“I beg your pardon, Mr. Enderly. Woolgathering, I’m afraid. What did you say?”
Enderly proceeded to pontificate on some obscure banking issue Marissa didn’t find the least bit interesting. Her niece would have, had she been there. Marissa nodded, pretending rapt interest. When Enderly began to gush over Simon, Marissa had to forcibly swallow down the bitterness filling her mouth. How he adored the great Lord Pendleton in all of his pretentious glory.
Enderly’s hand fell down Marissa’s spine, fingers caressing the lower portion of her back.
She casually stepped to the side, allowing his hand to fall away. Enderly had been hinting at his desire to be invited to her bed, but unbeknownst to the older man, he’d already outlived his usefulness. She’d found out nothing of interest about Simon from him. And the thought of actually having an affair with Enderly no longer held any appeal. She’d thought to put him off before tonight but reconsidered. Once Marissa’s escort saw the mutual hostility between herself and Simon, Enderly would naturally cease in his pursuit.
“I’m quite parched.” Marissa wet her lips and leaned over just enough for Enderly to catch a glimpse of the hollow between her breasts. She was not above such a thing when it was necessary.
The action had the desired effect.
“Of course, my dear.” Enderly’s pale gaze roamed over her neckline in appraisal. “How remiss I am. Would you care for something to drink? Sherry? Ratafia?”
Why did gentlemen always assume a lady wouldn’t want something stronger? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Enderly to bring her a whisky, but she thought better of it. His illusions of her would be shattered soon enough.
“You choose for me.” She smiled. He looked so hopeful.
Poor Enderly. You are bound to be disappointed.
“I’ll return in a moment.” His fingers trailed along her waist before he moved off, his cloud of white hair disappearing into the well-heeled crowd. He’d probably bring her ratafia, which she detested.
Tonight, Simon would seek to gain traction for his bill among the titles gathered here, hopefully garnering the support he needed. His reforms, which Marissa didn’t think went far enough, were still considered wildly progressive for many of his peers. Simon was building a reputation as something of a firebrand, arguing fervently for his opinions.
It was probably the only bit of passion Simon possessed.
Marissa had to admit most of his ideas had merit, though she didn’t think he was helping the lower classes because he empathized with their plight. Ambition was what mattered most to Simon. Power. Prestige.
The buzzing in the room grew louder as heads turned in the direction of the door. Simon arrived, entering the room as if he were a conquering hero. His progress in her direction was halted by the throng of admirers who sought to shake his hand or offer their support. Marissa observed him dispassionately.
He hasn’t done anything but hide murder and thievery.
Amid the hearty congratulations and pleasant conversation, Simon lifted his head ever so slightly in her direction. His lips parted, obviously shocked to see her in attendance. The lady at his side was speaking, her gloved hand hovering over his arm, though Simon ignored her. The brackets around his mouth tightened before he recovered from finding Marissa in Lord Duckworth’s drawing room. A perfect mask of snobby politeness fell over his patrician features in a matter of seconds, the superior smile he bestowed on lesser mortals firmly back in place.
A portly man with a ginger mustache stepped forward, intent on gaining Simon’s attention and momentarily blocking Marissa’s view.
I hope I’ve ruined Simon’s evening.
Enderly, white hair floating around his head like the puff of a dandelion, returned to her side, the offensive ratafia clutched in his hand.
“Here you are, my dear.” He handed Marissa her glass. “The man of the hour has just arrived.” He nodded in Simon’s direction. “Shall we go and reacquaint you with Lord Pendleton?”
Marissa sipped her ratafia without wincing at the taste. “Yes, of course.”
Enderly took her arm and led her to where Simon held court, subtly pushing aside the crowd. He introduced her to several people, one of whom was the ginger-haired man she’d seen earlier.
“Ho there, Enderly.” The gentleman was barely Marissa’s height, which put his eyes nearly on level with the tops of her breasts which swelled above her neckline. “You must introduce me to your lovely companion.”
“Phineas, good to see you. May I introduce Lady Cupps-Foster. My lady, Mr. Phineas, an old school chum of mine.”
Marissa inclined her head politely. “Mr. Phineas, a pleasure.”
“I assure you,” he took her hand in one beefy paw, “the pleasure is all mine.” His gaze was anything but polite, though his smile was genuine. Despite looking like a plump elf, Marissa thought Mr. Phineas considered himself a bit of a rake. At least in his own mind.
Enderly wasn’t paying the least attention to Phineas. He nodded to his friend, pulling Marissa along in his wake while trying to catch the eye of his idol, Viscount Pendleton.
Simon was watching them approach, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if Marissa were the Thames reeking in the middle of summer.
It was very difficult not to smile at his discomfort.
“Lord Pendleton.” Enderly bowed. “Thank you for your kind invitation this evening. I look forward to your speech later.”
“Enderly.” Simon inclined his head. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Your guidance in crafting some of these proposed reforms, as a fellow mine owner—”
Marissa made a small sound of derision.
“— has helped me to understand all viewpoints, especially those in the opposition. Your support has been instrumental.”
Enderly preened under Pendleton’s regard. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Not at all.” Simon’s unwelcoming gaze settled on Marissa. “Lady Cupps-Foster. How surprising to see you here this evening,” he said, failing to take her hand in greeting. “I didn’t realize you followed politics or were acquainted with Enderly.”
“Lord Pendleton.” Marissa nodded politely. “I couldn’t resist coming tonight, especially after Mr.
