The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Read online

  Copyright © 2016 Deborah Gonzales

  Cover image © Alan Ayers

  Author photograph © Jessi Bllakely for Tammara Lackey Photography

  The right of Sabrina Jeffries to be identified as the Author of the Work *crane has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Published by arrangement with Pocket Books,

  a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  First published in this Ebook edition in 2016

  by HEADLINE ETERNAL

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN 978 1 4722 3215 1

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise for Sabrina Jeffries

  By Sabrina Jeffries

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Meet the Hellions of Halstead Hall

  Find out more about Headline Eternal

  About the Author

  Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 9 works of short fiction (some written under the pseudonyms Deborah Martin and Deborah Nicholas). Whatever time not spent writing in a coffee-fueled haze of dreams and madness is spent traveling with her husband and adult autistic son or indulging in one of her passions – jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, and music. With over 7 million books in print in 18 different languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction, and hopes that one day a book of hers will end up saving the world. She always dreams big.

  For more information, visit her at www.sabrinajeffries.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SabrinaJeffriesAuthor or on Twitter @SabrinaJeffries.

  Praise for Sabrina Jeffries, queen of the sexy regency romance:

  ‘Anyone who loves romance must read Sabrina Jeffries!’ Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author

  ‘Irresistible . . . Larger-than-life characters, sprightly dialogue, and a steamy romance will draw you into this delicious captive/captor tale’ Romantic Times (top pick)

  ‘Another excellent series of books which will alternatively have you laughing, crying and running the gamut of emotions . . . I guarantee you will have a tear in your eye’ Romance Reviews Today

  ‘The sexual tension crackles across the pages of this witty, deliciously sensual, secret-laden story’ Library Journal

  ‘Exceptionally entertaining and splendidly sexy’ Booklist

  ‘An enchanting story brimming with sincere emotions and compelling scenarios . . . an outstanding love story of emotional discoveries and soaring passions, with a delightful touch of humor plus suspense’ Single Titles

  ‘Scorching . . . From cover to cover, it sizzles’ Reader to Reader

  ‘Full of all the intriguing characters, brisk plotting, and witty dialogue that Jeffries’s readers have come to expect’ Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  By Sabrina Jeffries

  Sinful Suitors Series

  The Art Of Sinning

  The Study Of Seduction

  Hellions Of Halstead Hall Series

  The Truth About Lord Stoneville

  A Hellion In Her Bed

  How To Woo A Reluctant Lady

  To Wed A Wild Lord

  A Lady Never Surrenders

  About the Book

  When Edwin Barlow, the Earl of Blakeborough, agrees to help his best friend's impetuous ward, Lady Clarissa Lindsey, he knows he's in for trouble. He's been hunting for someone to wed but, although captivated by her witty, free-spirited beauty, the gruff cynic fears she'd be all wrong as a wife . . .

  Clarissa has no intention of marrying anyone. Yet when matters escalate with a powerful French diplomat who's stalking her, she accepts Edwin's gallant offer of marriage. Expecting an amiable union between friends, their increasingly tempestuous kisses prove more than she bargained for and, when Clarissa's stalker vows to expose their deepest secrets, the lovers' tenuous bond is tested. Can they withstand public ruin, or will Edwin risk all that's important to him to protect his bride?

  For more dazzlingly romantic and witty historical romance, don't miss Sabrina's other gorgeous series including The Hellions of Halstead Hall, The School for Heiresses and The Royal Brotherhood.

  For my husband, Rene, who’s about as close to being Edwin as a man can get, but without the math/engineering skills.

  And for Becky Timblin and Kim Ham, whose support despite their many challenges this year meant worlds to me. Y’all are the best!

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank-you to sex educator Dr. Emily Nagoski, whose input on my characters and information on the subject of female sexuality was invaluable. Any mistakes in the book are my own.

  One

  London

  April 1830

  “You have lost your bloody mind.”

  When every member in the reading room of St. George’s Club turned to look at Edwin Barlow, Earl of Blakeborough, he realized how loudly he’d spoken.

  The place was more crowded than usual, now that everyone was back in London and night was falling. Gentlemen wanted a few drinks before they plunged into the maelstrom that was the Season.

  With a quelling glance that sent the curious onlookers scrambling to mind their own business, Edwin returned his attention to Warren Corry, the Marquess of Knightford. “This plan of yours can’t possibly work.”

  “Of course it can.”

  Warren was Edwin’s closest friend. Really, his only friend, aside from his sister’s new husband, Jeremy Keane. Edwin didn’t make friends easily, probably because he didn’t suffer fools easily. And society was full of fools.

  That was precisely why Edwin, Keane, and Warren had started this club—so they could separate the fools from the fine men. So they could protect the women in their lives from fortune hunters, gamblers, rakehells, and every other variety of scoundrel in London.

  In a matter of months, the club had swollen from three to thirty members, all good men eager to share information about which of their peers couldn’t be trusted with women. Until now, Edwin hadn’t realized that so many gentlemen’s female relations needed protecting from sly and not-so-sly a
ttempts on their virtue . . . and fortunes.

  Warren was clearly taking that mission very seriously. Perhaps too seriously.

  “Clarissa will never agree,” Edwin said.

  “She has no choice.”

  Edwin narrowed his gaze on Warren. “You actually believe you can convince your sharp-tongued cousin to let me squire her about town during the Season?”

  “Only until I return. And why not?” Warren said, though he took a long swig of brandy as if to fortify himself for the fight. “It isn’t as if she hates you.”

  “No, indeed,” Edwin said sarcastically. “She only challenges my every remark, ignores my advice, and tweaks my nose incessantly. The last time I saw her, she called me the Blakeborough Bear and said I belonged in the Tower of London menagerie, where ordinary people could be spared my growls.”

  Warren burst into laughter. When Edwin lifted an eyebrow at him, Warren’s laugh petered out into a cough. “Sorry, old boy. But you have to admit that’s amusing.”

  “Not nearly as amusing as it will be to watch you try to talk her into this,” Edwin drawled as he settled back in his chair.

  Rather than giving Warren pause, that made the blasted idiot ask, “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “The point is moot. She’s not going to agree.”

  “Don’t be too sure. You mustn’t take her pokes at you as anything more than her usual mischief-making. You let her exaggerations get under your skin, which only tempts her to plague you more. You should just ignore her when she starts her nonsense.”

  Ignore Clarissa? Impossible. He’d spent the past few years trying unsuccessfully to unwrap the mystery that was Lady Clarissa Lindsey. Her barbed wit fired his temper, her provocative smile inflamed him, and her shadowed eyes haunted his sleep. He could no more ignore her than he could ignore a rainbowed sunset . . . or a savage storm.

  For three months now, she’d been isolated at Warren’s hunting lodge, Hatton Hall, and Edwin had felt every second of her absence. That was why the idea of spending time with her sent his blood pumping.

  Not with anticipation. Certainly not. Couldn’t be.

  “What do you say, old boy?” Warren held Edwin’s gaze. “I need you. She needs you.”

  Edwin ignored the leap in his pulse. Clarissa didn’t need anyone, least of all him. Thanks to the fortune left to her by her late father, the Earl of Margrave, she didn’t have to marry for love or anything else. Apparently, the woman had some fool notion she was better off without a husband, given that she’d reportedly refused dozens of marriage proposals since her debut years ago.

  But it wasn’t her fortune that had men falling all over themselves trying to catch her eye. It was her quick wit and effervescent personality, her ability to draw a man in and put him off at the same time. It was her astonishing beauty. She was the fair-haired, green-eyed, porcelain-skinned darling of society, and she almost certainly knew it.

  Which was why he rather enjoyed the prospect of watching Warren attempt to convince her she should go about town with a gruff curmudgeon like himself. “Assuming that she and I both agree to this insanity—how long would I have her on my hands?”

  “It shouldn’t be more than a month. However long it takes me to deal with her brother in Portugal. I can’t leave Niall stranded on the Continent with all the unrest there right now.”

  “I suppose she’s already heard why you’re going.”

  “Actually, no. She doesn’t even know about his letter yet, which was waiting for me when we arrived from Shropshire for the Season. I wanted to be sure you would agree to keep an eye on her before I told her. But once she learns that this involves Niall, she’ll want me to take this trip, and she’ll realize I won’t do that unless I’m sure she’s safe.”

  “From this Durand fellow.” After all, there was a reason for this charade Warren was proposing.

  Warren’s jaw hardened. “Count Geraud Durand, yes.”

  Settling back into his chair, Edwin drummed his fingers on his thigh. “If I’m to do this, you’d better tell me everything you know about this Frenchman.”

  “Haven’t you met him?”

  Edwin lifted an eyebrow.

  “Oh, right. Not your circle of influence. But surely you’ve heard of him.”

  “He’s the French ambassador’s lackey.”

  “If he were a lackey, he wouldn’t be a problem. He’s the man’s first secretary. And because the ambassador had to return to France right after Christmas, Durand is now running the embassy as the charge d’affaires. The position gives him a great deal of power.”

  “Then what the devil does he want with Clarissa?”

  “A wife. He asked her to marry him in Bath some months ago.”

  That stunned Edwin. Warren had initially described Durand as an admirer who’d been plaguing her.

  Not that Edwin was surprised at anyone’s desiring Clarissa to distraction. Most men did. But men in the field of diplomacy generally preferred wives who were . . . well . . . not inclined to speak their minds and flirt outrageously.

  “She turned him down,” Warren went on. “That’s why we had to return to London. Unfortunately, he followed us here. He seemed to have made it his mission to gain her, no matter what. He was at every public event we attended. Twice, he tried to accost her on the street.”

  “Accost her? Were those your words or Clarissa’s? Because even you said she’s prone to exaggeration.”

  “This was no exaggeration.” His lips thinned into a grim line. “The bastard frightened her enough that she started avoiding going out in public, and you know that’s not like her. So after we spent Christmas at your brother-in-law’s, I whisked her and her mother off to Shropshire where I knew he dared not follow, since by then he had to serve as charge d’affaires here. I’d hoped our absence would give his ardor time to cool.”

  “And has it?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve only just returned, so it’s not as if I’ve had time to assess the situation. But I’m not taking any chances. She has to be protected while I’m trying to sort out her brother’s troubles.”

  Edwin cast him a measuring glance. “You don’t mean to bring Niall back to England, do you? They’ll arrest him for murder as soon as he sets foot on English soil.”

  “I know. Damned fool, fighting a duel over some woman. He ought to have known better.” Frustration furrowed Warren’s brow. “To be honest, I have no idea what to do with him. But I must work out something. He can’t continue abroad like this indefinitely. And I can’t continue to manage my properties and his, even with Clarissa’s help.”

  Edwin snorted. “Clarissa helps?”

  “There’s more to her than you realize.”

  Ah, but Edwin did realize it. Granted, he wouldn’t have expected her to have any skill at estate management, but despite her outrageous manner, he sometimes glimpsed a seriousness in her that reminded him of his own.

  Or perhaps she merely had periodic bouts of dyspepsia. Hard to know with Clarissa. She was entirely unpredictable. Which was why she always threw him out of sorts.

  Warren waved over a servant and ordered another brandy. “Honestly, accompanying her won’t be as trying as you think. Don’t you need to go out into society this Season anyway? Aren’t you bent on marrying?”

  “Yes.” He was bent on siring an heir, anyway, which required wedding someone. Though God only knew who that might be.

  “You see? It’s perfect. You have to go on the marriage mart. Clarissa wants to enjoy the Season, and I want her to find a husband. It’s an ideal situation.”

  “If you say so.” How he could successfully court anyone with Clarissa hanging about was anyone’s guess, but he supposed it might improve his stern reputation if he had a lighthearted woman on his arm at the usual balls. Assuming she would even agree to take his arm. That was by no means certain with Clarissa.

  “You were still recovering from the loss of Jane last Season, so this will be your first real attempt to secure a wife sinc
e Jane jilted you. Do you have any particular lady in mind?”

  “No. I know what I want. But God only knows if I can find a who to go with it. I haven’t made a serious search, because I had my hands full with Samuel and Yvette. And then there was the false start with Jane.” Edwin sighed. “But I suppose I must begin looking.”

  “And what are your requirements for a wife? Other than that she be of breeding age, I suppose.”

  Chafing at Knightford’s astute perception that this endeavor was about finding a woman to bear him an heir, Edwin glanced out the window that overlooked Pall Mall. “I would prefer a woman who’s responsible and uncomplicated.”

  “Like your mother, you mean.”

  He didn’t answer, preferring not to lie. His mother hadn’t been remotely uncomplicated, but no one knew that except Edwin and his brother Samuel. Not even their sister Yvette was aware of how complicated their mother had been . . . and what had made her so. Edwin had worked hard to spare Yvette that awful knowledge.

  “I want a woman who’s quiet and sensible,” Edwin went on.

  “In other words, someone you can keep under your thumb. The way your father kept your mother under his thumb.”

  A swell of painful memories made acid burn his throat. “Father didn’t keep her under his thumb; he ignored her.” For reasons that Edwin unfortunately knew and had difficulty accepting. “I will never do that to my wife.”

  “You will if she’s as dull as what you describe.” Warren leaned back in his chair. “When I get around to choosing a wife, I want a lively wench who will keep me well entertained.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”

  Edwin rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why we asked you to join St. George’s? You’re as bad as the men we’re guarding our women against.”

  “Ah, but I don’t prey on innocents. Any woman who lands in my bed jumped there of her own accord. And I daresay that’s true of any number of fellows here.”

  It probably was. Even Edwin had taken a mistress in his twenties when the turmoil within his family had kept him too busy to look for a wife and his loneliness had grown too acute to endure. That hadn’t, however, been very satisfying. Knowing that a woman was with you only for your rank and money was somehow more lonely than not having a woman at all.