“In other words, someone you can keep under your thumb. The way your father kept your mother under his thumb.”
A swell of painful memories made acid burn his throat. “Father didn’t keep her under his thumb; he ignored her. I will never do that to my wife.”
“You will if she’s as dull as what you describe.” Warren leaned back in his chair. “When I get around to choosing a wife, I want a lively wench who will keep me well entertained.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”
Edwin rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why we asked you to join St. George’s? You’re as bad as the men we’re guarding our women against.”
“Ah, but I don’t prey on innocents. Any woman who lands in my bed jumped there of her own accord. And I dare say that’s true of any number of fellows here.”
It probably was. Even Edwin had taken a mistress in his twenties when his loneliness had grown too acute to endure. That hadn’t, however, been a very satisfying experience. Knowing that a woman was with you only for your rank and money was somehow more lonely than not having a woman with you at all.
Although with his sister Yvette now married and out of the house, he’d started to feel the disadvantages of a solitary way of life. So once more he’d be looking for a wife, always a singularly awkward experience.
Especially since he didn’t know how to please a woman. Or even how to talk civilly to one. He couldn’t spin a clever yarn, or hide an opinion beneath a facile compliment. Sadly, most women seemed to prefer facile compliments to blunt truths. Hence, his difficulty finding a suitable wife. “When will you broach this with Clarissa?”
He looked at his pocket watch. “At dinner, in about half an hour. I was hoping you’d come.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Might as well get it over with, eh? And I am leaving for Portugal in the morning.”
Devil take it. Edwin would have liked more time to prepare. He was not the spontaneous sort. “Planning to have us join forces against her, are you?”
“That wasn’t my intention initially, no.” Warren gulped some brandy. “When we left Hatton Hall for London, I’d hoped that by now Yvette and Jeremy would have returned from America. And you know that Yvette can talk Clarissa into just about anything.”
Edwin smiled. His sister could talk anyone into just about anything, even him.
“But I gather they’re still abroad,” Warren continued.
“It may be a few more weeks before they return. Sorry.”
“Well, it can’t be helped. At least my aunt will be there to help persuade her.”
Edwin suppressed a snort. Lady Margrave, Clarissa’s mother, was a flighty female who rarely offered sound advice, so Clarissa rarely heeded her. He doubted that this time would be any different.
Warren rose. “I’m truly sorry that I have to run off. So, are you coming or not?” The casual words were belied by his tight expression.
They both knew that Edwin hadn’t yet agreed to the plan. And why not? Because the thought of spending weeks in Clarissa’s company put him on edge as nothing else could.
But it didn’t matter. Warren was his friend, and wouldn’t hesitate to help if the shoe was on the other foot. So neither would Edwin.
He stood. “I’m coming.”
* * *
Clarissa’s mother turned to her in a panic. “I cannot believe your cousin did this! Warren knows better than to invite a man for dinner with no warning. What was he thinking?”
Clarissa raised an eyebrow at her mother’s reflection in the bedchamber’s looking glass. “He was thinking that it’s just Edwin, whom we’ve known for ages. And who comes regularly to dine.”
“I don’t know if pigeon pie is quite suitable for guests,” Mama said as if Clarissa hadn’t spoken. “Oh, and Madeira! Edwin loves his Madeira, you know, and we are fresh out!”
“Mama—”
“And the pickled onions were too sour the last time we ate them. I was hoping to use them up tonight, but if Edwin is coming—”
“Mama, calm down! It’s not as if we’re expecting the Tsar of Russia, you know.” She smiled into the mirror. “Although Edwin would make a fine tsar. All he’d have to do is be his usual autocratic and dictatorial self.”
Thankfully that observation broke her mother out of her fretting. “And he would look quite the part, too, wouldn’t he? All that dark hair and that chiseled jaw.”
And broad shoulders and regal bearing and slate-gray eyes as coldly beautiful as a Russian night spangled with stars.
Clarissa scowled at herself. She must be addled to be thinking of Edwin like that. Though he was sinfully handsome. In a sort of standoffish way.
“Why, I can almost imagine him in an ermine cape and one of those tall, furry hats,” Mama said.
Clarissa laughed. “Edwin would only wear such a pretentious thing to a coronation, and then only because he had to.”
His manner of dress was always correct, but terribly sober.
Unlike hers. She examined her gown in the mirror and smiled. Edwin would probably look sternly upon the confection of lace and lavender bows. But she would never change her gown for him. Let him give her one of his ruthlessly critical glances; she would not be cowed by them.
Indeed, it was merely force of habit that had her pinching her cheeks until they glowed nicely pink. It was not because she wanted to look pretty for Edwin. No, indeed.
“You know, my girl,” Mama said, “if you were a bit nicer to that man, you could probably have him wrapped about your finger in a matter of weeks.”
“Oh, I doubt that. Edwin is far too inflexible to be wrapped about anything. More’s the pity.” Clarissa would dearly love to see the woman who could manage that.
But it wouldn’t be her. Edwin, of all people, would never accept her as she was, especially once he knew the full extent of her youthful mistakes. And she wasn’t bending to anyone’s demands of what a wife should be—not his, not Mama’s, not Warren’s. She’d allowed a man to bully her once, and it had shattered her life.
Never again.
Pasting a brilliant smile to her lips, she whirled to face her mother. “Shall we go down?”
“Not yet, my angel. The servant said the gentlemen are already here. So we should keep them waiting. You must never let a man be too sure of you.”
“It’s Edwin, Mama,” she said tightly. “He’s sure of everything and everyone, no matter what I do.” She offered her arm to her mother with her usual coaxing smile. “Come now, I know you’re positively dying for a glass of wine. I certainly am.”
“Oh, all right.” Leaning on Clarissa’s arm, Mama let herself be led to the door. “But you must promise to give him a compliment first thing. Men like that.”
“Right,” Clarissa said noncommittally.
“And don’t contradict him all the time. Men despise fractious women.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And do not spout your witticisms incessantly. It’s very mannish. Not to mention . . .”
As they made their slow way down the stairs, Clarissa let her mother drone on, only half-listening to the usual recitation of little tricks designed to hook a man and reel him in. Those might have enabled her mere cit of a mother to snag an earl, but they smacked of deception to Clarissa.
If a man couldn’t like her as she was, what was the point? Clarissa could barely hide her true opinions from Mama. How was she to do it with a husband?
Not that she ever intended to have a husband. At the very thought of taking a man into her bed, her hands grew clammy and her throat closed up.
No. Marriage was not for her.
“. . . and do be sure to save the biggest slice of cake for him,” Mama was saying as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Nonsense. I’m not saving anything for Edwin.”
“That’s only
fair,” drawled Edwin from somewhere in the shadows to the right of the staircase. “I’m not saving anything for you, either.”
Striving to hide her surprise, she halted as he came into the light.
“Edwin!” Mama cried. “My dear boy!” She held out her hand.
Dutifully, he came forward to take it. “You’re looking well, Lady Margrave,” he murmured as he bent to brush a kiss over Mama’s cheek.
“You’re looking rather fine yourself,” Mama chirped as she drew back to survey him.
And Lord, he was, in his tailcoat of dark blue wool and his waistcoat and trousers of plain white poplin. Even his cravat was simply tied, which only accentuated the masculine lines of his jaw and sharp planes of his features, so starkly handsome.
How had he managed to grow only more attractive in a mere three months? And why on earth was she gawking at him? This was Edwin, for pity’s sake. It would swell his head even more if he knew what she was thinking.
Instead, she teased him. “Don’t tell me—you were so impatient for us to come down that you’ve been pacing the foyer in anticipation.”
The idea was ludicrous, of course. Impatient wasn’t even in Edwin’s vocabulary. If ever a man believed that slow and steady won the race, it was him.
And he clearly recognized the irony, for he flashed her one of his rare smiles. “Actually, I was fetching this from the library. Warren told me he was done with it.” His eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he held out a book. “Of course, if you wish to read it yourself . . .”
“Doubtful,” she said. “If it’s a book you loaned him, then it’s deadly dull.”
“Clarissa,” Mama chided beneath her breath.
But Edwin merely laughed, as she’d hoped he would. She took great pride in the fact that she could sometimes make him laugh. No other woman seemed able to. No other woman dared try.
“Well, it is about mechanical engineering, which I would imagine isn’t your favorite subject,” he said. “However did you guess?”
“Because I know you so well, Lord Blakeborough.”
He sobered, his gaze turning oddly intense even for him. “Do you? I’m not so sure.”
The words hung in the air for a moment in frozen silence before that was shattered by her cousin’s approach.
“I found another book you might enjoy, old boy,” Warren said as he bent to kiss first his aunt, then Clarissa. “It’s about automatons.”
As Warren handed him the book, keen interest leapt in Edwin’s eyes. “I haven’t read this title. Thank you. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I’m done.”
“No hurry.” Warren shot Clarissa a veiled glance. “As you well know, I won’t need it anytime soon.”
Whatever was that about?
Before she could ponder it, Warren offered Mama his arm. “Come, Aunt, let’s get you off your feet while we have our wine before dinner.”
“Thank you, my lad,” she cooed, and let him lead her to the breakfast room. “That is ever so thoughtful of you! But then you always were a dear. Why, I remember when . . .”
As Mama prattled on, Edwin was left to come behind with Clarissa. “So,” he murmured, “exactly what were you refusing to save for me?”
It took her a moment to remember that he’d overheard her earlier. “The biggest slice of cake.”
“I don’t like cake.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not wasting it on you. You won’t appreciate it, and you’d probably eat it just to be polite.”
He slanted a serious glance at her. “Perhaps I’d give it to you, instead.”
“I doubt that, but we’ll never know, shall we?” she said lightly. “I’m saving it for myself, regardless.”
“So I heard.”
“Because you were eavesdropping.” Mischief seized her. “How rude of you.”
They passed into the breakfast room, and he shrugged. “If you don’t want people hearing your pronouncements, you shouldn’t talk as loud as a dockworker.”
Mama paused while settling onto the settee. “A dockworker! For shame, Edwin—what a thing to say to a lady! Have you no pretty compliments to offer?”
When he stood blatantly unrepentant, Clarissa said, “If Edwin knew how to compliment ladies, Mama, he would be too popular in society to settle for having dinner with the mere likes of us.”
“There’s no settling involved, I assure you,” he said irritably.
She was still congratulating herself on getting beneath his cool reserve again when Warren stepped in. “Play nice now, cousin. We need him.”
“For what?” Clarissa asked.
Instead of answering, her guardian gestured to the settee. “You’d better sit down. I’ve got something to tell you and your mother.”
Can't get enough of Sabrina Jeffries' delightful historical romances? Don't miss these sizzling stories, on sale now!
When Lisette Bonnaud convinces Maximilian Cale, the Duke of Lyons, to accompany her to Paris to search for their respective loved ones, their journey takes a seductive twist when they pose as an ordinary husband and wife. Will they be able to go back to being just travel companions, or are the lines blurred by desire?
What the Duke Desires
* * *
When Oliver Sharpe, the Marquess of Stoneville, meets Maria Butterfield, a beautiful American woman who is searching for her fiancé in the most unlikely of places, he knows she’s perfect for his ruse to fool his grandmother into thinking he's ready to settle down. But before long, Oliver finds himself willing to risk anything to make Maria his—even his heart, and the dark secret he hides inside it.
The Truth About Lord Stoneville
* * *
Lady Amelia Plume has many admirers—it's too bad they're all fortune hunters and fops who can't provide the exotic adventures she seeks. But Major Lucas Winter, an American with a dark past and a dangerous air, is scandalously tempting . . .
Never Seduce a Scoundrel
* * *
ORDER YOUR COPIES TODAY!
About the Author
Jessi Blakely for Tamara Lackey photography
Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times bestselling author of thirty-eight novels and nine works of short fiction (some written under the pseudonyms Deborah Martin and Deborah Nicholas). Whatever time not spent writing in a coffee-fueled haze of dreams and madness is spent traveling with her husband and adult autistic son or indulging in one of her passions—jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, and music. With more than 7 million books in print in eighteen different languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction, and hopes that one day a book of hers will end up saving the world. She always dreams big.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Sabrina-Jeffries
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
ALSO BY SABRINA JEFFRIES
THE DUKE’S MEN SERIES
If the Viscount Falls
How the Scoundrel Seduces
When the Rogue Returns
What the Duke Desires
THE HELLIONS OF HALSTEAD HALL SERIES
A Lady Never Surrenders
To Wed a Wild Lord
How to Woo a Reluctant Lady
A Hellion in Her Bed
The Truth About Lord Stoneville
THE SCHOOL FOR HEIRESSES SERIES
Wed Him Before You Bed Him
Don’t Bargain with the Devil
Snowy Night with a Stranger
(with Jane Feather & Julia London)
Let Sleeping Rogues Lie
Beware a Scot’s Revenge
The School for Heiresses
(with Julia London, Liz Carlyle & Renee Bernard)
Only a Duke Will Do
Never Seduce a Scoundrel
/> THE ROYAL BROTHERHOOD SERIES
One Night with a Prince
To Pleasure a Prince
In the Prince’s Bed
BY SABRINA JEFFRIES WRITING AS DEBORAH MARTIN
Silver Deceptions
By Love Unveiled
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Books eBook.
* * *
Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Pocket Books
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Sabrina Jeffries, LLC
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Books paperback edition August 2015
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
The Art of Sinning Page 31