Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,41

served your needs.”

“Served my needs?” How incredibly . . . ugly that sounded. And derogatory. Couldn’t he sense how difficult this was for her? But perhaps it was for the best he assume she thought so little of their relationship.

Her heart gave a dreadful lurch.

“You didn’t seem to mind,” she shot back in the voice she used when dissecting someone who had earned her wrath.

Haddon stood abruptly, picked up the empty glass he’d discarded earlier and brushed past her on the way to the sideboard. He spilled a healthy dose of amber liquid into the glass. “You don’t mind, do you? Thirsty work and all.” The very tops of his cheekbones had pinked, a tell-tale sign of his mounting anger.

Well, she was rather annoyed herself. How dare he make this her fault. “I didn’t kiss you in the park.”

The glass hovered at his lips. “You asked me here.”

“To warm up after you rescued my hat,” she snapped back.

Lord, that sounded ridiculous.

Haddon snorted in disbelief and downed the whisky. Setting the glass down with a clatter, he said in a bland tone she instantly detested, “What did you think would happen, Marissa? We were going to sip tea and eat these sandwiches? And for the record, I don’t care for watercress.”

“Yes. Not for . . .” She waved a hand in the direction of his perfect, naked body. “This.”

“We made love, Marissa. Christ. Just say it.”

“It was only sex, Haddon. And it must not happen again.” Her voice faltered at the lie.

“I see.” He walked to his still damp clothing, jerking on his shirt and trousers. Throwing on his waistcoat, Haddon shoved his cravat into a pocket.

Marissa shut her eyes for a moment. If her heart would just stop reaching in his direction, this conversation, as hurtful as it was, would be far easier.

“This would never work.” She pointed at the two of them. “An indiscretion with a much younger man—”

“Indiscretion. Mistake. Dalliance. Make up your mind. I think you fear it would work far too well. I never took you for a coward, Marissa Tremaine.” He pulled on his coat and shot her an icy look.

Coward? Her own anger, both at herself and him, bubbled up her throat. “You think I’m unaware of your intention in coming to London? I know it isn’t only for Jordana.”

Haddon paused in the act of pulling up his boots, not bothering to look at her.

“You’re here,” Marissa said, annoyed he didn’t even have the courtesy to look at her when she was speaking, “to find a wife, aren’t you? You need an heir. You didn’t come to London to have a meaningless affair with a notorious widow, many years your senior. Of that, I’m certain.”

The large body grew still. His hands stretched over the top of his thighs, fingers curling ever so slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick and hoarse, as if it were painful to speak.

“You have no idea what my intentions are in London, Marissa. You’ve never asked.” When he finally deigned to look at her, his silver eyes shone with misery. The absolute anguish at her rejection of him, her assertion they meant nothing to each other was laid bare for Marissa to see.

Pressure filled her chest, a terrible suffocation in which she struggled for air.

Marissa reached out her hand. What had made her say such an awful thing? It wasn’t meaningless to her, and it certainly wasn’t to him. How could she have made such a dreadful miscalculation? “You misunderstand. What I meant is—”

“I don’t. Misunderstand, that is. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear, my lady.” Without meeting her eyes, Haddon strode to the door. “Thank you for the whisky, Lady Cupps-Foster. Unfortunately, I can’t stay and avail myself of the repast you’ve had prepared. I deeply appreciate your time and efforts in befriending Jordana. She’s grown very fond of you in a short time, and I don’t wish to disrupt her progress.”

Marissa hated the clipped tone of his speech, nor did she care for the detachment he regarded her with. It was as though a large wall had been erected between them, one made of ice and frost.

“I would consider it a great kindness if you would continue in your plans to help Jordana with her new wardrobe. I assure you, once my sister arrives in town, she’ll take Jordana well in hand and leave you to other pursuits. In the meantime, I’ll trouble you no longer, my lady. You may send the bills for the dressmaker