The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 (25 page)

“We’ll see about that.” She knit her brow in deep concentration, then brightened. “Here’s one you’ll never guess. What’s my favorite play?”

“That’s far too general a question to be fair. There’s hundreds to choose from. But just to show I’m a good sport, I’ll take a stab at it.” He pretended to be unsure. “
Much Ado about Nothing
?”

Her mouth fell open. “How could you possibly have known that?”

“You quoted it at dinner the first night of our mar
riage. And generally, if someone knows something well enough to quote it, it’s a favorite.” He leaned toward her gleefully. “What’s
my
favorite play?”

She scowled, recognizing the trap. “As you said, there’s hundreds.”

“Yet I knew yours. Come now, give an answer.”

She threw herself back on the blanket. “You’re a wicked man, Edwin Barlow.”

“Yes, I am. And I’m powerfully eager to see you wear breeches to dinner. What’s my favorite play, minx?”

“It has to be something dry and dull. A history play, perhaps.
Richard III
. No, wait,
The Merchant of Venice.
It has those mechanical boxes in it.”

He gave her a superior look. “Actually, it’s not Shakespeare.”

“What? Of course it’s Shakespeare. Who else is there?”

“It’s
She Stoops to Conquer.
Oliver Goldsmith.”

She sat up to gape at him. “No!”

“Yes. It makes me laugh. And yes, occasionally I do like to laugh. So you see, Miss I-Know-Everything-About-You, you
don’t
know everything about me.” He grinned at her. “And I have won.”

“That is the most . . . most . . .” she sputtered. “It’s not . . .”

“To quote my wife, ‘You simply can’t stand losing.’”

She glared at him. He chuckled. She looked so adorably put out at the idea that he’d won.

“Fine,” she said primly. “I shall wear breeches to dinner. But only if you tell me why it’s so dratted important. Why
do
men like to see women in breeches?”

He leaned over to whisper, “Because what we
really
like is to see women in their drawers. And it’s the closest we can get to that without bedding them.”

“Ohhh,” she said. “That makes sense.”

Though her cheeks pinkened, she didn’t flinch from his gaze or look panicked by his nearness. And when he lowered his head toward her and her eyes turned sultry, his breath caught in his throat.

It had been a week since he’d kissed her, a week since he’d touched her. And she was acting as if she might welcome a kiss.

There was only one way to find out.

The minute his mouth touched hers, she opened to him, welcoming the duel of tongues, meeting him stroke for stroke. She did want him. Finally.

But perhaps he should do another test before he allowed himself to believe she was ready for this. So he covered her breast with his hand.

She didn’t even shy away. If anything she pressed up into the caress, her hands sliding up to encircle his neck.

Thank God. She was his.
At last
. He’d been patient, and this was his reward. Aroused and inflamed, he wanted to throw caution to the winds, rip her clothes off her, and cover every inch of her with kisses and caresses.

Take care, man
.
You must be very gentle with her. Whatever you do, don’t frighten her off.

That was going to be damned difficult. Because he’d never desired a woman more than he desired his wife at this very moment. And he feared that the mere fact of his desiring her too much might send her running.

Clarissa liked this part, having Edwin touch her and kiss her and heat her up. She could endure the painful part just for this. She
would
, drat it. She refused to spend her marriage afraid of the very activity that marriage was created for.

She refused to be denied children just because of her fears.

She’d planned their picnic so that she could seduce Edwin somewhere she’d feel comfortable. Somewhere safe, outdoors, with plenty of light and air around her, but private, too, here in the woods. Somewhere she wouldn’t panic, because all she’d have to do was scream to bring someone running.

Somewhere utterly different from the place where she’d been deflowered.

As soon as the thought leapt into her mind, she thrust it out. The Vile Seducer was dead. He couldn’t hurt her ever again. And Edwin
wouldn’t
hurt her—not intentionally, anyway.

Edwin tugged her pelerine off, then took his time
unfastening her redingote gown, which had far too many ties in the front. By the time he had her bosom bared, she was desperate to have his hands on her there.

His
mouth
on her, which he was putting there now. Oh,
Lord
. She could lie here all day while he teased her breasts, especially since he wasn’t on top of her, but propped up on his side next to her. “You do that . . . so well,” she murmured, burying her fingers in his luscious hair. “It’s heavenly.”

“It certainly is,” he said in a guttural voice.

He sucked and tongued her nipples in turn, then moved up to give her another hot, drugging kiss while his hand took over fondling her breast. When he tore free of her mouth, both of them were breathing hard, and she felt warm and melty inside.

With his eyes gleaming, he began to drag up her skirts. “I’ve imagined having you like this for ages.”

She tried not to tense up as his hand moved higher, though fear lay deep inside her like a snake waiting to strike. “For a week . . . you mean.”

“Years, I mean.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I told you before—I always desired you.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I just didn’t think it terribly wise.”

“It’s not,” she said. Though if he really had desired her all this time, it gave her hope for their future together.

“You let me be the judge of that.” Then he kissed her again, and her heart flipped over.

Suddenly she felt his hand inside her drawers, but before she could even get alarmed, his fingers were
toying with her down there so lightly and carefully that her fear abated. Especially when he found that secret little spot that begged to be touched, the one she hadn’t even known existed until he came along.

As he’d done with his tongue in the carriage, he used his hand to excellent effect, arousing her deftly, thoroughly, until she was squirming and shimmying beneath his touch. She tore at his coat, wanting him to be as exposed as her, and he shrugged it off, then returned to caressing her. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid her hands inside his shirt to feel the broad, strong expanse of chest.

Heavens, he had a fine and manly chest. She found his nipples and teased them until he groaned and stroked her more firmly below. She didn’t mind. Especially when what he was doing made her want to vault up into the trees, to sing and shake and behave like a wild wanton. With him.

How could she have known Edwin could do these things? Who would have thought that being with a man could feel this pleasurable?

“You’re so hot and wet, minx,” he rasped against her lips. “You
do
want me.”

“Yes.” She did, she truly did.

Taking her hand, he pressed it to his trousers. “This is how badly I want
you.
”

He was thick and hard and bigger than she’d ever imagined. She swallowed the beginnings of alarm that rose in her throat. Determined to face her fears, she deliberately unbuttoned his trousers, then his drawers, and slid her hand inside to fondle him.

With a moan, he pushed into her hand. “God, yes, sweetheart. Touch me. Please.”

Please.
How deliciously thrilling that she could make him beg! She rubbed and stroked him, reveling in the choked sounds he made, the way his breath quickened and his eyes slid shut. His skin was so silky, the flesh beneath it so firm.

She was enjoying arousing him when he brushed her hand away. “No more, my sweet, or I’ll embarrass myself. I can’t bear it any longer. I need to be inside you.”

“Yes.” She reminded herself that this was what she’d wanted, that this would make things better between them. So she forced a smile as he pushed up her skirts and slid between her legs. She could do this. She
could.

But her body refused to listen. It clenched of its own accord, and when he braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her in, the panic took over and her heart began to pound and her vision to narrow until all she could see was Edwin’s taut jaw, vaguely like the Vile Seducer’s, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see . . .

“No . . . no . . . no . . .” she began, scarcely aware of what she was saying.

“Clarissa,” he murmured soothingly, “sweetheart . . .”

Shoving against his chest, she bucked up against him, trying to throw him off her. “No . . . stop . . . stop . . .
Stop, damn you!
”

The last words were screamed into the forest.

He froze, his face ashen, and rolled off her to lie on the blanket panting as he stared up into the trees. That and the whimpers she couldn’t seem to quell were the only sounds other than the warbling of the stream.

After a few moments, he gave a shuddering breath. “Clarissa,” he said hoarsely. “You must tell me what’s wrong.”

She wanted to. But how could she say that she didn’t know if she would ever be right with this? “N-nothing’s wrong. I was just startled.”

He swore under his breath. “You were not startled. Don’t lie to me.” When she said nothing to that, he added, “I can’t do this anymore. Not like this. One minute you want me, and the next—”

When he choked off the words, she felt a different kind of panic. “Please don’t say that. Just give me a moment, and I’ll try . . .
we
can try—”

“God, no.” He didn’t look at her. “You were terrified. I could see it in your eyes.”

“Not of you.”

“There’s no one else here.” Dragging in a harsh breath, he seemed to struggle to speak. “My mother’s eyes looked like yours once, when I burst in while my father’s closest friend was trying to force himself on her. I still remember her crying, the fear on her face. I never want to see that on any woman’s face again, but especially not on my own wife’s. Not because of me, for certain.”

That took Clarissa completely aback. “Y-your mother was . . . assaulted?”

She was still reeling from that revelation when a servant thundered out from the woods.

“I heard a scream—” The footman stopped short as he spotted them lying there next to each other, rather obviously undressed. “Oh.” His cheeks turned crimson, and he swiftly turned his back to them. “Beg your pardon, my lord. I didn’t mean to . . . that is, I—”

“What are you doing here?” Edwin snapped. “Are you spying on us?”

“No, certainly not, my lord,” the man said hastily. “Your sister sent me to fetch you, so I was heading this way when I heard . . . Forgive me, I clearly misunderstood what you and her ladyship . . . that is . . .”

“It’s all right.” Edwin sat up and began to button his drawers and trousers. “Bloody, bloody hell. Yvette and Keane are back from America?”

“Yes, my lord,” the footman said. “Apparently, they heard about your marriage as soon as they arrived in London, and they came straight here.”

“Lord help us.” Clarissa, too, was already frantically trying to set her clothing to rights.

Edwin stood. “Go and tell them we’ll be right there.”

“Yes, my lord.” Without looking back, the servant left.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Edwin held out his hand to help her rise. She took it gratefully, but when she was standing and he tried to release it, she wouldn’t let him. Squeezing his hand tight in hers, she said, “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” It was hard to believe him, when he looked so remote and controlled. “But I want you to know that I won’t trouble you anymore by attempting to coax you into my bed.”

“Edwin—”

“I mean it. I realize now why you had me add that clause to the settlement. Because you really do need time to . . . adjust to me.” For a moment, his self-contained expression faltered. “Damn it, Clarissa, I
wish you’d told me before . . . I wish I had understood . . .”

As if realizing how vulnerable he sounded, he stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. When you’re truly ready to consummate our marriage, however long that takes, you’ll have to be the one to initiate it, just as you requested from the beginning.”

“I
am
ready!”

“No, you’re not. Being willing to
try
relations isn’t the same as wanting them or being ready for them. And I won’t have you shrinking from me in fear because you can’t bear—” He broke off with a ragged breath as noises sounded beyond them in the woods. “Clearly we can’t have this discussion now. But until you’re prepared to talk about . . . why you shy away from me, I think you and I should not attempt this again.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered.

“Admit it. You’re relieved that I said it.”

Oh, Lord, perhaps she was. But only a little.

“Edwin, where are you?” came a lilting voice from not too far off.

Drat it all. Yvette had found them.

A murmuring sounded as if the servant were speaking to her, and she said, “Don’t be silly—of course they want to see me.”

Edwin barely had time to snatch up his waistcoat and coat before Yvette came out of the woods saying, “Cook claimed you two were on a picnic, but I couldn’t believe it. I had to see for . . .”

She trailed off as she caught sight of them in their disordered state. Her cheeks reddened. “Oh. It’s
that
sort of picnic.”

Edwin’s jaw looked hard enough to slice stone. “Don’t be vulgar, Yvette. We were napping, that’s all. And you woke us.”

“Napping! You? In the outdoors? That’s almost as unlikely as your having a picnic.” Yvette swung her gaze from him to Clarissa. “Is he telling the truth?”

“Of course.” Clarissa hoped she’d fixed her clothing enough not to give them away. “You know Edwin. He never lies.” And being forced to do so now must be mortifying him.

“In that case,” Yvette said, “I’m
so
glad to see you both!”