It was a subtle, yet firm announcement of her commitment to him.
“Possibly,” she said. Standing on her tiptoes, Marissa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth with enthusiasm. There was no overt seduction in her manner, only joy at his presence.
“You missed me, I think,” he whispered against her cheek, hugging her tightly to his chest.
“I did.” Her fingers trailed down his jaw. “Very much, though I saw you only two days ago.” A light blush infused her cheeks at having to admit how much she longed for him, as he did for her.
Trent’s chest squeezed painfully as he looked down into her lovely features, still struggling to accept the truth of Marissa.
Pendleton had given up everything when Trent had appeared on his doorstep, with little reluctance. It was almost as if the burden was too much for him to carry any longer. Much of the viscount’s usual smug behavior had been wiped from his features as he’d relayed his tale.
Trent had been so hoping the death of Marissa’s late husband had been accidental.
The previous Lord Pendleton, John, had indeed murdered his best friend in cold blood. While John had pulled the trigger, it had been Lydia who’d planned everything, right down to the cave where John would hide the body. It had also been Lydia who’d had the foresight to spread the rumors Reggie had run off with another woman so the search for him would eventually end.
Lydia had done all of that while visiting Marissa daily to offer her comfort. Holding Marissa’s hand while Marissa had wept on her shoulder.
Evil, spiteful bitch.
A fierce, almost violent wave of protectiveness for Marissa rolled over him.
My poor love.
Trent tucked a dark curl of Marissa’s hair behind one ear. “I missed you as well. I adore roasted chicken. And you.”
The survey was real, not a fake, the relief at finally telling the truth evident on Pendleton’s face. Lydia, in one of her brandy-fueled stupors, had told her son everything, but by then, Pendleton was already on his way up the political ladder and he’d grown accustomed to the wealth the Blue John mine provided to his family. Still, the guilt had eaten away at him. Pendleton was stealing from his neighbor and had been for years. His parents were murderers.
Lydia insisted her son keep his mouth shut. Opening it would only result in the loss of his brilliant career.
“I did warn my mother, Haddon. Marissa surely knew the truth after her husband’s remains were discovered. Her entire family would be coming for ours. I told Mother I feared I would awake one night to find myself being strangled by Kelso or worse, the Duke of Dunbar. I have connections at the Ministry. I know what both of those gentlemen are capable of. The things they’ve done. Marissa wasn’t going to allow such an insult to stand. She’d want revenge. Mother laughed and told me I was weak. Well, she isn’t laughing now.”
“Are you hungry?” Marissa took his hand.
“Yes.” He bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, inhaling the warm vanilla scent. “But I think my appetite is for something besides chicken. Elderly widow, perhaps.”
It had been all Trent could do to stay a moment longer with Pendleton, listening to his fears and regret. Still, he had the presence of mind to make the same request of Trent that Lydia had: implore Marissa to cease in her attack. After all, if Pendleton didn’t marry Miss Higgins, Trent would become impoverished as well. Didn’t he care about his daughters? Did he wish to spend the rest of his life digging in the dirt just to put food on the table?
She arched against him, her fingers moving beneath his coat to slide it off his shoulders.
“Marissa bought up all my markers. The legal fees to defend our ownership of the mine are only adding to my debt. She owns me, Haddon. I fear she means to put me in debtor’s prison. Or worse.”
They undressed each other slowly while their dinner grew cold. Trent’s fingers traced every curve and hollow, memorizing the feel and scent of her. The way she tasted beneath his tongue. Those beautiful creases at the corners of her eyes.
If she were threatened or hurt, what would Trent do?
More importantly, what would he do now?
He’d spent several sleepless nights trying to answer those questions.
She was laughing, pulling him in the direction of the sofa before falling against the worn cushions, her arms held out to him.
“Should I put out the fire? The lamp? Plunge us into total darkness?” he teased. “Perhaps cover you with the blanket and use only these strategically placed holes?” Trent held up the poorly knit blanket her niece had made her so long ago.
“No.”
Marissa’s shyness had dissipated, at least for now, secure in the promise he’d made to her. She was no longer hiding from him, at least not in this.
Trent’s heart contracted sharply. Would she have ever told him of Pendleton?
Marissa giggled but her eyes on Trent were serious. “We have an understanding,” she whispered.
“We do.” He pulled her on top of him, entering her with exquisite care, groaning with pleasure at the way her body clasped his. The dark curtain of her hair fell around them until all he could see was Marissa as they moved together in unison. As they always had. The two halves of their hearts seeking to find each other and be whole.
Trent willed for this moment to last forever.
“I love you,” he whispered, looking into her eyes as his release shattered through him. “I love you.”
25
“I’m glad to see you’ve recovered completely. Unfortunately, your reputation hasn’t.” Arabella sauntered into Marissa’s parlor.
Putting aside her book, Marissa discarded the spectacles on her nose, somewhat relieved for the interruption. She’d read the same
