The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(61)

“I would imagine so.”

He continued to stand there a moment, as if unsure what to do. And Lord, he looked so much more approachable in a dressing gown than in his usual oh-so-correct attire. It dawned on her that she hadn’t yet seen even a portion of him undressed.

No glimpse of what seemed to be a rather broad chest. No glance at what were probably quite fine arms. And just the thought of what he might look like without his clothes on sparked her curiosity.

Until she remembered what else she hadn’t seen yet. The part she dreaded to look upon, much less feel pushing and tearing its way inside her.

“Clarissa, earlier, when I said—”

“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”

He halted, his jaw going rigid. “Of course you did.”

“Good night, Edwin,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes.” He swept his gaze over her with a thoroughness that did nothing to soothe her. “Sleep well.”

Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

She ignored her swift pang of disappointment. If she encouraged his desire—and her own—tonight, only to end up cutting him off again . . .

No, better to wait until she knew she was ready. She blew out the candle.

Still, it took her a long time to go to sleep, and when she did, she slid seamlessly into a dream.

A forest rose before her, dark and gloomy. She didn’t want to go inside, but she had to. It was crucial that she enter, though she couldn’t figure out why. The deeper she wandered into the forest the colder she got, until she reached a black lake that glistened in the light of the moon overhead.

She dipped her toe into the water. It was surprisingly warm, so much warmer than the forest. It would be lovely to go in and get warm. Slowly, she walked into the lake, sinking into the warmth.

Then something grabbed her leg beneath the surface and began pulling her toward the center, which had become a whirlpool, swirling faster and harder by the moment. She struggled to swim back to shore but she couldn’t fight the current, which was pulling her down, down into the whirling void, down into the black, into the depths where she would surely drown . . .

She awoke on a scream. It took her a moment to catch her bearings, and by the time she did, the door swung open and Edwin appeared in the doorway, disheveled and wild-eyed and holding a lit candle.

“Bloody hell, Clarissa, are you all right?” He lifted the candle to scan the room as if searching for intruders.

“It was just a nightmare,” she said hastily, starting to feel like a fool. “I . . . I get nervous in new places,” she lied. “That’s all.”

“It sounded far worse than that.” He stepped farther into the room.

The firelight now caught him fully, and she swallowed. He wore nothing but his drawers—no nightshirt, no nightcap, nothing but a thin layer of linen that covered him from low on his hips to his knees. And he was as well made as any woman could want—muscular chest, flat stomach, and very impressive calves. Not to mention arms that looked as if they could lift anything.

Or hold down anyone.

She shuddered. He wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t believe that he would. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Truly I am.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m a bit chilly, is all. I dreamed of drowning.”

The sympathy on his face sliced right through her fear. “Do you want me to stay?” When she hesitated, afraid to say yes, but not wanting to be alone, he added, “I’ll sit right over there in that chair until you go back to sleep. If you’d like.”

“It hardly seems fair to you—”

“Don’t worry about that. I know how upsetting nightmares can be. I had a great many as a boy. And my mother would sit with me and rub my back until I could go to sleep.” He approached the bed slowly. “I’ll do the same for you, if you like.”

“Edwin—”

“Just rub your back. I promise. Nothing more.”

She let out a long breath. “That sounds lovely.”

His smile of pure relief tugged at her somewhere down deep, where she rarely let anyone in. So when he came to sit beside her on the bed, and urged her to turn onto her stomach, she willingly gave herself up to his hands.

As he began to knead her shoulders through her nightdress, she moaned. “Ohhh. That is wonderful.”

He rubbed her muscles expertly. “So, tell me about this nightmare. You were drowning?”

“Mmm,” she said, her fear of the dream already fading, “I’d rather put it from my mind. Tell me about your nightmares. Somehow I always imagined you as a stalwart little boy afraid of nothing. What did you dream about that frightened you?”

“Skeletons.”

She shifted her head to look up at him. “Skeletons? Truly?”

“Well, they started out as people when they came after me. But then the flesh would melt from their bones until they were nothing more than skeletons lumbering toward me with their bones creaking.” He shuddered.

“Good Lord, that’s a rather macabre dream for a little boy.”

“I suspect it started when I saw a puppet show at a fair, which featured a skeleton puppet dancing about the stage and scaring the audience. I dreamed of them for a few years after.”