The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 (17 page)

The count pushed away from the desk to walk over to a cabinet. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about your father’s actions during the war.”

The
war
? “What actions?” Edwin said snidely. “His
sitting in Parliament? His occasional gambling? His attendance at the theater?”

“I’m speaking of your father’s spying for France.”

The accusation hit Edwin like a sledgehammer. What the devil? Durand was daft. Granted, Edwin’s great-grandmother had been French and his family had distant relations in Paris, but Father had been thoroughly English. He would never have betrayed his country.

“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Edwin said coolly. “But a clever one, since you know there’s no way to prove or disprove your claims.”

The feral glitter in Durand’s eyes sent a shaft of ice down Edwin’s spine. “Ah, but there is.” Durand unlocked and opened the topmost drawer, searched through it until he found a file, then handed it to Edwin and closed the drawer.

Edwin stood staring at the file for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. God, how could it be? His father had never been much engaged with his family, but Edwin had always assumed it was because he was a cold fish, incapable of caring. Or because of the slow, awful disintegration of his marriage.

Not this. Edwin couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t.

“Look inside,” Durand said, lounging against the cabinet. “And in case you consider tossing the papers in the fire over there, you should know that they represent only part of your father’s reports.”

Reports.
Oh, God. With a sinking feeling of dread, Edwin opened the file to find, in his father’s own handwriting, pages and pages of notes. He choked down alarm and began to scan them systematically.

The further he read, the more his stomach roiled.
Every report began with a letter to a Frenchman named Aubert and contained a series of notes detailing information his father had gleaned at the opium den.

Apparently, certain British naval and army officers had enjoyed indulging from time to time in the odd Chinese practice of smoking opium. On those occasions, they’d inadvertently let slip bits about strategies of the war in France and the Peninsula. Father had then pieced them together into these reports.

There were crudely drawn maps, troop movement sketches, gossip about where Wellington intended to strike next. It was a damning set of documents, indeed.

No, how could this be? “Where did you get these?” Edwin demanded.

Durand shrugged. “They’ve been in our files for years. Our spy Aubert passed them on to the embassy after the war, and we kept them, in case we needed something else from your father.”

“In other words, needed something with which to blackmail him,” Edwin said tersely.

The acrid scent of cigar smoke swirled between them as Durand took another puff. “Or his son.”

Edwin’s blood chilled. “What the devil does that mean?”

Durand flicked some ash. “All I need do is send this to the press, and you’d be ruined in society.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Edwin fought to hide the tumult inside him. “With all the talk of another revolution to depose Charles X, your superiors have their hands full. They won’t appreciate your stirring up a hornet’s nest in England.”

“What hornet’s nest? I’d merely be guaranteeing that your position in society drops to somewhere below that of a charwoman. Especially after the scandal that your brother’s criminal conviction engendered. Your sister’s recent marriage might have restored the family name to a small degree, but this would destroy it for good.”

Somehow Edwin managed a shrug. “That would merely mean I’d no longer have to deal with the likes of you.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t be alone in your loss of consequence, would you?” With a grim smile, Durand pushed away from the cabinet. “How do you think Lady Clarissa would react if her association with you turned her into an outcast in society, too?”

God rot the bastard. Edwin
knew
how Clarissa would react. She might not care that his father had been a spy, but she would most assuredly hate leaving good society. Not being able to go to parties and routs and be the belle of the ball.

Durand pressed his point with ruthless efficiency. “Do you think she’d even consider marrying you if there was a chance it might mean suffering in solitude with you for the rest of your life? Does she care about you that much?”

Edwin feared he knew the answer to that, and it made an unmanageable anger roar up inside him. “My relationship with my betrothed is none of your concern. And yes, she’d stand by me. Because unlike you, Clarissa has a sound character.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Durand said.

The crafty remark only further fired Edwin’s tem
per. With a growl, Edwin thrust his face into the other man’s. “If you’re insinuating anything insulting about my fiancée—”

“No.” Durand’s face clouded over. “Though she isn’t the woman you think she is.”

“Because she won’t marry
you
, you mean? That only proves her intelligence and good sense.”

Durand stiffened. After stubbing out his cigar in a salver, he slid the file from Edwin’s clenched fingers. “Careful, Blakeborough. If you keep provoking me, I might just send this to the press for the fun of it.”

“Go ahead. Then you and I can be churned under the gossip mill together. You’re not the only one who can spread slander effectively.”

Durand’s cold stare would have frozen fire. “Have you considered that I could implicate
you
in your father’s activities? You were, what? Eighteen or nineteen at the time this was going on? Not too young to be helping your father spy.”

“There’s not a shred of evidence I had anything to do with it,” Edwin scoffed. “I was away at university.”

“Not all the time. And you were certainly old enough to accompany him to that private opium den.”

Edwin suddenly found it hard to breathe. In the last year of the war, he hadn’t been at university. He’d been at Mother’s side during her final hours. And he
had
visited the opium den once, too. If someone were to remember, were to misconstrue that . . . “Why are you doing this?”

“I want Lady Clarissa. I had a claim on her long before you started courting her. I know you don’t love her, and I doubt she loves you, either. The two
of you behave more like friends than like prospective spouses.”

A pity that Durand hadn’t discovered them in the midst of their unwise caresses earlier, although the wretch would probably have found a way to use that against them. “Tell yourself that our engagement doesn’t mean anything if you wish, but it won’t change the truth.”

“The
truth
is that I could show the file to Lady Clarissa. I don’t have to make it public. I daresay that would be enough to make her balk at being your wife.”

Considering that Edwin hadn’t even succeeded in getting her to agree to marry him, it probably would. “Is that what you meant by blackmail? You intend to expose my father’s secrets to her unless I do what you wish.”

“Exactly. I want you to set Lady Clarissa free.”

Edwin gaped at him. “Half of society has already heard that we’re engaged. If I were to end the betrothal, it would ruin her.”

“Precisely.” Durand’s eyes shone the color of dark, treacherous waters. “She’d have nowhere to turn, no possibility of marrying anyone else but me. Admit it—you’re merely involved with her because Knightford is your friend. But your heart isn’t engaged. Mine is. Leave her to me, and I’ll shower her with jewels and consequence and all the attention that a woman like her requires. Then I’ll destroy your father’s reports, burn them in front of you. You’ll never have to worry about anyone learning the truth. But if you do not do as I ask . . .”

Durand left the words hanging with the dramatic flourish of some operatic villain. Edwin couldn’t breathe. This made no sense. Why was the bastard so determined to have Clarissa as his wife? No doubt he was seeking some advantage by wedding her, but Edwin couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. As a highly placed diplomat, Durand could have any woman he desired. This fascination with a lady who had no interest in him was unnatural.

No more than yours.

Not true. Edwin would never want to gain Clarissa by shaming her. And the fact that Durand would stoop so low chilled Edwin through and through. He had half a mind to shoot the arse right here and now.

But since the guards all knew of Edwin’s presence, he wouldn’t get away with it. He’d be tried and hanged, almost certainly. That, too, would affect Clarissa.

And not just her. It would expose his sister to yet another scandal, a worse one than anything their cursed younger brother had fomented. Yvette was finally happy; he refused to ruin that for her and her new husband.

Besides, there was another solution to this dilemma, one that would nip all of Durand’s machinations in the bud. But it would take a bit of time to put his plan into place. So, as much as he wished to throw the count’s threats back in his face, he must be cautious.

“I need a few days to think about it.” Edwin practically choked on the lie. Though it was a necessary one, he loathed implying that he’d ever consider capitulating.

Durand narrowed his gaze on Edwin. “Why?”

Edwin shrugged. “That should be obvious. If I withdraw my offer to Clarissa, she could—and probably would—have me charged with breach of contract. So I must consult my lawyer about the likely outcome of such a charge and what it might cost me financially. I must also consider which scandal would damage my family more—the revelation of my father’s secrets or the sudden refusal to marry a woman I’ve publicly proclaimed as my fiancée. Then there is also the matter—”

“Enough. I take your meaning.” Durand scrutinized him closely. “You really are a cold man sometimes, Blakeborough. I threaten to take away Lady Clarissa, and all you can think about is how it will affect your purse.”

If Durand thought so, then at least Edwin was managing to shield his true feelings. “I like to think I’m practical. As you say, Clarissa and I aren’t in love—but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware of what effect giving in to your demands could have on my life.”

The count seemed to consider that. “Fine. You can have two days. But I expect your decision at the end of the day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Edwin affected the bored tone typical of a lord of his rank. “Now, since this conversation has grown tiresome, I’ll leave you to your cigars.”

“You can show yourself out, I suppose,” Durand said.

With the merest of nods, Edwin calmly left the room.

But inside he was seething. It was all he could do
to contain his fury until he was safely in his carriage and away. Father, a spy for the French. His gut twisted into a knot at the very thought.

Though it did explain so much. Why Father had always been so inattentive to his family. Why, when Mother was dying, he’d continued his jaunts to London. And why Edwin had never noticed any signs of opium intoxication on the few occasions Father
was
home. Had he ever even used opium? Or had he just gone to the opium den for his French masters?

The other thing he didn’t understand was why. What could possibly have made Father wish to involve himself in such affairs? Some fondness for his French relations? It didn’t seem plausible.

But the documents had clearly been written by Father. It wasn’t just his handwriting—it was his manner of speech, his use of certain words. And Edwin didn’t dare turn to anyone for advice, for fear the news would get out and the family’s name be dragged through the mud.

There was only one way out of this. Clarissa wouldn’t like it, but he must do his utmost to convince her to marry him by special license before he met with Durand again. Short of telling her exactly what Durand had found out about his father, of course. She was skittish enough about marrying him; if she knew there was a small chance she could be cut off from society, she would dig in her heels.

And this must be handled quickly. Even if Durand was bluffing about his threats to expose Father’s spying, the very fact that he was so adamant about mar
rying Clarissa was cause for alarm. The Frenchman might even attempt abducting her. Plenty of men did that with heiresses.

But not on Edwin’s watch. He would see Durand hang before he let the bastard harm one hair on her head.

Shortly after sunset the next day, too early to dress for dinner and too late for a nap, Clarissa lounged about her room. Should she wear the lace pelerine or the net fichu with her dinner gown? Edwin was unlikely to care either way. As long as her attire was presentable, he probably wouldn’t even notice.

No,
he
only noticed when her bosom was half-bare.

Her eyes narrowed. Very well, no pelerine or fichu at all. Because tonight she wanted to make him notice her—to make him see her for herself, with all her flaws. To make him understand that she really wasn’t the sort of woman he wanted to marry.

Although that hadn’t worked last night. It had only made him randy, something she would never have expected of the staid Edwin. And if she flaunted her bosom at him, he might look at her with that piercing stare that made her shiver all over, and then she would forget her purpose. Which was to very kindly but firmly refuse to marry him.

Yes—that was her plan and she must hold to it, no matter how much he growled in that oh-so-enticing rumble that half negated whatever he was saying. Even if he took her aside privately and gave her one of his luscious kisses that went on and on and on. Even if Mama, in her foolishness, left them alone again, and he tried to kiss his way down into—

Fichu. Definitely a fichu. And while she was at it, perhaps a nice suit of armor to keep him from being tempted and her from giving in.

A clatter sounded against the French doors that led out to her balcony. What on earth? Another rattle sounded. And another.

Hurrying out onto the balcony, she peered into the garden below, which was faintly lit by the gaslights from the mews in the back. And there, dressed far too informally for dinner, was Edwin.