An errant shiver swept down her. “I see,” she managed, though she didn’t see at all. It hadn’t occurred to her that kissing could be done . . . down there. Or that it could feel so intoxicating. The Vile Seducer had certainly never bestowed any kisses on that part of her.
Edwin’s head was practically in her lap now, and for some reason it felt less alarming than when he was sitting on the seat beside her. His privates were nowhere near hers, only his mouth. He couldn’t really hurt her with his mouth, could he?
Unless . . . “You’re not going to bite me, are you?”
He chuckled. “No, I swear.” Rubbing her linen-clad thighs with his hands, he said, “Open your legs for me, my sweet, and I’ll do things to you that make you feel good. Things that you’ll like. And naught else, I swear.”
Only the fact that he was kneeling and she was seated made her willing to let him try. She opened her legs a little and was rewarded with a series of soft, delicate kisses to her inner thighs inside the long openings in her drawers.
To her shock, that excited her quite a lot. It frightened her a bit, too, but beneath the fright simmered a hot thrill that made her heart race.
Then he placed his mouth right upon her privates.
“Edwin!” she squeaked. “Are you . . . sure about this?”
Ignoring her question, he began to kiss and lick her down there. Inside her pantalets. Between her legs. His mouth covered her soft flesh, teasing and stroking her tenderly. It felt shockingly good.
“That is . . . more than kissing . . .” She let out a little moan when he flicked with his tongue right at the top of her cleft. Her body arched high, craving more. “Heavens, Edwin!”
She was still marveling at how amazing it felt when suddenly, his tongue darted inside her. She tensed a little, but his thrusts were silken and sweet, devoid of pain. Full of the purest pleasure. Oh, Lord.
The fear still lay in a knot at the center of her, but the longer he caressed her with his mouth, the more she was able to push it down. Soon she was clutching his head to her, urging him to greater boldness. “You are very good at . . . whatever this is.”
He paused to glance up at her. “I’ve had enough opportunities to study seduction to know what I’m doing.”
She could well guess why, but she didn’t care what women he’d been with before. All right, she cared a little. Just not right now. Not if they’d taught him this.
Her body tingled, felt alive and full to bursting. She shimmied beneath him, trying to get more.
“You taste delicious,” he growled against her.
“Do I?” What he was doing to her was certainly delicious. “You are . . . oh . . . that is . . . incredible.”
Who’d have guessed such a thing would make her want to press herself against his mouth like a shameless tart? The urge to squirm grew almost unbearable, and her lower body seemed to move of its own accord, seeking more of the amazing sensations, more of the heat and intoxication. A wildly drumming thrill built inside her, pounding and thrumming and making her strain to feel every caress of the sweet, hard lashes of his tongue until . . . until . . .
“Edwin! Lord, yes, Edwin!” She clasped his head against her privates as lights exploded behind her eyes.
Then she tumbled over into a most delicious oblivion.
Fifteen
When Edwin felt Clarissa convulse beneath his mouth, he exulted. He could make her feel pleasure. And since that was possible, then all of it was possible. He’d just have to take special care with her.
Perhaps he’d have his wedding night after all.
Smiling against her luscious skin, he nuzzled her thigh, drunk on the smell of her, the taste of her. His wife. She might run him a merry dance, but they would have this, at least.
Her fingers loosened their grip on his head, and she uttered a drawn-out sigh. “Oh my. My, my, my.”
Chuckling, he wiped his mouth on her drawers. “Yes.”
“Mama most certainly did not tell me about that.”
He gazed up at her. “What did she tell you?”
“Not much; she was blushing too hard. But I already knew . . . some of it, anyway. Just not this.”
“Who told you?”
It was too dark now to see her face, but he could feel her muscles tense beneath his hands, which were still resting on her thighs. “Oh, girls talk about these things, you know.”
“Really? And what do they say?”
“Oh, this and that and the other. You wouldn’t want to know.”
She pushed on his shoulders and he drew back, only to have her pull her legs together and jerk her skirts down to cover them.
“Ah, but I would like to know.” With his erection still thick in his trousers, he rose to sit beside her and put his hand on her waist. “Why don’t you tell me?” He brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Then I can show you which things they were wrong about. And which things they didn’t even know.”
She shifted away from him to look out the window. “Oh, b-but surely we’re getting near to home. It’s been ever so long since we left London.”
Her withdrawal was too obvious to mistake, and he bit down on the impulse to push her, to demand answers. That wasn’t the way to handle a skittish female.
But now that he thought about it, wasn’t her reaction odd? Clarissa was never skittish about anything. She threw herself into every adventure, embraced every experience, was often too reckless for his taste.
So why be afraid of this? Unless . . .
“Durand didn’t do anything to you in Bath, did he?” he asked hoarsely.
Her head swung around. “Like what?” There seemed to be genuine surprise in her voice.
“Like overstep his bounds.”
“Oh. No, of course not. I mean, he stole a kiss once or twice, but no, nothing like that.”
“That surprises me. He hasn’t seemed to be good about staying within any boundaries heretofore, and he tried to push a kiss on you that day in the library.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she slid back into the corner, into the shadows. “That was the first time he was rough with me. Before then, he was persistent in his attentions, but a gentleman. I think my unprecedented absence from London must have provoked him.”
Hmm. “So he never forced himself on you.”
“No. Certainly not.”
He digested that in silence a moment. She sounded perfectly truthful. And he was usually good at detecting lies, especially after years of dealing with his untrustworthy younger brother.
“Then why do you shy away from me?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but now that he had, he refused to take it back.
“I—I don’t.” She settled her shoulders. “For pity’s sake, you were just under my skirts.”
“And now I’m not.”
He could hear her breathing come harder in the dark of the carriage. She seemed to shrink into herself. “You agreed to my terms. To get to know each other better, to be amiable before we become too intimate.”
“Yes, but we have already become more intimate than most.” He moved closer. “Why do you seem to enjoy my attentions one minute, and then panic at them the next?”
“You’re imagining that,” she said, but her voice rang hollow.
“I’m not imagining the clause you made me add to the settlement. I’m not imagining the hairbrush you brandished at me at the theater.” He bent toward her, deliberately crowding her with his body, just to see how she’d react. “I know that you feel desire for me sometimes, Clarissa, and I can’t understand—”
“Get off of me!” She shoved at him. “Get off, get off, get off!”
The violence of her words startled him so much that he threw himself across into the other seat. When he could speak again, he said, “I’m certainly not imagining that.”
For a moment silence
filled the carriage, punctuated by her shuddering gasps for air. Then, it was as if she’d brought a veil down over her face. Her breathing evened out, and she straightened in her seat, smoothing her skirts as he’d seen her do a hundred times.
“I told you,” she said, her voice calmer, though still threaded with tension. “I’m not . . . the affectionate sort. It’s nothing to do with you. I simply don’t like people being too close to me. I find it overwhelming.”
But not when you kiss me.
He didn’t speak the words. He’d learned long ago with his sister that if you boxed a woman in with logical arguments and she didn’t want to hear it, she struck out. Or retreated into silence, which would gain him nothing. So he just waited for her to speak again, hoping she would feel free to go on. Because there was more to the story. He was sure of it.
Unfortunately, when she spoke again, it was to withdraw from him even further. “I will grow used to it in time.”
Grow used to it? He didn’t want a wife who had to brace herself to be bedded. It reminded him painfully of his mother, how she had reacted to his father for a long time after that horrible day in the drawing room. How she’d jumped when her children came up behind her, cringed at Father’s touch.
How the gulf between his mother and his father had grown deeper and wider by the day. Damn it, that was not what he’d wanted for his marriage—all that roiling, suppressed anger and unmet needs.
But if Clarissa wouldn’t talk to him about her fears, then he didn’t know what to do.
“Do the servants know that we got married?” she asked.
The abrupt change of subject made him want to grab her and shake her, to demand to know why she could only let him touch her so far and no more, why she got panicky when he crowded her in. Why she only liked his touch when he was kissing her, and for anything more, he must be behind her or under her skirts . . .
He choked down bile. What if that was what it was? As long as she didn’t really have to look at him, she could close her eyes and pretend he was someone else when he grew more intimate. What if she simply disliked him?
God, he was being ridiculous. She responded to his kisses with passion; she grew aroused when he touched her. He wasn’t so terrible a judge of women that he couldn’t tell that.
And this was precisely why he’d wanted to marry some dull chit in the first place! This was why he’d wanted a mere companion for a wife. Because this seething mass of emotion was too much. He didn’t like it.
“Well?” she asked. “Do the servants know?”
He gritted his teeth. “Yes. I sent them a letter at the same time I put the notice in the papers.”
Fine. He’d do things her way for a while. Spend time with her. Deal with incorporating a new wife into his estate. Try to control his runaway desire to bed her.
Court her.
He started. He hadn’t really courted her, had he? He’d just rushed her into a marriage. And every time in the past that he had done something vaguely courtship-like, it had ended in a most pleasurable interlude. The night at the theater. Just now with the automaton. Each time, he was able to get a little further with her.
Interesting. Apparently women liked thoughtful gifts and compliments. She liked thoughtful gifts and compliments.
Very well, then that was what he would do. Court her properly. Take the lessons she’d given him for courting other women and apply them to her.
“I do hope your staff don’t mind having me as a mistress,” Clarissa said.
The hesitation in her voice firmed his resolve. He could do this. Make her comfortable with him. And perhaps not too long from now, she would be ready to reveal what made her so frightened of sharing his bed.
“I’m sure they will be delighted to have someone as accomplished as you running the household,” he said smoothly.
At least now he had a strategy to pursue.
The first thing Clarissa noticed when she entered the dining room two hours later was the rose lying across her plate. The second thing was Edwin, looking breathtaking in his black superfine and snowy cravat, standing at the other end of the table and watching her with the intensity that always made her shiver deliciously.
Guilt stabbed her anew. She hadn’t had a moment alone with him since their arrival. The staff had bombarded her with enthusiastic welcomes and then had ushered her up to dress for dinner in the suite of rooms meant to be hers. Amidst the chaos of unpacking and dressing, there’d been little time to dwell on her appalling behavior in the carriage.
But now, alone with him at dinner, she could no longer ignore it. Struggling for what to say, she took her seat and picked up the rose to sniff it. “How lovely.” She strove for a light tone. “Should I expect one of these every evening at dinner?”
“That can be arranged.”
His unconscious echo of her words earlier that had sparked their intimate interlude renewed her guilt. She had overreacted. Badly. She had to stop acting like a frightened ninny with him. She already had him asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
She would tell him everything eventually. Just as soon as she got her bearings in their marriage.
Coward.
“That’s a fetching gown,” he said conversationally.
The polite nicety startled her, especially coming from Edwin. But at least she knew how to play that game. “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites.” She settled her napkin in her lap. “You look rather splendid yourself this evening.”
She rather wished he didn’t. Because whenever he looked good enough to tempt her, it always seemed to end in disaster.
Well, not always. The part in the carriage where he’d pleasured her had been incredible. It was her own stupid fault that things had deteriorated from there. And she hated that. She hated being weak and afraid.
The footman placed a bowl of soup in front of her. “This looks delicious,” she said, fearing that she sounded utterly inane.
“If there are any particular foods you would prefer, just tell Cook.” Edwin sipped some soup from his spoon. “I believe you’re already familiar with her abilities.”
“I should say so.” She picked up her spoon. “Your mother chose her well.”
“Mother was always very good at hiring servants.” He glanced at her. “And I’m sure you’ll be equally adept at it.”
His oddly soothing tone made her halt her spoon in midair. “I shall certainly try to be.”
“That’s all I ask. And with that in mind, I was thinking that tomorrow we might tour our dairy and then the orchards.”
“I’ve been in your dairy and your orchards more times than I can count.” Why was he behaving as if she hadn’t visited Stoke Towers nearly every day in her youth? “I’m not sure what more I could learn from a tour.”
A small frown knit his brow. “Very well, then we can call on the tenants so I may introduce you to them as my wife.”
“That’s an excellent idea. We should start with the Gronows. No, wait, perhaps the Leslies up near the river—Mrs. Leslie has probably had her baby by now, and I would so love to see it.”
He sat back to stare at her. “How is it that you know almost as much about my tenants as Yvette?”
She shrugged. “I spent nearly every day of my childhood with her here.”
“I knew you and Yvette were close, but I had no idea you were at Stoke Towers so much.”
“How could you know? You were away at school; then I was away at school. And when I was home, you were too busy to pay much mind to a couple of girls romping about and going shopping in Preston.”
“Ah, yes. I forgot about all the shopping.”
“I can’t imagine how. You were forever lecturing Yvette about the bills.”
He stiffened. “You two thought me insufferable, I suppose.”
“What? No. We knew you were preoccupied by your fa
ther’s neglect of the estate, and by Samuel and his troubles. You had no time to spare for two chattering girls preparing for their debuts. Besides, you were always very serious and studious and we were always . . . well . . . not.”
He eyed her askance. “Yvette was studious. You were ‘not.’ ”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Now, that is the blunt and honest Edwin I know and like so well.”
To her surprise, he flushed. “Blast it, I was trying not to be so blunt.”
“Why? We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we? That shouldn’t change simply because we’re married. How does Shakespeare put it? ‘Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.’ ”
“God, I hope that’s not true.”
The words fell between them like a gauntlet. Too late, she remembered the requirements he’d listed for a wife when she’d been helping him decide on one.
“Right,” she said past the tightness in her throat. “You wanted a quiet, responsible, and calming wife. Instead, you got me.”
He grimaced. “That isn’t what I meant. I was only saying . . . trying to say, that I hope you and I . . .” Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, “God rot it. Pay me no mind. I’m a bit out of sorts.”
She took pity on him. This was as hard for him as for her—perhaps even harder. He was doing a very noble thing and, in the process, giving up his own plans for the future.
“So,” she said, determined to change the subject, “a visit to the tenants tomorrow. That sounds fun. What shall I wear?”
He met her gaze, seemingly startled by her amiable tone, then smoothed his expression. “Well, it’s probably best if we go on horseback, so a riding habit would be appropriate. And if you happen to have . . .”
To her vast relief, there was no more talk of anything serious after that.
But later, once her giggling maid had left her dressed for bed and she sat propped up against the pillow attempting to read the latest La Belle Assemblée, she wondered if he would try to seduce her tonight. If he did, would she let him?
The Study of Seduction Page 18