A quick glance behind her showed that in the passage, she was hidden from Edwin’s sight. She was not going to let this happen. Turning swiftly on her heel, she started back, but the Frenchman called after her, “Do you want me to expose your husband’s secrets to the world, simply because you won’t allow me a moment of your time?”
She halted. Edwin’s secrets. Drat it. She reached up to release the leaf from the chain, then palmed it and turned to face him. “Very well. Say what you have to say.”
“If you’ll just come this way—”
“No. You say it here, or not at all.”
That gave him pause. “Aren’t you worried that someone might hear us talking about your precious husband’s secrets?”
“No, because that will put an end to your blackmail.”
“And your husband will land in gaol.”
She dragged in a harsh breath. “There’s no way on earth that my husband has ever done anything to land him in gaol. That is absurd.”
When she started to turn away again, he said hastily, “No, but his father did. And I can easily make it seem as if your husband was part of it.”
She froze. Drat Edwin and his secrets. She didn’t even know how many of the count’s claims were true. “What could his father possibly have done that would implicate Edwin?”
“He spied for the French during the war. And if you don’t go with me now, I’ll make sure the world sees the evidence.”
“What evidence? I can’t imagine you have any.”
“I have his father’s reports. And I can frame it so it looks as if Blakeborough helped him. But even if I don’t succeed in proving that, there will be enough outrage to ensure that you, and he, and your respective families will never be able to raise your heads in good society again.”
Edwin hurried up to Lady Margrave, who had just collapsed onto a bench. “Where’s Clarissa? I can’t find her.” He’d turned away for only a moment, and his wife was gone. What the devil?
“She went to deal with those Italian pyrotechnic fellows,” Lady Margrave said with a wave in the direction they’d been earlier. They weren’t there.
His heart faltered when he saw them on the other end of the boxes, headed for the exit. There was no sign of Clarissa. Striding over to them, he asked in Italian where his wife was, but when they exchanged looks of alarm and started protesting that they knew nothing, he didn’t waste his time with them. He broke into a run down the path behind the boxes where they’d just been working.
As he neared the end of the first row, he heard Clarissa’s voice. With a relieved sigh, he slowed to a walk. Until her words registered.
“You’re a liar, sir. There’s no way on earth that my husband’s father was a traitor. I don’t care what evidence you claim to have, or what you think you can prove—”
Edwin vaulted around the corner of the box to find his wife facing down Durand. “Get away from my wife,” Edwin growled, quickly putting himself between them.
“I knew you hadn’t told her about the spying,” Durand said with a sneer. “She would never stand for being married to a traitor’s son. So if you’d said anything, the two of you wouldn’t be here pretending that this wedding is a love match.”
“It is a love match!” Clarissa spat from behind Edwin.
That momentarily threw Edwin off guard, even knowing she was just trying to get rid of Durand.
“Really?” Durand said coldly. “Blakeborough is in love with you? Does he know what a little whore you are?”
Fury inflaming him, Edwin caught Durand by the throat and squeezed. “I warned you not to bother my wife. I swear, I’ll kill you right here and now, just for such a vile lie—”
“No, no, no, you can’t!” Clarissa cried, dragging on Edwin’s arm. “Or you will hang for it, and I cannot lose you, too!”
That last remark was the only thing that cut through the red haze in his head. He released Durand, who stumbled back choking and coughing.
After a moment, the bastard growled, “For that, Blakeborough, I challenge you to a duel at dawn. Over your wife’s honor, which I maintain is scanty at best.”
“Don’t listen to him!” Clarissa cried as Edwin bristled again. “Can’t you see he’s goading you? He wants to kill you so he can get to me. You must not fight him!”
Durand gave a mocking laugh. “That’s all right, Lady Clarissa, he’s not going to accept. Everyone knows he despises dueling. Most cowards usually do.”
“Ah, but this won’t be a duel,” Edwin said coldly. “It will be justice. For your tormenting my wife, trying to force her into marrying you. For frightening her and plaguing her, for nearly assaulting her, and daring to cast slurs upon her character.”
“Edwin, no,” Clarissa said.
Durand ignored her to stare Edwin down. “Does that mean you accept my challenge?”
“It does. Choose your seconds, and I shall see you at dawn at Green Park. Pistols are my weapon of choice.” He turned to Clarissa. “Come, my dear, we’re leaving now.”
By tomorrow, he meant to be rid of Durand once and for all.
Twenty-Three
Clarissa managed to hold her tongue until their carriage pulled away. Only then did she face him, shoulders set. “You can’t do this.”
“I can and I will. It’s the only way to stop him.”
The hard edge to his voice made her despair. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t. I happen to be very good with a pistol.”
“I’ve no doubt of that. But if you kill him, you will end up accused of murder, forced to flee.”
“Unlike your brother, I need only say that the bastard impugned your honor. No jury will convict an Englishman for defending his wife from a Frenchman.”
“Not just a Frenchman. A French diplomat. With high connections in both governments.”
He dragged in a heavy breath. “It will be difficult for us socially for a while, but . . .”
“. . . not nearly as bad as if your father is revealed to be a traitor. Is that what you’re thinking?”
Edwin released a coarse oath. “I never wanted you to know about that.”
Her heart sank. “So it’s true, then. Your father really was a traitor.”
“It appears he was.” Edwin rubbed the back of his neck. “Durand showed me the reports written in Father’s hand, which were apparently made on Father’s jaunts to a certain private opium-smoking club in London.”
“Opium! Your father smoked opium?”
“I’m not sure. For years, I’d assumed so.” His breathing grew labored. “When Mother died, I went looking for Father, so the servants were forced to send me to that club. That’s how I learned of his association with it. He wouldn’t speak of it at all, so I deduced he went there to indulge. But apparently he was going there to speak to soldiers and sailors and glean information for the French.”
She sat back against the seat. “I can’t believe it. I know your father had his weaknesses, but to be a traitor to his country . . .”
“It came as a shock to me, too.”
“And you’re sure these ‘reports’ aren’t forged?”
“They certainly looked genuine. And clandestine activities would help to explain why Father was always running off to London and abandoning us.”
Mulling that over a moment, she wondered what to say, what to do to help him. This duel clearly wasn’t just about her. It was about saving his family—all of them—from scandal. It was about eliminating Durand as a threat.
She folded her arms over her waist. “How do you know that if you kill Durand, he won’t have already instructed someone, in the event of his death, to expose your father’s activities?”
“I don’t. But it’s better than waiting around for whenever he does choose to do it. And it will be a great deal more difficult for him to fan the fl
ames of a scandal if he’s dead.”
“Not if you’re the one who’s dead.”
He turned his head to the window, and the streetlamps caught the consternation on his face. “I won’t let him kill me.”
“You are not God, Edwin! You’re fallible. And the thought of something happening to you—”
When she broke off with a choked cry, he shot her an alarmed glance, then moved to sit beside her. “Sweetheart, nothing will happen to me, I swear it.”
“You don’t know that!”
His hand clutched hers. “You’re really worried about me.”
“Of course I’m worried about you. You’re my husband.”
“And you’re not angry with me for keeping the full extent of Durand’s blackmail from you until now?” he said, sounding a little incredulous.
“Why should I be? Do you really think I care what your father did?”
“I’m sure you care that I married you knowing perfectly well that if Durand acted on his threats, you and I would be outcasts. Traitors aren’t well regarded in this country, even long-dead ones.” His voice roughened. “And if Durand succeeds in somehow connecting me . . .”
“How could he do that? I don’t understand.”
“I was nineteen when I was seen going into that same opium den. It was only the one time, but all it takes is a single witness remembering my being there, and it will be enough to foment speculation and cause trouble for me.”
Frustration twisted inside her. “That count is a blackguard!” she said stoutly. “I don’t trust him. You can’t play into his plans, whatever they are, by meeting him for a duel.”
He stiffened. “I have no choice.”
“That’s not true! You have friends at your club—Lord Fulkham, for example. You should go to him for advice. I hear he’s high up in government.”
“All the more reason he won’t want to be tainted by helping the son of a traitor.”
She huffed out a breath. “So talk to one of the other gentlemen. There must be someone who can help you rout Durand. Those Duke’s Men friends of Jeremy’s, for example.”
“Not a chance. I am not risking anyone else hearing of it. I will fight Durand at dawn, and that is that.”
“But Edwin—”
“Enough! This is my decision, not yours.”
The force of his declaration shattered her confidence. “You’re upset because he called me a whore, aren’t you?” Ever since Durand’s words, she’d wondered if Edwin might have taken them to heart. She knew Durand had been goading him, but what if Edwin thought otherwise? “Are you afraid that he had a reason, that while he was courting me I allowed him to—”
“No, of course not. I asked you before if he forced himself on you, and you said he did not, and I believe you.”
“B-but his words made you so angry . . . Are you sure that they didn’t make you uncertain whether to trust me?”
“Don’t be absurd. I trust you, I swear.” He pulled her into his arms. “It’s you who don’t trust me . . . with your life, your future. Hell, you won’t even let me make love to you in the usual way, because you’re still afraid I might hurt you.” When she groaned, he let out an oath. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. It doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly, it does.”
And she should have realized sooner that he saw her difficulties as a mark of her continuing distrust of him. Even the most understanding man in the world had his pride, and it wounded her husband’s that she couldn’t entirely trust him in bed.
“All of it matters,” she went on. “Whether you ignore my advice and I ignore your desires matters. Because if we don’t trust each other, what is left?” She clasped him about the neck. “And I do trust you. I trusted you from the moment you proposed marriage.”
“Right,” he said. “Except for demanding a clause in our settlement to ensure I didn’t attack you.”
She swallowed. “Looking back, I can see that perhaps that wasn’t the best strategy, but it made sense at the time. And even with that clause, I never locked my bedchamber door to you—not once in our first week alone together. I could have, but I didn’t.”
That seemed to give him pause, for he dragged in an unsteady breath.
“Please, please, don’t fight this duel, my darling,” she went on. “I’m begging you.”
He bent close enough for her to feel his warm breath against her lips. “What kind of husband would I be if I let him get away with all that he’s done and is still trying to do to you?”
“What kind of wife would I be if I let you die defending me?”
Their gazes locked for a long moment. Then he kissed her.
Though it took her by surprise, she welcomed it, needing to be sure of him. His kiss was all-consuming, hard and sweet and urgent by turns, as if he couldn’t bear to stop.
And she gave herself up to it with the same desperation. She had to make him see that what they had was too precious to throw away. That together they could get through anything.
“I want you, minx,” he rasped in her ear. “Now. Here. It’s mad, I know—”
“Not mad at all. I want you, too.”
That was all the invitation he needed to start dragging up her skirts while kissing her as if it were their last time together. Which it very well might be.
No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t. She would show him just how perfect it could be between them, tempt him not to be so foolish as to risk everything out of some noble pride or fear of scandal.
He unbuttoned his trousers, then tried to pull her astride him.
“No,” she whispered, “not this time. I want you on top of me.”
“Clarissa, I wasn’t saying—”
“I know. I want to do it. I want you to take me as you’d take any woman. As you’d take your wife if she were . . . any other woman.”
She had to make him understand that she no longer saw him as a man who could ravage her, but as her husband, the only man she trusted with her body.
When he still hesitated, she said, “You’re not remotely like the Vile Rapist, and I’m no longer the same Clarissa he raped, nor even the Clarissa of a few weeks ago. I’m finally ready to put that behind me. But I need to prove that to myself. And to you.”
Even in the dim light, she could feel him searching her face. “Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever called it a rape?”
That startled her. Was it? Her heart began to pound. Yes, it was. “He raped me,” she said, trying out the sentence and feeling the truth of it.
“Yes.” His voice was firm and sure, bolstering her confidence.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“It was never your fault, my sweet. It’s time you stop blaming yourself.”
She clutched at his shoulders. “He had no right to rape me,” she said fiercely. She’d partly acknowledged it in her head, but now she accepted it. Believed it. Was angry over it.
“No right whatsoever. As far as I’m concerned, he deserved to die. Who knows how many other women he would have assaulted if he hadn’t?”
She’d never thought of it that way. It dampened the guilt she’d always felt over Niall’s sacrifice, soothed the hurt of his exile a little.
But that didn’t mean she would let her husband follow the same path. “If you’re still determined to fight Durand, then I’m going to show you what you’ll be missing if you’re exiled or murdered.” Scooting back into the corner, she tugged him toward her. “I’m going to show you how it could be between us if you’d only refuse to fight him.”
He let her pull him against her until he was crowding her in the corner, as much of him between her legs and on top of her as they could manage in the confines of the carriage. “This is what I’m fighting for, my sweet,” he growled. “You. Us. Our future.”
/> “We’ll have no future if you die.”
“I won’t.” He seized her mouth once more, and for the first time, the weight of him on her was a reminder rather than a warning of how strong he was. That it made him fierce in her defense, determined and fine and noble.
Yes, the panic was lurking, but it had shrunk to a pea. So very small, she could ignore it. And one day, she would banish it, too.
She tore her lips from his to whisper, “Take me, Edwin. Fill me up.”
With a growl, he entered her, more forcefully than usual but not enough to alarm her. And it was amazing. Not because he was on top of her and driving into her, but because she wasn’t afraid. Because she knew she could stop him at any moment, that she could end things on a word.
This was what trust felt like.
He gave her no quarter, and to her shock, it thrilled her. He thundered into her, she rained on him, and it was like coming home. They were two parts of a whole, moving together in such intimate perfection it made her want to cry.
“Edwin,” she whispered. “Yes, like that. Harder. More. Give me everything, my darling.”
“Everything is already yours,” he rasped as he fondled her breast through her gown. “That will never change.”
For her, either. And as the truth blazed into her soul, she kissed him to keep from blurting it out.
She loved him. She wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but somewhere in the past few weeks, she’d fallen in love with Edwin. And now that she’d found him, was she to lose him?
No. No!
Slipping her hands down to his fine, taut buttocks, she cupped them to get him closer, deeper. She would drown him in pleasure, if that was what it took.
Instead, he drowned her in it, reaching between their bodies to finger her until she was fighting for breath and thought, fighting not to be the first one to succumb to her release. If she couldn’t have his love, she wanted his surrender. Needed his surrender.
Shimmying and writhing beneath him, she ran her hands down the backs of his thighs, the tips of her fingers just brushing his ballocks between his legs.
The Study of Seduction Page 26