them blazed stronger than ever. If it didn’t, Trent would have already retreated. He’d had the misfortune of running into her youngest son, Morwick, in Buxton, shortly after Marissa had returned to London. Before Morwick had nearly taken his head off with his fist, he’d warned Trent to leave his mother alone.
“She’s damaged, Haddon. Can’t you see that? Find another woman to bed.”
Marissa was terrified to fall in love again. Specifically, with him.
I need to be careful.
The carriage rolled to a spot just above the river path. Not another vehicle was in sight though there was a group of early morning riders ahead of them. Several pairs of young ladies walked the path, maids trailing behind them. A young boy escaped his nanny, stirring the leaves on the ground as he sped by, sailboat clutched in his hand. Trent saw no sign of Marissa.
“Are you sure this is the spot?”
“Yes, Papa. I’m sure. And should you inquire in the future, I much prefer the park to the torturous task of tea with Lady Christina Sykes and her mother.” Jordana shot him a mutinous glare from across the carriage. “I hope taking her riding the other day will keep her from feeling the need to call again.”
Trent stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand. “It was one time, Jordana. I thought it lovely she and Lady Stanton called on us. Perhaps you’d like to join us next time we ride in the park?”
Jordana made a face of abject horror at the mere mention of spending time with Lady Christina. “Please tell me you aren’t seriously considering her, Papa. As a wife. I thought you said you’d never remarry.”
His daughter detested everything about London but especially pouring tea and making small talk with a young lady of Lady Christina Sykes’s ilk. Jordana’s interests lay more in the direction of following about Dr. Choate, the local physician. Or helping the village midwife. When she was nine, he’d found Jordana assisting the head groom with the birth of a foal.
“Lady Christina is a lovely girl,” Trent said, intentionally not denying her claim he was considering her as a wife.
“The Haddon Hellions will devour her in a matter of moments, Papa. She wouldn’t survive a fortnight.” Jordana hopped out of the carriage.
Trent smiled at Jordana’s show of arrogance, though she was probably right. He adored his girls and never regretted leaving the lifestyle he’d cultivated for so many years to raise them himself. But it was possible he’d overindulged them, mostly out