The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(24)

In this, at least, he was. He didn’t demand; he offered. His mouth toyed with hers, as slowly and intently as his fingers unbuttoning her sleeve. It made her insane. She was used to men pushing, forcing, taking. She wasn’t used to patience or silken temptation, breaths mingling and lips caressing in equal measure.

And when he slid his tongue inside her mouth, it didn’t so much startle as intrigue her. She’d been kissed like that before, but not so eloquently. It made her restless for more.

Hardly even aware she did it, she wrapped her arms about his neck. Then everything got more interesting. The kiss got more interesting. He sucked on her tongue and she slipped it into his mouth, something she’d never done. Their tongues engaged in a “merry war” that made her dizzy with the sweet ache of it.

His kiss grew bolder, but she didn’t mind. She wanted it bolder still. She slid her hand inside his coat, shocked to find his heart beating as rapidly as hers. The kiss went on and on, battering her defenses, tempting her to let go . . . until he pulled her flush up against him.

She froze. She could feel the thickness inside his trousers, and she knew what it meant. Pain, humiliation. Danger.

Jerking away, she whispered, “No. Enough.” She waited fearfully for his protest, waited for him to fight her, to try to subdue her.

Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair and said raggedly, “Enough. Right.”

She fought to get her breathing under control. “Edwin, I’m sorry I—”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He was already slipping into his formal manner. “I overstepped my bounds. You’re always well within your rights to remind me where they are.”

No man had ever said that to her. It sounded too good to be true. But then, she and Edwin had done little more than kiss. Perhaps if matters had progressed further . . .

She tamped down a stab of fear. This was Edwin, after all. “Thank you. I can always count on you to be a gentleman.”

He eyed her steadily, as if sensing that her words were as much a plea as anything. “And I can always count on you to be a lady.”

He spoke the words with perfect sincerity, yet her throat felt suddenly tight and raw. How little he knew.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said. “I shall fetch you and your mother at nine to take you to services.”

All she could manage was a nod.

He looked as if he were about to remark on her uncharacteristic silence, then sighed. “I’ll show myself out.”

The moment he cleared the door, she collapsed into the nearest chair. Heavens. Edwin could kiss. He could feel.

He could be aroused. By her. By kissing her.

She didn’t know what to think about that.

But one thing was certain. The next time she thought about offering him a reward, she would put the idea right out of her head.

Before it got her into trouble.





Seven


Still shaken by his reaction to the kiss with Clarissa, Edwin paused at the door of Warren’s town house to speak to the head footman. “Have you seen Count Durand hereabouts?”

“No, milord. I’ve been watching the street as you requested, but haven’t seen the Frenchman.”

Relieved that the arse wasn’t hanging about the house at least, Edwin rode from Mayfair to Pall Mall as if the hounds of hell were at his back. His “reward” had gone better than he expected. If he didn’t watch it, he might yet find himself leg-shackled to Clarissa. And that would be disastrous.

He felt again the rapid beat of her blood against his lips as he kissed her inner arm. He saw again her expression as he straightened—a heightened look of awareness and arousal that had prompted him to kiss her lovely mouth. To plunder and taste and wish he could continue drinking from her lips for days.

A curse erupted from him. Drinking from her lips, indeed. He didn’t want to do any such ridiculous thing. What he wanted was to have her in his bed. Which couldn’t happen unless they married.

Remembering her reaction to him at the end, he gritted his teeth. When a woman recoiled from a man’s embrace with alarm in her eyes, it didn’t bode well for her wanting to marry the fellow.

Until that moment, she’d seemed to like him well enough. Of course, Clarissa was a known flirt, so sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between flirtation and genuine liking. Perhaps she’d merely been toying with him before.

But then, why not finish their kiss with a laugh and a teasing remark? Or a coy refusal, as some other woman might have done?

He shook his head. He would never understand her, and there was no reason even to make the attempt. This would end as soon as Warren returned. If Edwin had his druthers, it would end even sooner.

It could end tomorrow if Durand was disposed of.

The thought leapt into his head with startling clarity. Yes, perhaps he should attack things from that front. Surely the Frenchman had some weakness, some secret in his past that could be held over his head to make him stop his pursuit of Clarissa. And Edwin knew just the person to ask about it.

He went straight to the club, hoping that the Baron Fulkham, undersecretary of state for war and the colonies, would show up tonight. The baron had recently joined because his late brother’s widow was being vigorously courted, and he needed to make sure she didn’t end up in bad hands. While he was rarely present during the day, he did come in the evenings to enjoy a cigar and play cards with friends.