Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,57

since most of those in attendance had returned to their boxes.

Trent paused, not wishing to interrupt the pair. He could take the stairs at the opposite side of the theater, but just as he turned to do so, a gentleman came down the steps. Tall, with the bearing those with military experience often displayed, he nodded politely, brushing past Trent before moving into the main hall.

Resolved to return to Stanton’s box and endure the remainder of the evening, Trent had only placed his foot on the stair when a small cry met his ears. A flurry of burgundy velvet and a spray of feathers fell toward him; without thinking, he reached out his arms. He was either being accosted by a giant bird, or a lady had lost her footing on the stairs.

Feathers tickled his nose as a soft, generous form fell into his arms with a whoosh. Trent recognized the luscious body pressed so delightfully against him immediately. He was intimately acquainted with every inch of her.

“Oh, dear. Thank you,” Marissa said, breath uneven and lips parted. She clutched at his coat, as she struggled to regain her footing.

Trent couldn’t take his eyes from her mouth. The luscious plum of her lips cried out to be claimed.

One kiss.

His head tilted and his mouth moved toward hers before their last conversation, her words ringing in his ears, rushed back at him. Stiffening, he took Marissa by the shoulders, and set her firmly back on her feet.

Marissa stared up at Trent, blinking as if he were some sort of a hallucination. “Lord Haddon.”

Trent raised a brow. “You look disappointed, Lady Cupps-Foster.”

“No. I mean—I wasn’t expecting—thank you.” Her fingers were still curled into the lapels of his coat, seemingly reluctant to release him.

God, she was beautiful. Her sapphire eyes were luminous as she looked up at him, the decorative spray of feathers fixed in her dark locks listing dangerously to one side. His entire body hummed at being near her, his heart throbbing painfully inside his chest. What was it about this one woman that made Trent lose every bit of sense he possessed?

“Have a care, Marissa. You could have broken your neck.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended but only because jealousy, so thick he feared he’d choke on it, flooded up his throat.

Marissa had been the woman at the top of the stairs.

Her body arched, just enough to push her breasts, which were bloody magnificent, against his chest.

Trent’s arousal was immediate. Painful. His cock didn’t seem to care he’d just caught her in an assignation with another man.

“Perhaps you should have your dalliances in an area with better lighting lest you injure yourself.” Trent disengaged her fingers from his coat, ignoring her small sound of surprise at his actions. Anger and jealousy were mixing together, fueling the temper he so often kept under control. He didn’t trust himself to speak or be so near her. Trent took a pointed step back.

Marissa’s mouth popped open. “No. He’s not—that is to say—”

“You owe me no explanation, my lady,” he bit out. “Excuse me.” He brushed past her to move up the stairs. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“My hem,” Marissa said stupidly to his retreating back, hoping he wouldn’t leave just yet. “I fear it caught in my heel. I should lodge a complaint. The stairs aren’t lit properly.”

Haddon looked down on her, the dim glow of the lamps glancing off his sharp cheekbones. “A fine idea.”

Her breath paused, eyes greedily soaking up every inch of him. She made a great show of brushing a bit of feather which had come loose from her styled hair, off the sleeve of her dress. Everything caught on velvet; she wasn’t sure she’d have another gown made from the fabric.

Terribly inconvenient.

As inconvenient as Haddon seeing her with Nighter and assuming the worst.

What else would he think?

“I’m glad I could be of service. Again.”

Marissa looked away. There was so much acrimony in those few words and all of it directed at her. All of it deserved. Did he really believe she’d only used him?

I called him meaningless.

“It was fortuitous you were here to catch me.” She looked up at Haddon, speaking to stop him from dashing up the stairs and away from her. Wanting his forgiveness but too afraid to ask for it.

“Next time, I won’t be,” he said flatly.

“No, I don’t suppose you will.” Marissa lifted her chin, hating everything about this conversation though loath to end it. “He isn’t my lover if