“What did that man say to you?” demanded Lady Weatdon as they entered the house.

“Which man?” asked Susanah as she watched her father’s form retreat up the stairs with a sense of dread. She didn’t want to be left alone with her mother and her recriminations. She knew which man her mother was alluding to, but thought it best to pretend she hadn’t given Evan any particular notice.

Her mother yanked her into the drawing room and shut the door. “That Mr. Cooper. Are you encouraging him? Your color is always too high around him like you’re some scullery maid lusting after a footman. And what were you doing scowling at Lord Hull? What is wrong with you? I have taught you better than to scowl at a gentleman.”

“I don’t believe I was scowling at him. Perhaps at something he said,” Susanah answered. “He wasn’t offended, and he said I hadn’t been rude to him when he called.”

She shouldn’t have challenged her mother, but she didn’t want to talk about her reaction to Evan. And she was tired. It was well past four in the morning, yet she would have to listen to her mother criticize every move she’d made at Almack’s before she was allowed to go to bed.

Her mother’s nostrils flared. “You are the most ungrateful child. You have every advantage in the world, yet you dare to speak back to me.”

She paced across the carpet. Susanah flinched waiting for a slap, but she didn’t dare duck or raise her hand to stop it.

The door opened. The housekeeper stood there. “Oh, I am sorry, my lady. I thought you had retired and I was coming to put out the lamps.” She nodded her head in the way a maid would have bobbed a curtsy. “Would you like tea?”

Susanah swiveled towards the door and looked at the housekeeper. Mrs. Green never glanced in her direction. Surely, she would have heard them and known they were in the drawing room. Or perhaps it was just a hint that certain members of the staff couldn’t retire until the family did. While Susanah was never allowed to sleep past nine, the staff had to be up much earlier.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Green. That will be all,” said her mother with a dismissive smile. “We’ll ring to have the lamps snuffed when we’re done.”

The housekeeper nodded and retreated, closing the door behind her. But the interruption had forestalled her mother’s strike. More importantly, it had given Susanah enough time to gather herself and realize argument was futile.

“Sit down,” her mother said.

Susanah took a seat, being certain to keep her back straight as a fireplace poker. She folded her hands in her lap and tucked her legs to the side. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You listen to me,” Mother started.

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Susanah.

“You will encourage Lord Farringate from here on. I know he is older than you would wish for a husband, but you have had five years to land an acceptable gentleman and failed. He is respectable, dignified, and titled. He will make you a good husband, and be a strong political ally to your father.”

Susanah felt herself curling into a ball inside herself. She had no defense. “Do you wish for me to discourage Lord Hull? I didn’t want to be rude to him when he asked me to dance.”

“Are you suggesting that Lord Hull is likely to marry you?” demanded her mother.

Susanah dropped her gaze. Lord Hull’s attentions were no more particular than Lord Rothby’s had been after her broken engagement. Lord Rothby had only been dancing attendance upon her because his friend had broken his engagement with her—which was probably more out of loyalty to his friend and his cousin—the woman Lord Ashton had married instead of her—rather than a desire to see her reputation preserved. It would seem Lord Hull’s only reason for asking her to dance was Evan’s request and his curiosity. “I don’t know, but I thought I was supposed to encourage him.”

Her mother sneered. It was a surprising expression on the marchioness’s face, one that wasn’t allowed to appear often and never in company. “He has no need of your dowry, so why would he have any interest in you?”

Why indeed? The words stung, but Susanah couldn’t find fault in them. There was nothing the least bit interesting about her. Her mouth was too small, her fingers too short, and her chest was practically nonexistent. Her singing and pianoforte playing skills were mediocre in spite of being required to practice daily. Her dancing was too precise, wooden. And if it wasn’t, her mother would tear into her. Her blond hair was too dark and dull. Her eyes too pale and tending toward gray—or perhaps lavender if Evan was to be believed. That was probably a lie, from when he felt the inclination to flatter her—an inclination that had passed all too quickly. No, she was colorless, drab, and dull.

Her mother put a hand to her brow and said in a scathing voice, “You have been a disappointment from the first moment your gender was revealed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Susanah. She knew this. But being told again made her insides curl, turn gray, and then blacken as though she were a scrap of foolscap tossed into the fire.

“I don’t know why you cannot manage to do your duty.”

“I am trying,” she protested. She looked somewhere in the vicinity of her mother’s chin. To look anywhere else, she would be thought not paying attention. She just wanted this over with so she could crawl into her bed. As long as her mother didn’t bring up Evan again, she would consider herself lucky. “I had every intention of marrying Lord Ashton, but he withdrew his offer.”

“That was years ago,” her mother said. “In the intervening seasons, in spite of the finest ball gowns, the extensive lessons in deportment, and the utmost exposure to the ton, you’ve failed to bring one single acceptable gentleman to a proposal. Not one, Susanah.”

All the fortune hunters who’d professed undying devotion didn’t count, she supposed. Not that she intended to marry one of them or believed they truly cared about her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I had three offers before I accepted your father.” She held up three fingers as if Susanah needed help to count that high. “Three in my first season. I don’t know why you find this so difficult.”

“I am certain you were much prettier than I was when I was presented.” And her mother hadn’t been competing with the belles, who not only were beautiful, but passionate and animated. Men were drawn to them like bees to clover.

Her mother narrowed her eyes and looked at her. She was still a handsome woman if past the age of beauty.

“When you were presented,” Susanah added.

“What did he say to you?” snapped her mother as if the flattery had only served to remind her of her original purpose in dragging Susanah into the drawing room.

Susanah’s gut clenched and turned watery. She fought to keep her expression bland, and said the only thing she thought might distract her mother. “Lord Hull said that Lord Farringate has outlived four wives. Do you think that is cause for concern?”

Her mother missed a beat and Susanah was almost celebrating inside.

“He has suffered some tragedies, yes. There is no reason to believe his misfortune will continue. You are young and healthy.”

Or the political alliance her father would gain would outweigh whatever pain her passing might cause.

“I don’t know why you would allow Lord Hull to influence you with unfounded gossip.” Mother’s mouth pursed. “You should not have allowed him to speak about such things to you.”

Of course, it was her fault. “I did not solicit his comment.” Susanah watched her mother’s nostrils flare. “Perhaps he meant to denigrate the competition.” The competition to Evan, not that Evan wanted to marry her. But she rushed on fearing her mother would see something in her face. “I think that was the moment I scowled. I was shocked that he would say such a thing without encouragement or preamble.”

Tension crept through her and her legs began to shake, but she forced her expression to stay still.

Her mother stopped pacing and sat beside her.

Susanah forced her legs to stop shaking by pressing her heels into the carpet hard enough they might be bruising.

Lady Weatdon leaned close and said in a coaxing voice, “So do you find Mr. Cooper handsome?”

Susanah was too wary to trust her mother’s change in tactic. There was something gossipy in her tone. Susanah had seen other girls sit together and whisper—but she’d never been allowed to do such a thing. So it wasn’t as if she would suddenly pretend her mother was her confidant. But the answer was tricky. “I suppose he is not ill-favored, but I don’t know how that matters as the only interest he could possibly have in me is in my dowry and inheritance.”

Her mother let the silence stretch for a while.

Susanah didn’t let herself move so much as a hundredth of an inch. Her thoughts hurtled along. She tried to imagine every possible question and form answers that would deflect her mother’s interest.

“And what did he say to you when he pulled you aside?”

“He didn’t pull me aside. He pulled Lord Hull aside to discuss some plans they had to meet.”

“Plans for what?” demanded Mother.

Speculating would only get her into trouble, and she wasn’t falling into that trap. “I don’t know. Morning plans of some sort, I imagine.”

“And why do you imagine that?”

Susanah’s heart kicked into high gear. “Mr. Cooper suggested wearing boots. A gentleman would only wear boots in the day, would he not?”

Why on earth did he suggest boots? She opened her eyes wide as she looked at her mother. She couldn’t think about that now. She tried to concentrate on patterns in her mind, stitches, and threads, colors bright and rich. Orchids. What she wouldn’t give to go back to that conservatory in bright light and when the flowers were in full bloom.

“All right, go to bed, Susanah,” said her mother.

She had likely only given up for the nonce. It was just a reprieve. Susanah couldn’t risk her prying until she confessed to meeting with Evan and kissing him. Tomorrow would have to be the last time. It wasn’t as if learning to express passion would serve her if she would be forced to marry Lord Farringate. If he locked her up in his castle, at least she would be away from her mother’s constant scrutiny. And how could she show her passion for anything when her mother would crucify her for it?

* * *

Susanah frowned at the teal half boots she’d laced on. She’d opted for ballroom slippers before now. Their softer soles made less noise as she wound her way down the stairs and through the marble entry hall. But Evan had said wear boots. She hoped they weren’t going to tramp through a forest or something that would require a sturdier pair than the walking boots on her feet.

She checked the clock and once the hands showed midnight, she slipped out of her room. Hugging the shadows she made her way down the stairs. The clicks of her soles on the stairs seemed loud to her ears, but no one emerged to see her descending to the ground floor.

Stealthily, she opened the front door. Evan was there in the shadows just a few feet away. Her stomach fluttered wildly. Her knees almost buckled in relief as if she half expected he wouldn’t show up at all. But then he’d insisted they meet, so she didn’t know why she doubted. But if that dark-haired lady he’d danced with at Almack’s had wanted to meet with him tonight, he’d probably be with her.

After sliding through the small opening she allowed, she inched the door shut. She had to lock it before leaving, but she almost couldn’t take her eyes off of Evan.

Her heart thundered in her aching chest. This would be her last adventure with him. But she wished it wasn’t so. She pivoted to insert the key in the lock.

“My lady.” Evan’s hands and a heavy cloak landed on her shoulders. When she turned to face him, he smiled at her and pulled up the hood and tied a bow under her chin. “I’m pleased you decided to join me.”

His words seemed oddly out of place. It was the sort of thing one might say to a guest that hadn’t committed to attending an event. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You said you didn’t want to meet with me—that you didn’t think we needed to talk.”

What good would lessons in how to catch a husband be when her parents were insisting she marry Lord Farringate? “I don’t know that it matters now.”

Evan frowned, but he extended his arm and led her down the street. “Who caught you the last time?”

“The housekeeper.” Susanah recalled the woman’s unexpected entry into the drawing room last night with confusion. “I don’t think she told anyone. She may have thought I just snuck out early in the morning to purchase some oranges.”

A few houses down two horses stood. Their reins were looped over the wrought iron rail preventing an unsteady pedestrian from falling into the servants’ area. Evan stopped. The horses were saddled. No.

Her muscles seizing, she blankly looked past the corner for the carriage. Usually, the carriage was waiting at the cross street, but nothing was there. Her heart jumped, then thumped frenetically in her throat. Cold ran through her veins. One of the horses shifted, and she jerked back. They looked huge and powerful and deadly. “You don’t expect me to ride, do you?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

Horses terrified her. She never rode—almost never. There had been that time in finishing school where a group of them had spent a weekend at a nearby estate of one of the girls. They’d all decided to go for a ride, and she hadn’t been able to dissuade them. Her mount hadn’t wanted to follow her commands, and she’d had to use the crop she’d been supplied. She’d known from some of the looks the other girls had given her that she’d done it wrong. But she had scarcely been able to breathe let alone properly manage a spirited mount.

Backing away, Susanah stared at him, not that he could see her alarm with the way the heavy hood of the cloak he’d provided was shadowing her face. “Where is your carriage?”

“I’m afraid I sold it,” he answered.

Because he was leaving town, and he hadn’t bothered to tell her. A dark desperation flared in her. If she could summon anger then she wouldn’t have to give into her rising panic. She wouldn’t scream and run as her body was insisting was the right course of action.

“I don’t see any reason to continue meeting with you. I cannot risk it.” Her shaking hands plucked at the strings of the cloak he’d put around her. Her whisper quivered. “I didn’t want to meet with you at all.”

She’d knotted the stupid cloak, so she gave up and turned back toward her house. She’d cut the strings of the cloak with her embroidery scissors if she couldn’t get it undone before she got inside. It was barely a hundred feet to the front door—where it wasn’t any safer inside. It was as if she ran into an invisible wall when she started back home. She should go back and forget this ever happened, but her home was a prison. And this was her last taste of freedom.

“Susanah,” Evan caught her shoulders. “What is—you’re shaking.”

He pulled her back against him. He was so steady and solid, she just wanted to sag against him and stay in his arms forever. For a few seconds, nothing was said.

Her heartbeat slowed, and she realized she was behaving like a ninny. Not only that, but she owed him an explanation. “I don’t ride.”

“You don’t?” The skepticism and surprise made the low tones of his voice crest upward.

After all, what good English woman worth her salt didn’t ride? The English were horse mad. Everyone knew that. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I’m from Venice where they take boats or walk.”

“Why don’t you ride?” he asked as if he couldn’t understand.

“Because of this.” She thrust out her maimed arm.

“Because of your…arm?” he whispered. His hand circled her arm, his thumb brushing the scar. “What happened?”

“One of those murderous beasts threw me,” she said with more anger than she’d intended. She wrenched her arm out of his grip. The horse had been trying to kill her, and if she hadn’t rolled away, it might have succeeded. “And then it kicked me.”

“Hush, darling,” he whispered while turning her to face him. The brush of her body against his solid chest did strange things to her. He folded his arms around her, but he was looking up at her house. “We should discuss this away from here. You don’t have to ride if you don’t want to.” He twisted to look around but kept her folded against him. He rubbed her back with one hand.

She just wanted to stay there with him cradling her. If she kept her nose against his chest, she could pretend the horses weren’t there. She felt foolish. Her control was slipping and that shamed her as much as her certainty that horses were treacherous dangerous beasts.

“I thought when you said you enjoyed riding your pony, that you might enjoy a gallop—never mind. I can probably find a hackney…somewhere.” But he couldn’t keep the doubt from his voice.

If they were leaving the theatre, a hackney might be waiting for a fare. But finding one this late in a part of town where people drove their own carriages would be nigh on impossible.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She had told him she enjoyed riding her pony, but horses were a different matter.

“Here.” He pulled her to the inside of the walkway and unlashed the horses. He connected a long leather strap between their bridles. “We can walk,” he said. “I’ll lead the horses.”

“Where?” she asked.

“I arranged for us to go to Hyde Park and ride on Rotten Row,” he said a rueful tone to his voice. Then with one arm around her and his other hand on the nearest bridle, he started them forward.

The horses so near made her tense and her legs felt rickety, but he was between her and the animals.

She tilted to the side and looked up at him. “But the park is closed at this time of night.”

“It only took a small bribe.” He smiled. “The moon is full, the night is pleasant, it seemed like a good time to run horses. I wasn’t certain of your skill, so I found a gentle mare for you to ride.” There was something in his voice that almost seemed to indicate he wouldn’t hurt her. “On the other hand, I do have a hearty basket of food.”

Was he worried about her eating? “I’m not on bread and water any longer.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I feared you were still locked away on slim rations.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

The horses plodded along beside them, the hoofs clomping on the cobblestones. Each click sent a new jolt through her, but they were acting docile enough. Although she half believed they would attack if given a chance.

Evan continued to rub her back, soothingly. The heat his touch provoked, clashed with the icy tendrils of fear until she felt like a jumble of raw nerves.

He startled her when he spoke. “So I gather your arm was broken when the horse tossed you. How old were you?”

“Eight,” she answered. “My father had got rid of my pony and said it was time to ride horses.” He hadn’t care that she had been small for her age and that being atop a horse felt like being perched on the highest tower of the tallest castle to her. Never mind, that she wasn’t strong enough to control a horse if it had a mind to go elsewhere. “It was only my third time of being on a horse. I asked for my pony back, but my father said I was too old to ride a pony.”

“And you haven’t ridden since?”

“Only once when I couldn’t avoid it, and it didn’t go well. I know it is stupid to be afraid of horses,” she said. The shame of admitting it burned in her cheeks.

“Shh,” he responded. “There are vicious horses. Although they are rare. Often they are the result of mistreatment. The one that threw you might have had an aversion to humans. Or sometimes a horse has a sore mouth and is reacting to pain or the person it perceives causing that pain.”

That was the first time she could remember anyone telling her it might have been the horse’s fault. She had been told again and again that the horse throwing her was her failure. If she couldn’t manage a horse, she had no business riding. It had been another way to keep her trapped inside and more of her time spent perfecting ladylike pursuits. She stopped walking. “Really? Mother said it was my fault I was thrown.”

“Did she see it happen?”

“No. The groom that was with me said he didn’t really see either. The horse took off even though I was pulling hard on the reins.”

“So you weren’t trying to take a fence?” he questioned.

“Of course not. I didn’t want to do more than a trot.”

“It sounds to me as if you were put on a horse that was too much for a little girl,” Evan’s voice tightened. “If you enjoyed riding a pony, riding a horse should have been enjoyable, too.”

“I didn’t enjoy breaking my arm.”

“Most people wouldn’t,” he said wryly. “Why would your stable master put an inexperienced rider on a difficult horse?”

“I don’t know.” She had a vague memory of the groom leading out one horse and a whispered conversation with her mother before that horse was taken back inside and another led out. “You don’t think it was my fault?”

“It seems to me that anything you might enjoy has been purposely withheld or destroyed for you,” Evan said with a tightness she recognized might harbor anger. Unlike with her parents, his anger didn’t seem to be directed at her. The way his thumb rubbed the small of her back was soothing and seductive at the same time.

Could her mother have instructed the grooms to put her on a disagreeable horse? The idea was shocking really. Her mother didn’t like to ride, although she could if needed. But she always said a lady shouldn’t smell of horse and leather. Susanah made a decision that shook her and made her knees knock. “Then I should like to try to ride.”