Susanah wanted to die or get away, but she couldn’t seem to get the lock to turn. Evan probably wanted nothing to do with her. He’d probably changed his mind about teaching her passion or he’d never wanted to in the first place. “Or if you did not intend…I’m sorry. If you no longer want to teach me passion, you need only say so.”

“Susanah,” he said slowly. “I would very much like to kiss you—when I know you will allow yourself to enjoy it.”

She couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. She was so stupid. “I am so bad at knowing what to do to encourage…” She almost said you, but at the last minute she saved some of her dignity by saying, “a gentleman.”

His hands were on her shoulders and his thumbs moved beside her spine, pressing firmly, but it felt nice. “You are as stiff as a fence rung. In a seduction, a true gentleman will do ninety-nine parts of a hundred, but he will wait for the woman to provide the last smidgen of effort.”

“And you are a true gentleman?” Her head swirled with mortification. She tried to understand, but her heart pounded so hard it shattered her thoughts, sending them spinning away in jumbled fragments. She had to do one part of a hundred. Except she didn’t know what that part was. She didn’t know what the ninety-nine parts were. She’d never known what to do to offer encouragement, to make a man desire her. Stars above, she didn’t know what to do to make a man want to talk to her, let alone anything else.

“Only in that I would never hurt a woman or force my attentions on her.”

“Oh.” She realized with a fresh flair of panic that she’d been incredibly stupid to trust him, yet she did think he was telling her the truth. Yesterday, she would have scoffed at the idea that a rake like Evan was a true gentleman. He’d taken her to a scandalous place but hadn’t treated her scandalously. Well, only mildly so. Then again she had done something wrong—something that discouraged him. Something she unknowingly did with every man. “Will you teach me that part—that one-hundredth part that I am to do to encourage a gentleman?”

He gave a soft snort. Then he turned her back to face him and studied her face. “You really don’t know?”

She shook her head and stared at the ground.

“You pull back when you should lean forward. You step forward away from my hand on your back. You flinch when I reach to touch you. And you stiffen when I do.”

“I shall endeavor to stop.”

“No don’t. These are just signs you are not ready, yet.”

“I am ready,” she insisted.

He tilted his head and examined her face. “You asked me to teach you about passion, and I intend to do that. But passion comes from within. We have to find it within you.”

His words were just words. She knew he was trying to convey some concept, but she didn’t comprehend. She couldn’t connect what something within her had to do with learning how to kiss a man and make him want to kiss her.

“You are confusing me.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but you leave me no less confounded.” He rubbed her upper arms. “You have such a thick casing of propriety around you. I despair of ever cracking through it and finding the real woman underneath.”

There was nothing underneath. Or just a mass of jealousies and petty thoughts. Only ugliness that she didn’t want anyone to ever see. Which likely meant she would never be desirable in any way. She was such a complete and utter failure. “I should go in.”

“Sunday then,” he said and let her go.

She turned hastily and finally managed to get the key to turn.

Once inside the cold marble of the entry hall reminded her she was home. And even though a second earlier she had wanted to indulge in a fit of despair. She couldn’t even make a man who seduced dozens of women want her. Except the coldness seeped through her and she closed down the emotions she shouldn’t allow to surface. She couldn’t risk some maid reporting tears on her pillow to her mother. And she certainly couldn’t risk her late night excursion being found out.

Slipping into a shadow, she removed her slippers and then stuck to the shadows as she made her way up the stairs and into her room.

She only allowed herself a sigh of relief that she made it through the house without encountering the night watchman. She let down her hair and reached for her brush. As a little girl, she’d used to hide rather than have her hair combed. Her nurse would yank the brush through the snarls bringing tears to her eyes. Then she would be chastised again for crying. To this day, she could scarcely tolerate her maid brushing out her hair. Not that her maid was so rough, but because Susanah feared a tangle would catch and tear at her scalp.

She didn’t know what made those memories surface. But what she did know was that she would have to perfect not drawing away when Evan—or a potential suitor—touched her. Just as she’d learned to sit still for her nightly brushing. Now that she knew that was her error, she could correct it. He must have had some purpose in taking her to a Cyprian’s ball beyond teaching her to waltz. Perhaps he wanted her to see how the courtesans approached the men.

She let images of the ball fill her head. She had been watching the other women—the demi-reps. Although the memories kept flitting away as she remembered his arm around her as they twirled in the dance. And his hands holding hers. Her flesh where he touch seemed altered, warmer than the surrounding skin. She put her fingers on her arm and the scar testing if she could feel it. Only a very little, which was good. He probably hadn’t noticed.

She leaned toward her looking glass and smiled wondering what he meant about her eyes. She tried squinting, then lifting her eyebrows—which made her look ridiculous. She gave up and hurried through the rest of her preparations for bed. In any case, the next time they met, she would have to convince him she was ready for his lessons, that she wouldn’t pull away. Because she could only risk sneaking out to meet him so many times before she was caught.

* * *

Evan stared at the door after it had shut. He shouldn’t linger. The servants would be stirring soon, and he didn’t need to be standing outside Lady Susanah’s door like a lovesick loon. Not that he was lovesick.

Quite the contrary, he’d nearly decided that she was too prickly, too haughty, and far too cold to spend one more minute with. Then she’d seemed so vulnerable when she asked if he would kiss her.

For a second her composed expression slipped, and she’d looked shocked, then hurt.

He wanted to kiss her, had approached her with that in mind, but she went rigid like a deer trying to remain unnoticed by going still. Or worse she recoiled. Yet, he did want to kiss her. Strangely enough, he wanted to do more than kiss her. He wanted to see if he could make her burn—because apparently, he liked to set impossible challenges for himself.

Or if he was honest with himself, he was trying to find his passion for living, too. Really he should be leaving soon to take up residence with his uncle and cousin. He’d said he would. He was usually a man of his word. He loved his cousin. He should cut short this nonsensical plan to help Lady Susanah find her passion and return to a pastoral life and playing juvenile games for the rest of his life. Or the rest of Gilbert’s possibly shortened life. Which was another reason he shouldn’t tarry in the city.

He would send a letter saying he’d run into a few delays but would be there soon. He would give Lady Susanah a month. A two-week delay to moving in to become his cousin’s keeper shouldn’t be so horrible.

He moved off down the street, with only one or two glances back to see if he could see a lamp lit in a room. But it didn’t take long before the typical London fog shrouded everything.

It occurred to him, he still didn’t know much about what was behind the walls she’d built around her. He’d learned more in the space of time when they were alone together than he had during the masquerade. She had a deft hand with her embroidery. There was a mix of flowers entwined with greenery. And she’d spend her last hours on earth praying if she had foreknowledge of the world’s end. He had four days to figure out something that would inspire her.

* * *

“What is wrong with you?” Mother demanded. “Put that sandwich back, you’ve already had two. Do you want to be as fat as a cow? Who would marry you then?”

Susanah put the sliver of a bread and butter sandwich back on the tea tray. “I lost count.”

She didn’t dare say that she’d missed breakfast, and her stomach was a gnawing hole. Her maid had woken her three times before she’d finally managed to get out of bed at half nine. Sleeping past nine in the morning wasn’t allowed. If her mother knew she was thirty minutes late in rising, she wouldn’t have any supper either.

“Do I simper?” Susanah asked.

“You had better not, and I had better not see a smirk on your face either.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Susanah almost sighed. She should have asked her maid. “Might we go shopping this afternoon?” She held up her slippers where she’d begun picking out the threads. “I thought I might redo these in an ivy pattern.”

“You might as well toss them. You’ll never be able to cover all the holes you put in them with your ridiculous pattern. You can’t be seen with holes in your shoes.”

Susanah raised them nearly to her nose and searched for the tiny pricks in the kid leather. She could scarcely see any. Rubbing her thumbnail over the ones she could see made them disappear. “I don’t think anyone could see any holes unless they were crawling on the floor.”

“Are you being insolent?” demanded Mother.

“No, ma’am,” answered Susanah. “I didn’t mean to be.”

“You haven’t had one caller of a suitable nature,” said her mother.

The end of the acceptable time frame for social calls was drawing near. The butler entering with the silver salver containing a calling card saved Susanah from further recriminations. The bent down corner indicated the visitor was waiting to be admitted. Unless the caller was entirely unsuitable, he or she would be because today was their “at home” day.

“Go sit in the sun,” said her mother.

That meant an acceptable suitor was calling, and she must be put on display. Susanah sighed. “What if he wants tea?”

Her mother waved her off to the seating group in front of the window where the sun—if it deigned to make an appearance—would shine on her blond hair, putting her in her best light, according to her mother anyway.

Stuffing her slippers in her sewing basket, she picked it up and moved to the chair where she was supposed to charm suitors. She’d never be able to take another sandwich before the tray was taken away. The distance from her mother was far enough to allow the illusion of privacy, but there wasn’t any. Her mother would listen to every word she said and give her opinion later. “May I ask who is joining us?”

Her hope of getting an answer was negligible.

“Lord Farringate, his daughter, and his sister.”

Susanah took a deep breath and moved into the filtered sunlight. Arranging her skirts, she sat in the chair. She drew her legs slightly to the side, knees firmly together, but then her posture was nearly perfect. As perfect as one could get, without turning into a salt pillar.

Her potential suitor was shown inside and the two women sat with her mother. Susanah studied them. The younger—obviously the earl’s daughter kept her chin down and her shoulders curved in slightly. Mother wouldn’t like her carriage. Lord Farringate stood.

Susanah observed him surreptitiously while working on a neat piece of embroidery on a handkerchief. It wouldn’t do to be seen stitching on her shoes while company was present. He wasn’t a bad looking man for an older gentleman. But as he eventually wandered toward her, she wanted to flee. She couldn’t say why. He was appropriately dressed if a little bit old-fashioned with his breeches, clocked socks, and buckled shoes. From what she could tell, he had a bit of a paunch, but most men of a similar age did.

She smiled in his direction. “How are you today, sir?”

“Well enough.” He didn’t return the favor of asking after her. Or smiling. “Why are you sitting over here alone?”

“The light is better over here. So I can see my stitches.” She rose from her seat without a glance at her mother. “We can join the others if you would prefer.”

He gestured toward the chair where she’d been sitting. “No. Do take your seat. I do like to see females being industrious.”

Sitting once again, she took care with her skirts. It was a small gesture, but it gave her a second to breathe. She wasn’t certain if he meant the words as insult or compliment. So it was probably better to take no notice of them. Studying his face, she tried to imagine what life would be like as his wife. “How are your children, sir?”

His smallish eyes narrowed and he seemed to be studying her as much as she was him. “Well enough.”

“And you have eleven?” She wouldn’t know what to do with a passel of children.

“Living,” he answered curtly.

Susanah was flustered. One didn’t normally mention children who didn’t survive childhood. “I didn’t…”

“Seven boys, four girls. Last I heard, all were healthy.” He gave a wave of his hand dismissing her concern. Except he almost sounded as if he wished it weren’t so.

Perhaps he was sad that any of his children had died young. She kept her expression bland as she puzzled that. Should she have acknowledged his dead children? Her parents never mentioned her siblings that hadn’t made it out of the womb alive. Although, she felt the weight of them every day. She must be all things for her parents since she didn’t have any brothers or sisters. But she couldn’t be the one thing they wanted since she couldn’t change her sex.

Lord Farringate had moved on. “My sister and daughter will accompany us on a drive this afternoon.”

Was that an invitation? The back of her neck tightened.

“If you are amenable,” he offered diffidently as if her answer was a foregone conclusion.

“I would very much like to go for a drive,” she answered as she was supposed to. “If my mother will allow me.”

“Of course you must go,” said her mother in the lull of the conversation with the ladies. Both of whom glanced her direction, the elder with an encouraging smile, the younger with a startled look and then suddenly downcast eyes. They probably hadn’t been paying any mind to the other conversation in the room.

Susanah would have ten thousand times wished to go shopping or to her room on bread and water instead. “Then it is settled.” She smiled or probably simpered—she didn’t know which she did. “I will look forward to it.”

The butler entered with the salver again.

After pulling up the single card, her mother shot her a glance. “Of course we will receive Lord Hull. Do bring him up.”

Her mother was likely thinking, Susanah had two potential suitors in one day. The only reason for announcing Lord Hull’s name was so that Lord Farringate would think she was not without other potential offers. But that wasn’t why Lord Hull was here. Oh, she had danced with him on occasion, but he’d never shown her any particular notice in spite of her efforts to engage him. He had probably remembered where he’d seen her embroidered slippers. Cold flashed through her veins.

Their task accomplished and fifteen minutes expired, Lord Farringate and his females rose to take their leave. Susanah drew on every ounce of her training to face Lord Hull without betraying anything.

* * *

Evan smiled as Lady Susanah exited her house furtively, barely pulling the door shut, before grabbing his arm and tugging him down the street. “I heard someone.”

When they were some hundred feet away, safely ensconced in a shadow, he whispered, “Do you want to lock the door?”

“I dare not.”

“Do you want me to lock the door?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “I cannot get caught, no matter what.”

She put her hand to her cheek, which made him wonder at her gesture. He gathered her in and led her to his carriage, safely out of sight around the corner. Then again, she seemed far more animated when they were alone than she did when they were in public. It was as though she was always concealing her true nature.

“Give me the key. I won’t have your parents or their belongings at risk because of our escapades.” No telling what it would do to her if her parents were murdered in their sleep. Although murder wasn’t terribly likely, but robbery might very well be. Housebreakers hid in the shadows waiting for an opportunity like an unlocked door or open window to strike.

“But what if you are caught?”

“If a servant opens the door, I’ll pretend I’m drunk and I have the wrong house. Either way, the door will get locked.”

She handed him the brass key, and he walked back to her home and locked it without incident. Returning to the carriage he found her huddled in a shadowed corner.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

She straightened and cast a glance out into the dark night. Was she regretting their clandestine meetings?

Her mouth tightened, but after a second of rolling along, she said, “Lord Hull suspects I was with you at the masquerade.”

Evan nodded. “He doesn’t know. I told him he was mad to think you would ever behave improperly.”

When the man had confronted him at Brooks two days after the masquerade, Evan had put him off with a laugh and a protest. He’d told him Lady Susanah was too high in the instep to ever be seen with him, let alone sink to a low enough level to attend a Cyprian’s ball. But, no, he wasn’t going to share the identity of his newest inamorata. It made him think, though, privacy might be a much better option for their meetings than a public event.

“But he suspects.” She plucked at her skirt. An oddly endearing gesture, she would never permit herself in public. “He could ruin me.”

He put his hand over hers stilling her fretting. “Not with mere suspicion. And I doubt he would. He’s not a bad sort.”

She turned her hand over and clasped his. “When he asked about my slippers, I told him, that a great many people have coveted things I wear and imitate them. So even if I had a similar pair of slippers, he most certainly didn’t see mine.” She paused and her chin dipped. “My mother said I was rude to him.”

“When was this?” Evan asked, his chest tightening, yet at the same time, he stared at her hand wrapped inside his. It was such a trusting gesture from a woman who rarely trusted enough to show any emotion.

“The day after. He called on me.”

“I see.” He didn’t want to tell her that she hadn’t entirely convinced Lord Hull, not since he’d questioned Evan after that. On the other hand, seeing Lady Susanah in such a risqué environment could have just sparked interest in the man, as he’d predicted it would.

Amiable as the man was, Evan’s gut tightened. He didn’t want him calling on Lady Susanah—not that Hull would make her a bad husband. In fact, he’d make her a better husband than Farringate. “I really don’t think he’d set out to ruin you, and he’s not a gossip.”

“Are we going to your apartments?” she asked as if the matter was finished.

It might be for her. Or was she now entertaining the idea that Hull might make her an acceptable husband? Evan fought a stupid thought to call the man out as if that wouldn’t confirm his suspicion.

“No. A friend’s house.” He disengaged his hand and opened his valise on the opposite seat.

“Is that a good idea?” she asked. “I can’t have anyone learning about these…lessons.”

“No one will be there except the servants,” he answered. Fishing out a veiled bonnet, he handed it to her. “And they won’t bother us.”

“Then I don’t need this.” She held out the hat almost as if it disgusted her.

“I’d rather not risk the servants recognizing you as we are let inside.” He put the hat on her bare head in spite of her puff of protest. “Don’t worry, the hat is new. I bought it yesterday.”

This time she had arrived without her cloak or anything over her head. She must have fled so quickly she couldn’t retrieve her outer garments. He put an arm around her shoulders. She was trembling slightly, but he didn’t know what to make of it.

“I should have brought you a cloak, too. Are you cold?”

“The night is not so bad. Will I need a cloak?”

“You won’t.” He’d put his greatcoat about her to help hide her identity from the servants who would admit them to a house owned by a botanist friend of his.

“Is it very far?” she asked and leaned closer to him.

His pulse quickened.

Too far and not far enough. “Near the river,” he answered. “I thought you might like to see my friend’s flowers.”

“Flowers?” she asked as if she expected there to be a hidden meaning to the word.

“He has orchids from Africa and tulips from Holland. Although I don’t know what will be in bloom.” Evan had some scribbled notes in his pocket, but he could barely make heads or tails of them in strong light.

Her fingers touched his thigh, lightly, hesitantly, just the tips, but his blood went racing wildly into the neighborhood of her touch. Did she know what she was doing?

“Will I have to wear this bonnet and veil the whole time?”

“Only until we are alone in the conservatory,” he answered with a burr to his voice.

Her fingers lifted and she wiggled closer on the seat. “Thank goodness. It was bad enough wearing that mask last time. How will I ever learn about passion if you cannot kiss me?”

Evan’s blood was rushing through him. He could hardly contain himself. Her hip against his, the lean of her lithe body into his, and her overt encouragement had him wanting to tear off the bonnet and kiss her senseless. Or drop to his knees on the carriage floor, lift her skirts, and show her pleasure. But the last time they had been alone, she had flinched when he touched her. She had not given him one indication that she was physically receptive, nor had she understood what he was trying to teach her.

He reached for her hem to see what reaction he provoked.

She gave a squeak of alarm and shifted her tightly locked knees away from his touch.

He heaved a deep sigh. In her reaction was, no doubt, some maidenly reticence and just plain innocence, but her shock was thick and heavy between them. He removed his arm from her shoulders and moved to the opposite bench, roughly shoving the valise out of the way. “You don’t understand that there is a difference between sexual relations and passion.”