A pity that Durand hadn’t discovered them in the midst of their unwise caresses earlier, although the wretch would probably have found a way to use that against them. “Tell yourself that our engagement doesn’t mean anything if you wish, but it won’t change the truth.”
“The truth is that I could show the file to Lady Clarissa. I don’t have to make it public. I daresay that would be enough to make her balk at being your wife.”
Considering that Edwin hadn’t even succeeded in getting her to agree to marry him, it probably would. “Is that what you meant by blackmail? You intend to expose my father’s secrets to her unless I do what you wish.”
“Exactly. I want you to set Lady Clarissa free.”
Edwin gaped at him. “Half of society has already heard that we’re engaged. If I were to end the betrothal, it would ruin her.”
“Precisely.” Durand’s eyes shone the color of dark, treacherous waters. “She’d have nowhere to turn, no possibility of marrying anyone else but me. Admit it—you’re merely involved with her because Knightford is your friend. But your heart isn’t engaged. Mine is. Leave her to me, and I’ll shower her with jewels and consequence and all the attention that a woman like her requires. Then I’ll destroy your father’s reports, burn them in front of you. You’ll never have to worry about anyone learning the truth. But if you do not do as I ask . . .”
Durand left the words hanging with the dramatic flourish of some operatic villain. Edwin couldn’t breathe. This made no sense. Why was the bastard so determined to have Clarissa as his wife? No doubt he was seeking some advantage by wedding her, but Edwin couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. As a highly placed diplomat, Durand could have any woman he desired. This fascination with a lady who had no interest in him was unnatural.
No more than yours.
Not true. Edwin would never want to gain Clarissa by shaming her. And the fact that Durand would stoop so low chilled Edwin through and through. He had half a mind to shoot the arse right here and now.
But since the guards all knew of Edwin’s presence, he wouldn’t get away with it. He’d be tried and hanged, almost certainly. That, too, would affect Clarissa.
And not just her. It would expose his sister to yet another scandal, a worse one than anything their cursed younger brother had fomented. Yvette was finally happy; he refused to ruin that for her and her new husband.
Besides, there was another solution to this dilemma, one that would nip all of Durand’s machinations in the bud. But it would take a bit of time to put his plan into place. So, as much as he wished to throw the count’s threats back in his face, he must be cautious.
“I need a few days to think about it.” Edwin practically choked on the lie. Though it was a necessary one, he loathed implying that he’d ever consider capitulating.
Durand narrowed his gaze on Edwin. “Why?”
Edwin shrugged. “That should be obvious. If I withdraw my offer to Clarissa, she could—and probably would—have me charged with breach of contract. So I must consult my lawyer about the likely outcome of such a charge and what it might cost me financially. I must also consider which scandal would damage my family more—the revelation of my father’s secrets or the sudden refusal to marry a woman I’ve publicly proclaimed as my fiancée. Then there is also the matter—”
“Enough. I take your meaning.” Durand scrutinized him closely. “You really are a cold man sometimes, Blakeborough. I threaten to take away Lady Clarissa, and all you can think about is how it will affect your purse.”
If Durand thought so, then at least Edwin was managing to shield his true feelings. “I like to think I’m practical. As you say, Clarissa and I aren’t in love—but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware of what effect giving in to your demands could have on my life.”
The count seemed to consider that. “Fine. You can have two days. But I expect your decision at the end of the day after tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Edwin affected the bored tone typical of a lord of his rank. “Now, since this conversation has grown tiresome, I’ll leave you to your cigars.”
“You can show yourself out, I suppose,” Durand said.
With the merest of nods, Edwin calmly left the room.
But inside he was seething. It was all he could do to contain his fury until he was safely in his carriage and away. Father, a spy for the French. His gut twisted into a knot at the very thought.
Though it did explain so much. Why Father had always been so inattentive to his family. Why, when Mother was dying, he’d continued his jaunts to London. And why Edwin had never noticed any signs of opium intoxication on the few occasions Father was home. Had he ever even used opium? Or had he just gone to the opium den for his French masters?
The other thing he didn’t understand was why. What could possibly have made Father wish to involve himself in such affairs? Some fondness for his French relations? It didn’t seem plausible.