Page 35 of The Study of Seduction

“Fine. If I behave to your specifications, then the next time I come to dine, you must wear breeches the entire evening.” He paused, then amended, “Breeches thatfit, mind you.”

Oh, dear, he made that sound . . . rather wicked. It wasn’t like him at all. In fact, it shocked her he would suggest such a thing, and he was rarely shocking.

Her mother, however, didn’t seem to find it shocking at all, for she clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be such fun!”

“Mama! It’s far too scandalous!”

“Pish,” her mother said with a wave of her hand. “If it’s just us at dinner, no one will care.”

Clarissawould care. As usual, Mama was more than willing to skate past the proprieties if they stood in the way of her enjoyment—or her determination to get Clarissa married off. Sometimes Clarissa enjoyed the freedom. Sometimes, she wished her mother wasn’t so . . . well . . . accommodating.

This was one of those times. While it might not betoorisqué to dress in men’s attire for a masquerade where everyone else was wearing outrageous costumes, doing it in a more private setting with Edwin, especially when Mama was so inattentive, was taking things too far. Why, the very idea of him watching her backside . . .

“The servants will gossip,” she protested.

“Since when do you care about servant gossip?” Edwin said dryly.

Mama chimed in, “And they won’t think a thing about it, anyway, if we all dress up. We can make a game of it. I do love games.”

“Yes, by all means, let’s make a game of it,” Edwin said, his glittering gaze drifting down to fix on Clarissa’s mouth.

The hint of a dare in his tone got her back up. “You’re already assuming you will succeed, Edwin, but you might not. And if you don’t—”

“I’ll giveyousomething,” he said. “Why don’t we make it a true wager? If I win, you wear breeches for dinner. Ifyouwin, I’ll give you . . . what? You’ll have to choose what you’d want from me. That is,ifI fail, which I won’t.”

The arrogant statement pushed her over the edge. “Fine. I agree to a wager.” She tapped her chin. “Just let me think what I might want of you.”

She must choose carefully, since he almost certainly couldn’t go an entire evening without instructing her onsomeaspect of her behavior. Her gown alone would send him over the edge. So she would win, which meant she wanted the prize to be something that made an impact, that truly made him regret not behaving more like an amiable gentleman.

“A jewel perhaps?” he prodded. “A new hat?”

“I can only imagine what sort of hat you would give me,” she said.

Besides, he’d never been tightfisted, so throwing money about would hardly be a punishment for him. Indeed, the only things that did seem to matter to him, other than his family, his estates, and his good name, were his automatons, which he had never even allowed her to—

“I know!” she said triumphantly. “If you fail, you must give me one of your automatons.”

He blinked. “You want an automaton?”

“Not just any automaton. One that you created.” She sat up straighter. “I don’t want you trying to fob off on me some broken thing that your father owned.”

The glint of amusement in his eye surprised her. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But are you sure you don’t want an emerald bracelet or some such nonsense?”

“No. I want an automaton.”

“Very well. I agree to your terms.”

He held his gloved hand out across the space between them, and she took it, an odd shiver of anticipation coursing down her when he squeezed her hand. But he didn’t release it right away. He held it, his gaze burning into hers, and for the merest moment, she wished she’d asked for some other sort of reward. Something more personal, more intimate even.

Another kiss.

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