The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 (23 page)

“No. Certainly not.”

He digested that in silence a moment. She sounded perfectly truthful. And he was usually good at detecting lies, especially after years of dealing with his untrustworthy younger brother.

“Then why do you shy away from me?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but now that he had, he refused to take it back.

“I—I don’t.” She settled her shoulders. “For pity’s sake, you were just under my skirts.”

“And now I’m not.”

He could hear her breathing come harder in the dark of the carriage. She seemed to shrink into herself. “You agreed to my terms. To get to know each other better, to be amiable before we become too intimate.”

“Yes, but we have already become more intimate than most.” He moved closer. “Why do you seem to enjoy my attentions one minute, and then panic at them the next?”

“You’re imagining that,” she said, but her voice rang hollow.

“I’m not imagining the clause you made me add to the settlement. I’m not imagining the hairbrush you
brandished at me at the theater.” He bent toward her, deliberately crowding her with his body, just to see how she’d react. “I know that you feel desire for me sometimes, Clarissa, and I can’t understand—”

“Get off of me!” She shoved at him. “Get off, get off,
get
off
!”

The violence of her words startled him so much that he threw himself across into the other seat. When he could speak again, he said, “I’m certainly not imagining that.”

For a moment silence filled the carriage, punctuated by her shuddering gasps for air. Then, it was as if she’d brought a veil down over her face. Her breathing evened out, and she straightened in her seat, smoothing her skirts as he’d seen her do a hundred times.

“I told you,” she said, her voice calmer, though still threaded with tension. “I’m not . . . the affectionate sort. It’s nothing to do with you. I simply don’t like people being too close to me. I find it overwhelming.”

But not when you kiss me.

He didn’t speak the words. He’d learned long ago with his sister that if you boxed a woman in with logical arguments and she didn’t want to hear it, she struck out. Or retreated into silence, which would gain him nothing. So he just waited for her to speak again, hoping she would feel free to go on. Because there was more to the story. He was sure of it.

Unfortunately, when she spoke again, it was to withdraw from him even further. “I will grow used to it in time.”

Grow
used to it?
He didn’t want a wife who had to brace herself to be bedded. It reminded him painfully of his mother, how she had reacted to his father for a long time after that horrible day in the drawing room. How she’d jumped when her children came up behind her, cringed at Father’s touch.

How the gulf between his mother and his father had grown deeper and wider by the day. Damn it, that was not what he’d wanted for his marriage—all that roiling, suppressed anger and unmet needs.

But if Clarissa wouldn’t talk to him about her fears, then he didn’t know what to do.

“Do the servants know that we got married?” she asked.

The abrupt change of subject made him want to grab her and shake her, to demand to know why she could only let him touch her so far and no more, why she got panicky when he crowded her in. Why she only liked his touch when he was kissing her, and for anything more, he must be behind her or under her skirts . . .

He choked down bile. What if
that
was what it was? As long as she didn’t really have to look at him, she could close her eyes and pretend he was someone else when he grew more intimate. What if she simply disliked
him
?

God, he was being ridiculous. She responded to his kisses with passion; she grew aroused when he touched her. He wasn’t so terrible a judge of women that he couldn’t tell
that.

And this was precisely why he’d wanted to marry some dull chit in the first place! This was why he’d
wanted a mere companion for a wife. Because this seething mass of emotion was too much. He didn’t like it.

“Well?” she asked. “Do the servants know?”

He gritted his teeth. “Yes. I sent them a letter at the same time I put the notice in the papers.”

Fine. He’d do things her way for a while. Spend time with her. Deal with incorporating a new wife into his estate. Try to control his runaway desire to bed her.

Court her.

He started. He
hadn’t
really courted her, had he? He’d just rushed her into a marriage. And every time in the past that he
had
done something vaguely courtship-like, it had ended in a most pleasurable interlude. The night at the theater. Just now with the automaton. Each time, he was able to get a little further with her.

Interesting. Apparently women liked thoughtful gifts and compliments.
She
liked thoughtful gifts and compliments.

Very well, then that was what he would do. Court her properly. Take the lessons she’d given him for courting other women and apply them to her.

“I do hope your staff don’t mind having me as a mistress,” Clarissa said.

The hesitation in her voice firmed his resolve. He could do this. Make her comfortable with him. And perhaps not too long from now, she would be ready to reveal what made her so frightened of sharing his bed.

“I’m sure they will be delighted to have someone
as accomplished as you running the household,” he said smoothly.

At least now he had a strategy to pursue.

The first thing Clarissa noticed when she entered the dining room two hours later was the rose lying across her plate. The second thing was Edwin, looking breathtaking in his black superfine and snowy cravat, standing at the other end of the table and watching her with the intensity that always made her shiver deliciously.

Guilt stabbed her anew. She hadn’t had a moment alone with him since their arrival. The staff had bombarded her with enthusiastic welcomes and then had ushered her up to dress for dinner in the suite of rooms meant to be hers. Amidst the chaos of unpacking and dressing, there’d been little time to dwell on her appalling behavior in the carriage.

But now, alone with him at dinner, she could no longer ignore it. Struggling for what to say, she took her seat and picked up the rose to sniff it. “How lovely.” She strove for a light tone. “Should I expect one of these
every
evening at dinner?”

“That can be arranged.”

His unconscious echo of her words earlier that had sparked their intimate interlude renewed her guilt. She had overreacted. Badly. She had to stop acting like a frightened ninny with him. She already had him asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She
would
tell him everything eventually. Just as soon as she got her bearings in their marriage.

Coward.

“That’s a fetching gown,” he said conversationally.

The polite nicety startled her, especially coming from Edwin. But at least she knew how to play that game. “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites.” She settled her napkin in her lap. “You look rather splendid yourself this evening.”

She rather wished he didn’t. Because whenever he looked good enough to tempt her, it always seemed to end in disaster.

Well, not
always
. The part in the carriage where he’d pleasured her had been incredible. It was her own stupid fault that things had deteriorated from there. And she
hated
that. She hated being weak and afraid.

The footman placed a bowl of soup in front of her. “This looks delicious,” she said, fearing that she sounded utterly inane.

“If there are any particular foods you would prefer, just tell Cook.” Edwin sipped some soup from his spoon. “I believe you’re already familiar with her abilities.”

“I should say so.” She picked up her spoon. “Your mother chose her well.”

“Mother was always very good at hiring servants.” He glanced at her. “And I’m sure you’ll be equally adept at it.”

His oddly soothing tone made her halt her spoon in midair. “I shall certainly try to be.”

“That’s all I ask. And with that in mind, I was thinking that tomorrow we might tour our dairy and then the orchards.”

“I’ve been in your dairy and your orchards more
times than I can count.” Why was he behaving as if she hadn’t visited Stoke Towers nearly every day in her youth? “I’m not sure what more I could learn from a tour.”

A small frown knit his brow. “Very well, then we can call on the tenants so I may introduce you to them as my wife.”

“That’s an excellent idea. We should start with the Gronows. No, wait, perhaps the Leslies up near the river—Mrs. Leslie has probably had her baby by now, and I would so love to see it.”

He sat back to stare at her. “How is it that you know almost as much about my tenants as Yvette?”

She shrugged. “I spent nearly every day of my childhood with her here.”

“I knew you and Yvette were close, but I had no idea you were at Stoke Towers so much.”

“How could you know? You were away at school; then I was away at school. And when I
was
home, you were too busy to pay much mind to a couple of girls romping about and going shopping in Preston.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot about all the shopping.”

“I can’t imagine how. You were forever lecturing Yvette about the bills.”

He stiffened. “You two thought me insufferable, I suppose.”

“What? No. We knew you were preoccupied by your father’s neglect of the estate, and by Samuel and his troubles. You had no time to spare for two chattering girls preparing for their debuts. Besides, you were always very serious and studious and we were always . . . well . . . not.”

He eyed her askance. “Yvette was studious.
You
were ‘not.’”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Now,
that
is the blunt and honest Edwin I know and like so well.”

To her surprise, he flushed. “Blast it, I was trying
not
to be so blunt.”

“Why? We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we? That shouldn’t change simply because we’re married. How does Shakespeare put it? ‘Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.’”

“God, I hope that’s not true.”

The words fell between them like a gauntlet. Too late, she remembered the requirements he’d listed for a wife when she’d been helping him decide on one.

“Right,” she said past the tightness in her throat. “You wanted a quiet, responsible, and calming wife. Instead, you got me.”

He grimaced. “That isn’t what I meant. I was only saying . . .
trying
to say, that I hope you and I . . .” Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, “God rot it. Pay me no mind. I’m a bit out of sorts.”

She took pity on him. This was as hard for him as for her—perhaps even harder. He was doing a very noble thing and, in the process, giving up his own plans for the future.

“So,” she said, determined to change the subject, “a visit to the tenants tomorrow. That sounds fun. What shall I wear?”

He met her gaze, seemingly startled by her amiable tone, then smoothed his expression. “Well, it’s probably best if we go on horseback, so a riding habit would be appropriate. And if you happen to have . . .”

To her vast relief, there was no more talk of anything serious after that.

But later, once her giggling maid had left her dressed for bed and she sat propped up against the pillow attempting to read the latest
La Belle Assemblée
, she wondered if he would try to seduce her tonight. If he did, would she let him?

Part of her wanted to. The other part hated that she couldn’t predict how she would react, once he came over on top of her and tried to enter her. She didn’t think she could bear to witness again the shock on his face if she got panicky and said or did something untoward.

So when the door adjoining his room opened and she instinctively clutched her magazine to her breasts, she could have kicked herself to see frustration flash in his eyes.

Though it was swiftly gone, it left her chilled.

“I wanted to make sure you were comfortable before I retired,” he said with infinite politeness, as if they were mere friends who happened to share a bedroom suite, rather than a newly wedded couple who ought to be consummating their marriage.

“Quite comfortable.” She deliberately let the periodical drop onto her lap, not wanting him to think she was frightened of him. She wasn’t . . . not entirely. “I shan’t be up much longer. I’m quite tired.”

“I would imagine so.”

He continued to stand there a moment, as if unsure what to do. And Lord, he looked so much more approachable in a dressing gown than in his usual oh-so-correct attire. It dawned on her that she hadn’t yet seen even a portion of him undressed.

No glimpse of what seemed to be a rather broad chest. No glance at what were probably quite fine arms. And just the thought of what he might look like without his clothes on sparked her curiosity.

Until she remembered what else she hadn’t seen yet. The part she dreaded to look upon, much less feel pushing and tearing its way inside her.

“Clarissa, earlier, when I said—”

“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”

He halted, his jaw going rigid. “Of course you did.”

“Good night, Edwin,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes.” He swept his gaze over her with a thoroughness that did nothing to soothe her. “Sleep well.”

Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

She ignored her swift pang of disappointment. If she encouraged his desire—and her own—tonight, only to end up cutting him off again . . .

No, better to wait until she knew she was ready. She blew out the candle.

Still, it took her a long time to go to sleep, and when she did, she slid seamlessly into a dream.

A forest rose before her, dark and gloomy. She didn’t want to go inside, but she had to. It was crucial that she enter, though she couldn’t figure out why. The deeper she wandered into the forest the colder she got, until she reached a black lake that glistened in the light of the moon overhead.

She dipped her toe into the water. It was surprisingly warm, so much warmer than the forest. It would be lovely to go in and get warm. Slowly, she walked into the lake, sinking into the warmth.