The Study of Seduction

by Sabrina Jeffries

  The woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Of course.” Color stained her cheeks. “I hadn’t thought . . . I assumed . . . Well, you must have a honeymoon trip, yes.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” he said in a hard voice.

  “Will you be all right here alone in town, Mama?” Clarissa asked anxiously. “Because you can always come and stay at home nearby.”

  “Don’t be silly. I shall be fine. I have a fete to plan! It will be difficult without you here to help, of course, but while you pack you can tell me what you’d like, and I’ll make some notes. Then I’ll consult with the Sweeney sisters so we can do as much of the preparation as possible before I come out to Hertfordshire to go over the plans.” She cast Edwin an apologetic look. “I will only come the once and steal her for an hour or so.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “And as Clarissa said, if you wish to return to Hertfordshire today—”

  “No, indeed.” She smiled knowingly at him. “The two of you need time to yourselves.” Taking her daughter’s arm, she tugged her toward the door. “Indeed, before you leave, Clarissa, there are things I should tell you privately.”

  Edwin stifled an oath. Just what he needed—Lady Margrave putting her daughter even more on her guard concerning their wedding night. Which he would not get to have, anyway.

  But it couldn’t be helped. “I’ll . . . er . . . wait here.”

  By 5:00 P.M., he was starting on his second glass of brandy when a servant knocked at the door. “My lord? That French count is here to call on Lady Clarissa.”

  Durand, damn him. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Edwin marched out and down the stairs to find Durand pacing the foyer. “I’ll make this short and sweet, Durand,” he said as he descended. “Get out, now.”

  Durand visibly started. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for my wife to pack up. Hadn’t you heard? Lady Clarissa and I were married this morning. And now we’re headed off on our honeymoon.”

  The count’s gaze sharpened on him. “I read the wedding announcement in the paper, but I figured it had to be a ruse. It’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, you figured wrong. So you can go.”

  “I shan’t take your word for it.” Durand glanced up the stairs. “I want to speak to her ladyship myself.”

  “Not bloody likely. But if you must see proof, here’s the special license.” He waved it in front of the man. “And if this isn’t good enough for you, then check the parish register at St. George’s in Hanover Square, where we were married this morning.”

  The count’s face darkened. “You couldn’t be that foolish.”

  “I don’t consider it foolish to marry a woman I’ve been courting.”

  “It is, when you know what I will do to you,” Durand hissed.

  “Go ahead.” Edwin fought to sound nonchalant. “Then you’ll force us to decamp to the Continent to avoid the scandal, and you’ll never see her again. Meanwhile, your reputation as a diplomat will be tarnished, and all you’ll have accomplished is the ruin of several lives, including your own.” He thrust his face into Durand’s. “But I’m game if you are. Do your worst.”

  Durand’s eyes could have sliced slate, they were that hard. But he knew when he’d been backed into a corner. “You will come to regret this.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I can cause a great deal of trouble for you. All I need do is have a few words with your wife about your father and the scandal she’ll have to endure.”

  “Come near my wife again,” Edwin growled, “and I will personally flay the flesh from your bones. Do you understand me?” He turned to the butler standing ready. “Please accompany the count to his carriage.”

  The servant stepped forward to lay his hand on the man, but Durand shrugged it off. “No need—I’m leaving. But this isn’t over.”

  As Durand clapped his hat upon his head and strode out the front door, Edwin said, “We’ll see about that.”

  Clarissa backed away from the stairs, shaking. Edwin had certainly not been lying about Durand. The man was clearly not right in his head. And Edwin hadn’t exactly been his usual self, either.

  Come near my wife again, and I will personally flay the flesh from your bones.

  She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified by Edwin’s words. She’d never guessed he could be that passionate about anything. He always seemed so calm and collected.

  Well, except for that day in the library when he’d faced down Durand the first time. And at the theater, when his kisses had overwhelmed her.

  She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. Who was Edwin? Did she even know? Was he only capable of such anger and force against the likes of Durand? Or might he unleash his temper on her, too, if she denied him her bed?

  Hearing him stalk up the stairs, she hurried back into her bedchamber.

  “Did you tell Edwin that you’re ready for the footman to come get the trunks?” Mama asked.

  Clarissa started. “No . . . I—I remembered one more thing you and I should discuss.”

  Coloring deeply, Mama gestured at the bed. “About the . . . well . . . you-know-what?”

  “No, Mama, you covered that quite adequately,” she said, fighting to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  It had taken all Clarissa’s strength not to laugh bitterly at Mama’s delicate explanation of what she should expect in the marital bed.

  He will touch you all over your body, and you must let him because he’s your husband. Try not to cry. Men hate that, and it quite withers them.

  Clarissa would have to keep that in mind if she got desperate, though her sobs hadn’t had any effect on the Vile Seducer. Somehow she suspected that it depended on the man, as to how he would react to tears in the bedchamber.

  You will grow used to what he does. At that point, her mother had blushed furiously. You will even grow to like it eventually. Though it will take a while to get past the embarrassment of it.

  Well, Clarissa could certainly attest to the truth of that. But it was the pain she most remembered, not the embarrassment. The pain and the grunting and the rough handling of her body.

  Her stomach began churning. Surely Edwin would be different. Please, God, let him be different.

  “Are you nearly ready?” came his deep voice from the doorway.

  She jumped, then forced a smile for her new husband’s benefit. “Yes. Quite ready. I was about to go tell you.”

  “Good. I’d like to be on our way before sunset, if we can manage it.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “That gives you about an hour to—”

  “Don’t worry, Edwin,” she quipped. “I know how you are about schedules. I shall attempt to be ready according to yours.”

  He winced. “Take your time.”

  “If I didn’t know how it pained you to say such a thing, I might believe you,” she said gaily.

  Taking pity on him, she did her best to hurry. So the next half hour was a flurry of loading trunks and saying farewells. By the time they set off for Hertfordshire, it was still half an hour before dark. The two of them sat opposite each other, and now that they were alone together, she was nervous.

  Especially since Edwin looked tired and distracted, undoubtedly unsettled by the count’s visit. Should she mention it? Would Edwin deny it if she did?

  She was afraid to press him just now. Her marriage didn’t seem quite real. It still felt as if she and Edwin were just headed off to another social event.

  Except that the event they were actually heading to was private, and he could do as he wished with her, marriage settlement or no. The part of the document about their consummation was hardly something that could be enforced, after all. Really just a request.

  “I’ve something to tell you.” Edwin looked out the window at the bustling streets. “You’re probably wond
ering why I didn’t go visit Durand before we left town, to inform him of our marriage.”

  She didn’t want to lie, so she said nothing as she removed her hat, which was too large for comfort even in the spacious confines of Edwin’s carriage.

  “As it turns out,” he went on, “there was no need. While you were packing, he came by to talk to you. He couldn’t believe we had wed. I made it clear that we had. And then I kicked him out of Warren’s town house.”

  “I see.” Thank heaven Edwin had told her about the incident. At least he wasn’t trying to shield her from everything. This marriage might eventually prove manageable after all.

  Should she continue to pretend not to have known about the count’s visit? No, there were secrets enough between them already. “Actually, I wasn’t sure if I should mention it, but I did overhear the end of your . . . discussion.”

  His gaze shot to her. “So you know that he made some idle threats.”

  “They didn’t sound so idle to me.”

  The muscles of his jaw tautened. “I can handle Durand.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.” She concentrated on folding her veil about her hat. “It disturbs me that you are risking so much because of me.”

  “That is what you gleaned from my discussion with Durand?”

  “Of course. He’s clearly determined to make things difficult for you, and considering that all you did was step in to defend me, it hardly seems fair.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “You’re remarkable, Clarissa.”

  That startled her. “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “Certainly not. Here you are, being dogged by that arse Durand, yet you worry over what he’ll do to me, a grown man who can take care of himself. By now most women would be weeping and wringing their hands, or worse yet, falling for his handsome appearance without seeing the unsettled mind behind it.”

  Edwin leaned forward. “But you saw him for what he was almost from the very beginning. And despite knowing that something wasn’t quite right about the man, you stood up to him. You refused to let him cow you, even when he frightened you. You’re a very brave woman.”

  Such effusive words of praise coming from Edwin made her a tiny bit wary. “Are you trying to manage me now, Lord Blakeborough?”

  He smiled. “Is that even possible?”

  “No,” she said frankly. “But I suppose it would be intriguing to watch you try.”

  “Is it so hard to believe that I could genuinely admire you, on occasion?”

  “Yes, it is. I’ve spent years hearing you lecture me. Why, you couldn’t even refrain from chiding me for one whole night.”

  “Ah, yes, that reminds me. I owe you a prize for winning our wager.” He drew a middling-size box from beneath the seat and held it out to her. “Open it.”

  The wager. She’d forgotten all about it until now. “Is it what I requested?” After removing her gloves, she took the box from him.

  “Open it and see.”

  She did as he bade to find something encased in velvet inside. Once she parted the folds of fabric, she caught her breath.

  The figurine lying there was about eight inches high and three inches wide. Blond curls peeped from beneath an enormous hat, and the lady—for it was a lady, very theatrically dressed in breeches and a waistcoat that failed to hide her womanly figure—was affixed to a box that had a windup key.

  “An automaton!” she exclaimed.

  He smiled. “I always pay my debts.”

  “But is it one you made yourself?”

  “Just as you requested.”

  Delighted beyond words, Clarissa removed it from the box. “She looks like a performer. What exactly does she do?”

  “Try it and find out.”

  After Clarissa wound it up, a lively tune played and the lady in breeches began to twirl and dip, to lift her arms and lower them in a most elaborate dance.

  “Ohhh,” she breathed. “She’s lovely.”

  “Yes,” he said. “She is.”

  Clarissa glanced up to find him watching her face with that heated look that made her hands grow clammy and her cheeks hot. She jerked her gaze back to the automaton.

  Suddenly the figure stopped. Was it broken? Had it already wound down? Then the lady stuck out her tongue.

  Clarissa burst into laughter, even more enthralled. “Now, that is one cheeky dancer,” she said as the figure repeated the dance again.

  “Very much like the woman she’s based upon,” he said.

  “Based upon?” Clarissa looked more closely at the dancing lady and noticed that her waistcoat had a particular design, as did the hat. Both were the same as in the costume Clarissa had worn to the masquerade last year.

  She gasped. “You didn’t!”

  “I did.”

  “It’s me? But when could you . . . how could you . . . I mean, surely you didn’t have time to create it in the past day or so.”

  “I made it nearly a year ago, because Yvette wanted to give you something special last Christmas. She used a fashion doll and dictated every aspect of the attire. Then I altered the figure to suit. But I couldn’t get it completed in time for Christmas, so Yvette had to choose you another present. Since then, it has sat in my study. I was going to ask my sister if she still wanted to give it to you, but then you wanted one and . . .”

  “It’s wonderful. And I suppose it does look a bit like me.”

  “But not as pretty. I can’t work miracles, after all.”

  She cast him a coy look. “That’s two compliments in less than an hour. You’re turning into a veritable flatterer, Edwin.”

  “I shall have to chastise you for something right away,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t want you to grow complacent.”

  With a chuckle, she returned to examining the automaton. As the dancer wound down, she peered beneath the waistcoat, trying to glimpse the mechanism.

  “She has a hidden secret,” he said, after a moment.

  “Does she? Where?”

  “See if you can find it.”

  Clarissa looked all around the figure, but she was afraid to move too many parts for fear of breaking it. “At least give me a hint.”

  He crossed to Clarissa’s side of the carriage and drew off his gloves. Taking Clarissa’s finger and placing it beneath the back of the voluminous hat, he had her press up on the brim from beneath. A cascade of golden tresses fell out of the hat and down to the figure’s waist.

  “Oh!” she said. “That’s marvelous!”

  He twined one finger about the hair. “That night at the masquerade I kept hoping your hair would fall out of your hat, and I would finally get a glimpse of it unpinned.”

  With a catch in her throat, she looked up at him. He sat so close now, his eyes shimmering in the fading light of dusk and his breath wafting over her.

  Then he added, in a husky voice, “I would give anything to see your hair down.”

  She swallowed convulsively. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” she managed through a throat suddenly gone dry.

  With his gaze boring into hers, he took the automaton from her and placed it on the seat behind him, then began to remove the pins from her coiffure.

  “You mean to do it now?” she asked. “What will the servants think when I disembark from the carriage looking like a trollop from the streets?”

  “They’ll think we’re newly married. Which we are.”

  When he tugged at a pin that stubbornly resisted his efforts, she said, “Stop that. Let me.”

  As she took out her pins, he caught the locks that fell, twining them loosely about his hands, rubbing them between his fingers. “Your hair is like gilded silk thread.”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “When did you become so poetic?”

  “When my wife told me I had to learn how to pay a woman compliments.” He kiss
ed one of her curls. “I’m not very good at it yet.”

  “You’re good enough,” she said softly.

  His gaze played over her face, searching, drinking in. Then he clasped her head in his hands and brought his mouth down on hers.

  Oh, heavens. This kiss was decidedly different from the one they’d shared in the church—sweeter, hotter . . . more intimate. She parted her lips for him, and with a groan, he plunged his tongue deep.

  That’s when everything got more interesting. He kissed like a marauder of old, plundering and taking and turning her into mush with every long, hot thrust of his tongue. She caught him by the neck; he caught her by the waist. He swept his hand up to thumb her nipple through her gown; she swept hers up to fondle his beautiful raven hair that cascaded luxuriously over her fingers.

  His free hand skimmed her as if looking for chinks in her armor. And there were many; right now her armor might as well be made of paper.

  Burying his mouth in her neck, he gave a sort of sucking kiss to the delicate skin that sent a thrill down to her toes. When she gripped his head, he said, “Do you like that?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s different.”

  “I want to touch you beneath your skirts.” He nuzzled her jaw with his whisker-rough face. “Will you let me?”

  Beneath her skirts. Oh no. That was how things started to go awry. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  He must have sensed her alarm, for he stilled. “What if I just kiss you, then?”

  “Yes, oh yes.” Relief coursed through her. “Kissing is good. I like kissing.”

  “So do I.” To her surprise, instead of seizing her mouth again, he slid off the seat and onto the floor of the carriage.

  When he started pushing her skirts up, she grabbed his hands. “Wait, I thought you were going to kiss me!”

  “I am.” His eyes gleamed up at her in the thin light of dusk. “But here.” Parting the long slit in one pantalets leg, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her bare knee. “And here.” He kissed the thigh above it. “And definitely here.” He kissed the other thigh higher up.