Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,47

much more to discuss. And to find out our husbands are already well acquainted.” Arabella shook her head. “Malden is so forgetful. He never mentioned such a thing to me.”

Lady Higgins twittered, obviously overjoyed to be invited to call on Arabella. “It would be our great pleasure, Lady Malden. Wouldn’t it, Clare?”

Miss Higgins nodded. “Delightful, Lady Malden.” Her glance flitted up to regard Arabella as if she were some exotic creature.

The brackets around Lydia’s mouth deepened further; she likely couldn’t bear the thought of Arabella pouring tea with the girl she’d selected for her precious son. Marissa could practically smell the fear rolling off Lydia in waves. One of Lydia’s gloved hands disappeared inside the reticule dangling from her wrist.

“Come, Aunt.” Arabella took Marissa’s arm. “There’s someone I wish to introduce you to. Good day to you Lady Higgins. Miss Higgins.”

Arabella pointedly ignored Lydia, but Lady Higgins was far too enamored of becoming a close friend of the sister of a duke to notice. Marissa’s niece had learned well how to be charming and inviting to others, a stark contrast to the sour, staid woman she’d been before her marriage to Rowan. What a change love had wrought in Arabella.

I was right about Rowan. Marissa allowed herself a congratulatory moment.

She and Arabella returned to their seats, settling their skirts around them. The chairs were terribly uncomfortable and devoid of any padding. Her back would be aching in a matter of minutes. Another result of growing older.

Arabella leaned toward her and whispered, “What in the world did you say to Lady Pendleton? I nearly mistook her for a corpse until she blinked. And was that brandy on her breath?”

“She smells like a Christmas punch. And I only reminded Lydia she could ill afford to scare off Miss Higgins. I may have also mentioned the scores of solicitors at my disposal who were intent on dragging out the court proceedings. But I was at all times polite.”

“Oh, you are dreadful, Aunt.” Arabella squeezed Marissa’s arm. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

13

“Lord Pendleton to see you, my lord. Shall I send him in?”

Trent sat back in the leather chair before his desk, pushing aside the small pile of invitations he’d been replying to. Lord Stanton had invited him to the theater, doubtless at the bequest of his daughter Lady Christina. Before the day in the park with Marissa, Trent would have refused.

He scratched off an acceptance. “Send Lord Pendleton in.”

At least Pendleton would provide a distraction because he was in dire need of one. He’d seen little of the viscount since arriving in London save for the one political gathering Trent had attended. And he’d only gone to Duckworth’s because he suspected Marissa would be in attendance with Enderly.

A tiny squeeze pinched his heart.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you.” Pendleton wandered into Trent’s study with his customary superior attitude and took a seat on the leather sofa. His gaze flitted about the comfortable yet hardly luxurious room, probably comparing Trent’s study to his own which was covered in expensive furnishings and the obligatory Blue John.

“Not at all.”

Pendleton always assumed visits from him, rare though they were, would take precedence over anything else Trent was doing. Pompous ass.

Was Pendleton’s snobbish behavior a contributing factor to Marissa’s blatant dislike of the man? He could understand why Pendleton didn’t care for Marissa; after all, her son had ruined the young lady Pendleton had planned on marrying last summer. The woman in question was now the Countess of Morwick. But it was Marissa’s animosity toward Pendleton that had genuinely surprised Trent because it contrasted so sharply against her earlier behavior at Brushbriar. Watching the two interact from across the room it was hard to mistake the deep undercurrent of loathing between them. The sight unsettled Trent because he didn’t know where such hostility had come from. Or why.

Thinking of Marissa brought with it the expected wave of hunger for her. A gnawing ache which refused to go away. He’d not seen her since she’d dismissed him, yet again, from her presence, though Jordana continued to visit Marissa.

I’m still very angry at her.

Trent possessed a temper, one which he had learned to keep in check over the years. Another flaw of his he’d had to learn to control when raising four girls. The entire countryside wondered at his idiocy at not immediately remarrying or keeping nursemaids for his daughters. But fatherhood had made Trent a better person, one he would not have been had