He swore under his breath. “Come for me, sweetheart . . . please . . . I can’t wait . . . much longer.”
Neither could she. “Don’t . . . wait.” She kissed and caressed, touched and met each thrust eagerly, hungry for all of him . . . for the man who was her husband, the man whom she loved.
“I need you,” he murmured against her ear. “God . . . stay with me . . . Clarissa. Never leave me.”
“I wouldn’t,” she choked out. “I couldn’t.” Like a rising tide, her release was rolling up in her, wave after wave, urge after urge, driving her up toward the surface, toward the sun . . .
“If I have to go into exile . . . promise you’ll go . . . with me . . .”
“I will.” She clenched on his cock as she felt herself exploding through the surface into sweet oblivion. “To the ends . . . of the earth . . . if I must.”
With that, he, too, found his release. As they strained together, she milking him, he filling her, she held him close and thought the words she dared not say to the man who didn’t believe in love.
I love you, Edwin.
Twenty-Four
By the time they turned onto his street, they’d made themselves presentable again. Or as presentable as two people could be who’d just been swiving wildly in a carriage.
Edwin didn’t really care if anybody could tell. He meant to spend all night making love to his wife. Because this might be his last night with Clarissa for some time.
Or forever.
He scowled. No, he would not let Durand win. Surely Fate would not allow such a bastard to prevail.
It allowed Clarissa to be raped.
Which was precisely why it was long past time she got some reward for all her trials. She deserved it. He would give it to her.
You are not God, Edwin!
Great, now his conscience was quoting his wife. And no, he was not God. Because if he had been, Whiting would have been struck by lightning before he’d ever brought Clarissa into that orangery.
“Edwin, something’s going on,” Clarissa murmured.
He glanced out the window as their coach came to a halt. There was another carriage in front of his town house, which he recognized as one of Warren’s. Had Clarissa’s mother come here? No, why would she? They’d just left her.
So Edwin wasn’t entirely shocked when the footman opened the door to the coach and greeted them with the words, “Lord Knightford is here to see you, milord.”
“Warren is back?” Clarissa exclaimed as Edwin helped her out. Then her face turned ashen. “Oh no, something must have happened to Niall!”
Before Edwin could stop her, she raced up the steps, with him following. When they entered the house and were directed to the drawing room, they found a grim-faced Warren waiting for them with a glass of brandy in hand. Edwin tensed up.
“What’s wrong?” Clarissa cried as she ran over to Warren. “Is Niall all right? Why are you back so soon?”
“Niall is well. But he told me something so alarming that I spent only a day with him before I rushed back.”
Clarissa edged closer to Edwin, as if seeking support, and he looped his arm about her waist.
Warren’s gaze narrowed on them. “And by the way, congratulations on your nuptials.” He swallowed some brandy. “I go away for a few weeks, and you two get married behind my back.”
“We had no choice,” Edwin said. “Durand left us none.”
“I can imagine. That’s why I returned. Because after talking to Niall, I discovered that not only did he know of Durand, but he thinks he knows why the man has been plaguing Clarissa: Durand is Joseph Whiting’s cousin on his mother’s side. Apparently they were the closest of friends, and grew up together before Durand’s family returned to France.”
Edwin’s gut knotted up. Bloody, bloody hell. This wasn’t entirely about Clarissa. It was about Whiting. And Niall.
Warren stared at Edwin, and a bitterness entered his voice. “But I don’t suppose you realize what that means. Niall had to explain it to me. Though I knew that Niall had killed Whiting in a duel, I didn’t know why. Until now.”
Edwin felt Clarissa sway against him, and anger welled up in him. “Actually, I know precisely what it means. Because she told me.”
Warren stared at Clarissa with a wounded expression. “Yet you couldn’t tell me, your own cousin? All these years of looking after you, not knowing that a bastard like Whiting had . . . had . . .”
“I couldn’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “They made me promise not to. Papa was determined that no one would ever learn of it. I’m surprised that Niall even revealed it to you, since he’s kept it secret all these years.”
“He didn’t have much choice.” Eyes hard, Warren swigged more brandy. “After he heard about Durand’s pursuit of you, he got alarmed and told me the whole sordid story. He was terrified that the count would hurt you.
“But I was also worried that Durand would go after Niall, especially after Niall told me that his reason for decamping from Spain to Portugal—and calling on me for help—was his friends’ warning him that someone had been asking around about him in Spain.”
“Durand,” Edwin bit out. “Or men he hired.”
“Oh, God,” Clarissa said. “And I talked to that devil about Niall, too! Nothing that would give away where he was, but still . . . Given that Count Durand claimed he wanted to marry me, it didn’t occur to me to question his interest in my brother.”
“So he’s trying to find Niall and hoping to use Clarissa to do it,” Edwin mused aloud. “I assume he wants revenge for his cousin’s death. But why now? If it was so important to him, why not seek revenge seven years ago, right after the duel?”
Warren set down his empty glass. “I wondered that, too. Niall said Clarissa’s father had made some deal with Whiting’s mother that she wouldn’t—”
“—speak of the matter,” Edwin finished, impatiently. “Yes, we know that.”
“So Niall assumes she broke her silence,” Warren said. “He’s just not sure why.”
“Probably because she was dying,” Clarissa said in a small voice. “She died of a lingering illness last year. I saw it in the papers. And if Durand had been anywhere around her at the time, if she were using laudanum or if she were even delirious—”
“She may have said something,” Edwin put in. “And that sparked this whole thing. Having a relation die in an honorable duel over some anonymous soiled dove is one thing.” His voice hardened. “But when the duel is with a respectable woman’s brother, and the relation’s offer to marry her was refused, the man might suspect something more nefarious was at work.” He glanced at Warren. “When did Durand return to England as a member of the ambassador’s staff?”
“Last summer.”
Clarissa caught her breath. “Mrs. Whiting died last autumn.” Her gaze flew to Edwin. “That’s why Count Durand called me a whore tonight. It wasn’t to goad you. It was because he knows everything, has always known everything. And he probably blames me for his cousin’s death.”
“That damned arse,” Edwin growled. “If he’d had the tale from Whiting’s ailing mother, she would never have admitted that his precious cousin was a rapist. There’s no telling how she would have cast the tale in her final hours. Or if she might have demanded that he seek justice for the family.”
“Wait a minute,” Warren asked Clarissa, “Durand called you a whore? I will beat him within an inch of his life!”
“No need,” Clarissa said dryly. “Your fool of a friend there challenged him to a duel for it.”
Warren blinked. “Damn.” He stared at Edwin. “Are you mad?”
“You were just talking about beating him yourself,” Edwin shot back. “I’m defending my wife’s honor!”
“Yes, but a duel . . .” Warren said. “You don’t even believe in duels.”
Edwin
crossed his arms over his chest. “A man can alter his opinions.”
“And a man can be stubborn to a fault,” Clarissa replied.
“Nothing has changed,” Edwin told her.
“Everything has changed! Since this isn’t about Durand’s wild obsession with me, he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants—the information about where to find my brother.”
“And possibly,” Warren put in, “the chance to humiliate Clarissa by telling the world what happened.”
“He could have done that long ago if that’s what he intended,” Edwin pointed out.
“Yes, but then he would have lost his chance to find Niall,” Warren said. “He wants them both—her ruined and Niall charged with murder.”
“And if he’s anything like Whiting,” Clarissa said, “he will break every rule—even cheat at a duel—to get rid of his opposition, who happens to be you. And he’ll get away with it because of his position! Then who will keep him from dragging your family through the mud? If he reveals your father’s activities—”
“What activities?” Warren asked.
“All the more reason to kill him,” Edwin said coldly, feeling beleaguered on all fronts. “Then he can’t hurt anyone.”
“Only if you win!” she cried.
When Edwin bristled at that, Warren said hastily, “Even if you don’t, there would be repercussions, old boy. You can’t kill a highly placed French diplomat, even in a duel over your wife’s honor, without comment. You ought to go to his superiors.”
“What superiors?” Edwin spat. “He is the most senior member at the French embassy right now! And there’s no time to go through channels.”
“Unless you refuse to fight him,” Clarissa said stoutly. “You’ve bluffed him before and it worked. Just do it again. Tell him to go to the devil.”
“And what happens to you when he has me dragged before the courts on trumped-up charges of treason?” Edwin countered.
“Hold on, now,” Warren said, “what’s all this about treason?”
Clarissa ignored him. “You could consult with your friends at the club, talk to Warren’s friends, gather some help and advice before you go waltzing off to die! But you simply won’t.”
“Because I refuse to embroil a bunch of friends and strangers in my private affairs. And certainly not in the private affairs of my wife!”
“Do not claim you’re doing this for me, Edwin Blakeborough! I’ve argued myself hoarse begging you not to fight Count Durand, and you’ve ignored me. You’re doing this for yourself. For your sense of justice and right, for your belief that a man should risk his own life to protect the reputation of a woman.”
“Yes! He should!”
“Even if she doesn’t want him to?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’ve already lost my brother to exile because he was protecting my reputation. I don’t want to lose you because of it, too. I would rather spend the rest of my life dealing with scandal than watch the man I love die trying to protect me, simply because he doesn’t want ‘a bunch of friends and strangers’ to know his ‘private affairs’!”
The man I love.
The words stunned him. She loved him? Truly?
As if she didn’t even realize what she’d said, she added, “So I’m washing my hands of this whole thing.” She tipped up her chin at Warren. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into him. I give up.”
Then she stormed from the room.
Edwin could only stand there staring after her. The word love rang in his ears, shocking him with its power to beguile. If she loved him . . .
“All right,” Warren broke into his thoughts. “Now that she’s gone, you’d best tell me what the hell is going on. Why would you be accused of treason? What activity of your father’s is Durand threatening to reveal? And how in God’s name did you end up married to my cousin in only a few short weeks?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Then you’d better talk fast.” He examined his watch. “Because unless we think of something, you’ll be fighting a duel in four hours. And I’m not acting as your second for it unless I know what I’m getting into.”
Edwin gritted his teeth. “Fine. And in case you’re wondering, I never told you the spying and treason part because I didn’t know about it myself until two weeks ago.”
“Spying? God, this gets worse by the moment.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered.
Then he began to relate a highly truncated version of what had happened since Warren’s departure. To Warren’s credit, he didn’t pepper Edwin with inconsequential questions. He just listened.
He did look rather speculative when Edwin got to the part about proposing marriage to Clarissa, but wisely didn’t say anything.
When Edwin was finished, Warren headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Edwin asked.
“You are in over your head, my friend. And no matter what you say, you need help. So we’re going to talk to Fulkham and see what he can do.”
“And what makes you think he won’t just leap on the chance to make an example out of a traitor like my father?”
Warren stared hard at him. “I’m the one who convinced him to join St. George’s. That means I vouch for his character. Do you question my judgment?”
Edwin gritted his teeth. “No.”
“Good.” Warren strode up to him. “Because if you did, I would have to remind you of the many ways I’ve championed you through the years. Of the times I helped you get Yvette and Clarissa out of youthful scrapes.”
That brought Edwin up short. “And . . . I appreciate that.”
“Do you? You’re behaving like an ungrateful bastard at the moment. You have friends, Edwin, whether you accept it or not. There’s me, there’s Keane, there’s the men at the club.”
When Edwin just stared at him, Warren added, “They look up to you because they think you’re sensible and rational. They know you’ll always be in their corner. Can’t you have the same faith in them? Accept that perhaps they will stand behind you because they’re your friends?”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand that you have always operated as if you alone are responsible for your life, your fate. That you have no one to turn to. Well, that’s not true. Your father may have pretty well abandoned you, but your family will not. Your friends will not. Your wife clearly will not.”
“Leave my wife out of it,” Edwin growled.
“Why? You said you were doing this for her. But she’s right: You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this to prove that you’re a better man than your father. That you can take care of your family. You’re doing this in an attempt to protect Clarissa and Yvette, which is a noble idea on the face of it.”
Warren leaned in. “But at the heart of it is pride. You don’t want to ask for help. You don’t trust anyone to give you help. You would rather risk your future with a woman who loves you than rely on the aid of your friends.”
Glancing away, Edwin swallowed past the thickness in his throat. What if Warren was right? That he didn’t trust anyone? That he would give up a future with Clarissa rather than take a chance on his friends and family?
The possibility made his stomach roil. Until now, he’d let his anger at Durand propel him forward. But Clarissa didn’t want the risk he was ready to embrace. She didn’t want a life without him.
The truth of that sang through his heart like a nightingale’s trill.
She loved him.
And surely that was worth taking a chance on the men who believed in him.
“All right. Let’s go find Fulkham. And I pray to God he has some idea for routing Durand. Because if he doesn’t, you, my friend, will be going with me to fight that blasted Frenchman at dawn.”
It took Edwin and Warren some time to rouse Fulkham’s serv
ants, and even more time to persuade them that he should be disturbed in the wee hours of the morning. They only relented when Edwin told them that there would be dire consequences if they turned away a marquess and an earl who were there on a matter of great import to the English people.
After being ushered into his lordship’s study, they were forced to wait while Fulkham was rousted from his bed. Unsurprisingly, when he entered in his dressing gown, he was none too happy.
“What in God’s name is this about?” he asked as he crossed the room. “Couldn’t it wait until morning?”
“Blakeborough here might be dead by morning,” Warren said. “I’m hoping you can prevent that from happening.”
Fulkham frowned. “You’ve caught my attention, that’s for damned sure.” He sat down behind his desk. “Why would Blakeborough be dead?”
“Because Count Durand challenged me to a duel at dawn, and I’ve accepted,” Edwin said matter-of-factly.
“A duel?” Fulkham looked from Edwin to Warren. “Is this a joke?”
“Afraid not,” Warren said. “The count is apparently trying to hunt down my cousin, the Earl of Margrave. In the process, he’s been threatening the life and reputation of Blakeborough and Margrave’s sister. Who just happens to be Blakeborough’s new wife.”
“Ah,” Fulkham said, glancing at Edwin. “This has to do with that conversation we had a few weeks ago at the club. The one you claimed was about some other member.”
Edwin nodded. “Forgive me for the subterfuge, but my fiancée was involved, and I didn’t want that information to be bandied about.”
“Then can I assume this concerns the duel between Whiting and Margrave?”
Edwin and Warren exchanged surprised glances.
“You don’t think I knew about Durand’s connection to Whiting?” Fulkham fixed Edwin with a hard stare. “If you’d told me at the time that your concern over the charge d’affaires’ activities was related to Lady Clarissa’s family, I would have mentioned that Whiting and Durand were cousins. But you didn’t offer that information.”
The Study of Seduction Page 27