No, that was absurd. Their last one had been unnerving enough.
The moment passed. She tugged her hand free and flashed him a lofty smile. “All right, my lord. We are agreed.”
He broke into a smile. “Good. Let the games begin.”
Eight
The crowds outside the Olympic Theatre prevented the carriage from moving at greater than a snail’s pace. It was one reason that, until two hours ago, Edwin had been dreading his evening. Though he’d promised to attend, he hadn’t been looking forward to it. But now . . .
Now he could hardly wait. He would hold his tongue tonight if he had to bite it off, because he fully intended to win this wager.
He’d barely had a chance to see Clarissa in her costume at the masquerade last year; she’d been surrounded by fawning admirers the entire night. But in her own home, with her mother sanctioning the visit, he could feast his eyes as much as he liked on the vision of her sweet little bottom lovingly cupped by a pair of boy’s breeches.
The only thing better would be cupping that bottom in his hands.
He groaned. Best to get such thoughts out of his head right now, before his body betrayed him. The carriage was finally drawing up in front, and the last thing he needed was to make a spectacle of himself before curious onlookers by thinking of Clarissa in anything more than the most brotherly fashion.
They’d scarcely disembarked when a servant came to their side and said he’d been sent by madam to accompany them to a private box held for their use. The servant took Lady Margrave’s arm to help her walk, leaving Edwin to escort Clarissa.
As they followed the fellow into the theater and up a staircase, Clarissa murmured, “Clearly there are advantages to investing in a theater. You didn’t even have to take a box of your own.”
“It’s opening night. I doubt this will continue.”
“Oh, don’t be a naysayer.” Her eyes darted about, taking in everything. “You have a private box at the opening night of the most anticipated performance in London. Do you know how many people would kill for that? And Mama and I get to join you. How thrilling!”
“I’m glad it makes you happy,” he said, and meant it.
As her mother hobbled along in front of them with her escort, Clarissa called a bright greeting to this friend or that acquaintance. The closer they moved down the passageway to the box, the more her smile broadened. It was breathtaking.
She was breathtaking.
Normally, he would only notice how many people were crowded into the place and how noisy it was. But tonight he couldn’t help seeing all the glitter and glamour of it through her eyes. Her enthusiasm was infectious.
As soon as they entered the box where the servant was already settling Lady Margrave into a plush chair, Clarissa gave a little cry of delight. “Not only do you have a box, but it’s perfectly situated! Oh, this is wonderful.”
“Here, let me take your cloak,” he said.
Mischief glinted in her eyes before she put her back to him and untied the satin wrap. He took it from her, then froze at the sight before him.
Her bodice barely clung to the edges of her shoulders. Though he knew that such necklines were the fashion, the fabric seemed to fall rather more deeply in the back than he was used to. He could see her shoulder blades, for God’s sake. And if it was cut that low in back . . .
She turned, and he caught his breath. Her cross-draped bodice formed a low vee that served up the sweet swells of her creamy breasts for all to see.
“God help me,” he rasped. He couldn’t seem to look away.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked with a sly smile.
“I should say so. Your gown—” He caught himself as he realized why she was smiling. Their wager. Bloody hell.
“Yes?” Glee positively danced in her eyes. “What about my gown?”
He scrambled for an answer that she wouldn’t consider “chiding.” “The fichu appears to have fallen out of your bodice. Perhaps I should go look for it in the passageway.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said with a laugh. “There’s no fichu. This is how the gown is supposed to look.”
She thrust out her bosom—he would swear it was deliberate—and he had to swallow his groan. All that lush female flesh was close enough to kiss, to touch. Turning away to hang her cloak on a hook, he fought for composure.
“Don’t you like it?” she persisted.
Like it? He could easily slip his hand inside that bodice. He could probably slip it inside her corset, too. The gown was cut too low to accommodate a more formidable corset, so it would be an easy matter to shove one shoulder off and fill his hand with her perfect—
“It’s lovely.” As he faced her once more, he had to resist the urge to act on his fantasy right here in the theater. “A very interesting gown.”
She mocked him with a grin. “I thought you would enjoy it.”
Sly minx.
The overture began, and he said, “Perhaps we should sit down.”
“Oh, certainly. If you’re done giving me compliments on my gown.”