He wanted to stay. Because the idea of kissing her arm and seeing her reaction had consumed him half the day.
They drew up in front, and his tiger hopped down to take the reins from him. “I’ll be remaining for dinner,” Edwin told the lad. “So you might as well have your supper with the stable boys.”
“Thank you, milord.” The groom jumped into the front of the curricle and sent the horses trotting round to the mews.
As soon as they entered the house, they were met by a footman, who informed them that her ladyship had retired.
“Oh!” Clarissa said, clearly startled. “So early? And without eating?”
“She asked for a tray in her room, my lady,” the servant said as he took Clarissa’s bonnet and pelisse.
Edwin was rather gratified by the disappointment that flashed over Clarissa’s face, especially since it mirrored his own. She bit her lower lip. “Well then . . . oh, dear . . .”
“I should go,” he said. A tête-à-tête dinner with Clarissa might scandalize the servants, no matter what her mother was aiming for.
“I suppose you should.” Suddenly she brightened. “But while we’re waiting for your phaeton to be brought back round, I’ve something to show you in the library.”
It was all he could do not to laugh. She could be so transparent. And he wasn’t giving her an inch. “Oh? And what might that be?”
Looking as if she wished to thump him on the head, she said, “It’s a book, of course. A very rewarding one.”
“Ah.” As hints went, that was a straightforward one. “Of course.”
“It won’t take long,” she said brightly.
He sincerely hoped it took longer than she expected. Because he’d been waiting hours for this moment. And he meant to enjoy it at his leisure.
“Very well.” He gestured toward the hallway. “Lead on, my lady.”
The moment they entered the library, Clarissa’s stomach knotted up. It was odd, really, that she should be so edgy around Edwin. Though it had taken her a long while after her disastrous debut to stop panicking every time a man touched her, since then she’d shared a few kisses with the occasional suitor, partly just to prove to herself that she could endure them.
But none of the kisses had been more than exercises. None of the men had been anyone she cared about. This was Edwin. He was different. So it was probably a good thing he only meant to kiss her arm.
Still, to be on the safe side, she led him to a corner of the library that couldn’t be seen from the door. The last thing she needed was a servant happening upon them and misinterpreting what he saw.
Summoning an expression of quiet calm, she turned and threw Edwin’s own words back at him. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Edwin cast her an enigmatic look. “What, exactly?”
“The reward, for pity’s sake!” She glared at him. “You know what I mean.”
To her mortification, he chuckled. “I do, but it is much more fun watching you beat around the bush.”
With a roll of her eyes, she thrust her arm out. “You, sir, can be quite a tease. I wouldn’t have thought it.”
“As I said, you don’t know me as well as you think.” Turning her hand over so the pearl buttons of her cuffs were at his disposal, he began to unfasten them with slow, intent interest.
Very slow. Very intent. It was different from anything she’d experienced. There were only three buttons, yet he took his time, until she was ready to scream at him to be done with it. Because the attention he gave to unveiling her wrist, inch by inch, was doing funny things to her insides. Unfamiliar things.
Years ago, the man she called the Vile Seducer, now long dead, had roughly extinguished her smoldering interest in men. Yet Edwin, with his capable fingers that made her shiver with every touch, was sparking something deep in her belly.
Something she’d never thought to feel again.
When he finished her buttons, he paused, his hand lightly encircling her wrist. As if he could detect the wild thrum of her blood through her veins, he murmured, “For a woman who claims not to be affectionate or romantic, you’re oddly nervous.” He met her gaze. “I won’t bite, you know.”
“Of course not,” she snapped.
His eyes narrowed, shining like sleet on slate in the candlelit room. “No need to get testy. You agreed to this, remember?”
She forced herself to breathe, to smile. “Of course.”
But she hadn’t expected it to be such an overwhelming feast of sensation. As he bent over her arm, the scent of his hair—tinged with musk and cloves—wafted to her, faint but distinctly Edwin. He pushed her sleeve up, baring the tender skin inside the bend of her elbow, and the merest brush of his thumb sent her blood racing.
Then his lips were on her arm. Her naked arm. She could feel the rough scrape of his whiskers, hear the clock ticking seconds that seemed to slow as his mouth pressed into the pulse beating frantically just there.