Cupps-Foster, Marissa barely remembered. Or her reasons for marrying him. He had never shown her the slightest regard once they’d wed, not that she would have welcomed it.
None of her husbands, even Reggie, would have carried her off as if she were something rare and precious, creating a scandal in the process.
Something told Marissa Haddon didn’t care.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come.”
The object of her thoughts came through the door. His hair was ruffled, coat discarded, shirt unbuttoned to show the lightly tanned column of his throat.
Her heart skipped a beat as it did often in Haddon’s presence. She was getting used to the feeling.
A decanter of amber liquid dangled by the neck from one of his hands. The other held a lone crystal glass.
Marissa pulled her eyes from that delicious triangle of exposed skin up to his face.
He kicked the door shut with a booted foot and grinned at her. “Would you like some company?” Cradling the decanter and glass, he turned back to the door and the click of the lock sounded. “I’ve brought whisky.” He held up the decanter.
Abducting her from the street. Now locking her in. Plying her with spirits.
Her chest ached in the most delightful way. I adore him.
“I’m not certain you should be in my rooms so late at night,” she answered primly.
“I have discreet servants.” A dark brow lifted. “Reasonably discreet.”
“I’m not sure it matters given your lack of judgement earlier today. Jordana related what occurred. You caused quite a scene.”
His broad shoulders rippled with indifference. “Perhaps I did behave a bit . . . strongly. My concern for your welfare was probably evident.”
“You threatened another gentleman who sought to give me aid.”
A scowl of displeasure crossed Haddon’s lovely mouth. “He was peering up your skirts. And I didn’t think you’d wish to be groped by a complete stranger.”
“As opposed to being groped by you? I’m sure he only meant to assist me. There is also the matter of this robe.”
“Which you’ve chosen to continue wearing.” Satisfaction shone in the silver eyes.
“I want to believe one of your maids relieved me of my clothing upon my arrival in your home. That the same maid put me in this robe before the arrival of Dr. Steward.”
“You may believe what you wish.”
Though Marissa already knew the answer, she asked the question anyway. “Did you undress me, Haddon? And then put me in your robe?”
“I’ve already seen all the important parts.” His eyes shifted to her breasts, lingering on the place where the robe parted. “Despite your futile attempts to hide yourself with an unlimited supply of strategically placed pillows, sheets and poorly knit blankets.” Haddon nodded toward the chair his daughter had vacated a short time ago. “May I?”
“Please.” Marissa took in every delicious inch of him. Her outrage at his actions was all an act and Haddon knew it. She’d never felt so . . . cherished by a man.
“Is the décor still giving you a headache?”
“And my stomach to sour.” She nodded toward the decanter. “I’m certain some whisky would help.”
He poured her a generous amount in the glass and slid to sit on the bed.
Marissa didn’t object, welcoming his weight next to her.
Bringing the glass to her lips, he stopped. “You haven’t taken any more of Dr. Steward’s special medicine, have you?”
“No, and it’s laudanum. Nothing special about it. I don’t care for the stuff.”
“Nor do I. I think you’ll like this much better.” Haddon tilted the glass.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the taste and the feel of Haddon next to her. There was something so intimate about the way he liked to share a glass with her. The whisky was delicious, with a hint of smoke and caramel. “Mmm.”
Opening her eyes to see Haddon watching her, Marissa’s breath hitched at the look in his eyes. There was desire in his gaze, but something else as well, an emotion that sent her own heart thumping hard against her ribcage.
Haddon shifted his focus to the bed’s canopy. “My mother updated things after Anne and I were married, thinking we would spend part of the year in London. But Anne hated town and this house even more. She’d no interest in updating a house she never planned to live in.” He gave her a rueful look before taking a mouthful of the whisky for himself. “So you have my mother’s poor taste to blame for this monstrosity.”
“You’ve told me your wife was unwell. At Brushbriar.”
“She was sickly even as a child. I brought Anne here after we married, to show her the sights, but we left after only a few weeks. She never came again. Eventually, I became tired of asking. The air bothered her lungs. And society irritated her sensibilities.”
“I think that’s the point of society. It offends us all.”
Haddon’s mouth twitched while he held the whisky to her lips again. “My late wife had many lovely character traits, but humor wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t anything like you if that is your question.”
“You find me amusing?” Marissa pretended affront.
“You amuse me. There’s a slight difference.”
“Well, you aren’t like any of my three husbands either, were you to ask the question.”
Haddon chuckled, his voice low. “I assumed as much; there was no need to ask.” He took a swallow of whisky. “Anne and I weren’t compatible in the least which never changed over the course of our relationship. She tolerated the marriage bed only because she loved children and wanted them. She considered it her duty to endure my . . . attentions.”
Having been the recipient of Haddon’s attentions in the bedroom, Marissa couldn’t imagine any woman merely tolerating him. It must have been difficult for a man of Haddon’s passionate nature to have been married to a woman who most would describe as frigid. No wonder he'd come to London so often and indulged himself.
Marissa found herself irrationally angry at a dead woman.
“You were lonely.” She and Haddon were kindred spirits in many ways. The bond she’d felt with him, so apparent from the
