Haddon fell to the side with a masculine grunt of satisfaction, pulling Marissa with him. He stayed buried within her, his heart beating madly.
Marissa gave a deep sigh of contentment. Her limbs were languid, weak, her body softening and molding itself to his. She felt completed in a way she never had before, resting in the circle of Haddon’s arms.
“Are you still well?” he said softly, his breath fanning her cheek.
“Oh, yes.”
“Those things I said, Marissa, how I mean to debauch you—”
“Yes.” She held her breath.
“I meant every one.”
22
The bed dipped as Haddon’s warmth left her side. She’d been dozing, lulled into that wonderful place between sleep and wakefulness by the sound of his heart beneath her ear. The need to keep Haddon close caused her to stretch her fingers out, not wanting him to leave and return to his own bed.
“Shush, my love. I’m only going to stoke the fire.” He tucked the blankets around her securely and pressed a kiss to her temple.
Marissa opened her eyes a slit, admiring Haddon’s movements as he brought the fire back to life. He was lovely to watch, the lean muscle of his body moving gracefully as he bent to the task. Satisfied, he stood and walked back to her, the flames outlining him with a soft, amber light.
He's so bloody beautiful. And mine.
Tonight had been an exercise in demonstrating the fact.
She flapped open the blankets to allow him to slide back beside her. Curling her body next to his warmth, Marissa waited as his heat seeped deep into her skin. He’d been gone only a moment, but she’d been so cold without him.
That is what my life would be like if Haddon were gone. I would be forever chilled.
He ran a finger over her cheek, tracing the outline of her jaw. “Have we reached an understanding then, Marissa? I’ve caught you. I mean to keep you.”
A sob stuck in her throat at his words. She’d been alone for so bloody long. Most of it by choice, her heart closed off. It was terrifying to realize, after all these years, that she needed someone. Particularly when that someone would tire of her in time and end things between them.
Or worse. She had been widowed three times.
“You worry that I will leave. Whether by dying or tiring of you.”
Marissa shut her eyes. It was unsettling how well he seemed to know her, guessing at her thoughts before she herself knew them. “Is it so far-fetched? I am tragically unlucky in love.” Her head fell to his chest.
“Your luck has changed.” Haddon grinned, pleased with himself. “There are barely nine years between us.”
“Nine years?” Marissa’s mouth parted in horror. This was terrible news. How could Haddon smile at such a pronouncement? “Nearly a decade?” She would be laughed out of London. “An older woman casually taking a younger lover, like my friend Lady Waterstone, is mildly acceptable but—”
“You may dispel casual from your vocabulary in regard to us,” he stated, his arms tightening sharply around her.
Us. She’d assumed as much. Haddon had behaved rather possessively with her from the moment they’d met, and Marissa doubted he would look kindly on any other man’s interest in her.
I adore that about Haddon, but I won’t tell him so.
“Can you not see, Marissa?” he said calmly, in a voice she thought he used with his daughters when trying to explain a crucial point. “My age is an advantage. I am unlikely to die before you.” Haddon gave her one of his impish grins. “That should please you. Given previous circumstances.”
Marissa swatted him. “None of my husbands died because they were old. And we’ll be the scandal of the ton.” She’d never wanted to invite such attention again. When Kelso had ruined her, it was all London had spoken of for months.
“You are missing the most important part.” He nibbled on her ear. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“Besides your being nearly a decade younger than I?” How could he be so blasé about their age difference?
He cupped her face in his hands. “I won’t leave you, Marissa,” he whispered pressing a kiss to her lips. “Ever.”
Marissa stilled, not daring to breathe at his declaration. Haddon wasn’t speaking of a short-term affair. Her heart thumped in disarray for a moment. “I—”
“I won’t leave you,” he said again. He took her hand, kissing her fingertips, and placed it over his heart. “You must trust me.”
When Marissa had been a child, her father, the duke, had thought to teach her to swim. He’d taken her to a cliff overlooking the sea near his estate a few miles from the Scottish border. The rocky outcropping wasn’t terribly high, but to the child Marissa had been, jumping into the ocean from such a height was terrifying. Her father had grasped her hand in his larger one, pressed a kiss to her fingers, and smiled. “You must trust me, Marissa.” They’d jumped together into the blue water. Her father had never let go. Not for an instant.
Haddon wasn’t going to let go either.
23
I can’t seem to let go of his hand.
A moderate look of surprise shone on Haddon’s face as he stood before Marissa in the foyer of her house. After breakfasting together, discreetly, in the guestroom, he’d brought her home in his carriage, taking the long way through the park.
She’d no idea there were so many things one could do in a slow-moving carriage. Haddon apprised Marissa of at least two.
It had been Marissa who insisted Haddon walk her inside, even knowing all of her neighbors had likely seen the gossip in the papers by now or had heard the rumors at whatever social gathering they’d attended the night before. They were probably peering at her from behind the curtains of their parlors.
Marissa lifted her chin high and marched up the steps.
Greenhouse, for his part, appeared somewhat outraged at the appearance of Lord Haddon in Marissa’s foyer, especially so early in the morning and
