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 that is what you are assuming.” She couldn’t tell him the truth. “Captain Nighter is involved with my friend, Lady Waterstone. I was just visiting her and—”
“I don’t care, Marissa.”
Her heart fluttered madly. He clearly did care.
“I only find it ironic. He’s far younger than I.”
Marissa looked up at the face of the man she’d carried with her from the Peak District to London. A man she dreamed of nearly every night. Desolation filled her at the thought of Haddon being forever gone from her life. The last few weeks with Jordana, the only remaining reminder of him, had left Marissa feeling torn and ragged. Her eyes took in the sheer masculine beauty of Haddon, tracing the lines of his shoulders to his face and the magnificent slash of his cheekbones—dark smudges beneath quicksilver eyes.
Worry filled her the more Marissa studied Haddon. He looked leaner, as if he hadn’t been eating properly in addition to not sleeping. Jordana had certainly not volunteered any information that would cause Haddon to be in such a state.
“Haddon, is everything all right? Are the girls all well?”
Did I do this?
His expression was cool. Unfathomable. Politely reserved. Effectively closing himself off from her. A chilly block of ice looked back down on her. “Good evening, Lady Cupps-Foster.”
Not only did Haddon not wish to disclose whatever troubled him, he was violently opposed to discussing it with Marissa.
She came forward before he could take another step. “Haddon.” Marissa placed a hand on his sleeve to stop him, ignoring the hostile look he gave her.
“Is there something more? Lady Christina will be expecting my return to her father’s box.”
Marissa flinched. “Yes, there is something. I’d nearly forgotten. I meant to send you a note.” She gave him a smile.
It was not returned.
“But now that we’ve run into each other,” she said in a rush, “I wished to let you know I’ll be taking Jordana to Madame Fontaine’s later this week. To fit her for a new wardrobe.”
“I’m aware. Have a lovely time on Bond Street. My sister will arrive in a few weeks and will relieve you of your duty to Jordana.”
He was so bloody angry. “She isn’t a duty,” she snapped, suddenly comprehending how unbearable being separated from Haddon had become. Marissa bit her lip, struggling to find a way to make him understand. He wasn’t meaningless. All she managed was his name.
“Trent.”
Haddon brought his jaw up sharply, eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t bear the sight of Marissa a moment longer. “Good evening, Lady Cupps-Foster,” he repeated, this time with even more hostility than before. He turned his back on her, jogging up the stairs, clearly unwilling to be in her presence a moment longer.
Marissa blinked back the tears filling her eyes. She reminded herself
