“Yes. Not for . . .” She waved a hand in the direction of his perfect, naked body. “This.”
“We made love, Marissa. Christ. Just say it.”
“It was only sex, Haddon. And it must not happen again.” Her voice faltered at the lie.
“I see.” He walked to his still damp clothing, jerking on his shirt and trousers. Throwing on his waistcoat, Haddon shoved his cravat into a pocket.
Marissa shut her eyes for a moment. If her heart would just stop reaching in his direction, this conversation, as hurtful as it was, would be far easier.
“This would never work.” She pointed at the two of them. “An indiscretion with a much younger man—”
“Indiscretion. Mistake. Dalliance. Make up your mind. I think you fear it would work far too well. I never took you for a coward, Marissa Tremaine.” He pulled on his coat and shot her an icy look.
Coward? Her own anger, both at herself and him, bubbled up her throat. “You think I’m unaware of your intention in coming to London? I know it isn’t only for Jordana.”
Haddon paused in the act of pulling up his boots, not bothering to look at her.
“You’re here,” Marissa said, annoyed he didn’t even have the courtesy to look at her when she was speaking, “to find a wife, aren’t you? You need an heir. You didn’t come to London to have a meaningless affair with a notorious widow, many years your senior. Of that, I’m certain.”
The large body grew still. His hands stretched over the top of his thighs, fingers curling ever so slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick and hoarse, as if it were painful to speak.
“You have no idea what my intentions are in London, Marissa. You’ve never asked.” When he finally deigned to look at her, his silver eyes shone with misery. The absolute anguish at her rejection of him, her assertion they meant nothing to each other was laid bare for Marissa to see.
Pressure filled her chest, a terrible suffocation in which she struggled for air.
Marissa reached out her hand. What had made her say such an awful thing? It wasn’t meaningless to her, and it certainly wasn’t to him. How could she have made such a dreadful miscalculation? “You misunderstand. What I meant is—”
“I don’t. Misunderstand, that is. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear, my lady.” Without meeting her eyes, Haddon strode to the door. “Thank you for the whisky, Lady Cupps-Foster. Unfortunately, I can’t stay and avail myself of the repast you’ve had prepared. I deeply appreciate your time and efforts in befriending Jordana. She’s grown very fond of you in a short time, and I don’t wish to disrupt her progress.”
Marissa hated the clipped tone of his speech, nor did she care for the detachment he regarded her with. It was as though a large wall had been erected between them, one made of ice and frost.
“I would consider it a great kindness if you would continue in your plans to help Jordana with her new wardrobe. I assure you, once my sister arrives in town, she’ll take Jordana well in hand and leave you to other pursuits. In the meantime, I’ll trouble you no longer, my lady. You may send the bills for the dressmaker to me and any other expenses you incur while assisting my daughter.”
Haddon.
He was taking himself from her life. Just as she wished. But there was no elation. No feeling of relief she would be spared the temptation. Only a terrible, aching loneliness. “Thank you. I appreciate your consideration, my lord.” Now that he was leaving, Marissa had no idea how to fix things between them and take back the awful words she’d spoken.
I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.
Haddon strode to the door, purposefully avoiding her as Marissa pulled the tattered yarn of the blanket around her shoulders.
He didn’t bother to say goodbye.
12
“Miss Clare Higgins,” Arabella whispered to Marissa as they settled themselves into their seats at the Chenwith Society. A well-known physician, Dr. Linwood, was speaking of the health of those who toiled away below ground, especially children. After his remarks, there would be an auction.
Marissa was pleased to see an item donated by Lady Pendleton. A small egg of Blue John. Her nemesis would be here today just as Tomkin had informed her.
She smoothed her skirts and took in the room, filled to the brim with society’s wealthy ladies, all of whom had taken a break from their exhausting ritual of calling on each other to throw their support behind one of Arabella’s charitable causes.
A cause Simon, and his mother, Lydia, were supposed to give a fig about, given his efforts in Parliament. Though, Simon’s bills stopped short of actually caring for the physical well-being of the children who worked in the mines. But the Chenwith Society was very high profile, with many prominent donors. Viscount Pendleton had to give a show of support.
“She’s the daughter of—”
“The Honorable Sir Richard Higgins,” Marissa finished for her niece. “Member of Parliament and owner of several banking institutions in Cornwall.” Enderly had mentioned the name to her on more than one occasion when he’d escorted her about, though she’d not seen him since the evening at Lord Duckworth’s. “Sir Richard is well thought of, in addition to being powerful.”
“Quite so,” Arabella mused. “Miss Higgins also possesses an enormous dowry along with her political connections. Her father has a habit of collecting politicians and keeping them in his back pocket. I’m sure the thought of having a son-in-law to count among that number is making him positively lightheaded.”
Marissa plucked a loose thread from her bodice. She’d have to have a word with Felice. Her maid had manhandled the lovely new dress of striped brown silk.
Yes, but nothing compared to what Haddon did to the dress I wore to the park.
Pain nipped at the edge of her heart.
