“You don’t require practice.”
His gaze sharpened on her. “No need to flatter me. I know my limits.”
Clearly he was still annoyed over their little exchange. “I mean it, Edwin. You’re not the most poetic of dancers, but you keep time well, don’t tread on my toes, and never miss a step. That’s more than I can say for plenty of men.”
“Take care,” he drawled. “You might lead me to think you actually like me.”
“I do like you. Sometimes.” She thrust out her chin. “But I also can’t resist provoking you. You get so deliciously annoyed. And you take my remarks far too seriously.”
A grudging smile crossed his lips. “Warren told me much the same thing.”
“Didn’t you believe him?”
“I never know what to believe when it comes to you.”
“Well, believe this at least: I think you’re a perfectly accomplished dancer. I certainly prefer you over the major.”
That brought his gruff manner back. “I don’t know how you can endure that fool.”
“Unfortunately, enduring fools is what a woman must do to have a little fun.”
His hand tensed on her waist. “You have a peculiar notion of what’s fun. Wouldn’t you prefer a quiet conversation at dinner or a stroll about a museum to dancing with idiots?”
“I happen to enjoy dancing. And sadly, I require a partner for it. Thank goodness even idiots can be good dancers.”
He glanced over to where Major Wilkins was still standing with her mother. “Are you sure that he knows you’re merely amusing yourself with him?”
“Well, if Mama hadn’t started blathering on about my dowry, he would have known it when I refused to dance with him again. She’s bound and determined to get me married, and any fool will do, apparently.”
“In this case, I hope you ignore her.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to marry a man who doesn’t know when to stop ogling my bosom.”
His mouth thinned into a hard line. “He was ogling your bosom?”
“Oh, don’t turn into a watchdog again. Men ogle women’s bosoms all the time. A female can wear the most innocuous gown ever, and some fellow will stare at her chest as if waiting for her clothes to rip open and reveal her nakedness. And when she’s wearing a ball gown . . .”
She trailed off, remembering a night she’d rather forget.
His hand tightened on hers. “I don’t do that, do I?”
Forcing her attention back to him, she smiled. “Of course not. You’re a gentleman. Besides, you have no interest in my bosom.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not dead, you know.” As if to prove it, he let his gaze dip down for the merest of moments.
If she’d seen one ounce of leering in that quick look, anything to indicate that he thought of her disrespectfully, she would have been disappointed. But his look was more akin to hunger. No, not hunger—yearning. As if he saw what he wanted, yet knew he couldn’t have it.
Good Lord, she was flying into pure fancy now. Edwin was only making a point, as usual. Whatever “yearning” she saw was all in her head. And she didn’t want him to have any yearning anyway. Because that could easily lead in an entirely unpleasant direction, as she knew only too well.
“Come now,” she said, “you must admit you never show me any attention of that kind. That’s why I’m forced to accept offers from men like the major. You rarely attend balls and even if you do, you don’t ask me to stand up with you.” She smirked at him. “So you see, it’s all your fault that I must entertain myself with fools.”
His face darkened. “I have asked you to dance with me.”
“Once. At my debut. But not since.”
That seemed to startle him, for he glanced away. “Has it really been that long since we stood up together?”
“Seven years. The last time was at my very first ball. And even that was out of pity.”
He scowled at her. “It was not.”
“No? Yvette didn’t put you up to it? Beg you not to leave me hanging out there, waiting for someone to ask me?”
“She didn’t have to beg,” he grumbled. “I agreed to it readily.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she said lightly. “I’m sure you found a dance with a naïve young chit like me perfectly boring.”
“Now that is patently untrue.” Something indecipherable leapt into his eyes that made a delicious shiver skitter down her spine. “I may find you provoking and impetuous and reckless at times, but never once have I found you boring.”
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, catapulted back to the memory of her come-out. Nervous and anxious after all the “advice” Mama had given her, she’d stood quaking at the edge of the floor, certain that no one would ask her to stand up with him. So when her best friend’s brother had asked, she’d nearly kissed him right then and there. It had shown her a new side of Edwin—the one that was an eligible gentleman, and not just an irritating brotherly planet in the orbit of her friend.
Now, as they glided through the dance once more in perfect accord, it was as if they relived that night. The rhythm had beaten through both of them, matching her frenzied pulse at having her first dance with a real man. The scent of a hundred beeswax candles had swirled about the room, along with a glittering throng of young beauties and their beaus.
His eyes had shone more softly upon her in that moment than ever before. The way they shone now.
This time when his silvery gaze drifted down, it was to fix on her mouth. Her mouth. Oh, heavens. A sensation startled to life in her stomach that she had never thought to feel for Edwin. Unsettling. Provocative.
Absolutely unacceptable.
“So,” she said, to break the spell, “have you determined which woman you might wish to court?”
His face closed up. “Not yet.”
“You have no one in mind? Not a single person?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . . I suppose Lady Horatia Wise is a possibility.”
“Admiral Nelson’s goddaughter? She’s a pillar of ice. You wouldn’t want her, to be sure. She’d freeze you right out of your bed.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Miss Trevor, then.”
“A pillar of rock. Stubborn as a mule, or so I’m told. The two of you would butt heads until your heads fell off, and then where would you be? Besides, no one had ever heard of her until she came into society with her aunt, which I find highly suspicious.”
The words earned her another rare smile. “So whom do you propose? Lady Anne? Lady Maribella?”
“Horrors! Lady Anne wears ridiculous hats. And Lady Maribella has the silliest laugh I’ve ever heard. It would drive you mad in under a month.”
He cocked his head. “What happened to your playing matchmaker? You’re doing rather the opposite of that.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She could hardly admit that the idea of his actually marrying someone—anyone—seemed wrong somehow. He was meant to be always a bachelor. As she intended to be always a spinster.
The waltz ended and he led her from the floor, allowing her to survey the eligible women in the room.
“Let me see,” she said. “What about Lady Jane Walker? She lost her mother recently and might be eager to get away from the memories her house probably provokes.”
“I was engaged to a Jane. I hardly want another.”
“Then Lady Beatrice. She’s very pretty.”
“And thus will expect plenty of pretty compliments. Which, as you know, I’m not good at.”
“Miss Lamont?”
“Too French. I don’t really understand Frenchwomen. Or Frenchmen, for that matter.” Instead of taking her back to where her mother and the major stood, he made a sharp turn toward the refreshments room. “Speaking of Frenchmen, have you seen any sign of Durand?”
“No. A
nd Major Wilkins said he wasn’t in attendance.”
“Thank God.”
She eyed him closely. “Since that’s the case, it’s fine if you want to go home. I know how much you hate these things.”
“I’m not leaving without you and your mother, and it’s early yet for you.” He met her gaze. “But if you don’t mind, I may escape to the card room for a bit.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” She glanced back over her shoulder to where the major was obviously anticipating her return to Mama’s side. “And I will escape to the retiring room.”
They parted ways then. Fortunately, by the time she emerged from powdering her nose and sweetening her breath, Major Wilkins was “showing a good leg” with someone else.
The next hour passed uneventfully. She danced a reel, two quadrilles, and another waltz, then paused to down some champagne. Not seeing her mother about, she decided to head toward the floor again and wait for someone to ask her for the next set. The champagne made her lightheaded, and she was enjoying just watching the dancers when a footman came to her side.
“Pardon me, milady,” he said, “but I was asked to inform you that your mother has fallen ill and is lying down in the drawing room.”
Oh, dear. Mama’s spurious fits of illness generally only came on when she wanted to get out of doing something. So she might actually be sick this time.
Clarissa picked up her reticule from where she’d left it on a table and hurried to the drawing room, prepared to administer the requisite smelling salts. But when she burst through the door, she saw no one there.
Had Mama already recovered and returned to the ballroom? Or had she been so ill that their hostess had moved her to a more comfortable room?
Only after the door clicked shut behind her did the truth dawn on her.
“Good evening, Lady Clarissa.”
A chill swept down her spine. She would recognize that faintly accented voice anywhere. God rot him and his sly ways.
Steeling herself, she turned to fix Count Geraud Durand with her iciest look. “Resorting to deceit now, sir? Surely that’s beneath you.”
His handsome features fell. “How else am I to see you alone? My trick wouldn’t have worked if your guards had learned I was in attendance.”
“My guards?”
“Your friends and family watch you like a hawk.” A fierce light shone in his blue eyes as he approached her. But something calculating glimmered in them, too, that had always given her pause. Always made her wary.
Though her stomach churned, she stood her ground. Showing weakness with men was invariably a mistake. If she had been stronger years ago, her brother would not be in exile.
So she must be firm. Put the count in his place once and for all. “My family wouldn’t need to watch me if you would stop hounding me.”
“Hounding you? I haven’t seen you in three months!”
“I’ve been away.” Straightening her evening gloves with feigned nonchalance, she gauged the distance to the door. “You could hardly expect me to remain in London when not a soul of consequence is here. I much prefer a steady diet of house parties and gaiety, as you well know.”
“You might prefer it, but that’s not where you’ve been.” He speared his fingers through the blond mane that had made him the focus of many an English girl’s fantasies. But not hers, not after she’d become better acquainted with him. “You’ve been in Shropshire.”
Her heart began to pound. They’d chosen Shropshire because Warren’s hunting lodge wasn’t well known. Yet somehow he’d found out. “And you say you haven’t been hounding me.”
He gave a Gallic shrug. “I made a few discreet inquiries, that’s all. At first I thought perhaps you’d gone to join your brother abroad.”
She stiffened. “Why would you think that?”
“You told me once that you wished you could visit him. I assumed you might have decided to do so.”
“And lead the English authorities right to him, if anyone happened to be watching? I’m no fool.”
“No, but you are being manipulated by the rest of your family. Imagine my shock when I learned that you were right here in England, being kept from me by your cousin.” He stepped nearer still. “Knightford knew full well that I couldn’t leave London with the ambassador away.”
“Yes. He did.” She stared him down, determined not to let him gain the upper hand. “So did I. He was only doing as I asked.”
“I don’t believe you.” As she stifled a curse, he added, “I know that deep down, you sense our connection. You may claim otherwise, but you recognize that we’re meant to be together.”
Oh, Lord, what now? He truly believed what he was saying. She walked over to part the curtains, as if to look out at the night street. Hopefully he wouldn’t be aware that the window was actually a set of French doors opening onto a balcony that connected with the card room next door.
“Admit it,” he said from behind her, far closer than she liked. “You and I belong together.”
“If I thought so, I would have accepted your proposal of marriage.” Stealthily, she reached for the handle.
“You refused my proposal because your cousin commanded it.”
She tried the handle. It was locked.
Panic built in her chest. She was trapped. And the last time she’d been trapped alone with a man . . .
No, she wouldn’t give in to hysterics. She mustn’t! Count Durand mustn’t see her quake before him. Fear was the enemy.
Forcing a smile, she faced him, alarmed to find him only a few feet away. “I refused your proposal because I’m in love with someone else.” The minute she blurted out the lie, she regretted it. Count Durand might be the sort of fellow for whom such a declaration would make matters worse.
But he merely laughed. “That’s absurd. My spies have seen no evidence of that.”
Anger spiraled inside her, and she clung desperately to it, hoping to banish her fear. “Spies? You’ve been spying on me?”
“I told you. I shall never let you escape me.”
Her blood faltered. Be strong, she told herself. You can bluff your way through this.
She donned her haughtiest manner. “If you’re trying to convince me of your love, that isn’t the way to go about it.” With a sniff, she rushed past him.
But she wasn’t quick enough. Catching her by the arm, he jerked her back around and pushed her against the wall.
“Then I shall have to convince you some other way,” he growled, before taking her mouth with his.
A tiny part of her screamed, Fight! But the rest of her froze. Dark memories from years ago swamped her. A night in an orangery. Soft kisses twisting into hard ones. A man’s rough hands groping, ripping . . .
Her ears began to ring. Her vision was tunneling now, and her head spinning . . . Oh, Lord, no, no, no. She couldn’t faint. Not now. Not with him!
Then the door slammed open beyond them, and through a dim fog, she heard Edwin say, “Let go of her, you bastard, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life!”
Four
It took all of Edwin’s strength not to hurtle across the room and plant a facer on Durand. But laying out the charge d’affaires of the French embassy would set tongues to wagging, and the last thing they needed was rumors swirling about Clarissa and Durand. The man would use them to force her into marriage.
The very idea made Edwin’s blood run cold. Especially when she stood stock-still, trembling, her face white. Seeing her so shaken cut through him like a knife of ice. If the man hadn’t stopped trying to kiss her at that moment, Edwin might have pummeled the bastard anyway.
“Step away from her.” Edwin held his hands curled into fists before him in a pugilist’s stance. “Now!”
Durand frowned. “Stay out of this, Blakeborough. It’s none of your concern.”
“The dev
il it isn’t.” Edwin said the first thing that came into his head. “She’s my fiancée.”
Bloody hell. Had he actually said that? He’d never been good at lies, and that was a colossal one.
But he wouldn’t back out of it now. Too much was at stake. “So I’ll thank you to keep your hands off her unless you want to end up laid out on the floor.”
Looking panicked, Clarissa rushed over to put herself between them. “That’s enough, both of you!” She grabbed Edwin’s rigid arm and dragged on it until he reluctantly lowered his fist. “There will be no brawling. There must be no brawling.” Her imploring gaze said, This must remain private.
Damn it. She was right.
“You heard the lady,” Durand said with a smug tone. “There’s no need for brawling. Especially since we both know you’re lying about being her fiancé.”
She whirled on the man with a fierce look. “He is not.” Then she grabbed Edwin’s hand. “I just told you I’m in love with someone else. You simply refused to listen.”
Even knowing she was bluffing about being in love didn’t diminish the power of those words. Or the strange sensation of her fingers clinging to his hand so intimately. As if she needed him.
God help him, he would be here for her, no matter how many lies he had to spout. She was still shaken. He could tell.
It brought anger roaring up inside him once more. “I suggest you leave, Durand, or I won’t be accountable for my actions.” That was certainly not a lie.
The Frenchman laughed dismissively. “And what do you think you could do?”
Edwin’s free hand was still clenched in a fist at his side. “Not for nothing did my brother spend all his time with pugilists. They taught him how to fight, and he taught me. I’m happy to demonstrate what I learned.”
Rabidly eager, in fact. He couldn’t explain the violence of his anger, but it was a palpable, twisting creature inside him. If Durand made one move toward Clarissa, Edwin would gleefully punch the arse in the jaw.
Eyes narrowing, Durand glanced from him to Clarissa. “Your fiancé, eh? If that’s true, then why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
The Study of Seduction Page 4