The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 (36 page)

“I love you,” he said baldly.

He— Had she heard that right? “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

“I didn’t.” His gaze bore into her. “But I was wrong.”

Her breathing grew unsteady. Was this just his reaction to seeing her nearly killed? Fighting to keep the tremor from her voice, she said, “My goodness, that’s the second time you’ve said you’re wrong in a week. Actually, it’s the second time you’ve said it in my lifetime.” She laid her hand on his forehead. “Are you ill? Do you have a fever?”

“I mean it, minx.” Covering her hand, he pulled it to his lips and kissed her palm. “I love you, body and soul. For so long, I’ve lived with a clockwork heart, refusing to feel, because I’d seen what love—or what I thought was love—had done to my parents, and I couldn’t bear to go through that.”

Scarcely daring to breathe, she clutched his hand in both of hers.

“But I was in trouble from the moment Warren talked me into looking out for you. I told myself, ‘Beware, if you let her in, she may destroy you.’ Because deep down, I knew that if anyone could make my clockwork heart bleed, it would be you.”

She swallowed hard, not sure how she liked that.

“Instead,” he said, breaking into a smile, “you made it beat. Hard. With life and joy and, yes, love. You, sweetheart, transformed my clockwork heart into a real one.”

With tears filling her eyes, she said, “Good. Because you deserve better than life with a clockwork heart. And I could never stand for an automaton husband, even one of your exquisite craftsmanship. I much prefer the flesh-and-blood man I’ve fallen in love with.”

He kissed her then with a sweetness that made her heart soar. When they finally pulled apart, dawn was breaking through the window.

“Looks like you were right, last night,” he said as he slid his arm about her shoulders. “Ours
is
a love match after all.”

She slid her arm about his waist, then leaned up to whisper in his ear, “That was my heart’s desire, so you got it for me. What a clever husband you are.”

And as they laughed together, the sun rose.

Edwin was bent over a table in his workroom, carving a bit of cork, when his wife entered.

“What are you making
now
? We still have nearly four months until the babe is born. At the rate you’re going, she’ll be able to open her own toy shop.”

Ever since Edwin had heard that Clarissa was with child, he’d launched into creating every clockwork toy he could think of: a trilling nightingale, a dancing bear, a book with letters that sprang up when you opened it, and a mechanical dog that jumped through a hoop held by an acrobat. He had to be ready. This was his firstborn, after all.

He shifted in his chair to look at his lovely wife. God, but she was gorgeous when she was full with his child. Her face glowed and her breasts were even plumper. It was all he could do to remind himself that he must be careful with her. Careful of the babe she carried inside her.

“First of all,” he said, “the ‘she’ will be a ‘he.’ I feel it in my bones.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, and you are nothing if not famous for your ability at predicting the sex of a child.”

Ignoring her, he settled back in the chair. “Secondly, I’m not making these for the baby, but for me.” He held up the two carved pieces of cork, then stuffed them in his ears. “Lately, you’ve been snoring.”

She cocked up one eyebrow and said something he couldn’t hear.

Excellent, they were working. He cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that?”

Marching over, she plucked the corks out of his ears and stuffed them into hers. “Thank you for these. Now I don’t have to hear you go on and on about what we need to buy for the baby and make for the baby and arrange for the baby. You’re worse than my mother, I swear.”

She had a point. He and Lady Margrave had surprisingly grown more friendly while plotting the future of his child and her grandchild.

He drew Clarissa between his legs. Reaching up to take out the corks, he said, “I’ll make you a pair, too. You can use them when your mother visits.” He spread his hands over her belly, his blood leaping to feel the subtle movements. “He’s really kicking today, isn’t he?”

“
She
is dancing. She has to practice making her father laugh.”

“Her mother already does plenty of that.” He kissed Clarissa’s clothed navel, then scattered more kisses up her stomach to her swollen breasts. “Among other things.” He nuzzled her nipple. “We should make love in this room. I’ve imagined it so many times.”

She looked scandalized. “In your
workroom
? Truly?”

“In every room in the house. Long before you married me, too.”

“I don’t believe you.”

With a sly smile, he rose and took her hand. “Come with me.”

He took her through the house to the conservatory, where he nodded to the dais by the window. “I’ve pictured you lying there naked, bathed in sunlight, while I take you.”

Reveling in her blush, he led her through the halls into the music room. “The possibility of sitting on that pianoforte bench while you rode me has seen me through many a dull recital.”

She gaped at him. “Not Yvette’s, I hope.”

“Good God, no. But yours, for certain.”

“Are you saying that my playing bores you?”

“I’m saying that it always provided a fitting backdrop for my fantasy.”

Raking her with a long, slow glance for emphasis, he laughed when she said, “Oh, Lord, now I’ll never be able to look you in the eye when I’m playing for guests.”

“Shall I go on?” he asked.

A look of challenge crossed her face. “I’ll bet there’s one room you haven’t imagined making love to me in. The kitchen.”

“Are you mad? Of
course
I’ve pictured you there, splayed on the table to provide me with a delicious feast.” When she looked surprised, he said, “Mind you, we could never serve food from there again if I acted on it, but God knows I’ve imagined it.”

She looped her arms about his neck. “When I
married you, Lord Blakeborough, I had no idea you were such a naughty man.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t have assumed I could wait a bloody
year
to bed you.”

Remorse tinged her cheeks pink. “What if it really had been a year? Would you have complied with my terms?”

“Of course. But you wouldn’t have lasted that long. You’re too much of a naughty
woman
for that. And I was too bent on seducing you.”

She got that melting look in her eyes that never failed to enrapture him, and he was on the verge of dragging her into his arms and ravishing her, when a voice came from the door. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”

Edwin cursed inwardly . . . and then realized that the voice was vaguely familiar. No—it couldn’t be.

But it could. “Niall?” Clarissa said, turning for the door. “Niall!”

She broke away from Edwin and ran to hug her brother. The man Edwin had remembered as being tall and gangly had filled out into quite a stalwart fellow. His hair was darker than Clarissa’s—more like sun-streaked bronze—but his expression was hard. Clearly his sojourn on the Continent had changed him.

Behind him stood Warren, who watched the siblings with a smile.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Clarissa asked. “Did you sneak into England?” She shook him. “You cannot be here—you’re a fugitive. They could hang you!”

“Doubtful,” Warren said as he glanced beyond Niall to Edwin. “After all the trouble Fulkham and I
took to get him back legally, it wouldn’t make sense for the government to turn around and hang him. And I would be most annoyed.”

“So would I,” Niall said dryly. “I don’t fancy having a rope for a cravat.”

She whirled on Edwin. “Did you know about this?”

“Are you mad?” Warren put in. “Edwin would have told you at once. Which is why we didn’t tell
him
. We weren’t sure if it would work out, and we didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Edwin stepped next to her to slide his arm about her waist, feeling oddly protective. “So exactly how did you get it to work out?” he asked the two others.

“As it happens,” his brother-in-law said, “Durand was already becoming a problem for both the French and the English—making rash diplomatic decisions, squirreling away documents that were supposed to be destroyed, breaking agreements that had long been held. The attempt to blackmail you was the last straw. So Fulkham convinced his superiors that without my involvement, the man would never have been routed, and his attempts to ‘unveil’ a peer as a spy would have ended in disaster.”

“In other words,” Warren put in, “Niall got a royal pardon. And it didn’t hurt that after Prinny’s death, our new king was eager to issue a few royal pardons as part of his ascension to the throne. One of those went to Niall.”

“Without having to reveal any of your past, dear girl,” Niall added.

With a sniff, she patted her belly. “Clearly, I am
not
a ‘girl.’”

Niall laughed. “No, clearly not.” He sobered as his
gaze met Edwin’s. “And if your new husband doesn’t take care of you, I shall challenge
him
to a duel.”

“Don’t worry,” Edwin said solemnly. “I would go to the ends of the earth for her.”

The serious statement brought the other two men up short. Then Niall glanced at Warren. “I can’t believe it, but you were right. He
is
in love.”

Clarissa slid her arm about Edwin’s waist. “Of course he is. I have that effect on men.”

The flippantly spoken words lightened the mood, as his wife had no doubt intended.

With a genial smile, Niall said, “I do hope we got here in time for dinner. I’m famished.”

“Yes, dinner will be served shortly.” Clarissa turned to her cousin. “Warren, are you staying?”

He shook his head. “I must return to London. Something has come up. But you and Niall enjoy your reunion. I’ll see you in a few weeks at the party at Keane’s.”

“All right.” She kissed her cousin, then turned to Niall. “Go on to the dining room. I need a quick word with my husband.”

Niall looked a bit taken aback by her bossiness, but then, he hadn’t seen her in seven years. He didn’t know the Clarissa whom Edwin knew and adored. The Clarissa who’d changed his life. Who’d made him whole.

Who’d proved that he did believe in love, after all.

Niall departed for the dining room, leaving the couple alone together.

Clarissa turned to Edwin with a sultry smile. “So, to return to our earlier conversation, would you like to know what room
I’ve
imagined making love in?”

That got his attention instantly. “Damned right I would.”

“Perhaps we should make it a wager.” She dragged one finger down his chest, making his blood heat. “If you guess the correct room, you get a reward.”

He swallowed hard. Amazing how she could still rouse him with one word, one look. One sensual insinuation. “A reward, eh? What sort of reward?”

Her minxish smile increased the pounding of his heart. “Oh, I don’t know. You can kiss my arm, I suppose.” With a knowing glance, she touched the inside of her elbow. “Right here.”

“I have a better idea. If I guess the room, then I get to make love to you in it. After your brother has returned home tonight.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes gleamed. “That sounds like an excellent reward. But what do I get if you
don’t
guess correctly?”

“The same thing you get if I do—my heart, my body, my soul.”

“In that case, I can’t lose,” she said, her love for him shining in her face.

“Neither can I.” He drew her into his arms. “And that, my love, is the best kind of wager.”