The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(88)

He swore under his breath. “Come for me, sweetheart . . . please . . . I can’t wait . . . much longer.”

Neither could she. “Don’t . . . wait.” She kissed and caressed, touched and met each thrust eagerly, hungry for all of him . . . for the man who was her husband, the man whom she loved.

“I need you,” he murmured against her ear. “God . . . stay with me . . . Clarissa. Never leave me.”

“I wouldn’t,” she choked out. “I couldn’t.” Like a rising tide, her release was rolling up in her, wave after wave, urge after urge, driving her up toward the surface, toward the sun . . .

“If I have to go into exile . . . promise you’ll go . . . with me . . .”

“I will.” She clenched on his cock as she felt herself exploding through the surface into sweet oblivion. “To the ends . . . of the earth . . . if I must.”

With that, he, too, found his release. As they strained together, she milking him, he filling her, she held him close and thought the words she dared not say to the man who didn’t believe in love.

I love you, Edwin.





Twenty-Four


By the time they turned onto his street, they’d made themselves presentable again. Or as presentable as two people could be who’d just been swiving wildly in a carriage.

Edwin didn’t really care if anybody could tell. He meant to spend all night making love to his wife. Because this might be his last night with Clarissa for some time.

Or forever.

He scowled. No, he would not let Durand win. Surely Fate would not allow such a bastard to prevail.

It allowed Clarissa to be raped.

Which was precisely why it was long past time she got some reward for all her trials. She deserved it. He would give it to her.

You are not God, Edwin!

Great, now his conscience was quoting his wife. And no, he was not God. Because if he had been, Whiting would have been struck by lightning before he’d ever brought Clarissa into that orangery.

“Edwin, something’s going on,” Clarissa murmured.

He glanced out the window as their coach came to a halt. There was another carriage in front of his town house, which he recognized as one of Warren’s. Had Clarissa’s mother come here? No, why would she? They’d just left her.

So Edwin wasn’t entirely shocked when the footman opened the door to the coach and greeted them with the words, “Lord Knightford is here to see you, milord.”

“Warren is back?” Clarissa exclaimed as Edwin helped her out. Then her face turned ashen. “Oh no, something must have happened to Niall!”

Before Edwin could stop her, she raced up the steps, with him following. When they entered the house and were directed to the drawing room, they found a grim-faced Warren waiting for them with a glass of brandy in hand. Edwin tensed up.

“What’s wrong?” Clarissa cried as she ran over to Warren. “Is Niall all right? Why are you back so soon?”

“Niall is well. But he told me something so alarming that I spent only a day with him before I rushed back.”

Clarissa edged closer to Edwin, as if seeking support, and he looped his arm about her waist.

Warren’s gaze narrowed on them. “And by the way, congratulations on your nuptials.” He swallowed some brandy. “I go away for a few weeks, and you two get married behind my back.”

“We had no choice,” Edwin said. “Durand left us none.”

“I can imagine. That’s why I returned. Because after talking to Niall, I discovered that not only did he know of Durand, but he thinks he knows why the man has been plaguing Clarissa: Durand is Joseph Whiting’s cousin on his mother’s side. Apparently they were the closest of friends, and grew up together before Durand’s family returned to France.”

Edwin’s gut knotted up. Bloody, bloody hell. This wasn’t entirely about Clarissa. It was about Whiting. And Niall.

Warren stared at Edwin, and a bitterness entered his voice. “But I don’t suppose you realize what that means. Niall had to explain it to me. Though I knew that Niall had killed Whiting in a duel, I didn’t know why. Until now.”

Edwin felt Clarissa sway against him, and anger welled up in him. “Actually, I know precisely what it means. Because she told me.”

Warren stared at Clarissa with a wounded expression. “Yet you couldn’t tell me, your own cousin? All these years of looking after you, not knowing that a bastard like Whiting had . . . had . . .”

“I couldn’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “They made me promise not to. Papa was determined that no one would ever learn of it. I’m surprised that Niall even revealed it to you, since he’s kept it secret all these years.”

“He didn’t have much choice.” Eyes hard, Warren swigged more brandy. “After he heard about Durand’s pursuit of you, he got alarmed and told me the whole sordid story. He was terrified that the count would hurt you.

“But I was also worried that Durand would go after Niall, especially after Niall told me that his reason for decamping from Spain to Portugal—and calling on me for help—was his friends’ warning him that someone had been asking around about him in Spain.”

“Durand,” Edwin bit out. “Or men he hired.”

“Oh, God,” Clarissa said. “And I talked to that devil about Niall, too! Nothing that would give away where he was, but still . . . Given that Count Durand claimed he wanted to marry me, it didn’t occur to me to question his interest in my brother.”