“No matter, Lady Margrave,” Edwin said kindly and offered her his arm. “We’re not late yet. Once I realized I’d have to change my plans for the evening, I came early enough to allow plenty of time for you two to dress, in case you wanted to attend Olympic Revels with me. I know how long such preparations take. Not for nothing do I have a sister Clarissa’s age.”
As she followed them down the steps to the carriage, Clarissa rolled her eyes at him. “You make it sound as if I’m miles younger than you. We’re only eight years apart.”
He handed Mama into the carriage, then turned to Clarissa, his gaze glittering in the glow of the gas lamps. “Eight years can be an enormous divide.”
Unnerved by the coolness of his tone, she tipped up her chin. “Are you trying to convince yourself? Or me?”
He took her hand with a wary look. “Merely stating a fact.”
“There’s no need for the reminder,” she said as he helped her in. “I already know we’re utterly wrong for each other.”
“Clarissa, for shame,” Mama murmured as they settled into their seats and he told the driver to go on. “His lordship is being very kind, squiring us about town like this. You should be grateful.”
She sighed. Mama had a point. “Forgive me, Edwin.” She was always willing to admit when she’d gone too far. “I’ve been in a foul mood all day, but I shouldn’t inflict it upon you.”
A cloud spread over his brow. “Nothing to do with Durand, I hope.”
“No, of course not. I would have told you first thing.” The truth was, Edwin’s searing kisses two nights ago had left her all at sea. One moment he seemed to desire her, the next he was cold and remote as usual. She’d spent the entire two days trying to make him out, with no great success.
The worst was, she didn’t want to care that he seemed to be withdrawing, but she did, and that alone was maddening.
“Per your instructions,” she went on, “we didn’t leave the house at all, not even to go shopping.”
“Good.”
As something occurred to her, she twisted the strap of her silk reticule. “You don’t think he’ll be there tonight, do you?”
“He may. But with such a crowd, he’ll have a hard time finding us. Just stay close to me, and we should be fine.”
She nodded, but her stomach knotted. She was being silly; Durand had probably lost interest once Edwin had stood up to him. She was worrying for nothing. Though she suddenly wished she hadn’t worn quite so daring a gown.
Edwin seemed to sense her tension, for he softened his tone. “Don’t let that arse keep you from enjoying yourself. If he’s there, just leave him to me.”
“Yes, my dear,” Mama chimed in. “I’m sure his lordship is perfectly capable of routing that Frenchman. And you do like the opera, after all.”
“It’s not opera,” she said mechanically. “From what I understand, they’re doing burlesques.”
“Oh, I love a good burlesque!” her mother cried. “Last year I saw one of The Magic Flute, and I nearly fell over laughing. That Mozart—what a droll fellow.”
“Mozart didn’t write the burlesque, Mama,” Clarissa said. “He wrote the original opera from which they built the parody. And that burlesque could have used a dose of Madame Vestris. She has such a way of singing things that instantly makes one smile. Don’t you agree, Edwin?”
“She does sing them very well,” he said noncommittally.
“Come now, surely even you are susceptible to Madame Vestris’s fine talent for comedic singing and dancing.” She frowned at him. “Unless it’s her famous ‘breeches’ roles that make you disapprove.”
“A woman in breeches can be very funny,” Mama put in. “You were quite comical when you dressed as Romeo for the masquerade last year, my dear.”
Clarissa saw Edwin’s shoulders stiffen and couldn’t resist tweaking his nose. “Hard not to be comical in Papa’s old breeches. They came down to my ankles and were so big in the waist, I had a difficult time keeping them up.”
“I noticed,” Edwin bit out.
“Did you?”
“Hard not to notice when you kept cinching up those braces until your . . . derriere was very prominently . . . well . . .” He muttered an oath under his breath. “Yes, I noticed you in breeches. The whole damned world noticed. The male half, at least. I can’t believe Warren let you leave the house in that.”
“Let me? My cousin doesn’t dictate what I wear. Anyway, it was a masquerade. I wore a mask. No one knew who I was.”
“The devil they didn’t. And Warren considers it his duty to look after you. Which means making sure you don’t attract unwanted attention.”
“Warren didn’t know what I was wearing until I arrived. I came down with my cloak already on.” When his eyes narrowed as it apparently dawned on him that she’d done the same this evening, she added hastily, “This is why you and I would never suit, you know. You have no sense of fun.”
That brought him up short. He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not true. Didn’t you hear Miss Trevor at the museum? She said I was surprisingly droll.”
“That’s one instance—hardly enough to form a pattern.” She straightened her gloves. “Why, you can’t even go ten minutes without chiding me for something.”