The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(86)

Mulling that over a moment, she wondered what to say, what to do to help him. This duel clearly wasn’t just about her. It was about saving his family—all of them—from scandal. It was about eliminating Durand as a threat.

She folded her arms over her waist. “How do you know that if you kill Durand, he won’t have already instructed someone, in the event of his death, to expose your father’s activities?”

“I don’t. But it’s better than waiting around for whenever he does choose to do it. And it will be a great deal more difficult for him to fan the flames of a scandal if he’s dead.”

“Not if you’re the one who’s dead.”

He turned his head to the window, and the streetlamps caught the consternation on his face. “I won’t let him kill me.”

“You are not God, Edwin! You’re fallible. And the thought of something happening to you—”

When she broke off with a choked cry, he shot her an alarmed glance, then moved to sit beside her. “Sweetheart, nothing will happen to me, I swear it.”

“You don’t know that!”

His hand clutched hers. “You’re really worried about me.”

“Of course I’m worried about you. You’re my husband.”

“And you’re not angry with me for keeping the full extent of Durand’s blackmail from you until now?” he said, sounding a little incredulous.

“Why should I be? Do you really think I care what your father did?”

“I’m sure you care that I married you knowing perfectly well that if Durand acted on his threats, you and I would be outcasts. Traitors aren’t well regarded in this country, even long-dead ones.” His voice roughened. “And if Durand succeeds in somehow connecting me . . .”

“How could he do that? I don’t understand.”

“I was nineteen when I was seen going into that same opium den. It was only the one time, but all it takes is a single witness remembering my being there, and it will be enough to foment speculation and cause trouble for me.”

Frustration twisted inside her. “That count is a blackguard!” she said stoutly. “I don’t trust him. You can’t play into his plans, whatever they are, by meeting him for a duel.”

He stiffened. “I have no choice.”

“That’s not true! You have friends at your club—Lord Fulkham, for example. You should go to him for advice. I hear he’s high up in government.”

“All the more reason he won’t want to be tainted by helping the son of a traitor.”

She huffed out a breath. “So talk to one of the other gentlemen. There must be someone who can help you rout Durand. Those Duke’s Men friends of Jeremy’s, for example.”

“Not a chance. I am not risking anyone else hearing of it. I will fight Durand at dawn, and that is that.”

“But Edwin—”

“Enough! This is my decision, not yours.”

The force of his declaration shattered her confidence. “You’re upset because he called me a whore, aren’t you?” Ever since Durand’s words, she’d wondered if Edwin might have taken them to heart. She knew Durand had been goading him, but what if Edwin thought otherwise? “Are you afraid that he had a reason, that while he was courting me I allowed him to—”

“No, of course not. I asked you before if he forced himself on you, and you said he did not, and I believe you.”

“B-but his words made you so angry . . . Are you sure that they didn’t make you uncertain whether to trust me?”

“Don’t be absurd. I trust you, I swear.” He pulled her into his arms. “It’s you who don’t trust me . . . with your life, your future. Hell, you won’t even let me make love to you in the usual way, because you’re still afraid I might hurt you.” When she groaned, he let out an oath. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. It doesn’t matter.”

“Clearly, it does.”

And she should have realized sooner that he saw her difficulties as a mark of her continuing distrust of him. Even the most understanding man in the world had his pride, and it wounded her husband’s that she couldn’t entirely trust him in bed.

“All of it matters,” she went on. “Whether you ignore my advice and I ignore your desires matters. Because if we don’t trust each other, what is left?” She clasped him about the neck. “And I do trust you. I trusted you from the moment you proposed marriage.”

“Right,” he said. “Except for demanding a clause in our settlement to ensure I didn’t attack you.”

She swallowed. “Looking back, I can see that perhaps that wasn’t the best strategy, but it made sense at the time. And even with that clause, I never locked my bedchamber door to you—not once in our first week alone together. I could have, but I didn’t.”

That seemed to give him pause, for he dragged in an unsteady breath.

“Please, please, don’t fight this duel, my darling,” she went on. “I’m begging you.”

He bent close enough for her to feel his warm breath against her lips. “What kind of husband would I be if I let him get away with all that he’s done and is still trying to do to you?”