The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 (20 page)

Then her features smoothed, and she was staring at him with her usual expression of challenge.

Perhaps he’d imagined the fear. He didn’t always read people correctly. Maidenly hesitation he could understand, but could she
truly
be terrified at the very idea of being bedded by him?

It seemed unlikely. Unless, of course, her mother had fed her the typical nonsense about the pain, humiliation, and unpleasantness of being deflowered. That would certainly put any woman on edge.

But that didn’t seem in character for Lady Margrave. If ever there was a woman who lived for pleasure, it was the dowager countess. And until Clarissa had made her one demand of him, Edwin would have thought the same of her—that she had an appetite for pleasure equal to his own.

As he stared down at the slip of paper, another possibility entered his mind. Could Durand have pressed his attentions on her more vigorously than he should have? The man had pinned her against the wall that day in the library. Had he done the unthink
able to her during those weeks in Bath? Was that why she despised him?

But that made no sense. If Durand had taken her innocence, he would have mentioned it to Edwin right away in hopes that Edwin would turn his back on her for being ruined.

She isn’t the woman you think she is.

Durand’s words taunted him, quickly joined by her own warning last night:
There are things about me that you don’t know, things that you wouldn’t like.

He should have made both of them explain themselves. He hated sly hints and secretive allusions. On the other hand, he couldn’t believe anything Durand said, and Clarissa was just as likely to be talking about her propensity to snore as anything more serious.

Or she might just find him unappealing.

But he hadn’t been the only one caught up in all those passionate kisses. So he’d have to cling to the evidence that she was attracted to him. Enjoyed kissing him. And would one day surely enjoy sharing his bed.

“My lord?” the solicitor said. “Do you want me to add the clause?”

Edwin looked up and forced a haughty expression to his face. “Of course.” He threw the paper on the table. “Put it in exactly as she wrote it.”

From the moment Clarissa and Edwin left his solicitor’s, she felt numb. The look of wounded pride in his eyes, the anger in his voice when he’d told the solicitor to add her clause, still chilled her. She must be out of her mind to be marrying him.

Yet nothing had changed. She still couldn’t let Edwin risk his family’s future. She still dared not risk her own with the deranged Durand.

When they arrived at St. George’s in Hanover Square, she was heartened to have a beautiful bouquet pressed into her hand by the vicar’s wife, who would be serving as one of the witnesses to the ceremony.

“Thank you.” She buried her face in the sweet lilies. “It’s most kind of you.”

The woman smiled. “Your fiancé picked them out, my lady.”

Startled, Clarissa glanced at Edwin, who was watching her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. Wariness? Anticipation? She could no more read him than she could the man in the moon. “Then thank you, too, Edwin.”

He gave her a genuine smile devoid of mockery and cynicism, and it changed his whole face, made him look almost boyish. She liked those smiles best, because they were so rare.

And he looked sinfully handsome today, in his dark-blue coat, fawn trousers, and white figured silk waistcoat. He really had excellent taste in clothes. But then, the Vile Seducer had dressed nicely, too. She’d learned far too young that you couldn’t judge a man’s character by his choice of tailor.

Still, she thought they probably made an attractive couple as they headed to the altar. Edwin had arranged everything most precisely. He’d pressed his tiger into service as the second witness, and he’d even thought to purchase wedding rings sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning.

Even though he’d bought hers without having a measurement, she was sure the ring would fit. Knowing Edwin, he’d gauged her size by doing some complicated mathematics in his head involving her height, the circumference of her hand, and the length of her fingers. And quite possibly the latitude and longitude of the church.

For some reason, the idea of him doing something so typically
Edwin
reassured her. As he stood solemnly beside her, she wondered if he might even be having the same vacillating thoughts as she, especially after that moment in the solicitor’s office.

But when it came to the vows, he never wavered. He said, “I will,” as readily as if he were marrying the love of his life.

Then it was her turn. The vicar asked, “Lady Clarissa, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

The old-fashioned words spoken in the vicar’s somber tones echoed in the empty cathedral like a funeral dirge. Could she do this? Did she dare?

As she hesitated, she glanced at Edwin and saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. But he didn’t look at her, didn’t try to coax her to say the words, didn’t even reach up to squeeze her hand where it gripped his arm.

It truly was her choice. Except it was no choice at all.

“I will,” she said.

Only when Edwin let out a breath did she realize he’d been holding it, awaiting her answer. And somehow that made everything a tiny bit better.

Then came the kiss, which he didn’t linger over, probably overly conscious of their audience. And that was it. They were done. It wasn’t yet noon when they headed back to the town house.

They rode a while in silence before she ventured to speak. “Well, that was . . . quick.”

“Yes, of necessity. But I’m sorry that the ceremony couldn’t be more lavish.”

She arched a brow at him. “You know perfectly well you preferred it that way—no fuss and no crowds.” When he looked uncomfortable, she regretted the statement. “But it is a lovely church. I’ve always liked it. And it’s conveniently named for the same saint as your club. Or did you name your club after your church?”

“Certainly not. They named the church in anticipation of my club.”

When she blinked, he cast her a smug smile, and a laugh sputtered out of her. “You made a joke.”

“I do sometimes, you know.”

“Not very often. And hardly ever around me.”

“Well, then, I shall have to remedy that,” he said, nudging her knee with his.

It was such a companionable gesture that it made a lump form in her throat. He could be so charming when he tried. And now his knee was squarely up against hers and she was feeling rather . . . heated. That would not do.

Determinedly, she changed the subject. “Shall I
now reside at your town house?” she asked brightly. “Or will we take a honeymoon trip?”

Returning his gaze to the road, he said, “I don’t think a trip is wise just now. If Durand
does
call my bluff and spread slander about my family, I don’t want to be too far away, making it seem as if I ran off to avoid it. People will give his tales less credence if I act as if nothing happened.”

She tried to hide her relief. A honeymoon trip would be so very intimate. It would be hard to share a room with him in an inn somewhere without . . . well . . . having relations. She needed to put that off as long as possible.

First, because she had to work herself up to enduring the pain. And second, because she wanted him to get to know her well enough so he wouldn’t be too appalled when he realized she wasn’t chaste. She was
not
looking forward to that discussion.

Perhaps she should just let him have his way with her tonight and get it over with. She didn’t have to tell him the truth. He already assumed that her fears stemmed from her being a virgin.

And could a man even tell that a woman was not? She didn’t know. But if so, she would feel awful to have Edwin discover it in their marital bed.

Best to be honest when the time came.

To distract herself from that sobering thought, she said, “So I suppose we will be living in your town house from now on, then.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stay at Stoke Towers for the next couple of weeks. It’s near enough to London that we can be here quickly if
anything happens, but far enough that Durand won’t be sniffing about day in and day out. Your mother can stay here if she wishes, or at Margrave Manor, but I imagine she’ll be more comfortable in one of those two than at Stoke Towers.”

Clarissa arched an eyebrow. “She’ll also be out of your hair.”

The corner of his lip quirked up. “That, too.”

“Knowing Mama, she’d rather be in London lording it over all her friends who haven’t yet married off their daughters.” She sobered. “But do you think she would be safe alone at Warren’s?”

“The servants have been keeping an eye out for Durand for some time. And what could he do, anyway? Kidnap her to force you into unmarrying me? She should be fine.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “And if she stays in town, it will allow us more privacy.”

Oh, Lord. Just what they needed. “We’re not leaving until tomorrow, I assume, to give you time to inform the count of our wedding.”

“I already had the announcement scheduled for this evening’s papers. He’ll learn of it quickly enough. And in case he doesn’t, I’ll pay him a visit before we go tonight to make sure he knows.”

“I don’t want you meeting him alone.” Her heart constricted at the thought of how Durand might take his anger out on Edwin.

“I won’t be. I’ll go while his staff are still at the embassy. Besides, I’m not afraid of him.”

“But I am! He could do anything to you!”

With an indulgent smile, he reached over to clasp
her hand. “I won’t let him. And you mustn’t be afraid of him, either. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to prevent him from hurting you.”

She did adore that about Edwin—he had a protective streak that ran wide and deep. Papa had been like that. He’d had to be, given Mama’s tendency to wander heedlessly into trouble.

Edwin threaded his fingers with hers, starting a quivering low in her belly. They were married now. Joined forever. How long would it take for her to get used to that?

“So,” she said nervously, “we’re going to Stoke Towers this very evening?”

“We might as well.” Releasing her hand, he tooled his rig toward Warren’s town house at the other end of the street. “Otherwise, you’d have to move to my town house for the night and then again to Stoke Towers tomorrow. As long as you’re packing up a few things anyway, you should go home with me to Hertfordshire.”

Home.
With him. Another thing to get used to. She’d spent many a happy hour at Stoke Towers with Yvette, but this was entirely different. It would be the two of them alone.

Until the children came along. She loved babies, and these would be hers. If she had some. Which depended on whether she could endure the act of creating them.

“But when will you pack?” she asked.

“I already did. The carriages set off for Hertfordshire this morning before I came here.”

Lord, he’d certainly planned well. “Well, I haven’t packed a thing. So I should think it would be better to
start off tomorrow.” She slipped her hand in his elbow. “We can stay at separate houses for one night, after all. That way I’ll have plenty of time to figure out what I might need in the country.”

“Anything that you need can be sent for once we’re there. And your family
does
own the estate next door, so it’s not as if you can’t go over to Margrave Manor to find a few things in your closets. We’ll leave tonight.”

“Yes, Edwin,” she said in her best coaxing voice, “but wouldn’t it make much more sense to—”

“I do hope you’re not trying to manage me already, Lady Blakeborough.”

His sharp tone wasn’t what arrested her.
Lady Blakeborough.
She hadn’t counted on how lovely that would sound. A married woman had more consequence than a single lady. A married woman was freer to live her life as she pleased—as long as her husband allowed it.

She made a face at him. “I would never try to manage
you
, Edwin. You’re much too clever for that.”

“Hmm.” He looked skeptical.

“Besides,” she said truthfully, “I need to conserve my energies for what’s to come as soon as we reach the house.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

She stared grimly ahead. “Telling Mama that we had our wedding without her.”

Everyone in the street could probably hear Lady Margrave scream when they told her the news.

Edwin grimaced. He hadn’t intended to cause a rift between Clarissa and her mother.

Lady Margrave stomped about the drawing room with her cane, pausing occasionally to brandish it at them. “What do you
mean
, you were wed this morning? How could you just . . . just
sneak
off to get married, without a word to
me
! No lace, no wedding breakfast . . . no orange blossoms . . . I can’t believe it!”

“We didn’t have a choice, Mama,” Clarissa said. “Besides, you know I hate that scent. I wouldn’t have worn orange blossoms anyway.”

“Yes, but you would have worn a more impressive gown,” she said, taking in Clarissa’s dress with a look of contempt. “Why, just this morning I laid out the recent copies of
La Belle Assemblée
for us to go over in picking your design.” Her mother pouted spectacularly. “And I saw the most perfect little wedding
bonnet in a shopwindow a week ago that I wanted you to look at. And now . . . now . . . you’re already married!”

The dowager countess burst into tears.

Edwin blinked. Blast, blast, and double blast. He sincerely hoped that becoming a watering pot was not one of Clarissa’s attributes.

With a side glance at him, Clarissa put her arm around her mother and said, “There, there, Mama, I know it’s a disappointment. But Count Durand was threatening awful things, and we saw no way around it.”

Edwin felt he should say
something
to help. “I saw him right outside your house the other night, Lady Margrave. I was afraid he might abduct Clarissa if we didn’t marry at once.”