An Invitation to Sin (15 page)

Sluggishly recovering from Christian’s devastating punch, Blundell began to struggle and thrash. Clarissa dug her fingers into Christian’s arm and shook it.

“Let go, Christian,” she commanded. “I don’t want this.”

He glowered at her even as he continued to hold the struggling Blundell at arm’s length—apparently with very little effort, since the other man couldn’t break loose.

Clarissa glared back. “I mean it,” she said in the same voice she’d used when he was a disobedient little boy. “Let him go.”

Shadows played over his stone-hard face. His lips twitched. Opening his hand, he dropped Blundell to the terrace pavement.

“Very well. But in return, I want you to explain what happened out here,” he said.

“I will not,” Clarissa retorted, taking his arm. “Now, will you please escort me back to the party?”

One corner of his mouth curved into a lazy half smile, replete with a masculine sensuality that stole the breath from her lungs.

“Will you dance with me if I do?”

She huffed. “Your sister was right. You really are the most impertinent boy. But yes, I will. Now take me away from here.”

He glanced back at Blundell, who had crawled over to one of the benches and hauled himself onto its seat.

The banked anger in Christian’s eyes flared back to life. “Are you sure about this, Clarissa? I won’t have him bothering you again.”

“I feel sure he won’t,” she said earnestly.

He didn’t look convinced.

She sighed. “And if he does, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

He gave a reluctant nod as he took her elbow and began to lead her away. And not a moment too soon, as far as she was concerned. The longer they stayed on the terrace, the better the chances of being discovered. Then the gossips would truly have something to say.

She scampered across the paving stones, trying to hurry Christian along. As they stepped inside the study, Blundell’s nasal voice—even more nasal now, thanks to Christian’s punch—halted them in their tracks.

“Stop right there, Archer,” he barked. “Don’t think you can run away from me.”

Under Clarissa’s fingers, the muscles in Christian’s arm turned to iron. She stifled a groan. Could things get any worse?

Christian carefully disengaged her hand and turned to face Blundell. “Are you calling me a coward,
Major?
”

Blundell staggered to his feet, his thick features distorted with rage, his eyes burning with hatred. Clarissa shivered, her insides pulling into a knot. She’d always known Everard Blundell had a vile temper, but now something sick and disturbing seemed to emanate from his hulking figure.

She tore her gaze from him and looked at Christian, who was inspecting the other man with a mild curiosity.

“I’ll have my satisfaction,” Blundell barked.

Christian replied as calmly as if he were ordering ices from Gunter’s. “Name your seconds.”

Clarissa’s heart crashed into her ribs. A duel? Over her? She detested dueling—the very idea of men shooting at each other in a senseless display of violence, all for their so-called honor. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

“You will not,” she interjected, stepping between the two men. “I absolutely forbid you to engage in that barbaric, outdated,
illegal
practice.”

Christian expelled an impatient breath, reaching for her. She evaded him.

“It’s not up to you,” he said. “At this point, it has nothing to do with you.”

She stiffened. “It has everything to do with me. I don’t want it. I won’t have it.”

He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to argue with her.

Blundell beat him to it. “I won’t be insulted without redress.”

He put his head down like an angry bull and stalked toward them. Clarissa took a hasty step back, fetching up against Christian’s chest. His hands settled at her waist, resting lightly but possessively on the curve above her hips. Somehow, that felt right, even though she knew how wrong it was.

“I suggest you not come closer, my lord,” drawled Christian. “You’ve distressed Mrs. Middleton quite enough for one night.”

Blundell’s lips peeled back into a taunting sneer. “Hiding behind the lady, Archer? Wonder what your fellow officers in the Fifth will have to say about that?”

All along Clarissa’s spine, Christian’s body went rock hard. Tension and anger radiated from him, enveloping her in a hot wave. In front of her, Blundell glared at Christian with murderous intent. So much belligerent male energy crackled around her, it was a wonder her hair didn’t stand on end.

She had to do something.

“And what will your fellow officers do when they hear you tried to force yourself on me, Lord Blundell? What will your father, the marquess, do when I recount your behavior tonight?”

Christian’s fingers dug into her hips and she flinched. He loosened his grip, murmuring an apology in her ear.

Blundell’s sneer twisted into an ugly grimace. “I doubt anyone would believe you. After all, I’m the son of a peer. And perhaps you forget that my father is a member of the government.”

At one time, she would have accepted that. But with Christian at her back, his strength surrounding her like a shield, her courage returned. “I assure you, sir, I am quite convincing when I put my mind to it.”

Blundell shook with rage. “I will have my satisfaction, I tell you!”

“You’ll have nothing of the sort,” Clarissa retorted. “Please leave, my lord, or I will be forced to relate this unfortunate incident to our host. You may consider yourself untouchable, but I will make it my business to tell everyone about what transpired here tonight. Your father, I suspect, will not be happy about that, no matter how powerful he is.”

Clarissa wouldn’t have been surprised if Blundell had started foaming at the mouth, but he managed to throttle back his rage. He stormed to the French doors, giving the two of them a wide berth. But before he disappeared inside, he rounded on them.

“This isn’t the end of it, Archer. Be sure of it.”

Behind her, Clarissa felt Christian shrug, his hands still clasped lightly on her hips.

“I’ll look forward to our next meeting, my lord,” he said in a bored voice.

Giving them a last, enraged look, Blundell stomped across the floor of the study, and then the door to the hallway slammed shut.

Clarissa stood frozen in Christian’s embrace, trying to quell the trembling of her limbs. Muted sounds from upstairs—the chattering of voices, the scrape of violins—began to filter into her consciousness. She heaved a sigh as life began returning to normal.

With a reassuring murmur, Christian turned her in his arms. She couldn’t look at him. Now that the crisis had passed, shame was fast replacing outrage. Her cheeks flushed with the knowledge that her urge to flee from Christian had placed her in this humiliating situation.

With a gentle hand, he tipped her chin up, and she met his gaze. The rugged angles of his face, only partly obscured by the shadows of the night, emanated masculine authority and determination. She had no doubt he was going to be overly protective and pigheadedly male, when all she wanted to do was go home and forget this night had ever happened.

But then he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, sending tingles racing across her skin. When he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, it sucked the air out of her lungs.

Clarissa realized with a blinding flash of insight that life had most certainly not returned to anything approaching normal.

Christian studied her, his eyes warm and full of concern. His penetrating sapphire gaze held her captive, and the glow she had felt earlier in the ballroom—when he first looked at her that way—surged through her veins. A foolish part of her wanted to stand there all evening, absorbing the heat of their silent exchange.

Blinking, she looked away, determined to break the mysterious connection that had sprung up between them. It frightened her, but she couldn’t worry about that now. A more pressing problem had to be dealt with, namely, preventing Christian from challenging Blundell to a duel.

She braved a look at his face. No trace of anger remained on the clean lines and sharp-cut features. But that didn’t fool her.

He caressed her cheek again, and she repressed a delicious shiver.

“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” he asked in a husky voice.

She nodded, intensely aware that his hands still rested on her hip bones. In fact, his fingers were stroking her, lightly and soothingly, through the delicate fabric of her gown. This time, she couldn’t repress the shiver.

He frowned. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head, disengaging reluctantly from his embrace. He let her go, allowing his fingers to trail a path of heat as she stepped away.

“I’m fine,” she said, inwardly cursing the break in her voice.

“You don’t seem very steady on your feet, and you’re trembling. Do you want me to send for Lillian, or my mother?”

It wasn’t only Blundell who had pitched her into her current state of unease, but Clarissa would die before admitting that.

“No!” she responded a bit too loudly.

Christian looked even more concerned. She clamped down on her nerves and tried again. “Really, Christian, there’s no need to call anyone. Lord Blundell hardly touched me.”

His lips turned down in a disapproving curve. “His mouth was bleeding, and you were running like you had the devil at your heels when you charged into me. That sounds rather more than
barely touching
.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, remaining silent.

His mouth twitched up in a wry smile and he relented. “At least tell me what happened to his lip. Did you bash him with your fan?”

Her fan? What was he talking about?

“That,” he said, glancing at her hand.

She stared in surprise at the fan she still clutched, now a tangled mess of broken sticks and torn lace. It must have been crushed in her struggle with Blundell.

“No. I … I bit him,” she blurted out, instantly regretting it.

He looked puzzled. “You bit him?”

Unfortunately, his puzzlement didn’t last. Enlightenment dawned, and a ferocious scowl descended on his brow. He grabbed her hand and began towing her into the study.

“I’ll kill the bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

Clarissa panicked. “Christian, stop,” she exclaimed.

He ignored her. She dug her heels into the thick carpet in front of his father’s desk and jerked him to a halt.

“What?” he snapped. His eyes blazed with fury. He looked ready to go to war.

She glared up at him. He glared right back.

“Stop. It. Now.” She ground out each word.

He gave an impatient shake of his head. “You needn’t worry about it, Clarissa. I’ll take care of this.”

“Don’t patronize me. Whatever stupid male thing you’re planning, I won’t have it. I insist that you stay away from Blundell. He didn’t hurt me, and I’ll make sure I never go near him again.”

“You insist?”

He gave her a sweeping inspection, his features etched with a barely controlled savagery. Clarissa hated angry men—hated the raised voices and the stinging slaps that often came with the anger. But Christian, even in a rage, would always be Christian. He would never do anything to harm her.

She propped her hands on her hips, meeting him stare for stare. But just looking at him made her knees quake. He was so impossibly handsome and so intensely masculine that she wanted to shriek with frustration. How infuriating that the boy she had known had grown into a man who could tear her so easily from her moorings.

“You said he forced himself on you, Clarissa,” he growled. “I thought you might be exaggerating to get rid of him before I beat him to a pulp, but clearly I was wrong.”

She sniffed defensively. “I said he
tried
to force himself. It was just a kiss, which was certainly bad enough. The man is a disgusting pig.”

His eyes turned into chips of blue ice.

“Besides,” she added hastily, “he came out much the worse for wear, thanks to you. I’m certain he won’t come near me again.”

Christian’s anger didn’t appear the least bit assuaged. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Not by you,” she said firmly. “I absolutely forbid it.”

His eyebrows arched with arrogant command, and he looked every bit the hardened soldier. If she didn’t know him so well, she would be shaking in her kid slippers. Although, if truth be told, his imperious look made her stomach flutter with a girlish excitement, which suggested she didn’t really know him very well at all.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Clarissa,” he said in a voice both dangerous and seductive, “I’m no longer a boy for you to order about. As one of your oldest family friends, I’m responsible for you. Your honor has been insulted, and under my own roof. I cannot allow that to go unchallenged.”

The flutters in her stomach turned to pangs of frustration.
Honor.
He meant
his
honor. For men, that was always what it came to. She was sick to death of it.

“I don’t care about your blasted honor,” she retorted, her temper finally shredding. “All this talk of honor leads to only one thing—women crying alone in the night. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. I won’t be the cause of anything happening to you, Christian.”

She jabbed his chest with her index finger for emphasis. “Or even to Blundell, for that matter. My honor is my own to defend. I don’t need you or anyone else to do it for me.”

As she poked at him, he stopped looking angry and started looking amused. His blasted lips twitched again, a sure sign he was holding back laughter. As brawny as he was, she still longed to box his ears.

“And don’t you dare issue Blundell a challenge,” she ground out, determined to put him in his place. “I’ll find out if you do. And … and I’ll tell your mother!”

For a moment, she was sure he was going to laugh, and she vowed to murder him if he did. But he managed to school his expression into one of polite interest.

That made it worse. He was obviously going to ignore everything she said. She closed her eyes, breathing through her anger—and fear, apparently, because once she closed her lids a horrifying image came to life in the darkness. With chilling clarity, she saw Christian stretched out on the ground, a bloody wound in the center of his chest.