Evan wasn’t certain if he should put Susanah on horseback or just attempt to get her comfortable with the beasts. It was ironic, Gilbert couldn’t ride. Susanah could, but was too afraid. Although, she was willing to try.

“Do you want to ride here or wait until we’re in the park?” he asked her.

She shivered again. Her eyes widened. How would she enjoy riding when she was terrified?

“In the park,” he answered for her. Horses could react to their riders’ emotions. He wanted to be able to walk beside her until she was comfortable. He couldn’t do that if he was also riding. Plus Rotten Row was not cobbled. A landing on the aggregate of gravel and tan would be softer than landing on the hard street surface—not that he wanted her to fall.

On the other hand, reacquainting Susanah with riding was the least of his concerns. There were serious matters they needed to discuss, but first, he wanted to distract her from her fear of horses. He wanted her happy, not afraid.

“I have missed you and our meetings these last few days.” He’d missed kissing her and holding her. He’d woken more than one time in the middle of the night on fire for her, which left him shaken. He’d also woken from nightmares where he swam against some unseen force that held him immobile when he was trying to save her. Which left him even more shaken. “I dream about you.”

She stiffened, ever so slightly.

He continued on, brushing past the worry that her stiffening was a repudiation of the idea that he wanted her. “I didn’t know how to get word to you. I hoped you would find a way to let me know you were all right.”

“I couldn’t. My mother scarcely lets me out of her sight since I’ve been allowed out of my room.”

“I noticed,” he said dryly. “You weren’t dancing last night.”

“Is that why you sent Lord Hull to ask me to dance?” she asked.

“Did he tell you that?” Damn the man. “He should have been more discreet.”

“You are the one who involved him. I wish you hadn’t. I don’t like that he knows I’ve been alone with you when I shouldn’t have been.”

“If I had realized before last night that he was convinced you were at the Cyprian’s ball, I would have asked him to call on you.” A twinge of guilt hit him. Hull had suspected, but the final confirmation might have been Evan showing up at Almack’s and watching her across the room. But then again, Hull had already bet against Farringate marrying Susanah. He had been convinced there was something between Evan and her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a tale of forbidden love that had them meeting. “I am sorry, darling. I thought I had persuaded him to believe I was with another woman, but he wasn’t deterred.”

She sighed. “My slippers gave me away.”

“I shouldn’t have taken you there.” He’d been too blasé about the risks to her when he took her to the Cyprian’s ball. Of course, he hadn’t entirely been aware of the nature of her family life. He hadn’t understood that the reason she behaved like an automaton was because her spirit was being systematically crushed. If he’d known why she was so devoid of passion, he would have taken her off alone so she could shake off her years of browbeating and inculcation in private.

“No, it was lovely and now I know how to waltz if it should ever be thought decent.” She put her head against his shoulder.

He didn’t know if she was saying that because she had rigid rules of acceptable things to say or if she truly meant it. Then again the trusting nature of Susanah leaning into him, stirred his protective instincts. He wanted to keep her safe. Yet, the feel of her against his side aroused other instincts as well, desires better left dormant. Seducing her would only complicate matters between them. He didn’t want her caught in the moment when he asked her to consider her options. When he asked her to marry him.

The park was just ahead and the man who was to let them through the gates stood waiting. Evan made certain the hood on the cloak he’d put around Susanah hid her face as much as possible. The man wasn’t likely to recognize her, but Evan wasn’t taking any chances.

That she had turned to him for help was a mark of desperation. After all, she should have expected a man with his reputation to destroy her. Or perhaps she had wanted to be ruined so she became damaged goods. Although that likely wouldn’t reduce her value on the marriage mart as much as she thought it would. Just as he might have wanted to be caught when he took her home well after dawn. If she had been found out, his hand would have been forced.

In the past week and a half, he’d regretted that he hadn’t seen her inside. Hadn’t demanded an audience with her father. But he wanted her to make her choice freely, without undue pressure. He wanted to persuade her, but with the knowledge that she could be herself with him. He wouldn’t care if she were perfectly behaved every minute. With him, she could relax and enjoy what life offered without fear of being thought improper.

He handed over the rest of the bribe to the attendant who ushered them inside and locked the gate behind them. The gates would be opened again before dawn, which would be time for them to depart.

The lamps lining the row had mostly burned out, but a few remained lit.

“Are you ready?” he asked her as he removed the lead line between the horses. He decided against tying his well-behaved gelding but lashed the mare to the wooden rail lining Rotten Row.

She cast a look to the side. She’d walked to the far rail and leaned against it as if she wanted to get as much distance from the horses as possible. He didn’t miss her tension, though.

So he crossed to her, put his hand to her neck, and—disregarding her flinch—he bent toward her. “Did you think I meant ready to ride?”

Her eyes widened. In the middle of her nod, he brushed his lips against hers.

Her arms went around his neck with more enthusiasm than he’d expected. Enthusiasm or desperation to avoid riding. Perhaps he was the lesser of two evils. He laughed.

She ducked her head. “You are laughing at me.”

His laugh was as much relief as anything. “Either you really don’t want to ride, or you want to be kissed as much as I want to kiss you.”

“Do you really?” she asked his waistcoat then plucked at his lapel. Her voice was a thin whisper. “Want to kiss me, that is?”

“I think about kissing you all the time,” he answered. But he shouldn’t be kissing her. He was bound and determined to do this the right way. He’d spent too many years where he only saw women as objects of his desire. They were to be flirted with, seduced, and bade adieu when his desire waned.

With Susanah, he wanted her—wanted her with a bone-deep ache that he couldn’t imagine would ever subside. But more than that, he wanted her to let him into the secret corners of her mind. He wanted more than the physical pleasure. He wanted her to care about him, and he wanted to make her happy. He tilted up her chin. “I wonder what you are doing. I worry that you are all right. Dare I hope that you think about me throughout your day?”

She shook her head negatively. “I cannot. My mother would know.” She looked off to the side. “I think about my embroidery and make patterns in my mind.”

“Do you think about me at night, then? Dream about me, too?” he teased, but he held his breath as he waited for her answer.

“Even if I did, I could never admit it. And I don’t see how it would help my situation.” Her chin dipped again as if she didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Well, he supposed he shouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t ready for an answer he didn’t want to hear. Then again, there was something subdued about her, and he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Not that she was ever entirely animated. And her answers weren’t exactly leaning in the direction he wanted. If she could so easily dismiss thoughts of him…

“We should ride soon before I lose my nerve,” she said.

Was she pensive just because of the horses? In any case, he was not certain if she had any regard for him. She was attracted to him—although she didn’t always understand what that meant—but he didn’t know if there was anything deeper than that. His throat was dry as he searched her face for clues that she might welcome his suit—that she wanted him.

She was looking at the horses. “I don’t suppose I will ever have a better opportunity to face down my fear of riding.”

“Well, let’s get this over with.” When he asked her to marry him, he didn’t want her concentration divided. Likely she would be fretting about riding until she actually did it and proved to herself there was nothing to fear. “Then we’ll eat and talk.”

She gave a brief nod and steeled herself.

He led her to the mare, bent and laced his fingers together for her to put her foot in. Once her boot was in his hands, he boosted her up to the mare’s back. “I’ll walk beside you until you are comfortable.”

He helped her arrange her leg over the pommel and set her foot into the stirrup. He ignored her tremors as he handed her the reins. The mare nickered and sidestepped.

Susanah gasped and bent forward as if to grab the horse’s mane.

“It’s all right,” he said to both the mare and Susanah. He put one hand just above her knee and the other behind her bottom on the back of the saddle. “She’s just getting used to you.” Which could have been to either of them, although he made eye contact with Susanah, not the horse.

She straightened, and he suggested she give the mare a nudge when she was ready. Her expression determined, Susanah did as he said.

He walked alongside her and the mare, his own horse trudging along behind them. It didn’t take long to see that Susanah knew how to ride. She might be rusty, and a bit heavy-handed, but she was competent, at least with a lazy walk.

He rubbed her leg to soothe her but found he enjoyed the slender feel of her thigh far more than he should. He’d been prepared to help her adjust how she sat, but she didn’t need it. “You’ll want to loosen the reins a little. Most horses will toss their head if you’re pulling too hard.”

The mare gave a head toss as if demonstrating. Susanah relaxed her grip slightly.

“I am fairly certain I should object to the placement of your hands,” she said after they’d gone thirty feet.

“I only want you to feel that I will have you if you should slip.” He’d intended that, but he’d let the pleasure of touching her take over his intentions. Inching the hand on the cantle farther from her backside, he grinned up at her.

“Oh, I thought perhaps you were distracting me from my fears.”

“Is it working?” he asked. Sliding his hand down he checked the angle of her heel. He had to stop before he let his desire to touch her overrule his good intentions.

Her lips parted as she drew in a shaky breath. “Perhaps I should be focusing on riding the horse.”

“You have it.” It was harder than he ever imagined it could be to resist letting his fingers drift under her hem and feel her stockinged leg. “Not so different from riding a pony.”

“I’m just afraid the horse will take off, whether I will it or not.”

“I’m fairly certain this horse is too mindful of her manners to do any such thing.” A hired hack was generally too well-trained to behave so badly. “But if such a thing were to happen, I’d catch you quickly. You’d just need to keep your seat for a little bit.”

Susanah steered the horse to the other side of the lane. Then she pulled on the reins and the horse stopped. “Well, she does seem to take direction. But my heart is beating so fast it feels like it will burst out of me.”

“That should happen after I kiss you,” he insisted.

He hoped for at least the hint of a smile. Instead, her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to the side.

After a second, she said, “The sensations are quite similar.”

“Are they?” he murmured, not quite certain if he should be concerned. “Are you afraid of me?”

She pressed her lips together. “I probably should be, but I’m not. Not really. Do you intend to ride?”

“Are you comfortable enough for me to leave your side?”

“I wouldn’t say I am comfortable per se.” Her brow tightened. “I don’t want to pretend to be fine when I’m not.”

He squeezed her thigh. “I don’t want you to pretend to anything, darling.” It was her perfect composure that left people thinking her cold and unfeeling. She was anything but unfeeling. But he had a better understanding that she had to completely mask her feelings to get along in her world. “It appears you don’t need instruction in how to sit a horse.”

“I will not have someone walking beside me if I need to ride, so I should attempt this on my own.”

He slid his hand down and squeezed her ankle, then stepped back.

She gave her mount a nudge and the horse resumed its shambling walk. He gathered up his horse and mounted. He trotted his horse to her side, and then he slowed its pace. First, he’d encourage her to ride and then he’d encourage her to marry him instead of facing a life of misery.

* * *

For a while, they just walked the horses in silence. It wasn’t like Evan to remain silent. Susanah started to wonder if she had offended him with her earlier outburst. Nothing good came of allowing her emotions free rein because her anger was always what spilled out. It wasn’t pretty or attractive, and he probably wanted nothing to do with her after such a shrewish outburst.

She should ask him if he was leaving town because he thought her lessons complete, or if he only meant to abandon them. But the question that kept popping to the forefront of her mind was who was that woman he’d been flirting outrageously with. Was she his lover? Or did he intend for her to be?

“Would you like to try a cantor?” he asked.

Susanah knew she should agree to it, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Her chest was so tight she could barely breathe. Any time the horse twitched its ear a fresh jolt of fear ran through her. “Not this time.” But there wouldn’t be any other time. Evan was leaving town—although he hadn’t told her. Besides she couldn’t in good conscience meet with him again. Her chest tightened even more. “Not just yet.”

“Let’s give the horses a rest then. If you aren’t used to riding, you’ll end up sore.” He dismounted. “If you want, we can ride more after a while.”

She bit her lip. Maybe he wanted to kiss her. He said he did, but only offered the merest peck—well not exactly a peck, but just a slight brush of his lips against hers that left her hungry.

He tethered her horse to the rail. Then returned to her side to help her dismount.

She slid down against his body and went to wrap her arms around his neck.

Instead of holding her against him or kissing her, he set her apart and backed away. “Let me get our supper.”

Perhaps he intended to hand feed her as he had fed her the sections of oranges when they had been in the conservatory. Although, there wasn’t a little, wrought iron table and chairs here.

“Where will we sit?” she asked.

“I brought a blanket.” Evan tugged things out of a saddle pack. “I thought we could find a level spot beyond the walkway.”

The pedestrian track bordered Rotten Row, just beyond the wooden rails. She ducked underneath and looked for a place that was well enough lit by one of the burning lamps. Sitting together on a blanket would be far more intimate than sharing a table. A shiver ran through her.

“This might be a good spot,” she said. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat on the ground. Probably when she’d been a child. Her mother would no doubt say it was a plebeian activity—something a lady should not do.

Evan stepped over the rail and strode toward her. He gave a look around before unfurling the blanket and straightening it out on the ground. It was larger than a carriage blanket if not quite the size one would use on a bed. He gestured for her to sit and held out his hand to help her. “My lady.”

She thanked him as she knelt than rolled to sit with her legs tucked up beside her.

He moved completely around the blanket to the farthest side and dropped to sit on the opposite corner. Disappointment washed through her. He had been closer when sitting in a separate chair in the conservatory or in the assembly rooms at the Cyprian’s ball.

“It is strange to be here without any other people about,” he observed.

Susanah didn’t like coming to the park during the fashionable crush. All the horses scared her. “Yes, the park seems bigger. When everyone is here, it almost seems too small to contain the beau monde.”

“So are you still terrified of riding?” He removed paper-wrapped food from a sack and placed the items between them.

There was far more than cheese and wafers this time, but it wasn’t as if she was still on bread and water. She probably wouldn’t be able to do a meal justice as her stomach felt tight. “Perhaps only daunted now.”

His gaze jerked up to her face and his eyes narrowed.

She shrugged. “It is an improvement. I thank you. I’m not certain how it will help me in catching an appropriate husband, but it is better that I know I won’t expire from fright if I should have to ride.”

His eyes narrowed slightly but stayed intently focused on her. “And this hunt for a husband?” His voice sounded tight. “How is that coming along?”

She looked down. Everything inside her fell. “Please, let us not spoil the night with talk of that.”

“So not well,” he surmised.

“How could it go well when my mother corrects me every time I step outside the bounds of what she believes is properly subdued behavior?” Besides, it had been decided for her. Unless a miracle happened and some suitable gentleman stepped out of the woodwork, she would marry Lord Farringate. He was an earl, he would take her away from her parents’ home, and she could hope the union would result in children she could love in the hour or so a day that it would be acceptable to interact with them.

“Because following your mother’s dictates have produced such spectacular results.” His words were painful pricks.

“You don’t understand,” she objected. As the only child of a marquess, she had a duty to marry well. Her wishes weren’t terribly important in the scheme of things.

“But I do. I think I may be the only man who has been allowed to see the real you.”

And where had that got her? Twice tonight he’d backed away from her embrace. He’d probably only kissed her to distract her from her fear of riding. This man who flirted outrageously with his dance partners, and flitted from lover to lover wasn’t the least bit interested in her. The weave of the blanket blurred.

“Susanah,” he said with a patience that made her feel patronized and corrected.

Her temper fired. She had enough of that from her parents. He knew her, perhaps better than anyone, but she knew so little about him.

He began, “Your mother—”

“I don’t know the first thing about you,” she interrupted. “Lord Hull said you are leaving town.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I am.”

“When were you planning on telling me?” She was appalled the words came out of her mouth. She didn’t have any right to know what he was doing or where he was going or if the woman he danced with at Almack’s was his latest conquest. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her skirt and kept smoothing long after the material was flattened. Her mother’s criticism about fidgeting bounced around her brain.

He wasn’t answering, which was answer enough. She wasn’t important enough to him to be informed of his comings and goings.

“I have delayed leaving town longer than I should have,” he said finally.

Her gaze jerked to his. “What?”

He took a deep breath. “I had already told my uncle that I would be joining him to take up my duties as his steward before you asked me to teach you about passion.”

Her muscles tensed and the only word she could hear was steward echoing in her head. Her world seemed to tilt and she reached out to steady herself. A steward was a working man, a servant. It had never occurred to her that Evan would become a servant of sorts. She knew—well everyone knew—that his uncle supported him. But that it was an employment contract made her feel slightly ill. Why was he accepted at Almack’s if he was working for his uncle? It didn’t make sense and left her feeling as though she wasn’t on steady ground. It occurred to her she should respond. “Why? Is he ill?”

“He is getting older, and that was the bargain I made.”

“Oh.” She supposed it made perfect sense. His uncle’s support in exchange for Evan’s labor. “Lord Hull said your expectations were not as dire as is thought and that I should ask you about them.”

Evan’s mouth tightened. “I will be my uncle’s steward for the foreseeable future and my cousin’s steward after that.”

She stared at him. There was something he wasn’t saying, but she didn’t have any idea what it could be. Being a steward was a respectable position for a gentleman. It was management of an estate—just not his own. But occupations of that sort were reserved for gentlemen with no property or holdings that generated income. The kind of man who should be a fortune hunter. Not that it mattered. “Who is your uncle’s steward now?”

He inhaled through his nose loudly enough she could hear it. “I am.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. It still didn’t make sense to her. But her thoughts were swirling. She’d thought him a gentleman—a slightly dissolute one—but a gentleman nonetheless. But he was a working man. A steward. An employee of his uncle. “What if your cousin wants to employ another as his steward?”

“He won’t.” Evan’s voice was dismissive. Then as if he’d had enough of the explanations, he changed the subject. “I apologize for the primitive nature of our al fresco supper. I didn’t bring plates.” He flipped out a napkin in front of her and then put one in front of himself. “Or glasses, I didn’t want them to rattle. So it will be sandwiches and drinking straight from the bottle.”

He pointed out the ham, beef, and pheasant. There was butter wrapped in an oilcloth as well as both soft and hard cheese. Small loaves of bread were already sliced in half lengthwise. On top of that, there were figs and currents.

Her world had altered, although she didn’t want him to see how dismayed she was at the idea that he worked for his uncle.

The boundaries between the ruling class and the working class were fluid. An aristocrat’s younger children had to find employment unless an estate could be found for them. There were acceptable occupations for them, military, banking, stewards, and the clergy. Their children would slide even further down until they were in trade, but she’d never thought about the eventual fall out of the ranks of the gentry. It went the other way too. When a nobleman died without a son, the genealogy was traced back to find the proper heir, even if he was a tradesman. Except not in her father’s case. The title wasn’t that old and there weren’t any male descendants of a prior marquess to take over, which was why so much hung on her.

“I think you brought enough food to feed all of Wellington’s army.” She wasn’t hungry, but she supposed she should eat something since he’d gone to so much trouble and a fair amount of expense for a man on a salary.

Evan lifted his shoulders. “I didn’t supply enough last time.” From his coat pocket, he pulled out a small tin and slid it toward her. “I bought these for you. I thought I would be able to slip them to you at a ball. I figured you could hide them in your reticule or tuck them in your stocking.”

It went without saying that he hadn’t attended any of the same events that she had before last night. Had he tried to find her? Eager for any distraction, she picked up the tin and tilted it so she could read the markings in the dim light. Candied almonds from a well-known confectioner. Her mouth watered, and she allowed she might be hungry after all. Or it could just be because she adored candied almonds and always took as many as she dared whenever they were served. “I probably would have eaten them then and there.”

Her mother always searched her reticule for contraband food in the carriage on the way home. Although Susanah had to wonder about transporting food in her stocking. Or a billet-doux. She’d risked her mother finding the notes she had folded inside her handkerchief. Thus far her mother hadn’t searched her extremities.

Evan gave her a small smile. “You did seem to like them at the Spencers’ ball.”

If he noticed, she had probably taken too many. She’d somehow called attention to her gluttony.

“Would you like me to fix a sandwich for you?” Evan asked gently.

His tone surprised her. He already had a sandwich heaped with meats and cheese resting on his napkin as if he were waiting for her. Well of course he was. To eat before she was served would be rude, and he knew the rules of civilized behavior. She followed his example, albeit with far less filling than his sandwich. Opening the tin, she allowed herself one candied almond. Reluctantly, she held it out for him to take some.

He shook his head. “Those are for you.”

She realized she hadn’t properly thanked him. “Thank you. I will enjoy them.”

“Let’s eat.” He gathered his sandwich in both hands and took a bite.

Following suit, she nibbled at hers. In short order, he finished his food and took a swig from the wine bottle. Her sandwich remained mostly intact.

Stretching out one leg to the side he bent his other leg and rested his elbow on it. He was still so far away, and he’d made no effort to touch her since they sat down.

He pulled out his watch and checked it.

“Am I taking too long?” she asked.

“No. Take as much time as you want. I just don’t want to lose track of time.” He tilted his head to the side and said, “You don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry.”

She tore off a piece of bread. “When are you leaving?”

“That depends,” he said slowly. “But most likely within the week.”

“Depends on what?” She put the piece of bread on her napkin lest she play with it.

“You.”

His answer startled her. How could it depend on her?

“If you think I require more lessons, then I don’t. I have waited too long, and I don’t suppose we should continue meeting like this.” She said the words she knew she should, but it was if some giant ground his heel down on her.

“Come now, darling. Surely, this is no longer about lessons.”

She rolled her shoulders, but she couldn’t look up at him. “I just think it is too dangerous to continue slipping out when the housekeeper knows and would be forced to admit it if she were questioned.” To her dismay, her voice had wavered. “If they learn I have been going out unchaperoned, my parents will throttle me. They have been watching me so closely, I believe they suspect something.”

“Then with your permission, I will speak to your father.”

“About what?” What could he talk to her father about? Lord Farringate’s propensity to bury wives? That she had been sneaking out to meet with him? He couldn’t think telling on her would be a good idea. Her muscles tensed.

“Susanah,”—he lowered his head so he was in her line of vision—“you don’t have to marry a man you don’t care about just for his title. You could marry me instead.”

She was fairly vibrating with uncertainty. “Are you proposing?”

He smiled. “Lady Susanah, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

For a second she felt buoyant like a hot air balloon lifting off the ground and soaring. “Do you love me?”

His expression stiffened and the awful truth became clear to her. His smile became like her practiced ones. All the sudden she understood what he meant when he said she didn’t smile with her eyes. But the thought was a distraction from the crushing truth. He didn’t love her. He didn’t even seem to want to kiss her.

“I want to protect you. I want you to be happy. To make you happy.” He frowned as if the words weren’t coming easily to him.

He didn’t love her. More likely, he didn’t want to take up his duties as a steward. He wanted to remain a gentleman free to stay in society and conduct his affairs while financing such a lifestyle on her dowry and expectations. Blood rushed in her ears and she felt humiliated. “I think not.”

He’d still been talking, but now he gaped at her.

It wasn’t the proper way to refuse him. “I am cognizant of the honor you do me, but no, Mr. Cooper, I can’t marry you. Furthermore, I would like to leave now.”