The Study of Seduction

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Eighteen

  Edwin was glad of Keane’s suggestion of having a drink; that way he could fill his brother-in-law in on all the details of the Durand situation, including the parts he didn’t want his wife to hear.

  But as they headed off to Edwin’s study, where they could enjoy brandy and cigars in peace, it wasn’t Durand that occupied Edwin’s thoughts. It was Clarissa.

  The wall between them seemed to grow more impassable by the day. She pushed him away as often as she let him close.

  Had he made a huge mistake in marrying her? God, he hoped not. Because with every day that passed, he liked having her about him more and more as a companion.

  But he couldn’t bear the idea of a lifetime with a woman who couldn’t endure his touch. Who had to buck herself up just to share his bed.

  Never had he felt so alone.

  He and Keane entered the study. As they settled down to their cigars and brandy, he laid out the facts of the situation with Durand. The hardest part was telling Keane about the spying, but it wouldn’t be fair to let his sister and brother-in-law be taken by surprise if Durand went through with his threats and told the world about Father’s treasonous activities.

  When he finished his explanations, Keane looked fit to be tied. “Blackmailed by a scoundrel like that? How dare he?”

  “Durand has no shame. Or principles. Especially where gaining Clarissa is concerned.”

  “Damn.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Edwin drew in a long breath. “You’ll have to decide if we should tell Yvette. I confess I have no idea what to do in that regard.”

  “It would devastate her. I mean, she’s always felt unwanted by your father, but this . . .”

  “It does explain why he was never around.” It didn’t entirely explain it, but Edwin wasn’t about to go into the details of his mother’s assault and the aftermath of it. He already regretted telling Clarissa so much. And not nearly enough.

  “Perhaps knowing why your father was absent would make her feel better about it,” Keane said. “Though I doubt it. She wasn’t just hurt by that, but by the things he said, the way he treated your mother.”

  “Which is why I’m trusting you to tell Yvette as much or as little as you deem wise. You know her better than I.”

  “Only because you keep things from her.” Keane searched his face. “You would keep this from her, too, wouldn’t you, if you had the choice? Just to protect her from being hurt.”

  “Yes. It’s my only way to make up for Father’s and Samuel’s lapses.”

  “The trouble is, she interprets your discretion as a lack of faith in her ability to weather trials and tribulations. You think you’re protecting her, but you’re really building a wall between you and her.”

  As he always did when Keane started talking about how he should treat his sister, Edwin withdrew into formality. “As I said, you can be the judge of whether to tell her or not. Since you seem to know better than I on the subject.”

  Apparently realizing how testy Edwin was getting, Keane said, “I didn’t mean—”

  “If Durand never reveals it, then she need never know that her father was a traitor. But I can’t be sure he won’t. That’s why I’m telling you. So you won’t find yourself suddenly immersed in a scandal out of the blue.”

  Keane nodded somberly. “Don’t worry about me and Yvette. I don’t give a damn about scandal, and she only worries about it for your sake. But if the two of you are in it together, she’ll stand by you and thumb her nose at the world.” He leaned back in his chair. “And you know me. I thumb my nose at the world as a matter of principle.”

  “You’re an artist and an American. People expect that of you.” Edwin stared out the window. “They don’t expect it of me.”

  “And Clarissa? How does she feel about all this?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I haven’t told her.”

  “What?”

  “I told her he’s holding something over our heads, but I haven’t said what. I had to reveal that much just to get her to marry me.”

  “I see.” Keane sipped some brandy. “In other words, Durand’s threats provided you with an excellent excuse for doing what you wanted in the first place.”

  Edwin’s gaze shot to Keane. “What the devil does that mean? I did it for her benefit, not my own. I wasn’t going to leave her to that arse’s machinations.”

  “Right. It had nothing to do with your desiring her, I’m sure.”

  He glared at his friend. “Not everyone is as randy as you.”

  “You don’t fool me.” The man chuckled. “Even an idiot could tell how you feel about Clarissa. In any case, it’s a good thing to desire one’s wife, isn’t it?”

  “You have no idea,” Edwin muttered. He could never reveal the mortifying truth to Keane—that his desire for his wife was something she didn’t want. Not entirely. That he didn’t even know why she rebuffed him.

  He wanted to believe that it had nothing to do with him, but he couldn’t. Because surely if someone else had hurt her, if all this was because of another man, she would tell him. And she had behaved very much like a virgin when he’d pleasured her with his mouth. It had startled her.

  No, the fact that she wouldn’t say why, the fact that she pulled back every time he got close to entering her, could only mean it was due to her dislike of him.

  Just give me a moment, and I’ll try . . . we can try—

  God, the very idea of her having to drum up enthusiasm to share his bed sent chills down his spine.

  He thrust that lowering thought from his mind. “In any case,” he said coolly, “it’s done now. Since our marriage, Durand has only made threats, but that doesn’t mean he won’t act on them down the road.”

  Thankfully Keane let him return to the subject of the count. “And you don’t know what Durand’s reasons for pursuing her are. Other than some odd obsession with her.”

  “No. As far as I know, he doesn’t need money. Or so Fulkham and Rathmoor said.”

  Keane blinked. “You told them about the bastard?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t want Clarissa’s reputation tarnished, so I said I was asking on behalf of someone else in the club.”

  With a flick of ash from his cigar, Keane said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to tell them about your father’s spying.”

  “Right,” Edwin said snidely. “I’ll just run right out and tell Rathmoor, the man who stole my first fiancée, that my father sold his country to the French. Or better yet, I’ll tell Fulkham, who practically runs the War Office.” He shook his head. “Durand implied that he might implicate me in Father’s activities. Imagine if that happened.”

  “He has no proof.”

  “He has solid proof of Father’s activities. It wouldn’t take much to connect those to me. Besides, the press doesn’t need proof. All they need is a juicy story to foment scandal.” Edwin downed some brandy. “No, it seems wiser to stay in the country for a while and hope that our marriage discourages Durand enough for him to turn his attentions elsewhere. It’s not as if anyone could do anything to stop him, given his position and the delicacy of relations with the French right now.”

  “I see your point.” Keane drew on his cigar. “But I do think you should tell Clarissa about it, at the very least.”

  “I can’t.” Not yet.

  “Why not?”

  “I have my reasons.” He held her by the thinnest thread, if he held her at all. At least right now, she still saw him as her savior from Durand. But if she realized how awful the scandal might be if news of Father’s treason got out, she would see him as the man who married her knowing he might be ruining her place in society. He wasn’t ready for the recriminations that would follow.

  “So, what if Durand does go to the press? What then?”

  “Obviously, I’ll have no choice. She a
nd I will weather the scandal as best we can.” And he would try to make it up to her somehow. If he could. “We’ll go abroad, wait until the furor dies.”

  “You could always shoot the man,” Keane said genially.

  “Believe me, I’ve considered it, old boy.” He sighed. “But since Clarissa has already lost her brother to exile because of a senseless duel, I hardly think she’d appreciate losing a husband to the gallows.”

  “True. I suppose we’ll just have to hope Durand comes to his senses. Because if you and Clarissa leave England for any reason, Yvette will get some fool notion about us taking over the care of Stoke Towers, the way Warren has with Margrave Manor—and I can barely manage the country house I just bought.”

  “I shudder to think what you would do if you ran this place,” Edwin said. “You’d be having the dairymaids pose as gin-soaked washerwomen so you could paint them.”

  Keane paused with his cigar midair. “What a good idea. Or I could pose the footmen with them—add a bit of rowdy soldier flirtation to the scene. Of course, I’d have to acquire a number of military costumes—”

  “Stay away from my servants, damn you,” Edwin growled.

  His brother-in-law burst into laughter. “You should see your face. That’s what I ought to paint—you in high dudgeon. But trust me, I have no interest in having your servants model for me. I have enough trouble keeping up with the projects I’m engaged in already.” Setting his brandy down, Keane turned serious. “So make sure you don’t run afoul of Durand, do you hear?”

  “I’ll do my best. But the man is unpredictable.” Edwin shook his head. “And I never know how to deal with unpredictable people.”

  Like his wife. He only hoped that in time she at least would become easier to read. Otherwise, he was in for a long, cold marriage.

  As Clarissa finished her tale about Durand, Yvette let out a most unladylike oath. “The count did what? That devil! How could he? I mean, I know he was mad for you, but I didn’t realize he was . . . well . . . mad.”

  “I know. It’s very strange. I cannot believe he keeps dogging me like this. Neither Edwin nor I can figure it out.”

  Unsure about the family secrets Durand was using to force Edwin’s hand, Clarissa wasn’t certain whether she should mention the blackmail. So far she’d only said that Edwin had feared Durand would try to abduct her and thus had married her to keep her safe. But prevaricating with her closest friend made her uncomfortable.

  And that wasn’t the only thing unnerving her. They were talking in Clarissa’s new bedchamber, rather than in Yvette’s old room, as they’d always done before. And it was Clarissa who’d summoned the servants to bring tea, Clarissa who’d given the orders about adding two for dinner. It felt rather odd to play lady of the house in front of the woman who’d always played that role previously.

  Yvette now lay sprawled across the bed while Clarissa roamed the room, unable to sit still after her encounter with Edwin this afternoon. If she were married to anyone else, she could have begged her friend’s advice about her marital troubles. But Yvette was liable to take her brother’s side.

  Not that there really was a side to this mess. Edwin had made a noble sacrifice and was now suffering for it. Meanwhile, Clarissa had stumbled into the very thing she’d been avoiding—marriage to a man who would want to bed her, who had every right to bed her. And whom she hurt with every refusal to let him do so.

  “You’re happy with Edwin, aren’t you?” Yvette asked. “Even though you were forced into marrying him—”

  “I wasn’t forced,” she said stiffly. “I chose to marry him. I could have refused, you know.”

  “And risked being abducted by Durand. Admit it, Edwin’s a veritable angel compared to the Frenchman.”

  “I would never describe your brother as an angel,” she said with a faint smile. “More like a knight-errant.”

  “Yes, he does tend to be overly protective of his womenfolk,” Yvette said wryly. “I always found it annoying.”

  “I find it rather sweet. Except that knights come with armor that can be hard to pierce.” Though his armor wasn’t primarily the problem. It was hers.

  “Give him time. He’ll let you into his life bit by bit.”

  Clarissa raised an eyebrow at Yvette. “How many years did it take him to do so with you?”

  Yvette shrugged. “That’s different. Brothers routinely share secrets with their wives that they never tell their sisters, trust me. Amanda’s hair would stand on end if she knew some of the things Jeremy has told me. There’s an intimacy between husband and wife that can’t exist between brother and sister, for obvious reasons.”

  Clarissa considered asking her friend about the assault upon the late Lady Blakeborough. But Edwin hadn’t said when it happened, and there were eight years between brother and sister. Yvette might not even know about it. It certainly fell into the category of something Edwin would never reveal.

  Probably for the same reason Clarissa had never told Yvette about the Vile Seducer. Certain things were so dark, so shameful, that one couldn’t even tell one’s best friend or sibling. After all, Niall had ended up in exile, trying to keep her ruin a secret. She wasn’t going to dishonor his sacrifice by blurting it out to the world.

  “You didn’t answer my question about being happy with Edwin,” Yvette said softly. “Are you?”

  Lord, this was awkward. “We get along very well. He’s . . . not what I expected. I knew he had a dry sense of humor, but I had no idea that he could actually be fun.”

  Yvette raised an eyebrow. “We’re still talking about Edwin, right?”

  “Yes.” She felt an odd need to defend him. “He’s not half the somber fellow I took him for.” She walked over and picked up the automaton, which had held pride of place on her dressing table ever since her arrival. “He gave me this. He said that you had him make it for me last Christmas, but you never got the chance to give it to me.”

  Her friend’s eyes gleamed with humor. “That’s true. And did he tell you why I never gave it to you?”

  “He said he didn’t get it completed in time.”

  Yvette laughed. “Because he wouldn’t stop altering it. Nothing was good enough, nothing was close enough, nothing seemed correct to him. ‘The eyes aren’t the right green,’ he told me one time. ‘Clarissa doesn’t move like that,’ he said another. I chalked it up to his usual attention to detail, but now I wonder . . .”

  “Don’t,” Clarissa said, past the lump growing in her throat. “You’re attributing to him feelings for me that he doesn’t have.” His words floated through her mind: I’ve imagined having you like this for ages. “I mean, he is attracted to me, but—”

  “But what?” Yvette sat up in bed to pounce on that admission. “Things are all right in that area, aren’t they? I know that Edwin is stodgy, but surely—”

  “It’s not him,” Clarissa blurted out.

  Yvette’s gaze narrowed on her, and Clarissa could have kicked herself for the admission. “What do you mean? If there’s a problem in the bedchamber, it most assuredly is him. He knows more about doing that than you, I’m quite sure, so it’s his responsibility to make it pleasant.”

  “Pleasant?” Clarissa said incredulously.

  At her tone, Yvette paled. “Oh, Lord, he’s not awful at it, is he? He hasn’t hurt you or anything? I wouldn’t have expected it of Edwin, but, well . . . one doesn’t know such things about one’s brother . . . I did always hear stories about Samuel, but Edwin—” She stopped as if realizing she was babbling. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if it was as bad as all that—”

  “We haven’t yet done that,” Clarissa said baldly.

  She really must stop blurting things out. But if anyone could tell her how to get past the difficult part of marriage, it would be Yvette. For one thing, she had never minded discussing such things. For
another, she obviously had a very talented husband in that respect, given how she doted on him.

  “What do you mean, ‘done that’?” Yvette asked. “Surely you’re not saying that after a week of marriage, you still haven’t made the beast with two backs.”

  “The beast with . . . What?”

  Yvette waved her hand dismissively. “You know. You haven’t wapped or swived or joined giblets.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Clarissa’s throat. “Oh, Lord, I forgot that you collect street slang.”

  “And I taught you all the naughty words, too.” Yvette crossed her arms over her chest. “So, have you done the deed or not?”

  “Well . . . no. We haven’t.”

  “Whyever not?” Yvette exclaimed.

  Now came the tricky part. More than ever, she didn’t want Yvette to know her past shame. Yvette would pity her, and Clarissa hated that. But there were certain things Clarissa wanted to learn, and Yvette seemed the only person likely to tell her.

  “As I said, it’s not him. I’m just . . . so afraid of the pain. You know how I am about pain. I am most sensitive to it.”

  “Nonsense.” As always, Yvette saw right through her. “You’ve never been sensitive to pain a day in your life. And besides, it’s only painful the first time. And even that isn’t all that bad.”

  “Really?” Clarissa said skeptically. “That’s not what I heard.” Or experienced. It had seemed pretty awful to her.

  “If the man knows what he’s doing, and is careful with you—”

  “What if he isn’t?”

  The bitter words seemed to give Yvette pause. “Has my brother ever hurt you? Has he ever given you reason to believe he would not be careful with you?”

  “No. In truth, he’s been very patient with me, willing to wait until I’m ready.” She glanced away. “But once men are caught up in . . . their passion, they can be unpredictable.” When she caught Yvette watching her with curiosity, she added hastily, “Or so I’ve heard.”

  Yvette eyed her suspiciously. “Well, I don’t know who’s been telling you these things—I assume it was your mother—but no matter what silliness we’ve always been taught, men are not bullies one has to endure in the bedroom. At least my husband is not.”