The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(73)

God save his soul.

“Don’t stand there with your mouth open, Edwin.” She smiled hesitantly as she entered. “You’ll attract flies.”

He couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop imagining what lay behind the fall of those breeches. “What are you doing?” he barked.

“Paying my debt. You did win our challenge this afternoon. Or have you forgotten?”

“I . . . I . . . Yes.” He swallowed hard. “I did.”

Oh, God, what had he been thinking? He must have been out of his mind. Now he had an evening of torture ahead of him.

After their disastrous picnic, he hadn’t expected her to “pay her debt,” especially with things so uncertain between them.

He scowled. Unless she had done it on purpose, to arouse him. Which didn’t make sense. He’d been very clear about why men liked women in breeches, and she’d been very clear about not wanting him to bed her.

As if she followed the train of his thoughts, her expression turned self-conscious. “I . . . um . . . would have buttoned the waistcoat, but it simply wouldn’t close over my . . . er . . .”

“Fine attributes?” he said dryly.

She blushed. “Exactly. I could barely get the breeches on, either. You grew into such a tall, broad-chested fellow that this was all I could find that I wouldn’t be swimming in, unfortunately.”

“Yes, very unfortunately, indeed,” he mumbled. Every inch of her attire was tight enough to show . . . several of her “fine attributes.” “No cravat, I see.”

“I gave up on figuring out how to tie one.” A coy smile touched her lips. “Besides, I figured you would like the ensemble better without one.”

“Can’t imagine why you would think that,” he said hoarsely as he fixed his gaze on her shirt. She didn’t appear to have a corset on underneath. Or perhaps he merely imagined that he could see her nipples. “Where on earth did you find the clothes?”

“In an old trunk.”

She strolled over to the wine decanter near the window, giving him a full view of her luscious backside. Those breeches were so tight, he could bounce a shilling off them. Had she even been able to get them on over her drawers? Or was she actually naked underneath?

Glancing back at him, she asked, “Shall we have our usual glass of Madeira?”

“Yes.” With a side of carnal relations, if you don’t mind. Damn. How would he ever make it through tonight?

She poured two glasses. “You don’t mind that Yvette and Jeremy left so soon, do you?”

“No.” He watched as she came toward him. “Why? Do you?”

“Certainly not. Though I did enjoy my chat with Yvette.”

That arrested his attention. As she handed him his glass, he said, “And . . . er . . . what did you two discuss?”

Staring down into her glass, she said, “I told her all about Durand and why we had to marry. She thinks he’s mad.”

“He is. Though it’s a crafty sort of mad.”

She nodded. “Yvette agreed to write to me about whatever gossip she heard of him.”

“That’s good.” Edwin downed his wine, then went to fetch himself another. It was the only way he was going to get through the next few hours with her looking like that.

Clarissa didn’t seem to notice. “I didn’t mention the blackmail aspect to her. I wasn’t sure if you’d want her to know of it. Was that right?”

He forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. “Yes. I’d rather not worry her over it until it becomes necessary.”

“It did occur to me, though, that . . . well . . .” She toyed with her glass. “I wondered if perhaps the blackmail had something to do with what you mentioned this afternoon. About your mother. And her assault.”

He froze in the midst of pouring himself more wine. God, he hadn’t even considered that she might think that. “No. Not at all. Something else entirely.” Down went his second glass of Madeira.

When he said nothing more, she asked, “Will you tell me about it?”

Damn. The last thing he wanted to explain right now was his father’s spying. “The blackmail, you mean?”

“No. Your mother’s assault.”

That threw him off guard. He faced her, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

She swallowed. “Because . . . well . . . it seems to have affected you profoundly, and I should like to know what happened.”

It occurred to him that there might be deeper reasons for her request. What had Yvette said? Treat her with kid gloves.

Perhaps this was the way to do it. Show her his darkest secrets, so she might show him hers. He stepped nearer. “If I do, will you tell me why you shy from me?”

She blinked, then bobbed her head.

“Very well.” He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. “But you’d better sit down. It’s not a pretty story.”

At those words, Clarissa felt a sudden queasiness in her stomach. But this was what she’d wanted, to know what had happened to his mother and how it might bear upon his feelings toward what had happened to her. Which she’d now promised to tell him, and wasn’t at all sure she should.

But this couldn’t go on. She might as well get it over with.