And when he slid his tongue inside her mouth, it didn’t so much startle as intrigue her. She’d been kissed like that before, but not so eloquently. It made her restless for more.
Hardly even aware she did it, she wrapped her arms about his neck. Then everything got more interesting. The kiss got more interesting. He sucked on her tongue and she slipped it into his mouth, something she’d never done. Their tongues engaged in a “merry war” that made her dizzy with the sweet ache of it.
His kiss grew bolder, but she didn’t mind. She wanted it bolder still. She slid her hand inside his coat, shocked to find his heart beating as rapidly as hers. The kiss went on and on, battering her defenses, tempting her to let go . . . until he pulled her flush up against him.
She froze. She could feel the thickness inside his trousers, and she knew what it meant. Pain, humiliation. Danger.
Jerking away, she whispered, “No. Enough.” She waited fearfully for his protest, waited for him to fight her, to try to subdue her.
Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair and said raggedly, “Enough. Right.”
She fought to get her breathing under control. “Edwin, I’m sorry I—”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He was already slipping into his formal manner. “I overstepped my bounds. You’re always well within your rights to remind me where they are.”
No man had ever said that to her. It sounded too good to be true. But then, she and Edwin had done little more than kiss. Perhaps if matters had progressed further . . .
She tamped down a stab of fear. This was Edwin, after all. “Thank you. I can always count on you to be a gentleman.”
He eyed her steadily, as if sensing that her words were as much a plea as anything. “And I can always count on you to be a lady.”
He spoke the words with perfect sincerity, yet her throat felt suddenly tight and raw. How little he knew.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said. “I shall fetch you and your mother at nine to take you to services.”
All she could manage was a nod.
He looked as if he were about to remark on her uncharacteristic silence, then sighed. “I’ll show myself out.”
The moment he cleared the door, she collapsed into the nearest chair. Heavens. Edwin could kiss. He could feel.
He could be aroused. By her. By kissing her.
She didn’t know what to think about that.
But one thing was certain. The next time she thought about offering him a reward, she would put the idea right out of her head.
Before it got her into trouble.
Seven
Still shaken by his reaction to the kiss with Clarissa, Edwin paused at the door of Warren’s town house to speak to the head footman. “Have you seen Count Durand hereabouts?”
“No, milord. I’ve been watching the street as you requested, but haven’t seen the Frenchman.”
Relieved that the arse wasn’t hanging about the house at least, Edwin rode from Mayfair to Pall Mall as if the hounds of hell were at his back. His “reward” had gone better than he expected. If he didn’t watch it, he might yet find himself leg-shackled to Clarissa. And that would be disastrous.
He felt again the rapid beat of her blood against his lips as he kissed her inner arm. He saw again her expression as he straightened—a heightened look of awareness and arousal that had prompted him to kiss her lovely mouth. To plunder and taste and wish he could continue drinking from her lips for days.
A curse erupted from him. Drinking from her lips, indeed. He didn’t want to do any such ridiculous thing. What he wanted was to have her in his bed. Which couldn’t happen unless they married.
Remembering her reaction to him at the end, he gritted his teeth. When a woman recoiled from a man’s embrace with alarm in her eyes, it didn’t bode well for her wanting to marry the fellow.
Until that moment, she’d seemed to like him well enough. Of course, Clarissa was a known flirt, so sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between flirtation and genuine liking. Perhaps she’d merely been toying with him before.
But then, why not finish their kiss with a laugh and a teasing remark? Or a coy refusal, as some other woman might have done?
He shook his head. He would never understand her, and there was no reason even to make the attempt. This would end as soon as Warren returned. If Edwin had his druthers, it would end even sooner.
It could end tomorrow if Durand was disposed of.
The thought leapt into his head with startling clarity. Yes, perhaps he should attack things from that front. Surely the Frenchman had some weakness, some secret in his past that could be held over his head to make him stop his pursuit of Clarissa. And Edwin knew just the person to ask about it.
He went straight to the club, hoping that the Baron Fulkham, undersecretary of state for war and the colonies, would show up tonight. The baron had recently joined because his late brother’s widow was being vigorously courted, and he needed to make sure she didn’t end up in bad hands. While he was rarely present during the day, he did come in the evenings to enjoy a cigar and play cards with friends.
Fortunately, the card room was right where Edwin found him. Unfortunately, Fulkham was playing cards with Lord Rathmoor, the man who’d married Edwin’s former fiancée.
Fulkham looked up before Edwin could retreat. “Evening, Blakeborough,” the baron said, with a furtive glance at Rathmoor. “Someone said you were at Lady Maribella’s party. We didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
That was probably why the man had felt comfortable inviting Rathmoor to the club as a guest. Meanwhile, Rathmoor looked anything but comfortable. Damn. This would be harder than Edwin thought.
“I was at the party but didn’t stay to the end,” he answered.
“Come play with us,” Fulkham said. “Rathmoor is slaughtering me at vingt-un and needs some competition.”
Edwin hesitated. He’d have to be cautious in questioning the baron as it was, since he barely knew the man. With Rathmoor there, it would be even more difficult.
Still, much as Rathmoor probably resented Edwin for attempting to marry Jane, Edwin knew the viscount was discreet.
That was why Edwin preferred dealing with men. A man asked direct questions, got direct answers, and nobody pressed him for more. There was none of this nonsense about compliments and such.
Besides, as a former Bow Street runner, Rathmoor might be able to shed some light on Durand. As long as Edwin didn’t let on that this had anything to do with Clarissa, there’d be no chance of either man’s leaking information that could harm her reputation.
A card game might be the perfect venue for asking questions that seemed casual. Especially a French card game. It was an obvious opening.
“I believe I will join you.” Edwin took a seat between the two men. “What are the stakes?”
“Five pounds to start.” Fulkham lifted an eyebrow. “Unless that’s too rich for your blood.”
“It’s fine.” Edwin enjoyed cards most of the time, especially since he rarely lost, but tonight he would be hard-pressed to keep his mind on the game.
They determined that Rathmoor would be dealer. With a grim expression, he shuffled the cards, his movements rigid. Perhaps Edwin should directly address the difficult issue between them before going on to more productive subjects.
“How is Jane?” Edwin hadn’t seen her since her wedding to Rathmoor several months ago, so it should be a perfectly acceptable question.
Given the way Rathmoor stiffened, perhaps not. “She’s well,” he clipped out and dealt each of them two cards.
Edwin examined his cards and did some quick mental calculations, then indicated he wanted another card. “I understand you’re renovating Rathmoor Park.”
Rathmoor’s gaze shot to him, still wary. “We are.”
The other two men both took another card as well.
Edwin chose to stand at nineteen. “I’m sure Jane will be a great asset in that endeavor. She has a keen
sense of how to decorate effectively.”
Rathmoor softened a fraction. “She does indeed. How did you know?”
“After my father died and I wanted to redo the town house, she made several helpful suggestions. Yvette was very grateful for the advice, since I had put her in charge of the furnishings.”
“Jane has a knack for such things.” Rathmoor examined his cards and chose to stand at seventeen. “She’s good at managing people.”
Fulkham asked for another card, and then chose to stand, too.
“She certainly is.” As they each turned their one facedown card over, it occurred to Edwin that Jane had tried to manage him from time to time, and he’d chafed at it. She’d gone about it so single-mindedly, much as his sister had always done.
But Clarissa teased and challenged him, which he found vastly more enjoyable. Living with Jane would probably have been more trying than he’d realized at the time. Rathmoor seemed happy enough with her, but that was because the man fancied himself “in love.”
At least Yvette was no longer trying to manage Edwin’s life. Though sometimes he missed that.
“Congratulations, Blakeborough,” Rathmoor said, “you win this one.”
“Hmm?” Edwin looked down to see he had turned up a two to go with his nineteen. Twenty-one.
Rathmoor had twenty, and Fulkham had gone bust.
But the baron didn’t seem perturbed by that, for he laughed. “Your mind is a million miles away, isn’t it?”
“Sorry.” Edwin swept the sovereigns to his side of the table. “I was woolgathering about my sister.”
“Surely you needn’t worry about her now that she’s married.” Rathmoor sounded less uncomfortable than before as he picked up the cards and shuffled.
“No,” Edwin answered. “Keane is a good man. He’s proved to be far more reliable than rumor had led me to believe. And until he came along, she had to fight off scoundrels.” He slanted a glance at Fulkham. “Speaking of scoundrels, someone asked me about the Count Durand’s character.” That was almost true.
“The charge d’affaires?”
“Yes.” Edwin cut the cards for Rathmoor, who began to deal. “Have you heard anything about him? He seems quite the smooth-talking fellow.”
“That’s necessary for a man in the diplomatic profession,” Fulkham said.
“If he’s the charge d’affaires, shouldn’t he be intent on doing his duty by the ambassador and not running around courting women?” Edwin tapped for another card. “The person who wanted information about him was upset by his pursuit of a certain female relation.”
“Durand is a typical Frenchman, that’s all,” Rathmoor said dismissively. “Eloquent with the ladies. Rather like my half brother, who has just enough French in him to be dangerous.”
Edwin didn’t want to let the conversation wander into some tangent about Rathmoor’s relations. “But Durand hasn’t a reputation for, say, seducing gentlewomen, does he?” He figured both men would take the question in stride, since that was the purpose of the club, after all—to separate the wheat from the chaff regarding suitors.
“Not to my knowledge.” Fulkham tapped to demand another card. “The man is unmarried, after all. He’s probably looking for a wife.”
“So he has no skeletons in his past,” Edwin persisted.
Rathmoor dealt another card to the baron. “It wouldn’t matter if he did. I suppose if he’d committed some indiscretion you could shame him in society with it, but that’s about all you could do.”
“And even that would be inadvisable,” Fulkham added. “Matters are rather strained right now between France and England. The last thing we need is some brouhaha over the charge d’affaires’ skeletons, whatever they may be. Besides, unless it was the worst sort of criminal act, he would be immune to prosecution as a diplomat.”
That hadn’t occurred to Edwin. And so far the man hadn’t committed any criminal act that Edwin knew of. Which meant it would be very difficult to banish Durand from London.
Fulkham cast him a warning glance. “I would advise your curious friend not to take on a man like the count. Durand is connected to several powerful gentlemen in France, and has a few important connections in England as well.”
Do they know he’s half-mad? Edwin nearly asked. But he couldn’t say that. He’d have to explain, and that would mean risking Clarissa’s reputation.
“Well, then, I suppose that is that,” Edwin said smoothly. “Thank you for the information. My friend will be relieved.”
Edwin would simply have to hope that Durand’s absence at the party earlier today meant that the man had finally gotten the message and was staying away. Because going on the offensive with the charge d’affaires didn’t appear a viable option. Which meant Edwin would of necessity be spending more time with Clarissa.
When his pulse quickened at the thought, he cursed himself for a fool. Pray God Durand was out of their hair soon. Otherwise, Edwin was in for a long and difficult Season.
“You had best go dress for dinner, my dear,” Clarissa’s mother said. “His lordship will be here in an hour.”
“There’s plenty of time,” Clarissa muttered.
The drawing room was cozy at this time of day, with the late-afternoon sun streaming in, and she was in no hurry. Indeed, she dreaded the evening ahead. She almost wished Edwin wasn’t coming to dine on this rare night when she and Mama had no engagements.
Yesterday, when he’d accompanied them to services, he’d been as stiff as a poker and had barely spoken two words. No doubt her final reaction to his kiss on Saturday night had insulted him. Lord only knew how surly he’d be at dinner.
But before she could think about going to dress, the butler appeared in the drawing room doorway to announce Edwin’s arrival.
She jumped to her feet, patting her hair feverishly. Good Lord, he was early! And when he entered, she noticed he was rather formally attired for dinner. He even wore a many-caped dress cloak that he’d apparently not allowed the footman to remove.
“We weren’t expecting you yet, sir.” She tried to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room. No doubt she looked a fright.
If she did, he didn’t seem to notice. “I fear there’s been a change of plans, ladies,” Edwin said distractedly.
Mama bolted upright. “Nothing has happened to Warren or Niall, has it?”
Edwin looked startled. “No, no, nothing like that.”
“Warren has scarcely been gone a week, Mama,” Clarissa said. “He’s probably still on the ship to Portugal. He certainly couldn’t have met with Niall yet.” Though she dreaded what he might learn when he did—that she was the cause of Niall’s exile. It was a constant source of shame and guilt for her.
But Niall would never reveal it. He’d kept her secret from Mama and her cousin all these years; why should he betray it now?
“Oh. Yes, you’re right.” Mama sank back in her seat. “So what is this ‘change of plans,’ Edwin?”
“I entirely forgot that I’m obligated to attend the opening of a new enterprise tonight. I won’t be able to stay for dinner. You’re welcome to go with me, but if you prefer not to, I’ll understand. It’s rather sudden, I know.”
He said it almost as if he hoped they wouldn’t go. No doubt he was tiring of fulfilling his promise to Warren now that Count Durand’s interest in her seemed to have waned.
Fine. She hadn’t wanted to dine with him, anyway. She was looking forward to a lovely evening alone with Mama. Truly, she was.
“What is the opening for?” Mama asked.
“I’m sure it’s nothing that would interest us, Mama.” Clarissa glided over to the window with studied nonchalance. “It’s probably a lecture hall or an exhibit of machines or something equally dull.”
“Actually, my Lady Spitfire,” he drawled, “it’s the reopening of the Olympic Theatre.”
She froze, then whirled on him. “Madame Vestris’s Olympic Theatre?”
“You know about it?”<
br />
“Are you mad? Everyone knows about it! If not for the fact that Mama and I were sequestered in the country for months, I would have bought tickets to Olympic Revels as soon as they went on sale.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “There’ve been none to be had for love or money these past few weeks. So how did you get them?”
He shrugged. “I’m an investor. I have three tickets, actually, but with Keane and Yvette in America—”
“You’re an investor.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. “In the Olympic Theatre.”
“You needn’t look so shocked. When Madame Vestris approached me, I agreed to put some money on her venture if she’d agree to hire a couple of the more promising lads from Preston Charity School for posts in her business office.”
“You know Madame Vestris?” she breathed. “The most celebrated opera singer, dancer, and actress in London?”
With a sudden gleam in his eyes, he waved three tickets in the air. “I could introduce you.”
She gaped at them, then snapped her mouth shut. “Give me twenty minutes to get ready.” Picking up her skirts, she hurried for the door. “We’re most certainly going with you.”
“Twenty minutes?” Edwin snorted. “I ought to make a wager on that. I’d win handily.”
She paused to stick her tongue out at him, then rushed into the hall.
“But Clarissa,” Mama called from behind her, “what about dinner?”
“Tonight we shall live on music!” Clarissa cried with a dramatic wave of her arm.
“Music isn’t very filling, my dear!” Mama cried.
But Clarissa was already rushing up the stairs, calling for her maid. Madame Vestris! The town had been buzzing for the past month about the actress’s venture—how she’d renovated the theater in its entirety, how she meant to provide spectacular entertainments. The famous contralto and another actress were partners in it, and no one could wait to see what they had in store.
Clarissa had nearly cried when she’d realized she couldn’t get tickets. And Edwin had meant to go without them? She would punish him for that, just see if she didn’t. She had the perfect gown for it, too. If he did notice her bosoms, as he’d said at the ball, then she would certainly make him notice them tonight. And choke on his disapproval of her attire, as well.
The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Page 8