The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(29)

This was one of those times. While it might not be too risqué to dress in men’s attire for a masquerade where everyone else was wearing outrageous costumes, doing it in a more private setting with Edwin, especially when Mama was so inattentive, was taking things too far. Why, the very idea of him watching her backside . . .

“The servants will gossip,” she protested.

“Since when do you care about servant gossip?” Edwin said dryly.

Mama chimed in, “And they won’t think a thing about it, anyway, if we all dress up. We can make a game of it. I do love games.”

“Yes, by all means, let’s make a game of it,” Edwin said, his glittering gaze drifting down to fix on Clarissa’s mouth.

The hint of a dare in his tone got her back up. “You’re already assuming you will succeed, Edwin, but you might not. And if you don’t—”

“I’ll give you something,” he said. “Why don’t we make it a true wager? If I win, you wear breeches for dinner. If you win, I’ll give you . . . what? You’ll have to choose what you’d want from me. That is, if I fail, which I won’t.”

The arrogant statement pushed her over the edge. “Fine. I agree to a wager.” She tapped her chin. “Just let me think what I might want of you.”

She must choose carefully, since he almost certainly couldn’t go an entire evening without instructing her on some aspect of her behavior. Her gown alone would send him over the edge. So she would win, which meant she wanted the prize to be something that made an impact, that truly made him regret not behaving more like an amiable gentleman.

“A jewel perhaps?” he prodded. “A new hat?”

“I can only imagine what sort of hat you would give me,” she said.

Besides, he’d never been tightfisted, so throwing money about would hardly be a punishment for him. Indeed, the only things that did seem to matter to him, other than his family, his estates, and his good name, were his automatons, which he had never even allowed her to—

“I know!” she said triumphantly. “If you fail, you must give me one of your automatons.”

He blinked. “You want an automaton?”

“Not just any automaton. One that you created.” She sat up straighter. “I don’t want you trying to fob off on me some broken thing that your father owned.”

The glint of amusement in his eye surprised her. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But are you sure you don’t want an emerald bracelet or some such nonsense?”

“No. I want an automaton.”

“Very well. I agree to your terms.”

He held his gloved hand out across the space between them, and she took it, an odd shiver of anticipation coursing down her when he squeezed her hand. But he didn’t release it right away. He held it, his gaze burning into hers, and for the merest moment, she wished she’d asked for some other sort of reward. Something more personal, more intimate even.

Another kiss.

No, that was absurd. Their last one had been unnerving enough.

The moment passed. She tugged her hand free and flashed him a lofty smile. “All right, my lord. We are agreed.”

He broke into a smile. “Good. Let the games begin.”





Eight


The crowds outside the Olympic Theatre prevented the carriage from moving at greater than a snail’s pace. It was one reason that, until two hours ago, Edwin had been dreading his evening. Though he’d promised to attend, he hadn’t been looking forward to it. But now . . .

Now he could hardly wait. He would hold his tongue tonight if he had to bite it off, because he fully intended to win this wager.

He’d barely had a chance to see Clarissa in her costume at the masquerade last year; she’d been surrounded by fawning admirers the entire night. But in her own home, with her mother sanctioning the visit, he could feast his eyes as much as he liked on the vision of her sweet little bottom lovingly cupped by a pair of boy’s breeches.

The only thing better would be cupping that bottom in his hands.

He groaned. Best to get such thoughts out of his head right now, before his body betrayed him. The carriage was finally drawing up in front, and the last thing he needed was to make a spectacle of himself before curious onlookers by thinking of Clarissa in anything more than the most brotherly fashion.

They’d scarcely disembarked when a servant came to their side and said he’d been sent by madam to accompany them to a private box held for their use. The servant took Lady Margrave’s arm to help her walk, leaving Edwin to escort Clarissa.

As they followed the fellow into the theater and up a staircase, Clarissa murmured, “Clearly there are advantages to investing in a theater. You didn’t even have to take a box of your own.”

“It’s opening night. I doubt this will continue.”

“Oh, don’t be a naysayer.” Her eyes darted about, taking in everything. “You have a private box at the opening night of the most anticipated performance in London. Do you know how many people would kill for that? And Mama and I get to join you. How thrilling!”

“I’m glad it makes you happy,” he said, and meant it.

As her mother hobbled along in front of them with her escort, Clarissa called a bright greeting to this friend or that acquaintance. The closer they moved down the passageway to the box, the more her smile broadened. It was breathtaking.