Every Scandalous Secret (11 page)

“This is madness,” she cried softly.

He sucked on the flesh of the inside of her elbow. “Madness,” he echoed, his own voice husky.

“You don’t want me—you don’t want this.”

He smiled, placing both her arms on his shoulders. “How do you know what I want? Are you so talented that you read minds?” His hands slid about her waist, using the smallest bit of pressure to see if he could draw her near.

She resisted. “You told me what you want. To defeat your friends.”

“Why can we not enjoy ourselves at the same time?”

She opened her mouth, and he put a single finger upon her lips.

“You are no innocent maiden, Susanna—not if you’re the woman in that painting.”

She turned her head away from his finger. “My art and this—this—” She gestured with her head at the dark room, as if encompassing the intimate scene. “They’re not the same.”

Yet her arms still rested on his shoulders. He was not so foolish as to point that out. He was enjoying himself, enjoying the surprise of Susanna’s boldness.

Maybe she really was the model in that painting. He glanced at the wardrobe, then her trunk in the corner. He wondered what sort of proof he might find. The jewel itself, the one that had nestled between her breasts in the painting?

She was staring up at him, her deep brown eyes mysterious in the darkness. Her smooth skin glowed, even down to the vee of her dressing gown, which had parted beneath her throat now that she wasn’t holding it together. She was unbound, no longer any walls of stiff propriety between them. This was a side of her he didn’t think she’d allowed any man to see.

Except perhaps Eastfield, he thought, and was surprised to feel the first touch of jealousy.

Had there been other men?

He leaned down toward her until their breaths mingled. She was still staring up at him wide-eyed. He gently pressed her toward him, and this time she came. The surrender of her body touching along the length of his made him inhale sharply. Without a corset, she was all woman, sweetly rounded breasts and a soft stomach made to cushion his erection.

With a soft moan, he captured her mouth. No demure kiss this time. She was willing, and he took advantage, seducing her to part her lips. His tongue swept her mouth, and he felt the trembling of her body. But he didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. He was hot for the taste of her, the feel of her. He pressed her even closer, urged on when her arms tightened about his neck.

And then she was kissing him back, and the shy touch of her tongue made his head reel. He couldn’t tell whether she was inexperienced or only reluctant, but it didn’t matter. Their tongues mated, and his hand came up to cup her head, to hold her close. His other hand dropped to her ass, and he cupped her there, feeling the fullness, the femininity. His fingertips brushed her cleft.

She dropped her head back with a gasp, whispering, “You shouldn’t—”

Breathing hard, he answered, “Shouldn’t . . . what?”

“Touch me like this.”

Her trembling was worse, and now he suspected she clutched him so she wouldn’t fall.

And although he longed to lift her thigh, to press deeper between her hips, this was not a game to be won by force.

It was harder than he’d imagined to release her, but he did so, stepping away. Her arms slid from about his neck, and she hugged herself.

He ran both hands through his disheveled hair. “You do things to me, Susanna. I’m not certain I like it.”

He saw a wince of dismay cross her face.

“Let me make myself clear,” he continued. “I’m not certain I like how easy it is for me to forget myself when you’re in my arms.”

“Now you’re lying,” she whispered.

“Lying? Did it feel like I was lying? Could you not tell how you aroused me?”

She looked away, and in the moonlit darkness, he swore he could see her blush.

“Just go, Mr. Wade.”

“Mr. Wade?” he echoed in disbelief.

“Leo.”

She only murmured his name, but he was content. “Thank you again for your help with Miss Randolph.”

“Please don’t thank me anymore,” she insisted, following him to the balcony door.

When he stepped through, she closed and locked it behind him.

S
usanna rested her back against the glass door, eyes closed, hands fisted at her sides. Her lips still tingled from Leo’s kiss, and she raised trembling fingers to touch them, feeling their wetness.

Why couldn’t she resist him? Why hadn’t she insisted he leave immediately? Instead, she’d bantered with him, as if she could use words to change his mind.

Words were too subtle for him. He needed an obvious action to show him the truth.

And instead, she’d let him kiss her.

She groaned, and with a few steps, flung herself across the bed with a melodrama that felt briefly satisfying.

He’d even given her time to refuse—she couldn’t blame him for her surrender. And he’d tasted . . . magical, wonderful. Hot and male.

And forbidden. Every young lady was brought up to avoid such intimacy, and she logically understood why. But she’d dismissed logic the moment Leo had touched her. He made her too curious about what he was hiding about himself and why. He’d been tall and shadowy, a dream lover. They’d been in their own world in that moment, as if no one and no concerns existed.

His body had felt so different from hers, hard to her soft. On a clinical level, she certainly knew all of that, knowing the human body as well as she did from the anatomy laboratory.

But . . .
feeling
him against her, alive and urgent, hot with need, had overwhelmed even her good sense. This dismayed her, made her question her own resolve.

Could he really seduce the truth from her? Would she tell him anything he wanted?

No. She couldn’t imagine it even though tonight had shown her a glimpse of her own vulnerability. She would not be carried away the next time.

Chapter 8

T
he night was hot and muggy, and though she had the windows open, Susanna slept poorly. Dawn had barely broken when she took some cheese and bread, along with her sketchbook, and escaped the house. The air still felt oppressively heavy, and perspiration soon coated her face and dampened her gown until it clung to her uncomfortably. She walked for some time down a country lane until she followed a less-trodden path that ended up on the banks of a tributary of the Colne River.

She was alone, and it looked so inviting. Dipping her hands in, she splashed her face and neck, even unbuttoned her collar to cool more of her skin. Soon, she was barefoot and holding up her skirts as she waded in the delightfully cold water.

After sitting on a log to eat her bread, she opened her sketchbook and began to capture the lovely scene as a memory to flesh out on another day. Trees overhung that spot on the river, sheltering her with peace.

“What a surprise.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Leo’s husky voice aroused the memories of her dark room, and his body beneath her hands.

“Following me again, are you?” she asked mildly.

She opened her eyes in curiosity as he passed by, his clothes brushing against her.

He was heading for the river, already discarding his coat in the grass. “I had to follow you,” he said over his shoulder. “Who else would you draw?”

“The scenery is enough,” she insisted.

He unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it onto his coat.

“What are you doing?” She felt a surge of curiosity and intrigue—and unwelcome excitement. She reminded herself of her resolve to resist him. They could play these games, and she would remain in control.

He removed his boots and stockings next. His bare feet in the grass looked shockingly intimate though she’d seen a man’s feet an untold number of times.

“Other ladies could be out walking,” she reminded him. “If you’re discovered—”

“You know everyone is still asleep at this ungodly hour. The sun has barely risen.”

“Why aren’t
you
asleep?”

With his hands at his collar buttons, he paused and met her gaze at last, his smile gone, every line of his body tense. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you and that kiss.”

She should scoff, but she could only stare at him as he pulled his shirt over his head. He was nude from the waist up, and the beauty of his sculpted body made her mouth go strangely dry. Her fingers itched to capture the ridges of his abdomen on canvas and the shape of his torso as it narrowed to his waist. The hair on his chest was sparse, and his nipples seemed as bare and evocative as if she’d uncovered her own.

And then he turned to wade into the river. Gaping now, she watched the play of his back muscles as he moved into deeper water, then brought his arms above his head to dive beneath the surface. She came to her feet, sketchbook tumbling into the grass.

He broke the surface, tossing back his wet hair as he floated on his back to look at her. “Joining me?” he called.

“Of course not.” She was proud that she could answer immediately, when her tongue felt like it might not work properly. “This would be considered indecent by our hosts.”

“And you like it. You’re dying to put me on paper. So go ahead and do it, I dare you.”

But she only watched him swim back and forth, her hands fisted in her skirts, wishing she could join him. Her gown felt sticky with perspiration, and now he would be cool and damp to the touch.

As if she was going to touch him.

She should leave—but knew she wouldn’t. With her determination to risk herself to find happiness, it had seemed to call forth a wildness inside her she’d never thought existed. Whenever someone in her family gave in to emotion, to temptation, bad things happened. But she remained still, as if modeling for someone.

At last, he rose to his feet, water sluicing down his body as he waded toward shore. When he reached the grass, he raised his face to the rising sun and closed his eyes. He looked exotic and male and so very alien to everything she’d ever experienced. The sun sparkled on his wet skin.

Susanna slowly seated herself on the log and picked up her sketchbook. Leo lay down in the grass, crossed his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. She didn’t say a word, only bent her head and began to sketch quickly, longing to capture him before it was too late.

She didn’t know how long she worked; time didn’t matter. A drop of perspiration rolled between her breasts, a fly buzzed at her ear, but she ignored the distractions. She was obsessed with detailing the vitality of his superb body hidden behind the indolent pose. The whole scene was one of tranquility, but she had to show that he was only briefly at rest, that he might leap to his feet at any moment.

But she didn’t work on his face. There were secrets hidden there, behind his mask of geniality.

“I wager Tyler wouldn’t be so easy to sketch,” Leo said.

She only heard him as if from a distance. At last she raised her head, realizing that her fingers trembled from gripping the pencil so hard.

She blinked at him. “Mr. Tyler?”

He laughed, coming up on one elbow.

She inhaled at the way his arm muscles slid beneath his skin. She was used to seeing muscles unmoving, but his . . .

“Yes, Mr. Tyler,” he said, his voice smooth with amusement and satisfaction. “Have you forgotten him already?”

“Of course not. And everything I draw has some degree of difficulty to it. Sometimes it’s simply capturing the light correctly. Other times it’s an expression in the face. If drawing were easy, everyone would do it.”

“So you’d sketch Tyler.”

“If he wanted me to, of course I would.”

“Then you want to spend more time with him.”

She propped her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. “I do. We have so much in common. His temperament suits mine. And we have individual interests we enjoy pursuing, as well as sharing with each other. He’s simply perfect for me.”

“And that’s it. In just a couple hours’ conversation, your mind is made up.”

“Well . . . it isn’t that easy, of course. His preferences matter, but—”

“No question of his status in Society, his ability to support you?”

She blinked at him. “I have heard nothing negative. And he’s an invited guest here; I’m certain they know his character well. And I find him so easy to talk to, now that he’s gotten over his shyness with me.”

Leo gave a low chuckle, and she couldn’t help but watch the way his torso faintly shook. “That’s how I feel with Miss Randolph.”

Susanna felt something inside her tighten. “Pardon me? The woman you insist you did not kiss?”

“That’s true; I didn’t initiate the kiss. But I do enjoy her company.”

“She speaks in this . . . breathless voice. Surely you find it annoying?”

“Not at all. I find it flattering, as if she’s nervous to talk with me but is overriding her natural shyness.”

“Shyness?” she retorted in disbelief. “This is the woman you insist kissed
you.”

“I know. But her eagerness flatters me.”

Did Mr. Tyler think
her
eager? Susanna wondered, feeling the first hint of dismay.

“She doesn’t demand I amuse her or intrigue her. She simply enjoys my company, a lighthearted story, a flattering exchange.”

“So you’re saying I demand too much of men?” she said, letting too much of her uneasiness show.

He lay back slowly, hands once again linked behind his head, body graceful in repose, even as he smiled. “I don’t think I was discussing you at all.”

She heard the satisfaction in his voice, knew she’d betrayed even more of her own insecurities. But he’d betrayed more of himself, too. She made a few halfhearted lines on the paper, then sighed. “We’re losing the light and shadows of dawn. It is enough for now. Please dress.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. In command of herself, she was able to turn her back and begin to gather her supplies.

S
usanna approached the drawing room before luncheon, wondering if the other guests had begun to gather. To her surprise, Leo was the lone gentleman, surrounded by all the older ladies. Lady Greenwich was laughing at something he said, trying to hide her amusement behind her hand. Mrs. Norton stared at him with open fascination. And Leo held court, looking every inch the satisfied male. It could reap him no young woman’s attention although it might soften their mothers’ opinions. Yet he’d amused them all, when most young men would flee. His consideration was another piece of the puzzle that was Mr. Wade.

At luncheon, Susanna was mollified when Mr. Tyler arrived with a book he wanted to show her. She spent a pleasant hour discussing the plants of Hertfordshire and promised to accompany him to paint the rare flower he’d mentioned before. She basked in the glow of his admiration, in his pleasant companionship.

Unlike the wild moments last night, when she’d felt overwrought, unlike herself, eager for the embrace of a reckless man.

Mr. Tyler obviously appreciated every discussion they had; Leo didn’t know what he was talking about.

More than one older lady looked on her and Mr. Tyler with approval, and Susanna knew her family would feel the same. He was just what she’d been looking for.

She never once looked at Leo throughout the luncheon. She knew he was taking in her cozy discussion with Mr. Tyler, and she barely stopped herself from giving him a triumphant smile. She was more concerned about her future, she reminded herself, not this very temporary wager which pitted Leo and her against each other. It would not do to make Mr. Tyler think she shared a connection with a man like Leo.

“When will you next be in London, Mr. Tyler?” she asked. “Certainly there is a botanical demonstration at—”

“Oh, I seldom travel to London, Miss Leland,” he interrupted.

“Don’t you miss the excitement?” Leo asked, from his place near the end of the table.

To Susanna’s dismay, heads turned as people began to pay attention to their discussion. Mr. Tyler looked baffled even as his face reddened with the attention.

“The Season is quite wonderful,” Miss Randolph added, her expression worshipful from her place across from Leo.

“I receive all the publications from my peers and the scientists I respect,” Mr. Tyler said, clearing his throat afterward as he met the interested gazes of the other guests. “I correspond with many of them to increase my knowledge. Life at my estate and in the nearby village are all that I need.”

“I could not agree with you more, Mr. Tyler,” Susanna said. “London is hectic and dirty, and rather than inspire my art, only makes me long for the clean air and open spaces of the country.”

Leo shook his head. “Then your art is missing grand inspiration, Miss Leland. How can you say that the horses and carriages parading through Hyde Park are not a spectacle worthy of your pencil? The ladies sparkle like peacocks in their finery, the men are elegant and attentive.”

“Yes, but—”

“Have you been to the Thames on a foggy morning, where the mist hovers over the water and through the bare yardarms of the ships like the ghost of memories past?”

She blinked at him, trying not to stare.

“Why, you’re a poet, Mr. Wade,” Lady May said with some surprise.

Susanna could almost agree. He spoke with actual imagery.

He smiled at Lady May before continuing. “All of you ladies like to draw—how can you not be inspired by the most powerful city in all the world? Every sort of person lives there, from the freckled country girl calling out her fresh strawberries to the man lighting gas lamps at dusk. Mudlarks scrounge through the muck of the Thames at low tide looking for treasures.” He looked about at the surprised or curious faces all around him. “All of them are images, both good and bad, of our London. Is it not the best place to experience life?”

“But the air in London isn’t fit for some plants, Mr. Wade,” Mr. Tyler said with hesitation and regret in his voice. “I cannot conduct my experiments there.”

Leo glanced at Susanna. She still felt surprised at his descriptions and experienced a playful need to contradict him. “And I prefer to paint landscapes and the people who live in the country, from the farmers guiding their oxen through freshly plowed fields, to the miller who grinds our corn, to the girl who works at my village bookshop. I will never run out of things to capture my imagination in the country, Mr. Wade.”

He shrugged. “Then I guess we have a difference of opinion, Miss Leland.”

“Ah, but you crave excitement,” she countered, knowing she should keep her opinions to herself but unable to stop. “Much as you are trying to convince us all of the beauty of London, I think its entertainment is what you need.”

She saw Caroline’s eyes go wide but didn’t think she’d said anything wrong—or untrue.

Leo lounged back in his chair with a laziness that would be slovenly on other men but made her think of energy banked and waiting to erupt.

“We all like to be entertained, Miss Leland,” he said, smiling with roguish charm.