“My lady, can you open your eyes?”
No. Her eyelids were weighed down. Heavy. It would be an enormous effort to open her eyes or move at all. She was so comfortable. Warm. Almost like floating in a bath. Besides, if she opened her eyes, Haddon might disappear.
“I’m not a coward.”
“I know. Wake up, Marissa.” Haddon sounded very insistent.
Finally, she managed to push her eyelids open.
Marissa was in a bed, with Haddon sitting next to her, far too close for propriety’s sake, and holding her hand but thankfully not her breast.
I was dreaming.
Haddon’s silver eyes were filled with worry. What was he concerned about?
Me. “Are you worried about me?” a raspy whisper asked as her heart fluttered in her chest. She would do anything to have him keep looking at her in such a way.
“Yes.” His voice sounded strained but she saw a hint of the mischievous smile he so often wore tugging at his lips.
Marissa struggled against the pillows, trying to sit up, but the pain in her temple made her fall back. “My ankle hurts.” She blinked at Haddon as her fingers curled more firmly around his. “I’m thirsty.”
“If you’ve no further need of me, my lord—”
Marissa glanced at the foot of the bed where an older gentleman with snow-white hair stood. Good Lord, is that Enderly?
“Thank you, Dr. Steward, for arriving so quickly. I think my staff and I can take things from here.”
Marissa blew out a puff of air relieved. Not Enderly. But a physician.
“Send for me if you need anything. I’ll see myself out, Lord Haddon.”
She tried to focus on the departing Dr. Steward, but her eyes refused to look at anything but Haddon. Her fingers tightened on his, afraid he would leave with the physician.
I don’t want to run away from him anymore.
He cast a bemused look at their clasped hands but didn’t try to pull away.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was soft. “You’ve a little bump on your head and you twisted your ankle. But you’ll live.” A squeeze to her fingers.
Marissa squeezed back.
“I’m not certain how you managed to wedge your foot into the only hole on the entire street—”
“I’m sure it isn’t the only one.” She wanted to touch Haddon’s face. Press a kiss to his brow. He looked so worried about her.
“I managed to save your shoe. Considering how attached you were to that little hat, I thought I’d do my best to salvage it. Weren’t you watching where you stepped? You could have been seriously injured.”
“No, I—” She bit her lip, not wishing to admit she’d been too preoccupied watching him fawn all over a girl barely out of the nursery. “I’m very thirsty.”
“Ah, yes.” He stood, reluctantly releasing her hand, and moved to the small side table where a carafe sat. He poured out a glass of water and returned to sit at her side; he held the glass to her lips, watching her mouth as she drank.
“Better?” He took her hand again.
She relaxed immediately, feeling the warmth of his fingers entwined around hers. “Where am I?” Her eyes ran down the hideous coverlet of the bed she lay in before turning her head ever so slightly to 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
