“Nonsense. If I so chose, I could go an entire evening without chiding you.”
“Could you? Prove it.” The minute she said it, she questioned her sanity. Hadn’t she ended up regretting her previous attempt to set a task for him?
Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten that, for fire leapt in his eyes. “And if I do? What do I get as my reward?”
When his gaze drifted down to her arm, she swallowed hard, remembering the last reward he’d exacted. At least he wouldn’t dare choose such an outrageous prize tonight, since Mama was listening to the exchange quite avidly.
Although Mama would probably approve whatever prize Edwin asked for. She wasn’t exactly known for being a strict chaperone.
“Well?” he prodded.
“You get the satisfaction of knowing you are improving yourself.”
“That’s not much of an incentive.” The sudden gleam in his eyes gave her pause. “How about this? If I succeed in going an entire night without making a single criticism of you—”
“Or my attire or my manners or—”
“Anything in your sphere,” he said irritably.
“I’m just making sure we agree on the rules from the beginning.” After last time, she wasn’t letting him play fast and loose with her demands.
“Fine. If I behave to your specifications, then the next time I come to dine, you must wear breeches the entire evening.” He paused, then amended, “Breeches that fit, mind you.”
Oh, dear, he made that sound . . . rather wicked. It wasn’t like him at all. In fact, it shocked her he would suggest such a thing, and he was rarely shocking.
Her mother, however, didn’t seem to find it shocking at all, for she clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be such fun!”
“Mama! It’s far too scandalous!”
“Pish,” her mother said with a wave of her hand. “If it’s just us at dinner, no one will care.”
Clarissa would care. As usual, Mama was more than willing to skate past the proprieties if they stood in the way of her enjoyment—or her determination to get Clarissa married off. Sometimes Clarissa enjoyed the freedom. Sometimes, she wished her mother wasn’t so . . . well . . . accommodating.
This was one of those times. While it might not be too risqué to dress in men’s attire for a masquerade where everyone else was wearing outrageous costumes, doing it in a more private setting with Edwin, especially when Mama was so inattentive, was taking things too far. Why, the very idea of him watching her backside . . .
“The servants will gossip,” she protested.
“Since when do you care about servant gossip?” Edwin said dryly.
Mama chimed in, “And they won’t think a thing about it, anyway, if we all dress up. We can make a game of it. I do love games.”
“Yes, by all means, let’s make a game of it,” Edwin said, his glittering gaze drifting down to fix on Clarissa’s mouth.
The hint of a dare in his tone got her back up. “You’re already assuming you will succeed, Edwin, but you might not. And if you don’t—”
“I’ll give you something,” he said. “Why don’t we make it a true wager? If I win, you wear breeches for dinner. If you win, I’ll give you . . . what? You’ll have to choose what you’d want from me. That is, if I fail, which I won’t.”
The arrogant statement pushed her over the edge. “Fine. I agree to a wager.” She tapped her chin. “Just let me think what I might want of you.”
She must choose carefully, since he almost certainly couldn’t go an entire evening without instructing her on some aspect of her behavior. Her gown alone would send him over the edge. So she would win, which meant she wanted the prize to be something that made an impact, that truly made him regret not behaving more like an amiable gentleman.
“A jewel perhaps?” he prodded. “A new hat?”
“I can only imagine what sort of hat you would give me,” she said.
Besides, he’d never been tightfisted, so throwing money about would hardly be a punishment for him. Indeed, the only things that did seem to matter to him, other than his family, his estates, and his good name, were his automatons, which he had never even allowed her to—
“I know!” she said triumphantly. “If you fail, you must give me one of your automatons.”
He blinked. “You want an automaton?”
“Not just any automaton. One that you created.” She sat up straighter. “I don’t want you trying to fob off on me some broken thing that your father owned.”
The glint of amusement in his eye surprised her. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But are you sure you don’t want an emerald bracelet or some such nonsense?”
“No. I want an automaton.”
“Very well. I agree to your terms.”
He held his gloved hand out across the space between them, and she took it, an odd shiver of anticipation coursing down her when he squeezed her hand. But he didn’t release it right away. He held it, his gaze burning into hers, and for the merest moment, she wished she’d asked for some other sort of reward. Something more personal, more intimate even.
Another kiss.