Every Scandalous Secret (15 page)

Linton and Bradley exchanged an uncertain glance.

The priest smiled. “ ’Tis up to you, lass, and I’d be happy to put your mind at ease. Whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

Susanna nodded, then glanced at Leo. “It’s done, then.”

He wished he could find words of reassurance, but he didn’t even have them for himself, so all he could do was nod. He took both her hands in his, and though she tensed, she didn’t pull away.

He leaned down slowly, giving her time to reject him if she would, but all she did was offer her cheek, which he briefly kissed. “Mrs. Wade.”

Those brown eyes, so cold and composed for the last two days, gleamed briefly with gold near the center, as if hinting at emotions she wouldn’t name.

Linton and Bradley clapped, and Leo forced a grin. He held up a glass of champagne. “To my wife,” he said.

The priest and the witnesses toasted her as well, and Susanna bowed her head with formal graciousness and took a sip of her own.

“You must be tired after the journey,” Leo said.

“Your lodgings are prepared, sir.” Linton rubbed his hands together. “Will you be eating dinner here in the parlor?”

“No, have it sent to the room, please.”

If anyone thought him eager to be alone with his bride, there were no smirks of laughter that he could see. He offered thirty pounds for the marriage certificate, which the priest accepted graciously. The man bowed, saying, “I will fill out the register, Mr. Wade, have no fear.”

Leo nodded, put a hand low on Susanna’s back, and guided her back to the entrance hall. Linton himself showed them up to the first floor, to a cheery room with a large four-poster bed. Their trunks had already been placed alongside a table and two chairs.

Susanna came to a stop beside the four-poster bed, glanced at it only briefly, then with no expression turned to face him. Before he could speak, a young maid bustled in behind them with a tray, a lace cap perched upon her black curls. She was cheerful as she placed a sprig of flowers in a vase upon the table, then soup, a meat pie, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

“If ye don’t wish to be disturbed, Mr. Wade,” she said to Leo, “just place the tray in the hall, and I’ll leave ye be. Mrs. Wade, can I take a gown to be pressed for the morn?”

“Thank you,” Susanna said.

Leo added his own clothing to the pile, giving the maid a coin that earned him a pleased smile. And then she closed the door behind her.

Leo stared at Susanna. The air between them crackled.

“I’m not hungry,” Susanna said, turning away to go to the window.

“I’m starving.” He seated himself, poured a healthy draught of wine and drank with a sigh. The mutton pie proved delicious, especially after the food they’d eaten from meager taverns that could no longer count on travelers since the railways were far to the east.

He glanced occasionally at Susanna, who only hugged herself and stared out the window. She couldn’t possibly be frightened, he thought in disbelief. Did she think he would force her into bed? He knew he would have to find a way to earn such intimacies.

When another knock rattled the door, she didn’t look away from whatever captivated her view. A procession of servants brought in a tub and buckets of hot bathwater.

When the servants had gone for more water, Susanna glanced at him dispassionately. “There is no changing screen here. I will not bathe.”

“Suit yourself.”

Her frown increased. “You plan to bathe here in front of me?”

“You’re my wife.”

She flinched.

“You can see me naked. Perhaps you’d even care to draw me that way,” he added with faint sarcasm.

She didn’t respond, only turned away again. Her gown was covered in dust, her hemline spackled with mud—but she resisted. As he began to remove his clothing, he had a few fantasies about dunking her in the tub and bathing her himself.

Chapter 12

S
usanna stared blindly out the window, and although it was only dinnertime, with several hours of summer daylight left, her eyes took in nothing. It was as if she were still in the parlor downstairs, signing away her life to a man she didn’t love.

Married. She was Mrs. Leo Wade. The name alone would bring her curiosity or pity—good Lord, she hated pity, had been suffering under its burden for much of her life.

And disappointment, from everyone in her family. Her parents had never demanded anything of her except that she find her own happiness, and she couldn’t even give them that. She’d squandered her future for a momentary pleasure and was almost as disappointed with herself as she was with Leo.

And now he was behind her, brazenly removing his clothing for a bath. Did he think the sight of his body would change her mind, make her pliant to his will?

Why
shouldn’t
he think that? she thought. Time after time, she’d mindlessly responded to just that. She couldn’t even tell herself it was because she was an artist, and he had a particularly fine form. No, she’d been led astray by a passion she should never have let herself experience.

But she was finished showing weakness every time Leo touched her.

Behind her, she heard a splash and a ripple of water, and realized Leo was in the bathtub—naked. She wanted to groan but held it inside. She would be traveling south with him, and this would become a frequent occurrence. Surely she could find occasions, when he was out playing cards with strangers or flirting with women, when she could bathe in peace.

She had no illusions that he would leave other women alone. Her days and evenings would be solitary, when all she’d wanted was a companion to share her life with. Her throat felt so tight that swallowing was difficult.

“The bath is refreshing after days of travel,” Leo said, his voice stiff but not unkind.

She wanted to ignore him but found the thought of endless silence too much. “I am glad to know it. Enjoy yourself.”

“We both could enjoy ourselves tonight.” His voice had gotten quieter, deeper.

“Then you must have a plan I know nothing about, for it will not be with me.” The force of her rising anger could no longer be denied. She whirled about, hands on her hips. “Regardless of whether we share that bed, you will not have my body tonight.”

Water gleamed on his skin and dripped from the waves of his hair. The bathwater just reached his waist, and she was grateful for the soapiness that obscured the rest of his body. His bent knees pointed to the ceiling. She reminded herself that she’d seen plenty of nude bodies before.

“I understand your anger, and I am content to wait,” he said solemnly. “But you are my wife, Susanna, and pretending it’s not so won’t make it go away.”

“You maneuvered me into this marriage—”

“You know I didn’t plant someone in the corridor at Bramfield Hall to spy on us.”

“Perhaps not, but I would have gladly retired to the country for good. The scandal of a kiss would have died down.”

“You cannot believe that.”

“Yes, I can. There was no reason for you to kidnap me except to finish a plan you must have started weeks ago.”

He leaned back in the tub, impressive arms spread wide. “Now you’re inventing stories that aren’t true. Do they make you feel better, the righteous spinster done wrong?”

“You wouldn’t be the first man to force a marriage for money. And though I can no longer control my own dowry, I can deny you the only thing left that’s mine to give.” She blinked damp eyes. “Don’t confuse the naïve woman I was before with the wronged wife I am now. Believe me, you made certain I changed.”

She stalked to the table and sat down to eat the still-warm food. This marriage was a battlefield, and she would need all her strength and wiles. She wouldn’t underestimate Leo’s abilities at guile and persuasion, or her own weaknesses.

He finished his bath in silence. She could not miss the way he rose, dripping, from the water, since he was right next to her, but she kept her eyes on her plate. Let him think his nudity would sway her—
he
could be the fool for a change.

She heard him dressing, and then was surprised when he opened the door and looked out into the hall.

“You there, boy, can you bring more servants to replace the bathwater for my wife? And a bottle of champagne. We’re celebrating.”

My wife.
The words made her tremble. She’d told him she wouldn’t bathe in front of him, but apparently he didn’t care.

When the servants had finished with the tub, they took away her tray of food and left behind the bottle Leo had requested. He poured himself a glass and sat down.

“So what is paying for that—my money or yours?” she asked coolly.

“Everything is now ‘ours,’ my dear. You signed your name to that.”

She sighed. “You don’t need to keep me company. The evening is yet early. Perhaps you’d find drunken compatriots in the nearest taproom. Isn’t that your usual habit every night?”

“Not on my wedding night. One of us needs to remember that rumors can reach London even from the wild north.” He took another long drink of champagne.

Susanna could not watch him. She pulled a large sketchbook from her trunk, then sat near the open window to draw. Behind her, he drank in silence, and when at last even the sound of the glass hitting the table was gone, she peered over her shoulder. He was asleep in his chair, head lolling forward. The first snore passed his lips.

He
snored,
she thought with exasperation. That would prove difficult when they could not have separate accommodations, but once they were home, she’d be certain to have her own chambers.

Home,
she thought bleakly. Where would that be? They hadn’t discussed it, of course—they hadn’t discussed anything. For all she knew, creditors were on his trail or a furious father with a pistol. But she would have to take each day as it came.

Would he insist they live in London with his brother the viscount? There was plenty of room at the ducal residences she’d grown up in, but she didn’t imagine Leo wanted to be so closely watched by her relatives. And certainly he couldn’t afford his own town house—even her dowry would only go so far, especially if he went through it at a quick pace.

She’d agreed to the marriage to avoid shaming her family—she was not going to shame them by living apart from her husband unless his behavior forced her to.

The gentle snoring continued.

“Leo?” she said softly.

He made no answer, didn’t even move. She ducked out of the room to find the necessary. When she returned, he hadn’t changed position. She took the glass from his hand and set it on the table, wondering sadly if she would be doing this often as his wife. Straightening her back, which still ached from the journey, she looked again at the tub—and made her decision.

Quickly, she began to unbutton her gown.

Leo kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. The snore required more conscious effort, but he’d needed it to convince her that he was truly asleep. And it had worked. From beneath his lashes, he watched her disrobe, feeling not one bit of guilt. She was his wife, after all.

He’d hatched this plan to allow her to bathe after their journey since she was too proud to give in to his suggestion, and he wasn’t quite ready to risk leaving her alone. Now he wondered if he hadn’t subconsciously planned this for his own benefit—or his own torture.

Susanna began to remove the pins from her hair, until the auburn locks fell one by one around her shoulders and down her back. He’d never imagined a woman’s hair could be so sensual, but then he’d always been able to touch as much as he wanted, and being forbidden was a new sensation for him. She kept her back to him as she stepped out of the gown, laying it across the bed. Several petticoats soon contributed to the stack. To his surprise, her corset unhooked at the front, something he’d seldom seen in his vast experience. But then a relative of a duke would have the latest fashion conveniences. With her back to him, she managed to unlace her boots, remove her garters and stockings, and untie her drawers. Each feminine step had his attention, as more and more of her willowy shape was revealed. He swallowed heavily.

At last, she was wearing only a chemise. She turned from the tub and glanced at him, but he’d been careful not to move, and to continue snoring. She crept to her trunk and brought forth another small pile of clean clothing to set beside the tub. She gave him a last glance, then unbuttoned the delicate fastenings of her chemise, and, turning her back, pulled the garment over her head.

Leo could have choked on a snore, but he forced it down. In the candlelight, her warm skin glowed like soft, creamy satin, so pale and flawless. Her back curved down to a slender waist, and her hips flared with womanly grace. Her legs were long and supple for a woman who spent much time sitting as she painted. When she bent over the tub, his eyes widened at the erotic display. Was this the body in the painting? He wanted—needed—her to turn around. If he couldn’t enjoy her passion this night, at least she could satisfy his curiosity. There was a little mole on her thigh that would convince him once and for all.

He swept his lashes almost all the way down again. He was unhappily married because of that damned painting—why was he dwelling on it? If winning the wager was the only satisfaction he was to get, his life would be bleak.

She stepped into the tub and sank down with a sigh that made him think of a moan of pleasure. It skittered along his nerves until he needed to adjust himself, but couldn’t move—didn’t want to move. He’d tolerate much to watch Susanna’s bath.

She wasted no time using the facecloth to wash her body. Though her back was to him, every time she reached for the soap on a stool beside her, he could see the glistening roundness of her breast. He wanted to see if her nipples were as dark as the woman’s in the painting, but was having no luck.

Since the tub wasn’t deep, she used an empty bucket to dampen her hair, then soaped it, catching up every tendril. He liked the lean limberness of her arms and imagined them about his body, holding him to her.

But perhaps she’d already done such things with a man if her intimate “friendship” with Roger Eastfield held any clue. He couldn’t imagine a man spending hours with a naked woman and not trying to bed her. Unless artists were a different breed of men—or perhaps Eastfield even preferred men. But the hand that had painted that gorgeous nude had envisioned his creation with a deft touch, a means of worship of the female body—perhaps a body he’d worshipped.

Was Susanna no longer a virgin? And did it matter to Leo? Logically, he knew his own past was quite stained, and he should not care about hers, but a primitive part of him wanted to be the first, the only man in her bed.

She rinsed her hair with the last bucket of fresh water, and he expected her to scurry out in case he should awaken. Instead, she sat still, her shoulders hunched, not even as if she were enjoying the bath.

And then she covered her face, and he realized she was crying. Her body trembled with it, though she made no sound. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel, but his jumbled emotions were mixed up with a bleak sensation of loss. This was the only wedding night he would ever have, and his new bride was crying as if the worst thing imaginable had happened to her.

He wasn’t a monster out to destroy her life. He wouldn’t keep her from her art or her family. He would give her children to love if she ever offered him the chance.

The fact that he’d brought such a strong woman to grief made him feel sad and empty inside. He’d played a game of seduction, and it had led to this moment of despair. His marriage was already as bad as his own parents’ had been, and it was only hours old.

That thought made a sick feeling of disbelief twist inside him. He didn’t want to be like them, making Susanna and their children miserable. Somehow, he had to earn her trust, to prove to her—and himself—that he could change.

When at last with a sigh she rose to dry off, she donned a nightgown, then the dressing gown he remembered. At the window, she took a comb and began to work it through her hair, letting the cool evening breeze help dry it. But this wasn’t southern England, and she soon shivered and moved away, fastening a quick braid.

He watched her turn down the bed and debated what to do. Should he wait for her to fall asleep, then crawl into bed when she couldn’t refuse him entrance? That seemed cowardly, and not an example he wanted to set for the rest of their marriage.

He gave a little start, then opened his eyes in a bleary manner and looked around. She was watching him warily from her place near the bed, and once again, she gripped her dressing gown closed at the neck.

Feeling sad and guilty, he said quietly. “I have never had to force a lady into my bed, and I certainly won’t start now. Trust in that, if nothing else.”

“I don’t intend to sleep on a wooden chair, but that’s not the same thing as giving myself to you.”

“No, you did that earlier today.”

He rose up and saw the way her eyes widened as he towered above her. He suspected she was more afraid of herself than him. A woman like Susanna prided herself on control, something he’d grown to admire. But since being compromised, she no longer had it. He was tempted to use the chamber pot, but decided it wasn’t the best way to romance his wife, so he went to the public privy.