“Content? You deserve better than that, Edwin.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a romantic man, Clarissa. Love was never a consideration. As long as I can have a companion—preferably one who doesn’t mind sharing my bed—”
“And what if I do mind?” she whispered. “I’m not like other women. I have a certain . . . aversion to such things.”
Edwin did excite her body, but every time she thought about actually having him on top of her, her throat closed up and her hands grew clammy, and she wanted to die. He kept mentioning children, but having children required having marital relations, and she didn’t know if she could endure that, even with Edwin. What if she could never do so?
“You’re frightened of me,” he said hollowly.
“No.” The sharp, immediate response seemed to calm him. “Of any man being . . . with me in that way.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “Every woman has those virginal fears, my sweet. But I promise I am capable of easing them, if you’ll let me.” He chucked her under the chin. “I see it like this. It’s either an amiable marriage with a man who will treat you tenderly. Or risk abduction by a man who will almost certainly not.”
She glanced away, indecision wracking her. She could end this all now, just by telling him the truth: that she wasn’t chaste. He would withdraw his proposal, she would formally jilt him, and she could go back to living her life—
In fear. Of a man who would be far more terrifying if he ever did get her in his power. And there was no guarantee that Count Durand would not, especially if she and Mama were left with no male protector. There wasn’t even a guarantee that he wouldn’t ruin Edwin anyway. What was to keep him from holding to his word?
The truth was, the thought of dealing with Edwin once he discovered all her secrets paled in comparison to the thought of the count’s abducting and forcing her into his bed. She couldn’t endure such an assault again.
She met his gaze once more. “All right.”
The relief flooding his face should have heartened her. It did not. He didn’t know what he was getting into with her. And she really should tell him. But the thought of his withdrawal when he learned of it—
No, she would tell him once they were married. Eventually. But in the meantime . . . “I have one condition, however.”
His eyes sharpened on her. “What is that?”
“You must . . . give me time to adapt to marriage before we share a bed. I still feel as if we’re practically strangers. I never thought of you romantically before, and now—”
“You do?”
“I don’t know. That’s what worries me. I don’t even know how to think of someone that way. But you must promise that I will be the one to choose when we share a bed, however long it takes.”
“That sounds ominous,” he said dryly.
“I know. But that’s my condition. And I want it in the terms of the settlement.”
His face clouded. “Ah.”
“I know it’s not the sort of thing that a man would ever—”
“I’ll add it.”
“If you can’t—”
“It’s fine. We’ll stop at the solicitor’s office in the morning to have it put in and the signatures witnessed. Be sure to look over the settlement tonight to make sure you want no other changes.”
She swallowed. “You should probably not come to dinner. Just send a note saying you’re busy or something. Because it will be too hard for you to keep lying through Mama’s incessant chatter about our grand wedding that will never be.”
He scowled. “I didn’t think about that. You won’t get that grand wedding, and your mother will never forgive me for that.”
“Nonsense. You’re marrying me. She was afraid I’d never marry, so she’ll be fine. And we can have a grand party later to celebrate.”
“What about you? Will you regret not having that grand wedding?”
A sudden sharp pang in her chest told her that some part of her would, but she squelched it. “I never planned to marry, so I wouldn’t have had it anyway.”
Her tone must have been more wistful than she’d realized, for his eyes darkened. “It will be all right, Clarissa, I promise. I will make it all right.”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her. It was sweet and tender and utterly unthreatening. And it gave her hope that he might be telling the truth about their future. Because if he wasn’t, she didn’t know if she could bear it.
Thirteen
Edwin had no idea what to expect when he showed up at Warren’s town house the next morning. After a night alone, Clarissa might have changed her mind about marrying him. And then what could he do?
He’d already done his best to convince her that Durand wouldn’t call his bluff after they married. If that happened, she would never forgive him for obscuring the truth by deliberately playing down how devastating the scandal of his father’s spying could be for her. If Durand went to the press with his evidence—and threw in a few hints that Edwin had been involved, too—it would ruin them both.
Guilt made him wince. He should have told her all that. But she wouldn’t have married him if he had—he was sure of it. Clarissa liked being the belle of the ball.
What she didn’t like, apparently, was being the belle of the bedchamber.
But you must promise that I will be the one to choose when we share a bed, however long it takes.
Edwin sighed. It was that last part that stymied him. She’d spoken of his siring an heir, so she couldn’t mean to deny him her bed forever. And her plan was a sound one—to wait until they were more comfortable with each other to become intimate. So why did it gnaw at him that she’d even ask such a thing?
Because it made him wonder yet again what precisely was wrong with him. Despite accepting his kisses, despite her flirtations and her teasing, she didn’t want to be close the way a man and wife should be. It oughtn’t matter to him—he’d expected his marriage to be more of a business arrangement than a love match.
But he’d also expected to bed his bride. It was almost unbearable to think of being denied that.
Blast it, he was being ridiculous. Clarissa was just having a fit of nerves. She wouldn’t go on like that for long. Even if she did, he certainly knew how to tempt a lady into his bed. How hard could it be with a woman like Clarissa, who’d responded to his kisses with enthusiasm?
Assuming she didn’t rescind her agreement to marry him.
Fortunately, he arrived at the town house to find her waiting for him, dressed in a rather elaborate ensemble involving feathers and bows and an enormous hat with a transparent veil trimmed in lace. She looked rather like a gift box wrapped in net and oceans of silk, utterly inaccessible.
It didn’t help that her mother awaited him, too. “How lovely of you to take Clarissa driving in Green Park as an apology for missing last night’s dinner!” she exclaimed.
Thank God Clarissa had thought to provide a suitable lie for where they were going. “I was very sorry not to be here,” he said, which was the truth. His brief kiss with Clarissa in her bedchamber hadn’t been nearly enough.
“Well, a drive in the park should be quite invigorating at this hour. And she does enjoy early drives. As do I. Indeed, I thought I’d go along, but Clarissa says there’s no room in the phaeton for me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “My equipage is small, I’m afraid. But if you want to go, you could ride behind on my tiger’s seat, and I’ll leave him here.”
As he’d expected, Lady Margrave was aghast. “Are you mad? Balance on the back of your phaeton? It sounds very uncomfortable. Why, I could easily fall right off! For shame, Edwin. I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing to your future mother-in-law.”
Clarissa’s lips twitched. “Yes, Edwin, how dare you?” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
That
little glimpse of Clarissa’s usual teasing calmed all his fears. They would be fine. He would make it so. “I suppose I temporarily took leave of my wits.” He held out his arm. “Why don’t we go, then, before everyone descends on the park?”
“Of course,” she said brightly.
They headed out the door at precisely 9:00 A.M. As they walked down the steps, he murmured, “Thank you for coming up with a suitable tale for your mother. You know how I hate lying.”
“Because you’re very bad at it. I wasn’t about to risk your undoing everything by attempting to deceive Mama. You would never be convincing.”
“True.” It further heartened him that she seemed to know him so well sometimes. Although there were other times . . .
No, he would not think of that. They would have years to come to know each other better.
As they left in the phaeton, she sat stiffly in the seat, her hands gripping her reticule. Was she nervous? Worried?
Wishing she was not on her way to be married to him?
He ventured to set her at ease with a compliment. “Your gown is very . . . er . . .”
“Let me guess—‘fussy, frilly, and overdone,’ ” she said with a certain belligerence.
“Pink.”
Her rigid stance softened. “Oh. Yes. I suppose it is.”
“You look fetching in pink. Not that you ever look less than fetching in anything else, but it just seems that pink brings out the jade of your eyes and the ruby of your lips and—” He broke off as he realized he was babbling like that pup at the theater the night before last. And he never babbled. “You look lovely.”
She eyed him through the net that draped her face. “Thank you, but I know it’s a fussy ensemble. It was my only one with a veiled hat. And I wanted to have at least the semblance of dressing as a bride at my wedding.”
Regret stabbed him. “I’m sorry that’s being denied you.”
“Stop apologizing. Count Durand is the one to blame. You’re just trying to make things better.”
Well, at least she was aware of that. They rode some time in silence, until he realized that his solicitor’s office wasn’t much farther. “Did you read over the settlement?”
“Yes.” She stared ahead at the road. “You weren’t exaggerating when you said I would find it more than generous. But I do have one observation.”
He shot her a wary glance. “What is it?”
“The jointure you list is about twenty percent of the fortune I bring to the marriage. That seems excessive, given that the typical jointure is ten percent of what the bride brings to the marriage.”
Now that was a remark he’d never expected from Clarissa. But perhaps she didn’t understand the terminology. “A woman’s jointure provides for her once her husband dies, so it’s only fair—”
“I know what a jointure is, Edwin,” she said irritably. “I simply can’t figure out why you’re offering double the usual amount.”
He smiled. “I see that I’m about to gain a rather clever wife.”
“Were you in doubt of that?”
“Of course not,” he said hastily, recognizing a trap when he saw one. “But I didn’t expect you to have a knowledge of settlements or, for that matter, complicated mathematics.”
“I took care of most of managing the household even before Papa died.” She leaned close. “As you might imagine, Mama is not good with figures.”
“I’m shocked to hear it,” he said dryly.
She swatted him with her reticule. “I can criticize Mama. You cannot.”
“I see,” he said with a smile. “So there are rules for our marriage?”
“A number of them.”
“Are you going to tell me what they are?”
“In due time. Now, stop beating about the bush, and answer my question about the terms of the jointure in the settlement.”
When Clarissa got the bit between her teeth, she never let go. He wasn’t sure what that meant for a marriage between them. That he’d never have any peace, probably. “How do you even know what the ‘usual amount’ is for a jointure?”
“I knew what Mama’s was. And Yvette told me about hers.”
He gaped at her. “My sister discussed her marriage settlement with you?”
“We women discuss all sorts of things, you know, and thank heaven that we do. Since Mama would rather eat snakes than read a legal document, and my brother—or my cousin—isn’t here to negotiate my settlement, I was glad your sister had talked so much about hers when she was preparing for her wedding. It gave me something to go on when I looked it over.”
Trying to imagine his sister poring over such a document made his head hurt. Reading contracts didn’t seem like something she’d enjoy. “So you were able to . . . er . . . decipher the legal language?”
“With the help of a dictionary. And one of my cousin’s books.” She yawned, covering it rather ineffectively with one hand. “Which is why I got little sleep last night.”
He chuckled. “I’m surprised the language alone didn’t put you to sleep. It would have done me. I hate legal documents. But having overseen Yvette’s, I at least knew what was supposed to be in one.” After taking a corner a bit too fast, he slid her a side glance. “So you found your jointure acceptable? And the pin money?”
“Of course. I merely want to understand the reason for your generosity.” She shot him an arch look. “Are you trying to soften me up before you assert your authority? Or are you simply more reckless with your money than I realized?”
“I am neither a spendthrift nor tyrannical. Or, for that matter, calculating enough to try to ‘soften’ you up with money. I am merely trying to make up for the unorthodox nature of our marriage.”
“I see.” Her smile warmed him. “In that case, I have no complaints.” She stared down at her reticule. “Though I still want that extra clause put in.”
The one that denied him his husbandly rights until she deigned to accept him in her bed. “Yes. That will be done.” Even if he had to bludgeon his solicitor into it, which he might have to do. The man was doddering on the edge of the grave, and would find her demand outrageous and shocking.
Edwin gripped the reins. It couldn’t be helped. He’d already made a promise, and he would keep it no matter what. Though he sincerely hoped she didn’t deny him her bed for long. He found himself extraordinarily eager to consummate their marriage. Whenever it happened.
Moments later they reached the solicitor’s office, which was rather empty so early in the morning. He was glad of that. They’d be able to take care of their business and be off to the church before it got too late. Even Lady Margrave, as negligent a chaperone as she was, would fret if they stayed gone too long. And the last thing they needed was her fluttering around in a panic, alerting Durand to what was going on.
As soon as they were seated before his solicitor, the man once more expressed concern that the young lady didn’t have a male member of the family there to look after her interests. He didn’t remain concerned for long. A few moments’ conversation with an irate Clarissa quickly convinced him not to worry about that.
Now came the most difficult part for Edwin. “My fiancée has one clause she would like added. She’ll have to be the one to explain it, since I’m not entirely sure how she wants it written out.”
Even as Clarissa blushed tellingly, she removed a slip of paper from her reticule and placed it on the table. “I wrote the words down exactly as I want them put in.”
The solicitor read the paper and blinked. “My lord, you agreed to this?”
“I did,” Edwin said in the stern fashion that generally squelched all further questions.
Apparently it wasn’t sufficient to quash his solicitor’s. “So you’ve read it, then.”
“No. But I know the gist of it.”
The solicitor shot Clarissa a wary glance.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I would feel more comfortable if you made sure that it’s written in a way that is . . . acceptable to you as well. The clause is . . . well . . . most peculiar.”
Edwin gritted his teeth. “I’m fully aware of that.”
“All the same, if you could just look it over . . .” The man held out the slip.
Snatching it from him, Edwin read the words printed there in her neat, feminine handwriting: Edwin Barlow, Earl of Blakeborough, agrees to consummate his marriage to Lady Clarissa Lindsey only at a future date of her choosing. In exchange, Lady Clarissa agrees that the period of time between the wedding and the consummation of the marriage shall not proceed beyond one year.
A year! Bloody hell. She would deny him her bed for a year? His gaze shot to her, and he was about to protest when he saw fear flash over her face. At having him demand that she share his bed sooner than she was ready.
Then her features smoothed, and she was staring at him with her usual expression of challenge.
Perhaps he’d imagined the fear. He didn’t always read people correctly. Maidenly hesitation he could understand, but could she truly be terrified at the very idea of being bedded by him?
It seemed unlikely. Unless, of course, her mother had fed her the typical nonsense about the pain, humiliation, and unpleasantness of being deflowered. That would certainly put any woman on edge.
But that didn’t seem in character for Lady Margrave. If ever there was a woman who lived for pleasure, it was the dowager countess. And until Clarissa had made her one demand of him, Edwin would have thought the same of her—that she had an appetite for pleasure equal to his own.
As he stared down at the slip of paper, another possibility entered his mind. Could Durand have pressed his attentions on her more vigorously than he should have? The man had pinned her against the wall that day in the library. Had he done the unthinkable to her during those weeks in Bath? Was that why she despised him?
But that made no sense. If Durand had taken her innocence, he would have mentioned it to Edwin right away in hopes that Edwin would turn his back on her for being ruined.
The Study of Seduction Page 15