Neither had he, but he wouldn’t admit that to her. “We are for the next few weeks. I gave Warren my word that I would look after you.”
For some reason, that seemed to provoke her. “I am not a child!” A hurt look crossed her face. “I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of handling some . . . unruly suitor.”
That was when it dawned on him why she was so angry about this. She was a proud woman. And being a proud man, he could understand not wanting to rely on anyone else for help.
“Of course you’re capable. No one doubts that.” When she glared at him, he realized he needed to change tacks. “Indeed, I envy you your ability to navigate society when I am so very bad at it.”
Her stance softened to skepticism. “You’re not that bad.”
“You’re not the first person to point out that I don’t compliment ladies sufficiently. So whatever time we can spend together might help us both. I’ll keep Warren happy by accompanying you, and you can give me some strategies for moving about society more effectively. It would be a fair exchange.”
She eyed him warily. “You think so, do you?”
“I am looking for a wife, you know. And finding one would be much easier if I didn’t insult women every time I opened my mouth.”
Apparently that struck her as amusing, for she flashed him a rueful smile. “True.”
He could put up with her attempts to instruct him if it meant keeping her out of the clutches of Durand. He owed it to Warren. “You can even play matchmaker, if you wish. Help me pick the perfect wife. This can work to our mutual benefit.”
“You’re better at smooth talk than you think,” she said archly, but she was still smiling, which he took as a good sign. “Oh, very well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? But you must promise not to curtail my pleasures too much. You’ll accompany me to parties and such, but nothing more—no lectures about how I must behave or whom I must avoid.”
“Of course. You’re not my sister. If you want to dance the night away with some arse, it’s not my concern.” His voice hardened. “As long as the arse is not Durand.”
“Trust me,” she said acidly, “it will never be Durand.”
“Then we’re agreed.” He held his breath. He didn’t know why, but it mattered to him that she regard him as capable of protecting her. Worthy of it, even. Which was idiotic.
But Clarissa did tend to inspire the idiotic in him.
She finally nodded. “We’re agreed.”
Three
Clarissa did enjoy a lively ball. And it was probably good that this was her first engagement with Edwin since they’d come to an agreement two days ago. Nothing taxed the earl’s patience like a crowded ballroom. So if he made it through this without growling at everyone—and her—then she could trust his word that he would allow her to enjoy the Season.
As she danced with a young major who happened to be a duke’s son, she scanned the room for Count Durand. So far she hadn’t seen the Frenchman, but that didn’t exactly steady her nerves. He might be in the card room. Or watching her slyly from the gallery. That would be just his style.
“Wishing for a better partner, Lady Clarissa?” Major Wilkins asked peevishly.
Forcing her attention back to the fellow, she gave him her best flirtatious smile. “Certainly not. Hoping to avoid a bad one later.”
He brightened, clearly sensing an opportunity to be of gentlemanly service to her. “Anyone in particular?”
As they briefly parted in the dance, she considered telling him the truth. It couldn’t hurt to have a spy in society warning her of when the Frenchman was about. “Count Durand, actually. Have you seen him here this evening?”
“No. I don’t believe he’s in attendance. Demmed Frenchman knows better than to brave a ballroom full of English officers with long memories.”
Since her companion couldn’t have been a day over ten when the war ended, she had to stifle a laugh. “Oh, Major, I’m sure you’re right. He wouldn’t dare risk a confrontation with a fierce fellow like you.”
The officer preened a bit as he bent closer than was proper. “If he did, I would defend your honor most vigorously.”
She inched back. “How gallant of you!” But she didn’t believe a word. For peacetime soldiers like Major Wilkins, a dagger was more a fashionable accessory than a weapon.
As they parted in the dance again, her eyes strayed to where Edwin stood across the room with her mother, his expression deceptively bland. Now there was a man who could use a dagger to good effect if necessary. Though she doubted he carried one. No doubt Edwin abhorred violence. Brawling in public wasn’t correct, after all.
The officer followed the direction of her gaze. “Is that the Earl of Blakeborough?”
“In the flesh.”
“I didn’t think he liked to go into society. They say he’s rather a dull sort.”
Edwin was a lot of things, but “dull” wasn’t one of them.