The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(28)

“He may. But with such a crowd, he’ll have a hard time finding us. Just stay close to me, and we should be fine.”

She nodded, but her stomach knotted. She was being silly; Durand had probably lost interest once Edwin had stood up to him. She was worrying for nothing. Though she suddenly wished she hadn’t worn quite so daring a gown.

Edwin seemed to sense her tension, for he softened his tone. “Don’t let that arse keep you from enjoying yourself. If he’s there, just leave him to me.”

“Yes, my dear,” Mama chimed in. “I’m sure his lordship is perfectly capable of routing that Frenchman. And you do like the opera, after all.”

“It’s not opera,” she said mechanically. “From what I understand, they’re doing burlesques.”

“Oh, I love a good burlesque!” her mother cried. “Last year I saw one of The Magic Flute, and I nearly fell over laughing. That Mozart—what a droll fellow.”

“Mozart didn’t write the burlesque, Mama,” Clarissa said. “He wrote the original opera from which they built the parody. And that burlesque could have used a dose of Madame Vestris. She has such a way of singing things that instantly makes one smile. Don’t you agree, Edwin?”

“She does sing them very well,” he said noncommittally.

“Come now, surely even you are susceptible to Madame Vestris’s fine talent for comedic singing and dancing.” She frowned at him. “Unless it’s her famous ‘breeches’ roles that make you disapprove.”

“A woman in breeches can be very funny,” Mama put in. “You were quite comical when you dressed as Romeo for the masquerade last year, my dear.”

Clarissa saw Edwin’s shoulders stiffen and couldn’t resist tweaking his nose. “Hard not to be comical in Papa’s old breeches. They came down to my ankles and were so big in the waist, I had a difficult time keeping them up.”

“I noticed,” Edwin bit out.

“Did you?”

“Hard not to notice when you kept cinching up those braces until your . . . derriere was very prominently . . . well . . .” He muttered an oath under his breath. “Yes, I noticed you in breeches. The whole damned world noticed. The male half, at least. I can’t believe Warren let you leave the house in that.”

“Let me? My cousin doesn’t dictate what I wear. Anyway, it was a masquerade. I wore a mask. No one knew who I was.”

“The devil they didn’t. And Warren considers it his duty to look after you. Which means making sure you don’t attract unwanted attention.”

“Warren didn’t know what I was wearing until I arrived. I came down with my cloak already on.” When his eyes narrowed as it apparently dawned on him that she’d done the same this evening, she added hastily, “This is why you and I would never suit, you know. You have no sense of fun.”

That brought him up short. He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not true. Didn’t you hear Miss Trevor at the museum? She said I was surprisingly droll.”

“That’s one instance—hardly enough to form a pattern.” She straightened her gloves. “Why, you can’t even go ten minutes without chiding me for something.”

“Nonsense. If I so chose, I could go an entire evening without chiding you.”

“Could you? Prove it.” The minute she said it, she questioned her sanity. Hadn’t she ended up regretting her previous attempt to set a task for him?

Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten that, for fire leapt in his eyes. “And if I do? What do I get as my reward?”

When his gaze drifted down to her arm, she swallowed hard, remembering the last reward he’d exacted. At least he wouldn’t dare choose such an outrageous prize tonight, since Mama was listening to the exchange quite avidly.

Although Mama would probably approve whatever prize Edwin asked for. She wasn’t exactly known for being a strict chaperone.

“Well?” he prodded.

“You get the satisfaction of knowing you are improving yourself.”

“That’s not much of an incentive.” The sudden gleam in his eyes gave her pause. “How about this? If I succeed in going an entire night without making a single criticism of you—”

“Or my attire or my manners or—”

“Anything in your sphere,” he said irritably.

“I’m just making sure we agree on the rules from the beginning.” After last time, she wasn’t letting him play fast and loose with her demands.

“Fine. If I behave to your specifications, then the next time I come to dine, you must wear breeches the entire evening.” He paused, then amended, “Breeches that fit, mind you.”

Oh, dear, he made that sound . . . rather wicked. It wasn’t like him at all. In fact, it shocked her he would suggest such a thing, and he was rarely shocking.

Her mother, however, didn’t seem to find it shocking at all, for she clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be such fun!”

“Mama! It’s far too scandalous!”

“Pish,” her mother said with a wave of her hand. “If it’s just us at dinner, no one will care.”

Clarissa would care. As usual, Mama was more than willing to skate past the proprieties if they stood in the way of her enjoyment—or her determination to get Clarissa married off. Sometimes Clarissa enjoyed the freedom. Sometimes, she wished her mother wasn’t so . . . well . . . accommodating.