The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Read online

  Although with Yvette married and out of the house, he’d started to feel the disadvantages of a solitary life. So once more he’d be looking for a wife, always an awkward experience. Women expected a man to gush about being in love, and he simply couldn’t. Love was a fictional construct dreamed up by novelists. His parents’ marriage had proved that.

  But it wasn’t wise to tell a woman his philosophy. Unfortunately, neither could he lie about it. He wasn’t like his scoundrel brother, who was presently serving a sentence of transportation for kidnapping. Edwin couldn’t spin a clever yarn or hide an opinion beneath a facile compliment.

  Sadly, most women seemed to prefer facile compliments to blunt truths any day. For that matter, some men were like that.

  Hence, his dearth of friends and his difficulty finding a suitable wife. “When will you broach this with Clarissa?”

  Warren looked at his pocket watch. “At dinner, which should be in . . . oh . . . half an hour. I was hoping you’d come.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? Might as well get it over with, eh? And I am leaving for Portugal in the morning.”

  Devil take it. Edwin would have liked more time to prepare. He wasn’t the spontaneous sort. “Planning to have us join forces against her, are you?”

  “That wasn’t my intention initially, no.” Warren gulped some brandy. “When we left Hatton Hall for London, I’d hoped that by now Yvette and Keane would have returned from America, and they could simply take her under their wing. Yvette can talk Clarissa into just about anything.”

  Edwin smiled. His sister could talk anyone into anything, even him.

  “But I gather they’re still abroad,” Warren said.

  “It may be a few more weeks before they return. Sorry.”

  “Well, it can’t be helped. At least my aunt will be there to help persuade her.”

  Edwin suppressed a snort. Lady Margrave, Clarissa’s mother, was a flighty female who rarely offered sound advice, so Clarissa rarely heeded her. He doubted that this time would be any different.

  Warren surveyed the reading room. “You know, this place turned out quite cozy. It’s not as sophisticated a setting as some clubs, but it’s comfortable. You and Keane ought to be pleased with yourselves. Between Keane’s artistic eye and your mechanical ingenuity, the place doesn’t even look like a tavern anymore.”

  “We had plenty of help with the practical aspects of décor from Yvette and her mother-in-law.”

  “That explains the female touches,” Warren said, “which are refreshing. I mean, the dark woods and leather give it a nice masculine feel, but there’s something to be said for decent draperies, too. The ones at White’s are funereal.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  Warren’s gaze snapped back to him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be around to help. And that I have to run off again.” He rose. “So, are you coming or not?”

  The casual words were belied by Warren’s tight expression.

  They both knew that Edwin hadn’t yet agreed to the plan. And why hadn’t he? Because the thought of spending weeks in Clarissa’s company put him on edge as nothing else could.

  But it didn’t matter. Warren was his friend and wouldn’t hesitate to help if the shoe was on the other foot. So neither would Edwin.

  He stood. “I’m coming.”

  As soon as the door to Clarissa’s bedchamber closed behind the servant who’d left a message for her mother, the aging widow turned to her daughter in a panic. “I cannot believe your cousin did this!” She leaned heavily on her cane. “Warren knows better than to invite an eligible bachelor for dinner with no warning. What was he thinking?”

  Clarissa raised an eyebrow at her mother’s reflection in the looking glass. “He was thinking that it’s just Edwin, whom we’ve known for ages. And who has come to dine before.”

  “I don’t know if pigeon pie is quite suitable enough for guests,” Mama said, as if Clarissa hadn’t spoken. “Oh, dear, and we are fresh out of Madeira! Edwin loves his Madeira, you know.”

  “Mama—”

  “And the pickled onions were entirely too sour the last time we ate them. I was hoping to use them up tonight, but if Edwin is coming—”

  “Mama, calm down! It’s not as if we’re expecting the Tsar of Russia.” She smiled into the mirror. “Although Edwin would make a fine tsar. All he’d have to do is be his usual autocratic and dictatorial self.”

  Thankfully, that observation broke her mother out of her fretting. “And he would look quite the part, too, wouldn’t he? All that black hair and that chiseled jaw.”

  And broad shoulders and regal bearing and slate-gray eyes as coldly beautiful as a Russian night spangled with stars.

  Clarissa scowled at herself. She must be addled to be thinking of Edwin so poetically. Though he was sinfully handsome. In a sort of standoffish way. And she hadn’t seen him in ages. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.

  “Why, I can almost imagine him in an ermine cape and one of those tall, furry hats,” Mama said.

  Clarissa laughed. “Edwin would only wear such a pretentious thing to a coronation, and then only because he had to.”

  His manner of dress was always correct, but terribly sober.

  Unlike hers. She examined her gown in the mirror and smiled. Edwin would probably look sternly upon this confection of lace and lavender bows. Secretly it wasn’t her favorite, either—a bit too fussy for her taste—but she’d expected to be dining only with Warren and Mama, and had just thrown on the first thing she’d found in her closet.

  Oh, well. No time to change, and besides, she would never change her gown for him. Let Edwin give her one of his ruthlessly critical glances; she would not be cowed.

  Indeed, it was merely force of habit that had her pinching her cheeks until they glowed nicely pink. It was not because she wanted to look pretty for Edwin. No, indeed.

  “You know, my girl,” Mama said, “if you were a bit nicer to that man, you could probably have him wrapped about your finger in a matter of weeks.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. Edwin is far too inflexible to be wrapped about anything. More’s the pity.” Clarissa would dearly love to see the woman who could manage that.

  But it wouldn’t be her. Edwin, of all people, would never accept her as she was, especially once he knew the full extent of her youthful mistakes. And her narrow escape from the obsessive attentions of Count Durand a few months ago had only made her more determined to avoid bending to any man’s demands of what a wife should be.

  You can never escape me, my dearest Clarissa.

  A shudder swept her as she thrust the count’s final words to the back of her mind. They were just the sort of dramatic nonsense men thought women wanted to hear. But to her knowledge, he hadn’t hunted for her. He hadn’t been loitering in the street outside Warren’s town house once they arrived. No doubt he’d moved on to another pretty woman.

  And if he hadn’t?

  Then she would be firmer in her refusal this time. Years ago she’d allowed a man to bully her, and it had shattered her life.

  Never again.

  Pasting a brilliant smile to her lips, she whirled to face her mother. “Shall we go down?”

  “Not yet, my angel. The servant said the gentlemen are already here, so we should keep them waiting. You must never let a man be too sure of you.”

  “It’s Edwin, Mama,” she said tightly. “He’s sure of everything and everyone, no matter what I do.” With her usual coaxing smile, she offered her arm to her mother. Mama had broken her hip in her early forties and it hadn’t knitted properly, so navigating stairs was difficult for her. “Come now, I know you’re dying for a glass of wine. I certainly am.”

  “Oh, all right.” Leaning on Clarissa’s arm, Mama let herself be led to the door. “But you must promise to give him a compliment first thing. Men like that.”

  “Right,” Clarissa said noncommittally.

  “And don’t contradict him all the time.
Men despise fractious women.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And do not spout your witticisms incessantly. It’s very mannish. Not to mention . . .”

  As they made their slow way down the stairs, Clarissa let her mother drone on, only half listening to the usual recitation of little tricks designed to hook a man and reel him in. Those might have enabled her Cit of a mother to snag an earl, but they smacked of deception to Clarissa.

  If a man couldn’t like her as she was, what was the point? Clarissa could barely hide her true opinions from Mama. How was she to do it with a husband?

  Not that she ever intended to have a husband. Granted, she wouldn’t mind having children, but that required taking a man into her bed—and the very thought made her hands grow clammy and her throat close up.

  No. Marriage was not for her.

  “. . . and do be sure to save the biggest slice of cake for Edwin,” Mama said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Nonsense. I’m not saving anything for Edwin.”

  “That’s only fair,” drawled Edwin from somewhere in the shadows to the right of the staircase. “I’m not saving anything for you, either.”

  Striving to hide her surprise, she halted as he came into the light.

  “Edwin!” Mama cried. “My dear boy!” She held out her hand.

  Dutifully, he came forward to take it. “You’re looking well, Lady Margrave.” He bent to brush a kiss to Mama’s cheek.

  No kiss for Clarissa, of course. He was too much the gentleman for that.

  “You’re looking rather fine yourself,” Mama chirped as she drew back to survey him.

  And Lord, but he was, in his tailcoat of dark-blue wool and his waistcoat and trousers of plain white poplin. Even his cravat was simply tied, which only accentuated the masculine lines of his jaw and sharp planes of his features, so starkly handsome.

  How had he managed to grow even more attractive in a mere three months? And why on earth was she gawking at him? This was Edwin, for pity’s sake. It would swell his head even more if he knew what she was thinking.

  Instead, she teased him. “Don’t tell me—you were so impatient for us to come down that you’ve been pacing the foyer in anticipation.”

  The idea was ludicrous, of course. Impatient wasn’t even in Edwin’s vocabulary. If ever a man believed that slow and steady won the race, it was he.

  And he clearly recognized the irony, for he flashed her one of his rare smiles. “Actually, I was fetching this from the library. Warren told me he was done with it.” His eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he held out a book. “Of course, if you wish to read it yourself . . .”

  “Doubtful,” she said. “Any book you loaned him has to be deadly dull.”

  “You mean, because it lacks gallant highwaymen rescuing virtuous ladies.”

  “Or virtuous ladies rescuing gallant highwaymen. Either would be preferable to one of your dry tomes on . . . what? Chess? Engineering? Philosophy of the most boring sort?”

  “Clarissa,” Mama chided.

  But Edwin merely laughed, as she’d hoped he would. She took great pride in the fact that she could sometimes make him laugh. No other woman seemed able to. No other woman dared try.

  “Mechanical engineering,” he said. “However did you guess?”

  “Because I know you all too well, sir.”

  He sobered, his gaze turning oddly intense even for him. “Do you? I’m not so sure.”

  The words hung in the air a moment in frozen silence before that was shattered by her cousin’s approach.

  “I found another book you might enjoy, old boy,” Warren said as he bent to kiss first his aunt, then Clarissa. “It’s about automatons.”

  She rolled her eyes as Warren handed it to Edwin. Of course, keen interest leapt in Edwin’s face the moment he scanned the cover. The earl did love his automatons, to the point where he even made his own, though Clarissa had never been deemed worthy enough to actually see one.

  “Looks intriguing, thanks. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I’m done.”

  “No hurry.” Warren shot her a veiled glance. “As you well know, I won’t need it anytime soon.”

  Whatever was that about?

  Before she could ponder it, Warren offered Mama his arm. “Come, Aunt, let’s get you off your feet while we have our wine before dinner. Don’t want to tax your hip overmuch.”

  “Thank you, my lad,” she cooed, and let him lead her to the breakfast room. “That is ever so thoughtful of you! But then, you always were a dear. Why, I remember when . . .”

  As Mama prattled on, Edwin was left to come behind with Clarissa. “So,” he murmured, “exactly what were you refusing to save for me?”

  It took her a moment to remember that he’d overheard her earlier. “The biggest slice of cake.”

  “I don’t like cake.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m not wasting it on you. You won’t appreciate it, and you’d probably eat it just to be polite.”

  He slanted a serious glance at her. “Perhaps I’d give it to you, instead.”

  “I doubt that, but we’ll never know, shall we?” she said lightly. “I’m saving it for myself, regardless.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Because you were eavesdropping.” Mischief seized her. “How rude of you.”

  As they passed into the breakfast room, he shrugged. “If you don’t want people hearing your pronouncements, you shouldn’t talk at the volume of a dockworker.”

  Mama paused while settling onto the settee. “A dockworker! For shame, Edwin—what a thing to say to a lady! Have you no pretty compliments to offer?”

  When he stood blatantly unrepentant, Clarissa said, “If Edwin knew how to compliment ladies, Mama, he would be too popular in society to settle for having dinner with the mere likes of us.”

  “There’s no settling involved, I assure you,” he said irritably.

  She was congratulating herself on getting beneath his cool reserve again when Warren stepped in. “Play nice now, cousin. We need him.”

  “For what?” Clarissa asked.

  Instead of answering, Warren gestured to the settee. “You’d better sit down. I’ve got something to tell you and your mother.”

  Two

  A short while later, Edwin watched as Clarissa demanded answers of her cousin. “And this letter from Niall requesting your help was just sitting here waiting for you? How long?”

  “Only a few days,” Warren said.

  “They should have sent it on!”

  “We would have missed it, then. We were already on our way here.”

  “And why did he send it to you, not us?”

  “Because he wanted to keep you and your mother out of it if he could.”

  Lady Margrave gave a bone-chilling cry. “Heaven help us all! My poor boy is in danger—I just know it! Or he’s gambled away all his funds!”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” Warren said through gritted teeth.

  “And Niall would never be so foolish as to lose everything at the tables,” Clarissa said grimly.

  “He could have taken up with a bad crowd over in Portugal!” Lady Margrave protested. “I mean, if he was daft enough to get into a duel over some soiled dove all those years ago—”

  “Mama!” Clarissa said, with a furtive glance at Edwin. “That’s enough.”

  “It’s not as if the whole world doesn’t know how your brother ended up in exile,” Edwin said. “Blasted young bucks and their dueling. It’s been the bane of half the families in England.”

  A flush of embarrassment stained Clarissa’s cheeks. At least, he assumed it was embarrassment. What else could it be?

  Stiffening, she turned to Warren. “When are we leaving?”

  “We are not leaving,” Warren said with a scowl. “You and your mother are staying here while I go to Portugal.”

  “Mama can stay, but why can’t I go with you? I can help.”

  Warren eyed her askance. “Do
what? I don’t even know what I’ll be facing. Niall’s message was cryptic, and his circumstances unclear. All I know is that he needs me to help him out of a spot. I’m not dragging you with me when I’m unsure what to expect.”

  “You cannot go, my dear,” Lady Margrave cried. “You might be captured by pirates! They roam those seas, you know.”

  “Now, Mama, the likelihood of my being cap—”

  “Oh, dear, dear, no. You mustn’t go. Only think what might happen to you!” Clutching her chest, Lady Margrave fumbled in a jeweled box on a table next to the settee. “I need my salts. Where are my salts?”

  Without a word, Clarissa rang for a servant, then walked over and pulled a vial out of the box. “There, there, Mama.” With astonishing patience, she knelt to wave the vial under her mother’s nose, then urged her to lie down on the settee. “Just rest a moment while I have a word with Warren, all right?”

  The lady’s maid hurried in at that moment, and Clarissa said, “Mama is feeling faint. Please sit with her. His lordship and I will be right back.”

  She headed for the door that adjoined the library, and Warren followed. Edwin hesitated, but it seemed only right that he join them, given that he was supposed to be part of Warren’s plan.

  And she barely seemed to note Edwin’s presence, too intent on berating Warren. “This is madness! I can’t believe you mean to go without me! If Niall is in trouble—”

  “There’s naught you can do about it,” Warren snapped. “You’re staying here, and that’s final.”

  Muttering curses, she roamed the library like a caged lioness. Tendrils of her hair were escaping their pins, her cheeks were flushed, and her strides were so quick, they gave him glimpses of ankle. God, but she was glorious in a temper.

  Edwin had never seen her angry. Cross, yes. Sarcastic, oh yes.

  But in a fury? Never. And now that he was witnessing it, he found it fascinating. Considering that he generally hated dealing with emotional women, that surprised him.

  She rounded on Warren. “So you’re going to leave us here to worry ourselves sick over you and Niall for the next month or so.”