take in the room.
“Good God,” she whispered.
A ghastly blue paisley motif with gold thread surrounded her, contributing to the pitching of her stomach. No one had used that particular design for at least twenty years. Even then it had not been one of Marissa’s favorites. She couldn’t possibly be in her own home. The décor was one she never would have approved.
“A guest room in my house. Your assessment of the room décor isn’t flattering in the least.”
When Haddon smiled at her, as he was doing now, he was so . . . blinding he took her breath away. The first time he’d smiled at her in such a way had been across the dinner table at Pendleton’s house party during the fish course. She’d had a bit of trout drenched in an overpowering sauce on the end of her fork and was about to take a bite when she’d noticed him watching her. His silver eyes had glinted in the candlelight as he had followed the movement of her fork, watching her mouth the entire time.
I nearly dropped my fork.
She’d forgotten all about the terrible sauce and overcooked trout. At the time, she could only think about how bloody beautiful Haddon was with his dark hair and glorious cheekbones.
The bed jiggled as he moved, his fingers releasing hers.
“No,” she whispered, suddenly terrified he’d leave her alone with the atrocious paisley. Her fingers wiggled toward him.
The bed dipped as Haddon sat back down. “I’m not leaving you, Marissa. Just setting down the glass on the nightstand.”
Marissa’s chest tightened in the most wonderful way even though she was sure Haddon only meant he wasn’t leaving her at that moment. Perhaps having her day’s purchases knock her unconscious had been for the best, for she’d awoken with her thoughts firmly in place in regard to Haddon. An epiphany of sorts. He was the only man who’d made Marissa feel . . . anything in over twenty years. The next thought wasn’t nearly as welcome, causing her to wince at the pain it brought to her temple, and she shut her eyes.
How can I avoid telling him what I’ve done to Pendleton?
He and Pendleton were friends though based on the comments he’d made at Lord Duckworth’s, she no longer thought them close. But still. Haddon wouldn’t want to believe Pendleton’s father had committed murder. Or that Marissa’s actions toward the family were justified.
“Are you in pain?”
“No. I only have a slight headache. And the curtains are not helping. I fear you weren’t exaggerating when you claimed I could assist you with your decorating. I thought, Haddon, you were joking. But now,” her eyes opened to see him watching her, not the least concerned she found his decorating atrocious, “I can see the situation is far more serious than you led me to believe.”
“There I was on Bond Street thinking to catch up with you and Jordana—” he started in a quiet voice.
“You were?” Maybe he hadn’t seen her watching him.
Haddon’s lips twitched. “I was right down the street, as you well know.”
Drat.
Marissa pursed her lips. “I don’t know what you mean. Certainly, if I had seen you, I would have flagged you down to ask your assistance. In doing so, I might have avoided being hit by a flood of boxes.”
“Of course.” His forefinger began to stroke a line against her palm. “Saved from having your junior footman—”
“He’s aspiring to footman. I believe he was a groom not a week ago.”
“Whatever he is, my opinion is the lad should be sacked for allowing a small case holding several bottles from an apothecary shop,” another smile hovered at his lips, “to fall on his employer’s head.
Her hair dye. “Did any of the bottles break?” she asked cautiously, not wanting to disclose the contents.
“No. Had you been paying the least attention to your own safety, you would know that.” His voice roughened. “Instead, you were too occupied watching me and Lady Christina Sykes. A girl who you find too young for me but one you are convinced will give me the heir you assume I require.”
“All titled gentlemen require an heir.” She tried to pull her hand away.
“And whom you claim, very firmly, you don’t care if I marry. Which I think we can both agree is a lie.”
She tugged at her hand and he finally let go. “I wish to go home.” His observations made her sound ridiculous. Clasping her hands, she stared straight ahead, dismissing him.
“Good Lord, really? Not only can you not