Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,33
undeserving of attention from a man like Haddon.
A raw, biting possessiveness had filled Marissa so sharply that her fingertips had burned as if scorched by a hot pot of tea. Folding her hands into her skirts, she forced her features to relax. It wouldn’t do for Haddon to guess at her feelings. She’d loved Reggie, but he’d never made her feel as if she needed to defend her claim on him.
But you don’t have a claim on Haddon.
Marissa had to resist the urge to march across the grass and slap Christina Sykes on her pretty, pink little face and challenge her for Haddon. Pistols at dawn. Or swords. She’d even defended herself with a large frying pan once.
Little twit.
“Have I said something to make you angry?” Jordana said. “You’re scowling.”
Haddon was nearly at their side, his legs making short work of the distance to join them.
“What? No, dear,” Marissa assured her, forcing a smile to her lips. “Whatever would make you think such a thing?”
“Papa says I’m far too blunt at times. I shouldn’t have told you about the books I’d gotten at Thrumbadge’s. I suppose the subject is somewhat grisly.”
“Not at all, Jordana.” Truthfully, she hadn’t been listening. Something about the way blood pumped through a person’s heart. Very disturbing. She’d tuned it out. “There is very little which offends me, else I would not have survived so long in society. But you must not discuss your interests with everyone you meet, especially in London.”
Jordana was convinced she had every right to tramp around Derbyshire and assist in childbirth, the mere thought of which made Marissa swoon. If anyone was in need of feminine encouragement and direction, it was Jordana.
Even more reason for him to remarry.
The thought of a new Lady Haddon filled her with an almost unbearable melancholy.
Haddon finally reached them, his gaze lingering over Marissa, though she hadn’t any idea what he was thinking. “My apologies for the delay. How wonderful to see you, Lady Cupps-Foster.”
“You were otherwise occupied,” she said in a crisp voice.
The pale of his eyes darkened like quicksilver, never leaving her face. “Unexpectedly detained.”
Marissa told herself to breathe, a feat difficult enough with how tightly her stays were laced. And she was annoyed with him. He’d not even bothered to correct Lady Christina’s assessment of Marissa as an elderly chaperone.
“Lady Stanton should have a discussion with her daughter on a more ladylike way of speaking. Lady Christina’s voice is a bit shrill drowning out even the birds singing in the trees.”
A tiny, knowing smile hovered at his lips. “Lady Christina sends you both her regards.”
“How kind.” Marissa savagely tamped down the jealousy snarling inside her. She told herself it didn’t matter what Lady Christina or her mother thought. The end result was the same. Marissa had no claim on Haddon. And she detested being envious over Lady Christina’s pert bosom and youthful glow. It wasn’t becoming.
Marissa was the daughter of a duke.
The trio walked for several minutes with only the sound of their feet crunching on the gravel to break the silence.
Elderly widow. Chaperone.
A burst of laughter filled the air as they passed a group of gentlemen on horseback, one of whom hailed them in greeting.
Haddon waved back.
“I was telling Lady Cupps-Foster,” Jordana began, “about the book I’d purchased at Thrumbadge’s.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Haddon shot Marissa a look of apology. The breeze ruffled the hair around his ears and caught against his collar.
Why must he be so bloody handsome? Couldn’t he have a wart or some other unattractive disfigurement?
“She isn’t.” Marissa nudged Jordana to take out the sting of her father’s rebuke. “I am hopeful to persuade Jordana to read something more appropriate. A fashion magazine, for instance.”
Jordana stopped in her tracks as a gust of wind blew up sharply. “I would never.”
A laugh escaped Marissa at the look on Jordana’s face at the mere mention of reading The Ladies Pocket Magazine, or something similar before gasping as her clever little hat shifted, becoming dislodged from its mooring of pins.
“Drat.” She reached up and adjusted the brim.
A rumble of thunder rippled across the park as patches of fallen leaves swirled and eddied in the gusting wind. Their time in the park would be cut short, it seemed, by the impending storm.
“I think we’d best turn around.” Haddon peered up at the sky, his eyes the exact color of the gathering thunderclouds.
Marissa cursed under her breath. Next she would find herself composing an ode to his cheekbones or something equally ridiculous.