The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(10)

“I did not say—”

“Careful, now.” The major nudged Edwin. “The lady will have you tied up in knots before you know it.”

“And Clarissa is very good at tying knots,” Mama said cheerily. “Why, she recently tatted the most splendid little coin purse you ever did see. It had a sweet button on the . . .”

For once, Clarissa appreciated Mama’s nonsense. It saved her from an escalating argument with Edwin, who never seemed to know when she was teasing him. Even now, he stood ramrod straight, his jaw carved from stone. However did he manage to shave that chin when it was always so rigid?

“I can well believe that your daughter excels in the feminine arts,” Major Wilkins was saying in an attempt to ingratiate himself with her mother. “Clearly Lady Clarissa is possessed of every womanly virtue.”

“Not to mention a sizable dowry,” Edwin said, an edge to his voice.

The officer looked uncertain of how to respond to that in a gentlemanly manner. “While I’m sure that is true, I should think . . . That is . . .” It took him a moment to find his bearings. “A fortune is of no consequence in matters of the heart, after all.”

Edwin lifted an eyebrow, and Clarissa choked back a laugh.

“Don’t be silly,” Mama said. “A fortune is always of consequence. Which is why my late husband made sure that our children were well provided for. Very well.” She nudged Clarissa none too subtly. “Eh, my dear?”

Oh, Lord. Mama would probably give up her best fur to see Clarissa snag a duke’s son, youngest of the bunch or no. Particularly since Clarissa kept refusing the suits of older sons.

Thankfully, Clarissa was saved from more matchmaking by the sound of waltz music.

“Forgive me, Major,” Clarissa said hastily, “but I promised Lord Blakeborough the first waltz.”

“Lucky fellow,” the officer said with a frown.

“Lucky, indeed.” Edwin knew perfectly well she was lying, but fortunately he didn’t let on. He simply offered her his arm and led her off.

As soon as they took the floor, she set out to appease him. “I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but—”

“It’s fine.” He led her through the steps with typical precision. “I suppose I’ll have more luck finding a wife if I practice the usual ballroom sports.”

“You don’t require practice.”

His gaze sharpened on her. “No need to flatter me. I know my limits.”

Clearly he was still annoyed over their little exchange. “I mean it, Edwin. You’re not the most poetic of dancers, but you keep time well, don’t tread on my toes, and never miss a step. That’s more than I can say for plenty of men.”

“Take care,” he drawled. “You might lead me to think you actually like me.”

“I do like you. Sometimes.” She thrust out her chin. “But I also can’t resist provoking you. You get so deliciously annoyed. And you take my remarks far too seriously.”

A grudging smile crossed his lips. “Warren told me much the same thing.”

“Didn’t you believe him?”

“I never know what to believe when it comes to you.”

“Well, believe this at least: I think you’re a perfectly accomplished dancer. I certainly prefer you over the major.”

That brought his gruff manner back. “I don’t know how you can endure that fool.”

“Unfortunately, enduring fools is what a woman must do to have a little fun.”

His hand tensed on her waist. “You have a peculiar notion of what’s fun. Wouldn’t you prefer a quiet conversation at dinner or a stroll about a museum to dancing with idiots?”

“I happen to enjoy dancing. And sadly, I require a partner for it. Thank goodness even idiots can be good dancers.”

He glanced over to where Major Wilkins was still standing with her mother. “Are you sure that he knows you’re merely amusing yourself with him?”

“Well, if Mama hadn’t started blathering on about my dowry, he would have known it when I refused to dance with him again. She’s bound and determined to get me married, and any fool will do, apparently.”

“In this case, I hope you ignore her.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not about to marry a man who doesn’t know when to stop ogling my bosom.”

His mouth thinned into a hard line. “He was ogling your bosom?”

“Oh, don’t turn into a watchdog again. Men ogle women’s bosoms all the time. A female can wear the most innocuous gown ever, and some fellow will stare at her chest as if waiting for her clothes to rip open and reveal her nakedness. And when she’s wearing a ball gown . . .”

She trailed off, remembering a night she’d rather forget.

His hand tightened on hers. “I don’t do that, do I?”

Forcing her attention back to him, she smiled. “Of course not. You’re a gentleman. Besides, you have no interest in my bosom.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not dead, you know.” As if to prove it, he let his gaze dip down for the merest of moments.

If she’d seen one ounce of leering in that quick look, anything to indicate that he thought of her disrespectfully, she would have been disappointed. But his look was more akin to hunger. No, not hunger—yearning. As if he saw what he wanted, yet knew he couldn’t have it.