The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(31)

Cheer on the enterprise thus dared by me!

The first that ever led a company.





Clarissa leaned up to whisper, “It’s true, you know. I read in the paper that she’s the first Englishwoman to ever manage a theater. And look what a great success it is!”

“For tonight, anyway. She still has a hard path ahead of her.”

“But you believe in her, don’t you? You invested in her concern.”

He smiled. “I’ve known her a long time, actually. Her father, a dealer in art and other goods, supplied mine with most of his automatons. And me, as well, before he died. She and I have been friends since childhood.”

“Friends?” She bumped her arm with his. “You neglected to tell me that you knew her personally! Heavens, what other secrets are you keeping?”

None that he would tell her. “I have a fondness for women in breeches,” he said lightly. “But you unearthed that secret already.”

“Do be serious. How well do you know Madame Vestris? What is she like?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, she’s famous for her breeches parts—is that why you want me to wear breeches? Because you have some sort of . . . infatuation with her?”

“Shhh!” Lady Margrave hissed. “I can’t hear her speech! And everyone is sure to be talking about it tomorrow.”

“We’ll finish this discussion later,” Clarissa said under her breath.

They certainly would. After Clarissa had cautioned him about Miss Trevor and questioned him about Lucia, he had to wonder—could she really be jealous? It seemed impossible, but the signs were growing too strong to ignore.

Not that he wanted her to be jealous. Truly, he did not. But at least it put in a better light his own unsettling reactions to seeing men court her.

Of course, the cause of his behavior was a protective instinct, nothing more. Not jealousy.

Liar.

While that annoying word rang in his thoughts, the first piece of the four-part program began, a burlesque that showed the gods Hercules, Jupiter, Neptune, and Plutus singing a comic song while playing whist.

Musical or operatic parody wasn’t his favorite form of entertainment, but clearly it was hers. He soon found himself watching her half the time and not the production. Because Clarissa even threw herself into being a spectator. She laughed, she frowned, she made droll commentaries on everything.

He’d never seen anyone get so much pleasure from a simple theater performance. While her mother was busy waving to other patrons, whispering in her daughter’s ear, and looking for the opera glasses she’d dropped, Clarissa sat rapt, an incandescent joy on her face as she watched what happened on the stage. He only wished he could capture that expression.

By the time the intermezzo came, he was almost loath to see the first piece end. But he had little chance to ask her opinion of the performance before the box door burst open, and they were swamped with visitors.

Unsurprisingly, none of them were there for him. A few of Lady Margrave’s cronies wanted to compare notes with the dowager countess, but most of the visitors were young heirs of titled gentlemen who’d come to flirt with Clarissa. So Edwin stood back and observed the scene, hoping to learn which of their tactics garnered the best response from her.

He told himself he only wanted to see what he could use in courting other women. But the truth was more complicated. He wanted to figure Clarissa out. She was like one of those intricate clockwork beauties at Meeks’s Mechanical Museum. He just had to know what made her tick.

Not that he could tell. She treated the young gentlemen like gamboling pups for her to tease and toy with, but never let too close.

Was that her game? To draw men in, then keep them away? Had she been playing that game with him the other night? Or was it something about all men that kept her on her guard?

Just as he felt he was circling some great discovery about her character, Major Wilkins showed up to join her group of fawning admirers.

Devil take it. After Clarissa had mentioned the man’s “ogling” her breasts, Edwin had asked the members at St. George’s some discreet questions about Wilkins. According to them, as the youngest son of a nearly penniless duke, he was the slyest form of fortune hunter, hiding his poverty behind his title. His father had sired a passel of sons, which meant there was little money left for the youngest. Which was probably why Wilkins had his eye on Clarissa and her fortune.

“That is a most fetching gown, Lady Clarissa.” The arse’s gaze dipped down, and Edwin felt an unreasonable urge to pummel the man.

Especially when Clarissa snapped open her fan and began to flutter it, effectively hiding her bosom from the major’s gaze.

“As always, Lady Clarissa has very good taste,” Edwin said coldly.

“She does indeed,” Wilkins said with a bit of a leer.

That did it. Time to use what else he’d learned about the bastard. “So, sir,” Edwin said bluntly, “is it true that you were recently asked to leave your regiment?”

“Oh, Lord,” Clarissa muttered.

The major flushed. “It wasn’t as simple as all that.”

“It sounded simple to me. I heard you were caught in behavior unbecoming a gentleman. Something about your trying to elope with a general’s daughter?”

As the pups sat there snickering, Wilkins drew himself up. “That is a scandalous lie!”