Edwin couldn’t suppress his snort. Now she rounded on him. Damn.
“Do you have something to say, Lord Blakeborough?”
The formality of her words should have given him pause. It didn’t. “Warren and Niall are grown men. They can take care of themselves, and will probably do it better without you tagging along.”
Planting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Stay out of this. It does not concern you.”
“Actually, it does,” Warren broke in. “While I’m away, Edwin is going to accompany you and your mother to whatever social engagements you wish to attend.”
The emotions that played over her face were intriguing. Surprise, then confusion . . . then more of that amazing anger that brought such fetching color into her cheeks. Edwin couldn’t stop staring. Was the flush all-encompassing? Did it extend beneath her clothing?
God, he must stop thinking about what was beneath her clothing.
“Whyever would Edwin need to do that?” she bit out.
“To protect you from Durand,” Edwin said bluntly.
For a second, she paled. Or perhaps he’d imagined it, for almost instantly she spat, “That is beyond ridiculous.”
Warren’s dark eyes glittered. “Is it?” He marched up to her. “Ever since you refused the man’s proposal, he’s dogged you at every turn. You were frightened enough of him after his last appearance to beg me to bring you and your mother to Hatton Hall for the rest of the winter.”
If Edwin hadn’t been watching her closely, he wouldn’t have seen her convulsive swallow. And that one little motion made something knot in his gut. Because that was another thing he’d never seen—Clarissa afraid. It disturbed him more than he expected.
It also made him question his assumption that she might be exaggerating the situation.
She drew herself up. “That was months ago.” Her voice tightened ever so slightly. “Surely Count Durand has gotten over this nonsense by now.”
“Or your absence has made him even more obsessed,” Warren said. “I can’t take the chance that it’s the latter. Unless you want to return to Shropshire—”
“Absolutely not!” Clarissa set her shoulders firmly. “I will not miss the Season because of that . . . that ridiculous man. He probably only wanted me for my fortune, anyway, like the rest of them.”
“I don’t think so,” Warren said. “Durand comes from a long line of wealthy French aristocrats. His family fled the revolution for England early enough to retain most of their assets, and once they returned to France after the war, they were able to insinuate themselves into royal circles.”
“So the Frenchman spent some time in England before he was actually posted here?” Edwin asked.
“He was born in Sussex,” Clarissa said dully. “And raised there, too, until his family went back.”
“He’s that young?”
“About your age, yes.”
Hmm. “So, not some aging roué looking for a young bride to bear him sons.”
“Hardly,” Warren said. “And he refused to take no for an answer.”
“Why was that, if not for Clarissa’s fortune?” Edwin asked.
She whirled on him, eyes blazing. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps he was foolish enough to think me pretty. Or engaging. Or—”
“I’m sure Edwin didn’t mean that the way it came out,” Warren said soothingly.
She stared Edwin down. “Didn’t you?”
God. He’d never been good at deciphering women. He weighed his words. “I meant that men who don’t take no for an answer generally have a reason for their . . . obsession, if you will.” He thought of his mother. No, that wasn’t the same at all. “I’m merely trying to get at what the reason might be.” When she continued to stare balefully at him, he thought to add, “Beyond your beauty and wit, that is.”
She rolled her eyes. “You really cannot give a woman a compliment without being bullied into it, can you?”
That startled him. “I can. I just don’t always think to do so. I’m not like my smooth-talking brother.”
Something flitted over her features. Sympathy? No, it couldn’t be. Not with Clarissa.
Yet when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “No one would ever mistake you for Samuel, Edwin. And that’s something you should be proud of.”
He was still reeling from those unexpectedly thoughtful words when she cleared her throat and added in a harder voice, “But that doesn’t mean I want you scowling over me like a watchdog for the next few weeks.”
That was more the Clarissa he knew.
“Now, cousin,” Warren began, “Edwin was kind enough to agree to do this, and given that he doesn’t much enjoy society—”
“Exactly!” she snapped. “He’ll be worse than you—chiding me and curbing my enjoyments and glowering at anyone who dares to approach.”
“That last strategy is why I never have to put up with idiots at social occasions,” Edwin said dryly.
“It’s also why you have no friends,” Clarissa shot back.
“Clarissa, that’s enough!” Warren barked. “You’re being rude to a man who only wants to help.”
Edwin tensed. He shouldn’t care one way or the other if Clarissa balked. Indeed, it would be a boon—he wouldn’t have to deal with her moods and her unpredictability. He could walk away, having done what Warren asked.
But for some absurd reason, that didn’t sit well with him. “Why don’t you give us a moment alone, all right?” Edwin asked his friend.
Warren glanced from Edwin to Clarissa. “Fine. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her.” He headed for the door. “I’ll go attend to my aunt.”
As soon as Warren left, a hush settled upon the room. Edwin said nothing. He might not have experienced Clarissa in high dudgeon before, but he’d certainly dealt with Yvette enough to learn the effectiveness of quiet calm upon an enraged female.
Clarissa crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m being difficult.”
“No.”
As the minutes spun out between them, she tipped up her chin. “Then you’re going to try to tell me that I have no choice in the matter. But Warren is not really—”
“Your guardian. Yes, I know. You’re too old for that. But your father did leave him in charge of your fortune and did ask him to look after you. So that’s what Warren is trying to do. And you always have a choice. I’d never take that from you.”
When he allowed the silence to build again, she regarded him with rank suspicion. “You’re going to remind me of my duty to my family?”
That made him smile. “Hardly. Seems to me that you’re already fulfilling your duty to your family admirably.” Before she could retort, he added, “But if you don’t agree to this, Warren will worry about you while he’s off dealing with your brother, so his mind won’t be on what he’s doing. And that will hamper his ability to get Niall out of whatever mess he’s in.”
Gritting her teeth, she glanced away. “It’s surprisingly devious of you to come up with that, Edwin.”
“Not a bit. It’s the truth.”
“Then Warren should let me go with him. He can keep watch over me better that way.”
“And you will slow him down. Is that what you want? For him to arrive too late to help your brother?”
Her gaze swung back to him, a roil of flashing green that took his breath away. “Why should I slow him down?”
He shrugged. “You’ll need servants. You can’t travel without a maid at the very least, so arrangements will have to be made, more luggage accounted for, more time spent in customs—”
“Enough.” She fisted her hands at her sides. “I hate it when you’re logical.”
“I’m always logical. You hate it when I’m right.”
To his surprise, her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “That, too.”
With his blood pounding, he searched her face. “Would it really be so terrible to spend time in my company?”
“True. But if he is and he continues to plague you, wouldn’t you prefer to have someone in your corner?”
A sigh shuddered out of her. “Are you in my corner, Edwin?”
The question tightened an unfamiliar knot in his chest. “I am always in your corner.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I should hope we are friends at the very least.”
“Friends?” She turned to cast him an enigmatic look that threw him off-balance. “Is that what we are? I’ve never been quite sure.”
Neither had he, but he wouldn’t admit that to her. “We are for the next few weeks. I gave Warren my word that I would look after you.”
For some reason, that seemed to provoke her. “I am not a child!” A hurt look crossed her face. “I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of handling some . . . unruly suitor.”
That was when it dawned on him why she was so angry about this. She was a proud woman. And being a proud man, he could understand not wanting to rely on anyone else for help.
“Of course you’re capable. No one doubts that.” When she glared at him, he realized he needed to change tacks. “Indeed, I envy you your ability to navigate society when I am so very bad at it.”
Her stance softened to skepticism. “You’re not that bad.”
“You’re not the first person to point out that I don’t compliment ladies sufficiently. So whatever time we can spend together might help us both. I’ll keep Warren happy by accompanying you, and you can give me some strategies for moving about society more effectively. It would be a fair exchange.”
She eyed him warily. “You think so, do you?”
“I am looking for a wife, you know. And finding one would be much easier if I didn’t insult women every time I opened my mouth.”
Apparently that struck her as amusing, for she flashed him a rueful smile. “True.”
He could put up with her attempts to instruct him if it meant keeping her out of the clutches of Durand. He owed it to Warren. “You can even play matchmaker, if you wish. Help me pick the perfect wife. This can work to our mutual benefit.”
“You’re better at smooth talk than you think,” she said archly, but she was still smiling, which he took as a good sign. “Oh, very well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? But you must promise not to curtail my pleasures too much. You’ll accompany me to parties and such, but nothing more—no lectures about how I must behave or whom I must avoid.”
“Of course. You’re not my sister. If you want to dance the night away with some arse, it’s not my concern.” His voice hardened. “As long as the arse is not Durand.”
“Trust me,” she said acidly, “it will never be Durand.”
“Then we’re agreed.” He held his breath. He didn’t know why, but it mattered to him that she regard him as capable of protecting her. Worthy of it, even. Which was idiotic.
But Clarissa did tend to inspire the idiotic in him.
She finally nodded. “We’re agreed.”
Three
Clarissa did enjoy a lively ball. And it was probably good that this was her first engagement with Edwin since they’d come to an agreement two days ago. Nothing taxed the earl’s patience like a crowded ballroom. So if he made it through this without growling at everyone—and her—then she could trust his word that he would allow her to enjoy the Season.
As she danced with a young major who happened to be a duke’s son, she scanned the room for Count Durand. So far she hadn’t seen the Frenchman, but that didn’t exactly steady her nerves. He might be in the card room. Or watching her slyly from the gallery. That would be just his style.
“Wishing for a better partner, Lady Clarissa?” Major Wilkins asked peevishly.
Forcing her attention back to the fellow, she gave him her best flirtatious smile. “Certainly not. Hoping to avoid a bad one later.”
He brightened, clearly sensing an opportunity to be of gentlemanly service to her. “Anyone in particular?”
As they briefly parted in the dance, she considered telling him the truth. It couldn’t hurt to have a spy in society warning her of when the Frenchman was about. “Count Durand, actually. Have you seen him here this evening?”
“No. I don’t believe he’s in attendance. Demmed Frenchman knows better than to brave a ballroom full of English officers with long memories.”
Since her companion couldn’t have been a day over ten when the war ended, she had to stifle a laugh. “Oh, Major, I’m sure you’re right. He wouldn’t dare risk a confrontation with a fierce fellow like you.”
The officer preened a bit as he bent closer than was proper. “If he did, I would defend your honor most vigorously.”
She inched back. “How gallant of you!” But she didn’t believe a word. For peacetime soldiers like Major Wilkins, a dagger was more a fashionable accessory than a weapon.
As they parted in the dance again, her eyes strayed to where Edwin stood across the room with her mother, his expression deceptively bland. Now there was a man who could use a dagger to good effect if necessary. Though she doubted he carried one. No doubt Edwin abhorred violence. Brawling in public wasn’t correct, after all.
The officer followed the direction of her gaze. “Is that the Earl of Blakeborough?”
“In the flesh.”
“I didn’t think he liked to go into society. They say he’s rather a dull sort.”
Edwin was a lot of things, but “dull” wasn’t one of them.
She and the major swung about the alternate couple, and when they were in line again, she said, “The earl is looking for a wife.” She felt a perverse need to defend him. “Nothing unusual in that.”
“Then he should dance. How better to get to know a woman?” Major Wilkins’s gaze dropped to her bosom and stuck as he made his chassé to the right. “And women prefer a man who can show a good leg.”
After their chassé to the left, Clarissa trod on the toes attached to his “good leg,” jerking his attention back to her face.
She smiled thinly. “And here I thought that women prefer a man who can show good manners. Silly me.”
The insult went right past him. “I should hope a gentleman can show both.”
“Indeed. Let me know when you intend to start.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” Thank heaven the dance was ending, and she could escape. Even Mama’s nattering was preferable to this puffed-up partridge’s lewd behavior.
They bowed to each other, and he led her toward her companions. As they approached, Edwin watched her with an enigmatic stare. He continued to do so as greetings were exchanged and she waited for the major to move on to the next pair of bosoms.
But the officer lingered to chat. Wonderful. Now she had to make polite conversation. And clearly Edwin, who now stoically drank his champagne, wouldn’t be any help at all.
Fortunately, Mama was always willing to step in. “So, Major Wilkins, you’re the Duke of Hastings’s youngest, are you not?”
He nodded stiffly. Clearly he didn’t like being reminded that he was at the bottom rung of his lofty lineage.
“And are you married?” her mother prodded.
He must not have minded that question so much, for he slid a sly glance at Clarissa. “Unfortunately, no, ma’am. Though I’m not averse to the idea.”
“I should hope not,” Mama said. “An officer of your consequence requires a wife, preferably a pretty one to move him forward in society.”
“Yes,” Edwin muttered, “a pretty one is always preferable to one with sense.”
Clarissa couldn’t resist poking the bear. “Don’t you think it possible for a woman to have both?”
Edwin shrugged. “Possible? Yes. Usual in our circles? No.”
“Then you mu
st consider me a most unusual woman. Or else you think me either ugly or dim-witted.”
“You know that I think you neither one.” Edwin’s gaze locked with hers. “And this is starting to feel distinctly like a trap.”
“A trap of your own making,” she quipped. “I wasn’t the one to say that beauty in a woman is preferable to brains.”
“I did not say—”
“Careful, now.” The major nudged Edwin. “The lady will have you tied up in knots before you know it.”
“And Clarissa is very good at tying knots,” Mama said cheerily. “Why, she recently tatted the most splendid little coin purse you ever did see. It had a sweet button on the . . .”
For once, Clarissa appreciated Mama’s nonsense. It saved her from an escalating argument with Edwin, who never seemed to know when she was teasing him. Even now, he stood ramrod straight, his jaw carved from stone. However did he manage to shave that chin when it was always so rigid?
“I can well believe that your daughter excels in the feminine arts,” Major Wilkins was saying in an attempt to ingratiate himself with her mother. “Clearly Lady Clarissa is possessed of every womanly virtue.”
“Not to mention a sizable dowry,” Edwin said, an edge to his voice.
The officer looked uncertain of how to respond to that in a gentlemanly manner. “While I’m sure that is true, I should think . . . That is . . .” It took him a moment to find his bearings. “A fortune is of no consequence in matters of the heart, after all.”
Edwin lifted an eyebrow, and Clarissa choked back a laugh.
“Don’t be silly,” Mama said. “A fortune is always of consequence. Which is why my late husband made sure that our children were well provided for. Very well.” She nudged Clarissa none too subtly. “Eh, my dear?”
Oh, Lord. Mama would probably give up her best fur to see Clarissa snag a duke’s son, youngest of the bunch or no. Particularly since Clarissa kept refusing the suits of older sons.
Thankfully, Clarissa was saved from more matchmaking by the sound of waltz music.
“Forgive me, Major,” Clarissa said hastily, “but I promised Lord Blakeborough the first waltz.”
The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Page 3
