You can never escape me, my dearest Clarissa.
A shudder swept her as she thrust the count’s final words to the back of her mind. They were just the sort of dramatic nonsense men thought women wanted to hear. But to her knowledge, he hadn’t hunted for her. He hadn’t been loitering in the street outside Warren’s town house once they arrived. No doubt he’d moved on to another pretty woman.
And if he hadn’t?
Then she would be firmer in her refusal this time. Years ago she’d allowed a man to bully her, and it had shattered her life.
Never again.
Pasting a brilliant smile to her lips, she whirled to face her mother. “Shall we go down?”
“Not yet, my angel. The servant said the gentlemen are already here, so we should keep them waiting. You must never let a man be too sure of you.”
“It’s Edwin, Mama,” she said tightly. “He’s sure of everything and everyone, no matter what I do.” With her usual coaxing smile, she offered her arm to her mother. Mama had broken her hip in her early forties and it hadn’t knitted properly, so navigating stairs was difficult for her. “Come now, I know you’re dying for a glass of wine. I certainly am.”
“Oh, all right.” Leaning on Clarissa’s arm, Mama let herself be led to the door. “But you must promise to give him a compliment first thing. Men like that.”
“Right,” Clarissa said noncommittally.
“And don’t contradict him all the time. Men despise fractious women.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And do not spout your witticisms incessantly. It’s very mannish. Not to mention . . .”
As they made their slow way down the stairs, Clarissa let her mother drone on, only half listening to the usual recitation of little tricks designed to hook a man and reel him in. Those might have enabled her Cit of a mother to snag an earl, but they smacked of deception to Clarissa.
If a man couldn’t like her as she was, what was the point? Clarissa could barely hide her true opinions from Mama. How was she to do it with a husband?
Not that she ever intended to have a husband. Granted, she wouldn’t mind having children, but that required taking a man into her bed—and the very thought made her hands grow clammy and her throat close up.
No. Marriage was not for her.
“. . . and do be sure to save the biggest slice of cake for Edwin,” Mama said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Nonsense. I’m not saving anything for Edwin.”
“That’s only fair,” drawled Edwin from somewhere in the shadows to the right of the staircase. “I’m not saving anything for you, either.”
Striving to hide her surprise, she halted as he came into the light.
“Edwin!” Mama cried. “My dear boy!” She held out her hand.
Dutifully, he came forward to take it. “You’re looking well, Lady Margrave.” He bent to brush a kiss to Mama’s cheek.
No kiss for Clarissa, of course. He was too much the gentleman for that.
“You’re looking rather fine yourself,” Mama chirped as she drew back to survey him.
And Lord, but he was, in his tailcoat of dark-blue wool and his waistcoat and trousers of plain white poplin. Even his cravat was simply tied, which only accentuated the masculine lines of his jaw and sharp planes of his features, so starkly handsome.
How had he managed to grow even more attractive in a mere three months? And why on earth was she gawking at him? This was Edwin, for pity’s sake. It would swell his head even more if he knew what she was thinking.
Instead, she teased him. “Don’t tell me—you were so impatient for us to come down that you’ve been pacing the foyer in anticipation.”
The idea was ludicrous, of course. Impatient wasn’t even in Edwin’s vocabulary. If ever a man believed that slow and steady won the race, it was he.
And he clearly recognized the irony, for he flashed her one of his rare smiles. “Actually, I was fetching this from the library. Warren told me he was done with it.” His eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he held out a book. “Of course, if you wish to read it yourself . . .”
“Doubtful,” she said. “Any book you loaned him has to be deadly dull.”
“You mean, because it lacks gallant highwaymen rescuing virtuous ladies.”
“Or virtuous ladies rescuing gallant highwaymen. Either would be preferable to one of your dry tomes on . . . what? Chess? Engineering? Philosophy of the most boring sort?”
“Clarissa,” Mama chided.
But Edwin merely laughed, as she’d hoped he would. She took great pride in the fact that she could sometimes make him laugh. No other woman seemed able to. No other woman dared try.
“Mechanical engineering,” he said. “However did you guess?”
“Because I know you all too well, sir.”
He sobered, his gaze turning oddly intense even for him. “Do you? I’m not so sure.”
The words hung in the air a moment in frozen silence before that was shattered by her cousin’s approach.