Without a word, Clarissa rang for a servant, then walked over and pulled a vial out of the box. “There, there, Mama.” With astonishing patience, she knelt to wave the vial under her mother’s nose, then urged her to lie down on the settee. “Just rest a moment while I have a word with Warren, all right?”
The lady’s maid hurried in at that moment, and Clarissa said, “Mama is feeling faint. Please sit with her. His lordship and I will be right back.”
She headed for the door that adjoined the library, and Warren followed. Edwin hesitated, but it seemed only right that he join them, given that he was supposed to be part of Warren’s plan.
And she barely seemed to note Edwin’s presence, too intent on berating Warren. “This is madness! I can’t believe you mean to go without me! If Niall is in trouble—”
“There’s naught you can do about it,” Warren snapped. “You’re staying here, and that’s final.”
Muttering curses, she roamed the library like a caged lioness. Tendrils of her hair were escaping their pins, her cheeks were flushed, and her strides were so quick, they gave him glimpses of ankle. God, but she was glorious in a temper.
Edwin had never seen her angry. Cross, yes. Sarcastic, oh yes.
But in a fury? Never. And now that he was witnessing it, he found it fascinating. Considering that he generally hated dealing with emotional women, that surprised him.
She rounded on Warren. “So you’re going to leave us here to worry ourselves sick over you and Niall for the next month or so.”
Edwin couldn’t suppress his snort. Now she rounded on him. Damn.
“Do you have something to say, Lord Blakeborough?”
The formality of her words should have given him pause. It didn’t. “Warren and Niall are grown men. They can take care of themselves, and will probably do it better without you tagging along.”
Planting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Stay out of this. It does not concern you.”
“Actually, it does,” Warren broke in. “While I’m away, Edwin is going to accompany you and your mother to whatever social engagements you wish to attend.”
The emotions that played over her face were intriguing. Surprise, then confusion . . . then more of that amazing anger that brought such fetching color into her cheeks. Edwin couldn’t stop staring. Was the flush all-encompassing? Did it extend beneath her clothing?
God, he must stop thinking about what was beneath her clothing.
“Whyever would Edwin need to do that?” she bit out.
“To protect you from Durand,” Edwin said bluntly.
For a second, she paled. Or perhaps he’d imagined it, for almost instantly she spat, “That is beyond ridiculous.”
Warren’s dark eyes glittered. “Is it?” He marched up to her. “Ever since you refused the man’s proposal, he’s dogged you at every turn. You were frightened enough of him after his last appearance to beg me to bring you and your mother to Hatton Hall for the rest of the winter.”
If Edwin hadn’t been watching her closely, he wouldn’t have seen her convulsive swallow. And that one little motion made something knot in his gut. Because that was another thing he’d never seen—Clarissa afraid. It disturbed him more than he expected.
It also made him question his assumption that she might be exaggerating the situation.
She drew herself up. “That was months ago.” Her voice tightened ever so slightly. “Surely Count Durand has gotten over this nonsense by now.”
“Or your absence has made him even more obsessed,” Warren said. “I can’t take the chance that it’s the latter. Unless you want to return to Shropshire—”
“Absolutely not!” Clarissa set her shoulders firmly. “I will not miss the Season because of that . . . that ridiculous man. He probably only wanted me for my fortune, anyway, like the rest of them.”
“I don’t think so,” Warren said. “Durand comes from a long line of wealthy French aristocrats. His family fled the revolution for England early enough to retain most of their assets, and once they returned to France after the war, they were able to insinuate themselves into royal circles.”
“So the Frenchman spent some time in England before he was actually posted here?” Edwin asked.
“He was born in Sussex,” Clarissa said dully. “And raised there, too, until his family went back.”
“He’s that young?”
“About your age, yes.”
Hmm. “So, not some aging roué looking for a young bride to bear him sons.”
“Hardly,” Warren said. “And he refused to take no for an answer.”
“Why was that, if not for Clarissa’s fortune?” Edwin asked.
She whirled on him, eyes blazing. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps he was foolish enough to think me pretty. Or engaging. Or—”
“I’m sure Edwin didn’t mean that the way it came out,” Warren said soothingly.
She stared Edwin down. “Didn’t you?”