Ooh, that was so like him. He disliked small talk.
“Lord Blakeborough!” Lady Maribella exclaimed before he could say a word. “Isn’t this just the prettiest little garden you ever saw?”
Clarissa snorted. The woman clearly had a fondness for hyperbole and inane observations. She would sorely tax Edwin’s patience.
“It is quite a little garden, yes,” he said. “It suits you.”
Hmm. Should Clarissa count that? The trace of irony in his voice said it wasn’t entirely a compliment.
But Lady Maribella took it as one, for she giggled and blushed and said, “Oh, you are such a charmer, sir.”
When the ridiculous claim made Clarissa choke on her negus, Edwin’s gleaming gaze shot to her over the heads of his companions. “It’s easy to be a charmer with such fine inspiration standing before me.”
Clarissa froze. He clearly did not mean Lady Maribella and Lady Jane, so the compliment shouldn’t count one whit. Yet the rough thrum with which he said it, and the heat in his expression before he returned his gaze to the other two ladies, made her weak in the knees. If that didn’t suffice to prove him capable of flattering a woman, she didn’t know what would.
Then Lady Jane said, “Which flowers do you like best, sir? I like the jonquils because they remind me of Mama. She used to love them so.”
A lump caught in Clarissa’s throat. Much as her own mother taxed her patience, she couldn’t imagine losing her at as young an age as Lady Jane had lost hers.
Edwin smiled softly at the girl. “I’m sure she didn’t love them half as much as that smile of yours. It would brighten any sickroom.”
He clearly meant it, and that only thickened the lump in Clarissa’s throat. Whenever Edwin showed the kindly side he generally kept deeply buried, it made her question her assumptions about him.
Until he spoke again. “Ah, I see Miss Trevor over there. Forgive me, but I must speak to her.” Then he was off again, striding across the garden.
What was this, a race? As usual, the devious fellow was accomplishing his task with the least amount of time and bother, which was not what she meant for him to do at all. She followed at a distance, rather eager to see what he would come up with as a compliment for the intrepid young woman.
Without even a preamble, he said, “Miss Trevor, I couldn’t help noticing that you have an excellent sense of humor.”
“Why, thank you, my lord. So do you.” Miss Trevor cast a speculative glance past him to Clarissa, who smiled and then turned and pretended to be admiring a plant. A rather ugly one. With spikes. Which she wished she could use on Miss Trevor.
Heavens, where had that come from?
Well, perhaps Miss Trevor would suit.
Oh, yes, that must be where. But only because Clarissa hated to see Edwin marry someone so obviously wrong for him. Not because she was jealous of any woman who actually garnered Edwin’s interest. Not. One. Bit.
“As soon as we can be alone, I mean to claim my reward.”
She jumped, then scowled at Edwin. “Good Lord, don’t surprise me like that. I thought you were still talking to Miss Trevor.”
“No need. I complimented her already.”
Clarissa looked over to see Miss Trevor now wandering over to Lady Anne, probably to discuss the very abrupt Lord Blakeborough. She lowered her voice. “That was not the point of the exercise. You were supposed to engage in polite chitchat and bury the compliment in it.”
There was a decided glint of humor in his eyes. “You didn’t say that. You said to offer four genuine compliments. So I did.”
“But—”
“Are you reneging on your offer of a reward?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow.
He would see it that way. “Of course not,” she mumbled.
“Good. Because I’ve decided what I want. Later, when we get a chance to be alone, I want to kiss the inside of your bare arm.”
Her stomach flipped over. “That’s a very odd request.”
“You said ‘anything.’”
“But . . . but why that?”
“You didn’t say I had to explain. You didn’t put any parameters on the reward. If you wanted a different outcome, you should have been more specific. You only demanded that I give—”
“Fine,” she said, to forestall his litany of logic. “If that is what you wish, you may kiss the inside of my arm. Once.”
His gaze burned into hers. “Your bare arm,” he corrected her.
She gave an exasperated breath. “Yes, of course. My bare arm.”
“Excellent.”
As he marched back into the museum, she told herself that a kiss on her arm was nothing. It wasn’t like a kiss on the mouth. It was hardly even intimate.
So why was her pulse leaping like a flying fish in anticipation?
Six
Edwin couldn’t help noticing Clarissa’s uncharacteristic silence on their way home. Generally, she chattered to her mother about each event they attended, describing who was wearing what, the drollest comments she’d heard, the latest gossip she’d gleaned in the retiring room. And he let her and her mother natter on, content just to slip into his own thoughts.
But her mother wasn’t with them, so the ride felt more intimate than usual, even with his tiger on the perch behind them. Night was falling, and her body slid against him every time they made a turn.
Sometimes he made the turn purposely sharp for that very reason. Not for nothing did he have an extensive knowledge of physics and how bodies behaved in motion.
After one such turn, Clarissa muttered an oath under her breath. “I’m astonished that you own a phaeton. And that you drive it so fast. I would have expected you to be more . . . well . . .”
“Boring?” he said tightly.
“Cautious. As a general rule, you aren’t reckless.”
“As long as one first assesses a rig to determine its limits, it is not reckless to drive it to the full extent of its capabilities.”
“Clearly when you did your assessing,” she grumbled, “you did not take your passenger into account. But then, that is typical of you.”
Of course he’d taken his passenger into account. That was why he was making all these sharp turns, though he could hardly tell her that.
He glanced over to see her clutching her large silk bonnet with one hand and the side of the phaeton with the other. She looked quite fetching doing it, too, with her plaid gown of soft blues and reds ruffling in the wind. “You seem to have a great many ideas about me that bear no resemblance to my true character.”
“I could say the same for you. Though it’s not my fault we don’t know each other better. You tend to run off whenever I’m around.”
“Because you and Yvette chatter incessantly. There’s only so much a man can endure.”
“Well, if you think we’re chatterboxes, you should see Miss Trevor.” Clarissa slanted a glance at him. “Indeed, I feel I should warn you about her. She’s clever, I’ll grant you, but I don’t think the two of you would suit.”
He bit back a smile. “In other words, you don’t want to marry me, but you don’t want anyone else to marry me, either.”
Judging from the way she jerked her gaze back to the road, he’d hit the mark. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you in particular,” she said. “I told you, I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
“And why is that?”
Her face grew shuttered. “I’m not the romantic sort, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to be the romantic sort to marry.”
“No, but you have to be affectionate, at least.” She stared blindly ahead at the road. “And I am also not the affectionate sort.”
“I see.” But he didn’t see at all. He couldn’t imagine her as a cold, unfeeling woman, no matter what she seemed to think.
She babbled on. “Men want affectionate wives. They deserve them, just as women deserve affectionate husbands. Since I can’t provide that, I wouldn’t think it fair to marry
a man under false pretenses.”
“If you say so. But that’s all the more reason you shouldn’t try to dictate whom I should marry.”
Not that it would ever be Miss Trevor. He couldn’t endure a wife who dressed so outrageously. But he wasn’t going to tell Clarissa that. He was having too much fun watching her attempt to manage his future.
“I’m not trying to dictate it. I just think that you . . . and Miss Trevor . . .” She glanced over to see him smirking at her, and muttered, “Oh, forget it.”
“No, do go on. You’ve told me she’s stubborn as a mule and that you find her sudden appearance in society suspicious, but beyond that, you haven’t said exactly why we won’t suit. Unless the reason is simply that you don’t like her.”
“I like her perfectly well. Just not for you.”
“Because?”
Clasping her hands primly in her lap, she murmured, “It wouldn’t be polite to say.”
“Which means you have no reason.”
“I should think I know what type of woman you’re looking for.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” he said with a laugh. “And what type is that?”
“The type who won’t make a fuss. Who’s a pillar of society and follows every propriety. Who will cater to your every whim.”
Just like that, his amusement vanished. Grimly he steered the phaeton around a hole. “I don’t have ‘whims.’”
“You know what I mean,” she said, clearly exasperated. “You’re looking for a woman who will march to the beat of your drum.”
Blast it, he was tired of people accusing him of such a thing. First Warren, now Clarissa. Her image of him as a morally superior arse had begun to grate.
It was precisely why he’d asked for his reward—to show her that he, too, could rouse desire in a woman. In her. That he was capable of pleasing a woman, and not just running roughshod over her. It was a matter of pride.
A matter of lust, you mean, his conscience said.
That, too. Even though he knew it couldn’t go anywhere. Mustn’t go anywhere.
Still, he had to set her straight on one thing. “I am not a bully, whatever you may think of me.”
“I wasn’t saying—”
“I want a companion in life, someone with her own ideas and opinions. But yes, I do want a woman who is quiet and responsible. If you must see that as a wife who ‘won’t make a fuss,’ go ahead. I see it as calming.”
Calming might be, as Warren said, a tad dull, but it was far better than the seething tempest that had been his parents’ marriage.
“Well, that would never be Miss Trevor,” she said triumphantly. “You wouldn’t have a moment’s calm with her.”
She was probably right. “Fine,” he clipped out. “You’ve made your point.” It was absurd to argue about a woman he never meant to pursue anyway.
They rode a while in silence.
“So,” she said at last, “what are you planning to do this evening?”
Claim my reward. No, that was what she wanted him to say, so she could demand to be told the when and where of it. He was not playing that game. If she wanted to know, she could ask him outright. Indeed, he was rather surprised she hadn’t already. Clarissa didn’t usually mince words.
“I’ll probably go to the club, have a drink, read a book. I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Why?”
“I just . . . I wondered if you were staying for dinner.”
He cast her a sidelong look. Her cheeks were as flushed as he’d ever seen them. She was clearly dancing around the issue of the reward, and he was tempted to prolong the dance, to see how far she’d go.
“With your mother ill,” he said, “I hardly think that’s wise.”
She snorted. “Mama isn’t ill. She’s very blatantly trying to throw us together for her own purposes.”
“Ah. Does she know of your refusal to marry?”
“She does not. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Yet another reason I shouldn’t stay for dinner,” he said dryly. “I’d prefer not to lie.”
“You don’t have to lie. Just don’t volunteer the information.” She steadied her shoulders. “And of course you should stay for dinner. Mama will be disappointed if you don’t.”
He wanted to stay. Because the idea of kissing her arm and seeing her reaction had consumed him half the day.
They drew up in front, and his tiger hopped down to take the reins from him. “I’ll be remaining for dinner,” Edwin told the lad. “So you might as well have your supper with the stable boys.”
“Thank you, milord.” The groom jumped into the front of the curricle and sent the horses trotting round to the mews.
As soon as they entered the house, they were met by a footman, who informed them that her ladyship had retired.
“Oh!” Clarissa said, clearly startled. “So early? And without eating?”
“She asked for a tray in her room, my lady,” the servant said as he took Clarissa’s bonnet and pelisse.
Edwin was rather gratified by the disappointment that flashed over Clarissa’s face, especially since it mirrored his own. She bit her lower lip. “Well then . . . oh, dear . . .”
“I should go,” he said. A tête-à-tête dinner with Clarissa might scandalize the servants, no matter what her mother was aiming for.
“I suppose you should.” Suddenly she brightened. “But while we’re waiting for your phaeton to be brought back round, I’ve something to show you in the library.”
It was all he could do not to laugh. She could be so transparent. And he wasn’t giving her an inch. “Oh? And what might that be?”
Looking as if she wished to thump him on the head, she said, “It’s a book, of course. A very rewarding one.”
“Ah.” As hints went, that was a straightforward one. “Of course.”
“It won’t take long,” she said brightly.
He sincerely hoped it took longer than she expected. Because he’d been waiting hours for this moment. And he meant to enjoy it at his leisure.
“Very well.” He gestured toward the hallway. “Lead on, my lady.”
The moment they entered the library, Clarissa’s stomach knotted up. It was odd, really, that she should be so edgy around Edwin. Though it had taken her a long while after her disastrous debut to stop panicking every time a man touched her, since then she’d shared a few kisses with the occasional suitor, partly just to prove to herself that she could endure them.
But none of the kisses had been more than exercises. None of the men had been anyone she cared about. This was Edwin. He was different. So it was probably a good thing he only meant to kiss her arm.
Still, to be on the safe side, she led him to a corner of the library that couldn’t be seen from the door. The last thing she needed was a servant happening upon them and misinterpreting what he saw.
Summoning an expression of quiet calm, she turned and threw Edwin’s own words back at him. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Edwin cast her an enigmatic look. “What, exactly?”
“The reward, for pity’s sake!” She glared at him. “You know what I mean.”
To her mortification, he chuckled. “I do, but it is much more fun watching you beat around the bush.”
With a roll of her eyes, she thrust her arm out. “You, sir, can be quite a tease. I wouldn’t have thought it.”
“As I said, you don’t know me as well as you think.” Turning her hand over so the pearl buttons of her cuffs were at his disposal, he began to unfasten them with slow, intent interest.
Very slow. Very intent. It was different from anything she’d experienced. There were only three buttons, yet he took his time, until she was ready to scream at him to be done with it. Because the attention he gave to unveiling her wrist, inch by inch, was doing funny things to her insides. Unfamiliar things.
Years ago, the man she called the Vile Seducer, now long dead, had roughly extinguished her smoldering interest in men.
Yet Edwin, with his capable fingers that made her shiver with every touch, was sparking something deep in her belly.
Something she’d never thought to feel again.
When he finished her buttons, he paused, his hand lightly encircling her wrist. As if he could detect the wild thrum of her blood through her veins, he murmured, “For a woman who claims not to be affectionate or romantic, you’re oddly nervous.” He met her gaze. “I won’t bite, you know.”
“Of course not,” she snapped.
His eyes narrowed, shining like sleet on slate in the candlelit room. “No need to get testy. You agreed to this, remember?”
She forced herself to breathe, to smile. “Of course.”
But she hadn’t expected it to be such an overwhelming feast of sensation. As he bent over her arm, the scent of his hair—tinged with musk and cloves—wafted to her, faint but distinctly Edwin. He pushed her sleeve up, baring the tender skin inside the bend of her elbow, and the merest brush of his thumb sent her blood racing.
Then his lips were on her arm. Her naked arm. She could feel the rough scrape of his whiskers, hear the clock ticking seconds that seemed to slow as his mouth pressed into the pulse beating frantically just there.
The kiss was tender but firm and more intimate than she could possibly have imagined. Her knees went weak, especially when he lingered there to draw in a long breath as if to inhale her fragrance.
Still holding her wrist, he lifted his head to stare at her with eyes more fathomless than they’d seemed scant seconds ago. She couldn’t look away.
So, to break the spell, she asked, “Why kiss me there?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Call it one of those whims you seem to think I have.” He straightened, then tugged her closer. “And here’s another.”
Then he kissed her lips.
Oh yes. Until he’d done it, she hadn’t realized it was what she’d been waiting for. Edwin to kiss her mouth. So she could see, could know, if he truly was as different from her interpretation of him as he claimed.
In this, at least, he was. He didn’t demand; he offered. His mouth toyed with hers, as slowly and intently as his fingers unbuttoning her sleeve. It made her insane. She was used to men pushing, forcing, taking. She wasn’t used to patience or silken temptation, breaths mingling and lips caressing in equal measure.
The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Page 7
