She came up on tiptoe, and he fisted his hands in her sleeves to hold her closer. She stilled, and he did, too, afraid of frightening her off as he had the other night.
But then she melted against him, and he was well and truly lost. He couldn’t summon an ounce of his usual control—he wanted to devour her. Her mouth was a revelation, showing him the difference between merely desiring a woman’s body and desiring her mind and her soul. He plundered her lips over and over, drinking her soft gasps, growing more aroused by the moment.
She tore her mouth free of his to whisper, “Why are you doing this? You know you shouldn’t.”
He bent to nibble her ear. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I . . . I . . . No. But I do want to understand why . . . this is happening between us.” She nuzzled his cheek. “You don’t like me.”
Choking back a laugh, he murmured, “You don’t like me. Yet here we are.”
As he kissed his way down her neck to her throat, she uttered a shuddering breath. “I do like you.”
“And clearly I like you, or I wouldn’t be standing here giving in to temptation.” He tongued the hollow of her throat, reveling in her soft moan and the way she slid her hands up his coat lapels.
“But this is . . . more than liking.”
“Yes.” He took her mouth again.
Definitely more than liking. Desire had him in its grip and he didn’t want to be free. So, as long as she didn’t push him away, as long as she was tangling her tongue with his and twining her arms about his neck, he would take advantage.
Clarissa couldn’t believe she was letting Edwin take advantage. But he kept coming to her defense with Durand even when it ruined his own plans, and it made him so . . . so endearing.
That was the only reason she clung to him and pressed herself against him, the only reason her blood was racing and her heart hammering and her body heating to boiling. Gratitude for what he’d done, that’s all.
Even she wasn’t fool enough to believe that assertion.
Breaking the kiss, she turned to face the mirror and tried to get hold of herself. “We must stop. Someone might see us.”
“Nonsense. We’re out of sight of the hallway.” He slid his arm about her waist to draw her back against him. “They’d have to enter the room.”
He wasn’t lying, judging from what she saw in the mirror.
“Even if they did,” he murmured against her hair, “they wouldn’t say anything to anyone. They’re theater people—they mind their own business.”
When he kissed a path along her bare shoulder, alarm briefly skittered down her spine. But his arm held her lightly, so lightly, and his kisses were tender, coaxing. For once, what uncurled in her wasn’t panic or fear.
“Besides,” he added, “we’re engaged.”
“Not . . . really.”
His gaze locked with hers in the mirror as he stroked one finger along the edge of her bodice. “We could be.”
She was so intent on what he was doing with his finger that his words didn’t quite register. “We could be what?”
“Really engaged. To each other.” His finger dipped just beneath the edge to skim over the rise of her breasts in a slow caress. Watching him do it in the mirror made it so erotic that she had to plant one hand on the dressing table just to keep steady. “Why . . . Why would we . . . do that?” she choked out.
“I need a wife.” He nuzzled her ear. “You need protection from Durand. It would make things simpler.”
“Except that I don’t want to marry anybody, even you.” Though the words sounded hollow in her ears.
He slid his hand inside her bodice. “Only because you don’t realize the advantages of it.”
She was finding it hard to breathe. “For whom?”
A lazy smile played over his lips, and he pulled down the cup of her stays inside her bodice to bare her breast to his hand. “For us both.”
As he covered it, she caught his wrist. “Edwin, what are you doing?” But she knew, and it felt awfully pleasurable. Then again, it always did at the beginning. It was later, when the man grew rough . . .
“I’m doing what I’ve craved for years—touching you,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers in the mirror. “To show you what it could be like between us.”
Her nipple was pebbling beneath his hand, belying her caution. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
When she tightened her grip on his wrist, he stopped moving his hand. “I promise not to hurt you.”
Still, his expression, full of heat and want, gave her pause. When the Vile Seducer had fondled her breasts years ago, it had started out pleasantly enough. But then she’d protested and he’d ignored her and the whole experience had rapidly twisted into . . .
That won’t happen, she reminded herself. For one thing, Edwin was at her back and they were standing—she could fight him off much more easily. There were people on the other side of the wall, and hatpins on the dressing table that she could use to stab his arm. She was probably safer here with him than she’d ever been with any other man.
Besides, the way he waited patiently for her permission before he would continue reassured her that if she so much as tugged on his hand, he would stop this right now. But if she did that, she might never have another chance to explore these things with him.
Did she want to explore these things with him?
Yes. Oh, yes.
She released his wrist.
For half a second she feared she might regret it, because something dark and daring glittered in his eyes. But before she could react to that, he turned her head to the side with his free hand so he could kiss her mouth over her shoulder.
Then he was devouring her lips, and his hand was fondling her and it felt so astonishing that she soon found herself pressing her breast willingly into his palm. With a low groan, he kneaded it so deftly that it made her feel urges she’d denied herself for years. They were sweet and hot and rousing and all the things she’d never thought to feel again.
She turned into his arms and his hand fell away from her, but only so he could hoist her onto the dressing table. “Edwin!”
“Yes, minx?” He began kissing his way down into the valley between her breasts. “I want to taste you. Will you let me?”
“A-all right.” Her blood howled through her veins, wanting things, needing things. She was living dangerously now, but she had to know, had to see if Edwin would push and prod his way past her walls.
Half of her wanted him to. The other half was terrified he would.
Yet she buried her hands in his hair as he maneuvered one breast free of its trappings and covered it with his mouth.
The Vile Seducer hadn’t done such a thing—just mauled her through her bodice. But Edwin . . . oh, heavens. His silky, warm mouth explored her, sucking and soothing until she dug her fingers into his scalp. “Ohh . . . that is so . . . so . . .” She let out a shuddering sigh.
“You like that, do you?”
“Don’t you?”
He uttered a choked laugh against her breast. “As if you need to ask.” His tongue flicked her nipple. “Can’t you see how I forget myself when I’m with you?”
His hair spilled over her hands like black satin as she clutched his head to her bosom. “But why?” she breathed. “You’re always . . . chiding me.”
“That’s to keep everyone from realizing that I want you in my bed.” He stared up at her, eyes gleaming. “I feared the whole damned world could tell.”
“That isn’t why you chide me,” she said wryly. “You disapprove of me, admit it.”
“You do make me insane.” He teased her breast lightly with his teeth, making her arch up against him. “And if we were to marry—”
“You would shoot me inside a month. Or I would shoot you.”
“Would you?” He straightened, dragging his open mouth up her neck in a series of hot kisses. “You’re not shooting me now.”
“No. But you’re . . . doing naughty t
hings to distract me,” she gasped. “Later, I’ll regret letting you.”
“So I’ll marry you.” His hands caressed her other breast through her clothes. “Then you’ll have no regrets.”
“Edwin . . .”
He took her mouth again, to silence her.
But his hands were on her above and below, and she felt consumed by those feelings again, and this time panic swelled up from below like a mighty wave. It was too much. Too much!
She shoved him back, then slipped from between him and the table, grabbing a hairbrush as she went, which she brandished in front of her like a cudgel. Frantically, she struggled to pull her bodice up with the other hand.
His gaze dipped to the brush. “Clarissa?”
The shock in his voice brought her up short. Lord, he must think her mad.
She forced herself to lower the brush as she fought for calm. He must never guess her sordid past. She could only imagine what he would make of it. Bad enough that she had let him go as far as this.
With a steadying breath, she said firmly, “I will not let you ruin me.” I won’t let you hurt me.
“Ruin you?” He seemed disturbed by the words, for his eyes narrowed. “Surely you know I would never ruin you. I would never dishonor you so.”
The very mention of honor made her despair. He couldn’t understand, and if he ever learned the truth . . . “Men dishonor women every day, without a thought.”
“True.” He stepped closer, and she barely stifled her panic. “But I am not that sort of man. I am not my brother.”
The mention of Samuel reminded her whom she was dealing with. This was Edwin. She was being absurd. She set the brush down on the table.
He released a long breath. “Indeed, I am willing to marry you.”
Willing. But not exactly eager. “To protect me from Durand,” she said as she finished restoring her clothing.
With a nod, he said, “It makes sense. We’re friends, are we not?”
She swallowed. Edwin was ever practical. They were friends, so they should marry. Because it would “make sense” and be convenient. “It hardly seems a good basis for a lifetime together.”
He came near enough to cup her cheek. “All I ask is that you consider it. Just think about it, all right?”
Her breath stuttered out of her. She was a jumble of nerves, and given the heat in his eyes, she was horribly afraid he might try to kiss her again. She wanted it; she feared it. Most of all, she worried she might do something stupid in response . . . like shy from him and give herself away.
But just as he bent toward her, slowly, carefully, the door opened.
“Well, well,” Count Durand said in a hard voice. “If it isn’t the newly engaged couple.”
The cold rage that leapt in Edwin’s face gave her pause. Then he smoothed it from his expression and turned, taking her hand as he moved and pulling her next to him so that they formed a united front.
“What do you want, Durand?” he snapped.
The Frenchman ignored Edwin to address Clarissa. “I was sent by your mother to find you, Lady Clarissa.”
“My mother would never entrust that task to you,” Clarissa said, fighting the gorge rising in her throat.
“You think not? She likes me, you know.”
Before Clarissa could call that the lie she knew it was, Edwin moved ever so slightly in front of her. “Lady Margrave is friendly to everyone. But she’s not mad.”
“We’ll be coming along in a moment, sir,” Clarissa added. “Do go on and tell Mama so. If indeed she sent you to look for me.”
His lips formed a thin line. “I was charged with accompanying you. So I will wait until you’re done with his lordship.”
“The devil you will,” Edwin said. “You’ve already caused enough trouble for tonight by spilling our news prematurely.”
“Am I causing trouble, my lady?” the count asked Clarissa.
His studied drawl didn’t fool her. He looked on edge and thoroughly dangerous. She wouldn’t go off alone with him for all the world.
“You know that you are, sir. But as I said earlier, it hardly matters. You merely succeeded in moving up the announcement we would have made soon anyway.”
The count tightened his jaw. “Knightford hasn’t yet approved of the match.”
“He will. Edwin is perfectly eligible, and is Warren’s closest friend besides. In any case, I’m of age. Warren doesn’t have to approve our engagement. We merely wanted his blessing.”
With a cold glance at Edwin, the Frenchman scowled. “Does that mean you still intend to wait to wed until his return?”
“We haven’t decided,” Edwin said. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
“I could make it my concern,” Count Durand said.
Her stomach churned.
“I’d like to see you try,” Edwin snarled, fury coming off him in waves.
Like a hound at a bear-baiting, the count was deliberately provoking Edwin. She half expected at any minute for Edwin to rip out Count Durand’s throat.
“Enough,” she said with a forced lightness in her tone, determined to calm both men. “This is silly—the two of you snapping at each other. Mama is waiting. We shall all three return to the box together, before we miss any more of the performance.” She tugged Edwin’s arm. “Come, my dear, let’s go.”
It was like trying to drag the baited bear from the arena, with his hackles raised and teeth bared, before he had the chance to devour his tormentor. For a moment she feared Edwin would do something rash, like fight the count then and there, fomenting gossip throughout society.
Then, to her vast relief, Edwin relaxed his stance. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you wish.”
But as the three of them returned to the box through the passageways, she knew she had only forestalled a coming battle. Because she feared that Count Durand meant to draw blood until Edwin flat-out murdered him.
Eleven
Durand left the box as soon as they returned to it, thank God, or Edwin would have thrown the blasted fellow out of it. Fortunately, they saw no sign of the count when they left the theater.
Edwin hoped the reprieve lasted a while, but he no longer knew what to think of the Frenchman. He’d never seen a man so determined to bedevil a woman. There had to be something else behind it than a mere desire to have Clarissa as his wife.
Granted, any man would want her, but to continue once Edwin and Clarissa started going about in public together? Once they announced their engagement? It was beyond odd.
It was nearly midnight by the time they drew up in front of Warren’s town house. Edwin glanced over at Clarissa, his gut twisting into a knot to see how still and silent she sat. This business with Durand could not go on.
And what if she’s silent because of you and your rash actions in that dressing room?
God, he couldn’t bear the thought.
When the door opened, Edwin climbed out to help the two ladies disembark and tried to gauge their moods. Normally he wasn’t good at reading women, but even he could tell that Lady Margrave was worn-out. It had been a long night, after all.
Meanwhile, Clarissa’s furrowed brow and faraway look made Edwin want to put his fist through the flimsy wall of the carriage. The intensity of the feeling alarmed him. He’d never had such urges in his life as he did when he was around her. That couldn’t be good. A man should always be wary of strong emotions. It invariably drove him to behave badly.
Edwin helped Lady Margrave up the steps, all too aware of Clarissa climbing slowly up behind them. He wanted to halt her, drag her into his arms, and comfort her until she returned to her usual buoyant self. It was too late to do more than accompany them inside, yet he burned to finish his conversation with her about a possible marriage between them. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that she was in more danger from Durand than ever.
And his feeling was confirmed when, as soon as they entered, the butler took him aside. “You asked me to keep an eye out for that Fr
enchman, my lord, and I did. He’s here.”
Anger burned Edwin’s throat. “In the house?”
“No, down the street, in his coach.”
He scowled. Durand must have driven to the house another way to await their return. Otherwise, they would have seen him on their way here. “How long has he been there?”
“Half an hour or more.”
Clarissa came over. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Edwin didn’t want her to feel unsafe in her own home. He could take care of Durand without involving her.
She searched his face, then shrugged. “Mama wants to know if you’ll join us for a celebratory glass of wine before you leave.”
He glanced over to where Lady Margrave stood beaming at him. “Another time, perhaps. I have something to attend to.”
“At this hour?” Clarissa said.
“I’m meeting someone later.” It was true, though the “someone” didn’t know it yet.
“Oh.” Coloring deeply, she lifted an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were such a night owl, Edwin.”
Her arch tone and clear assumption that it was a woman scraped his nerves, especially given her stubbornness about marrying him. “Once again, I must remind you that you don’t know everything about me. Perhaps it’s time you look beyond your own nose where I’m concerned.”
“I’m sure Edwin is just going to his club, my dear,” her mother hastened to put in. “Even your father enjoyed gambling into the wee hours of the morning from time to time.”
Damn, now he had Lady Margrave making assumptions about him and his character, too. “I won’t be gambling,” he told Clarissa. “And it’s a meeting with a man. I can see you’re going to be quite the jealous wife.”
“Not a bit,” she said defensively.
“Edwin,” her mother broke in again, “since we missed our dinner with you tonight, you simply must come to dine tomorrow night.”
He tore his gaze from Clarissa to say, “Of course. I’d be delighted.”
“And be sure to bring an automaton for me,” Clarissa said blithely, “since I won our wager.”
The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Page 12
