Marissa nodded in agreement with a polite smile. The conversation amongst the ladies surrounding Lady Pendleton and her throne was becoming tiresome. Brendan had yet to make an appearance this evening, though thankfully Katherine was in the ballroom and dancing with a score of lovestruck gentlemen. Marissa was much relieved, for it meant Brendan was not sequestered with Katherine in a guest room somewhere. She’d been very certain of her son’s regard for Petra and didn’t wish to be proven wrong.
She extended her hand to Squire Turley. “Delighted.” While she had little desire to be hefted about the floor by Squire Turley, Marissa didn’t refuse. She liked to dance, even if her partner was a somewhat round, beefy man. Unfortunately, the musicians began the waltz and Marissa resigned herself to feel the press of the squire’s sweaty palms against the fine damask of her ballgown. A shame. She liked this gown but it would likely be ruined after dancing with Turley.
Droplets of moisture hovered above Squire Turley’s upper lip and beaded on the man’s forehead.
Good Lord. Was he unwell?
With a clumsy turn, the squire pulled her into the cluster of other couples circling the dance floor. Hard to believe the waltz was once so scandalous, for she didn’t feel anything but terror while dancing with Turley. If he stomped on her foot, he may well break it.
“How are you enjoying your stay, Lady Cupps-Foster?” His eyes assessed her.
Marissa had seen that look before, more times than she cared to. Turley was looking for a wife. “It has been very pleasant.” She bestowed a polite smile on his glistening face. Every man assumed a widowed woman couldn’t wait to have the shackles of marriage bestowed upon her again. Not Marissa. Three marriages was quite enough, thank you. Besides, her husbands had a propensity for dying quite soon after saying their vows. And Turley was not to her taste.
Turley spun awkwardly and Marissa stumbled, but he caught her swiftly enough, managing to draw her closer to his sweating body at the same time. A practiced move on Turley’s part.
Marissa attempted to pull back, but he clutched her firmly. The dress would definitely be ruined. No amount of brushing would remove the sweat stains. “Mr. Turley—”
“May I cut in?” The cultured masculine voice inquired.
Eyes the color of quicksilver cut across Marissa’s breasts, lingered for a moment in the exact location of her nipples, then moved down to her still slender waist before returning to her face with singular intensity.
The blush of Haddon’s regard rose up to pink her cheeks before Turley could even answer.
“Haddon, the lady and I—”
“Thank you, Turley.” Haddon smoothly brushed off Turley’s response. “That’s a good sport.” Before the puffing squire could say more, Marissa found Haddon smoothly gliding her about the floor without missing a step. Strong fingers wrapped around Marissa’s waist and pulled her a bit closer than was strictly polite. He smelled deliciously of sandalwood soap and tobacco.
Turley clenched his fists, indignant, but bowed at being politely vanquished and stumbled off the dance floor.
“That was rather abrupt. Possibly unkind,” Marissa said, though she couldn’t deny the relief she felt to be out of Turley’s grasp.
Haddon had the most curious eyes. Silver gray, but now that she was closer, Marissa could see the hint of green around the edges of his pupils. He used those glorious eyes to make an impression upon women, if any bit of the gossip in London were true. Just now, with her skirts wrapping around the hard, lean lines of his body as they danced, Marissa thought the gossips hadn’t done him justice. Haddon was a splendid, handsome beast. It was surprising to Marissa they’d never met before tonight.
“Ah,” Haddon spun her about expertly, “you looked as if you were in need of immediate rescue.” The silver of his eyes glittered in the light of the chandelier. “Was I wrong? I can always call back Turley. Even now he is eyeing you like a cherry tart. No, wait, my apologies. It’s only that the desert table is behind your shoulder.”
Marissa raised a brow at his wit. “You’re rather incorrigible.” Haddon was also charming and atleastten years her junior. They’d not spoken directly since being introduced the previous evening before dinner, though she’d noticed his regard for her during the meal.
“I am, aren’t I? You, though,” his voice lowered to an erotic growl, “are stunning.”
Goodness.A heated blush rose up her chest for the second time.
Haddon had been a rake before his marriage, and quite a successful one if the rumors were correct. Marissa was, unfortunately, well-versed in rakes. Her first husband had cut quite a swathe through London before their marriage. Andaftertheir marriage. Kelso had seduced her and in a burst of honor, married her. Reggie, whom she loved, had also been a bit of a rogue. Cupps-Foster was a mistake. She’d fallen into bed with him and then found herself married. At any rate, Marissa no longer found such men held appeal for her in the long term, though a brief dalliance was certainly an option.
“I appreciate the compliment. Will you next extol the virtues of my eyelashes? My cheekbones? Perhaps the curve of my ear?”
Haddon laughed, a great masculine sound which send wonderful shivers down her spine. “I thought the tip of your nose, or perhaps your wrist. I am partial to wrists.”
Haddon’s reputation was well-deserved. His wit paired with the dark, sable hair and silver eyes would make him irresistible to most any woman. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. No padding in the jacket, either.
The fingers at her waist pulled her closer to the broad expanse of his chest. A delicious ache started just below her breasts, something she hadn’t felt in quite some time. Haddon also had the appeal of being far from London and the eyes of her nephew. A very brief dalliance could be had before returning to Somerton.
The silver gaze lingered on her mouth.
When Haddon asked her to take air with him on the terrace, which she knew he would do, Marissa would say yes.
* * *
Brendan watchedthe ballroom from the shadows, his eyes lingering on Petra. She looked stunning tonight, for once not wearing a gown of some pale hue he despised. The neckline appealed to him as well, much less modest than usual. He kept imagining trailing his fingers beneath the silk while kissing her.
