He shook his head. “I’m not a romantic man, Clarissa. Love was never a consideration. As long as I can have a companion—preferably one who doesn’t mind sharing my bed—”
“And what if I do mind?” she whispered. “I’m not like other women. I have a certain . . . aversion to such things.”
Edwin did excite her body, but every time she thought about actually having him on top of her, her throat closed up and her hands grew clammy, and she wanted to die. He kept mentioning children, but having children required having marital relations, and she didn’t know if she could endure that, even with Edwin. What if she could never do so?
“You’re frightened of me,” he said hollowly.
“No.” The sharp, immediate response seemed to calm him. “Of any man being . . . with me in that way.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “Every woman has those virginal fears, my sweet. But I promise I am capable of easing them, if you’ll let me.” He chucked her under the chin. “I see it like this. It’s either an amiable marriage with a man who will treat you tenderly. Or risk abduction by a man who will almost certainly not.”
She glanced away, indecision wracking her. She could end this all now, just by telling him the truth: that she wasn’t chaste. He would withdraw his proposal, she would formally jilt him, and she could go back to living her life—
In fear. Of a man who would be far more terrifying if he ever did get her in his power. And there was no guarantee that Count Durand would not, especially if she and Mama were left with no male protector. There wasn’t even a guarantee that he wouldn’t ruin Edwin anyway. What was to keep him from holding to his word?
The truth was, the thought of dealing with Edwin once he discovered all her secrets paled in comparison to the thought of the count’s abducting and forcing her into his bed. She couldn’t endure such an assault again.
She met his gaze once more. “All right.”
The relief flooding his face should have heartened her. It did not. He didn’t know what he was getting into with her. And she really should tell him. But the thought of his withdrawal when he learned of it—
No, she would tell him once they were married. Eventually. But in the meantime . . . “I have one condition, however.”
His eyes sharpened on her. “What is that?”
“You must . . . give me time to adapt to marriage before we share a bed. I still feel as if we’re practically strangers. I never thought of you romantically before, and now—”
“You do?”
“I don’t know. That’s what worries me. I don’t even know how to think of someone that way. But you must promise that I will be the one to choose when we share a bed, however long it takes.”
“That sounds ominous,” he said dryly.
“I know. But that’s my condition. And I want it in the terms of the settlement.”
His face clouded. “Ah.”
“I know it’s not the sort of thing that a man would ever—”
“I’ll add it.”
“If you can’t—”
“It’s fine. We’ll stop at the solicitor’s office in the morning to have it put in and the signatures witnessed. Be sure to look over the settlement tonight to make sure you want no other changes.”
She swallowed. “You should probably not come to dinner. Just send a note saying you’re busy or something. Because it will be too hard for you to keep lying through Mama’s incessant chatter about our grand wedding that will never be.”
He scowled. “I didn’t think about that. You won’t get that grand wedding, and your mother will never forgive me for that.”
“Nonsense. You’re marrying me. She was afraid I’d never marry, so she’ll be fine. And we can have a grand party later to celebrate.”
“What about you? Will you regret not having that grand wedding?”
A sudden sharp pang in her chest told her that some part of her would, but she squelched it. “I never planned to marry, so I wouldn’t have had it anyway.”
Her tone must have been more wistful than she’d realized, for his eyes darkened. “It will be all right, Clarissa, I promise. I will make it all right.”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her. It was sweet and tender and utterly unthreatening. And it gave her hope that he might be telling the truth about their future. Because if he wasn’t, she didn’t know if she could bear it.
Thirteen
Edwin had no idea what to expect when he showed up at Warren’s town house the next morning. After a night alone, Clarissa might have changed her mind about marrying him. And then what could he do?
He’d already done his best to convince her that Durand wouldn’t call his bluff after they married. If that happened, she would never forgive him for obscuring the truth by deliberately playing down how devastating the scandal of his father’s spying could be for her. If Durand went to the press with his evidence—and threw in a few hints that Edwin had been involved, too—it would ruin them both.
Guilt made him wince. He should have told her all that. But she wouldn’t have married him if he had—he was sure of it. Clarissa liked being the belle of the ball.