Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,72

bondage.

“Lonely?” The wicked little grin returned but didn’t reach his eyes. “With four girls? Perish the thought.”

He was making light of his marriage for her benefit, not wanting her sympathy, perhaps. She understood that better than anyone after being widowed three times. “I was lonelier in my marriages at times than I am now. It isn’t unusual.” Difficult to admit, but true, nonetheless. She thought Haddon had probably tried to have a real marriage with Anne and had been rebuffed for his efforts.

“I took advantage of this house by coming to London as often as possible. I spent much of my time here, though obviously it never occurred to me to redecorate. I’d no idea I’d one day be judged for it.” He winked at her.

“Your reputation precedes you,” she said. From what she could glean from the gossips, Haddon had cut a wide but discreet swath through the ladies of the ton, never once maligning his wife. Most thought he’d been widowed years earlier since he rarely mentioned Anne, only his daughters.

His heat-filled gaze flitted over her, touching her skin and sending a warm tingle down between her thighs. “I have not been that man for a very long time, Marissa, if that has been your concern.”

“Oh, I have experience with rakes.” Another excuse she’d given herself not to become involved with Haddon. But common rogues and despoilers don’t carry off notorious widows in full sight of the young lady all of London is certain they’ll offer for.

Haddon was nothing if not intentional in his actions.

“More?” He filled the glass up again from the decanter.

Marissa nodded, waiting for him to bring the whisky to her lips. “You don’t frighten me, Haddon.”

“Good.”

She took a sip of the whisky. “According to Jordana, I’m fearless. She gave me such a compliment after I watched her question the apothecary, Mr. Coventry, on the various methods a woman can use to prevent conception. She must have asked him a hundred questions alone just on sponges.”

Two tiny spots of pink brushed against his sharp cheekbones before Haddon swallowed the remainder of the glass.

“What am I to do with her?”

“Don’t be distressed.”

“Learning how to mix a poultice is one thing. Please tell me she did not ask after things a gentleman might—”

“I am sorry to tell you that is not the case.” Marissa bit her lip. She didn’t think Haddon would appreciate her amusement at the moment. He looked terribly distraught. “Dissuading her won’t work, Haddon. She is very determined. And please say nothing to her. Jordana trusts me to keep her secret. I do not wish to abuse that trust.”

“I agree. I’ll say nothing. But . . . sponges?”

Marissa tried not to giggle as she watched Haddon pour himself another finger of whisky. A languorous heat was spreading across her chest and through her limbs. She’d missed this, just talking to him, even more so than the physical aspect of their relationship, though that was marvelous.

“How are your quarries? Limestone, correct?”

The flicker of a shadow crossed his face, but it passed quickly. His lips turned up in his patent mischievous grin.

What a devil he must have been as a young boy.

“You were listening at Duckworth’s. Even with Enderly salivating all over you.”

“Ogling my bosom, perhaps, but I didn’t notice any drooling.”

A deep, masculine laugh echoed in the room as Haddon threw back his head in amusement.

The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled deliciously when he laughed. How could any woman find bedding him no more than a duty? He was handsome, yes, but it was the parts no one could see which made Haddon so beautiful.

Desire throbbed in a steady rhythm between her thighs. “Enderly no longer calls on me.” It seemed important to relay the information.

He stopped laughing abruptly, his eyes on her darkening to pewter. “I know.”

“You think you know me very well, don’t you, Haddon?”

“I never meant to marry Lady Christina Sykes.” He shifted off the side of the bed to set the glass of whisky on the side table, before settling next to her again. This time, he was so close her thigh brushed against his. Fingers traced the outline of her leg through the coverlet, circling her knee and trailing down her calf.

“Why haven’t you discarded my robe yet?”

Marissa looked up at the paisley swirling above her head.

“I doubt you’ll find the answer in the bed canopy.”

“The pattern is akin to tea leaves. The answer will appear at any moment.”

Another deep chuckle. “Christ, you’re difficult.” Haddon bent and began to