No? Susanah’s feet were nailed to the floor. How could Mr. Cooper say no? How dare he refuse her? “But you’re a rake.”

Or did he not find her the least bit desirable? The tips of her ears caught fire. She wanted to flee. Only he stood in front of the door.

“Susanah,” he said on an exhale as if she were a very troublesome sort of girl.

“I did not give you leave to call me by my given name.” Her heart was pounding before, but now each beat carried a knife jab. “And it isn’t as though I want you to marry me.”

His brows drew in. “Well, that is a relief.”

She’d meant to take her time and explain her predicament and ask for his assurances he wouldn’t ruin her—at least not completely. But he didn’t have to insult her. If nothing else she was quite a catch on the marriage market. Her dowry was generous, and she would inherit her father’s considerable estate. And he, a man with no expectations, was acting as though he wouldn’t want to be financially secure. She shook her head and looked desperately at the door. Her mother would be looking for her. She was never allowed to stray far or long.

She’d have to touch him to move past him. “I’d like to leave, sir.”

“Lady Susanah, may I ask what exactly is it you’d like me to do?” He took a step closer to her.

She folded her arms across her chest as if to provide succor to her wounded heart. Her heart was not wounded, merely her pride, she told herself with a defiant shake of her head. “I’d like you to move aside, so I might return to the company.”

He took another step closer. “You startled me.” His voice was gentle, almost soothing. “Perhaps I misunderstood the nature of your request.”

“Don’t patronize me. You understood perfectly well.” And if he hadn’t, well when she’d blurted out that he was a rake, it should have made things quite clear.

“I’m not certain I do.” He took another step closer and his midsection was almost brushing her folded arms. He watched her, but as the thin light was from above and his face was tilted down, shadows cloaked his expression.

Her stomach fluttered. She swallowed and relied on years of social training to stand her ground. But perhaps not all was lost. Perhaps she could convince him to help her, yet. If she could just manage to open her mouth and use words. But her vocabulary seemed to have deserted her. All the careful planning of how this conversation might go hadn’t begun with his saying “no” or disabusing him of the notion that she might want him as a husband.

He waited.

Words scrambled in her mind, but she discarded them before letting them pass her lips.

“You would like me to teach you how to be flirtatious?” he prompted.

“I would like you to teach me whatever the belles use to land husbands,” she blurted out. “You said that was passion.”

His lips twisted as if he were trying to restrain a laugh. “You may not want to use their tactics.”

Her eyes must have adjusted to the streams of moonlight coming through the skylight. She wished that it was enough light to see the green or brown of his eyes. “I would use any tactics at this point. My father is attempting to arrange a marriage to Lord Farringate, and it did not end well the first time he tried to arrange a marriage for me.”

It had ended in a terrible coil that only grew worse. She’d been mortified. It had taken everything she’d had to hold her head high, certain she was the butt of every joke for a whole season. And even if this arrangement came off, she couldn’t imagine it would be better. There was a cruel cast to Lord Farringate’s mouth.

“I thought you wanted to marry a man with a title,” Mr. Cooper said.

Something about the coaxing nature of his voice allowed her to be much more candid with her thoughts than she normally would be. That and his proximity to her person made it hard to think of a polite dissemblance. His very nearness without touching her made it hard to breathe. “I won’t be allowed to marry a man without prospects.” The one time she’d questioned if a certain untitled, but quite wealthy, gentleman might be acceptable, she’d been firmly disabused of the notion. Her chin dropped and she mumbled. “Or so I’ve been told.”

She was expected to marry into her class or at the very least only a rung or two below hers in the hierarchy. An earl was a rung beneath her father in the ranks, and Lord Farringate was only an earl.

Mr. Cooper’s hand lifted as if he meant to touch her and her breath caught. “These ambitions are not your own?”

The answer wasn’t so easy. Of course, they had been. She had been raised to believe she was destined to marry a man of significant rank. “I never thought it would be so difficult.”

His hand landed on the wall behind her. It wasn’t as though there was much room in the tiny landing where they were standing, but somehow it was a bit of a let down that he wasn’t touching her.

He leaned close enough she could feel his warm moist breath on her cheek. “What is it you think I could teach you?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you have some success with seduction. I would think you could teach me the female’s side. Or at least teach me what makes a man’s heart beat faster.”

He leaned in and the expectations started all over again. “So if I have the gist of this, you want me to teach you how to seduce some lord into marriage.”

She gave a quick nod, then chewed on her bottom lip. But he seemed to be waiting for a verbal response. “Or a duke or a future duke…” Just so long as he own his own residence and was well enough off to not be influenced by her parents.

His eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. “Why not a prince?”

Her back bumped the wall and only then did she realize she was backing away. “If he would take me away from my parents home, then a prince would do.”

“Is there a particular gentleman you have in mind?”

“No, but there aren’t that many potential candidates. Unmarried dukes, marquesses, or earls or their heirs aren’t running around in droves. But I haven’t settled on one.” As if it would be up to her.

“Why not marry Lord Farringate? He meets your criteria.”

“He scares me,” she whispered.

Mr. Cooper watched her, his expression inscrutable. “You should be scared of me.” His voice was husky and low and a shiver ran through her. “Passion is a dangerous thing to play with, my lady.”

She pushed his shoulders back because the danger was something she was well aware of. She needed to see his face. “I would need your assurances that you would not…that you would leave me undefiled.”

His eyes locked on hers and he shook his head. “Even if a man promised you he would leave your virginity intact and had every intention of holding to that, he might forget himself in the moment.” Sliding his hands over her shoulders, negating her resistance, he drew so close his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. “That is what makes passion so very dangerous.”

Hot and cold rivers ran through her. At the same time, a fresh horror poured through her. Oh, this couldn’t be. She’d exposed everything to him. He stayed there almost kissing her, but not quite. Was he waiting for permission or for her to close the last scrap of space between their lips? “Are you saying you would force me?”

He shook his head and eased back slightly. “I would never force you to give me your virginity. But if you were to beg me to take you, I doubt I would resist.”

“I would never beg you to ruin me.” Except she was more of less asking that. “Entirely ruin me.” She had to be a virgin on her wedding night, even if she were not entirely pure.

His head tilted and there was a gleam in his eyes. “Never?”

“Of course not,” she said with far more assurance than she felt. Her knees were shaking and there was a most peculiar tension well above her knees. “I have to get back to my mother before she starts searching the house.”

* * *

There was his challenge. It only occurred to Evan after he’d had time to reflect that he was leaving town. He’d already given notice at his rented rooms. His uncle and cousin were expecting him back within a fortnight. He didn’t have time to properly seduce Lady Susanah. But she’d thrown down that gauntlet. Fool that he was, he couldn’t resist the challenge. He’d make her beg, but first, he would help her discover her passion. She was a bit confused on the issue—not that he’d really given her reason to understand the nuanced difference between passion and just sex.

Her plan might be insane though.

Meeting only in the middle of the night and never being seen together in society was lunacy, and he was mad for consenting to it.

After midnight a few days later, he stood a block from his carriage, waiting for Lady Susanah to emerge from Weatdon House. She would be ruined if anyone discovered them. He would be named a blackguard and forced to marry her—or if not him, she would be forced to marry an old man who had already buried four wives. Because Evan wasn’t a prize of any consequence on the marriage mart. And if his prospects weren’t quite as grim as everyone thought, he wasn’t free to enlighten anyone to that fact.

The moon had set some time ago, and it was too dark to see his watch so he had no idea if he’d been waiting ten minutes or two hours. He was half afraid the watch would raise a hue and cry that he was a thief, or a servant would bludgeon him for skulking about. That or he’d freeze to death while waiting.

She said she’d come down as soon as the house was asleep, but the windows had been dark for quite some time. She’d probably fallen asleep. Or gone lily-livered on him.

If he wanted to stir her to passion, he should be making her wait for him.

The latch on the door clicked and his blood pumped rapidly. The door opened a sliver, and a light spilled out, half blinding him.

“Mr. Cooper?” Lady Susanah whispered. Probably blinded her, too.

“Yes, my lady,” he drawled softly, from an arms-length away.

“Oh!” She blew out the night light, and set it to the side.

Her movements were jerky as she exited the house. She fumbled with a brass key until he took it from her hands and inserted it into the lock.

She was shaking, although he could tell she was trying very hard not to.

He pocketed the key and held out his arm. “My carriage is just around the corner.”

Her gaze darted to the house and the windows then out to the shadows of the street. She took his arm, but when he took a step, she didn’t.

“Let us go, my lady.”

“I don’t know if I can walk.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” It was late, but not so very late. An occasional carriage went by. It was late to be walking, but if he were to carry her down the street that would look mighty strange. “I would, but that might draw unwanted attention.”

She took a shaky breath and then moved forward.

“There you go,” he said softly. “No need to be scared.”

“I’m just worried that someone will realize I’m gone.” She looked over her shoulder at her home and nearly veered off the edge of the sidewalk into a wrought iron fence. “I heaped the pillows in the bed, but if someone looks too closely…”

“I’m certain no one will look,” Why would they? She wasn’t a prisoner. He tucked her arm close to his body to better steer her.

“Are you taking me to your—I don’t even know where you live.” Her voice was higher than normal. She was most decidedly afraid, even if she was loath to admit it.

“I rent rooms off of St. James, but we’re not going there.”

Her step faltered. “Where are you taking me?”

“To a ball.”

She came to a full stop. “I can’t be seen with you.”

“A masquerade. You won’t be seen.” He tugged her forward. “I have a mask and domino for you to wear.”

“But I’m not wearing a ballgown.” Her voice wavered. “You said to wear a plain dress. It’s just a muslin day dress.”

Her day dress was probably better than many of the attendees’ finest. “No one will care.”

They walked a few more steps before she tentatively asked, “Who is hosting a masquerade ball?”

“You wouldn’t know her,” Evan said. “You probably won’t know any of the females present, and you shouldn’t acknowledge any of the males even if you know who they are. If you must talk to one, just call them sir, unless they tell you differently. I’m taking you to a Cyprian’s ball.”

She balked again. “A Cyprian’s ball?”

Freeing his arm, Evan circled behind her and picked her up—although not particularly gracefully. He merely wrapped his arms around her midsection and lifted. She went stiff. They were nearly to the carriage anyway. The coachman upon seeing them rounding the corner had opened the door and then mounted his box pretending not to notice her at all. He knew the drill.

“It is a ball where we can dance together all night. The music is surprisingly well done. You do like to dance, don’t you?” Evan set her into the carriage and followed her inside.

“It is my duty to accept invitations to dance.”

Damn. “You do spend a lot of time on the dance floor at any ball I’ve ever seen you attend.”

“How else am I to encourage a suitor if I don’t dance with him?”

Did she think she would land a husband merely by accepting any male’s invitation to dance? “Conversation, perhaps.”

“I converse at routs or when someone calls on me. Isn’t dancing what is supposed to be done at a ball?”

He had been working off what he knew of Lady Susanah when he set up this night’s entertainment. At every ball where he’d ever seen her, she danced a lot. She was proficient. She never made a wrong move—not that he’d studied her intently. She danced with the same bland smile she tended to wear and no flamboyance. He’d wondered if she were free from the constraints of polite society if she would move with more joy.

“Do you not enjoy the feel of the music as you move?” There were other questions. Did she not enjoy her partner’s attention, his touch, or notice his figure as he moved?

“Feel the music?” She sat on the edge of the seat blinking owlishly at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What are you experiencing when you dance?”

Her chin dipped. “Mostly I’m just making certain I don’t make a mistake.”

“Well, don’t worry about making a mistake and just try to enjoy the dancing tonight.”

* * *

Casting a sidelong glance at Mr. Cooper, Susanah wondered if he meant to expose her to licentious behavior before taking her somewhere to experience passion with him. Perhaps he meant for her to see how the demi-reps charmed men. In any case, their conversations had digressed to logistics as he insisted upon tying on a mask that covered everything but her eyes. Then he added a nun’s wimple “to hide her hair.”

He adjusted the coif until he was satisfied nothing was showing, then pinned on the veil. She wondered why she’d bothered to pin up her hair after her maid had let it down and braided it.

He pulled a large painted crucifix on a chain over his head.

“So I am to go as a nun and you are a monk?”

“For tonight at least,” he muttered as he pulled out a black domino and draped it around her shoulders.

He donned a red mask next. Unlike hers, his left his nose and lips free. The domino he pulled out for himself was also red, and then he retrieved a wide-brimmed red hat from the valise that had been waiting on the seat for them.

Annoyance flashed that she was in a plain white round gown—although dressing in anything else without her maid’s help would have been too difficult—and he was brightly plumaged in proper evening clothes under his showy domino. “That doesn’t look like a monk’s costume.”

He stopped in his maneuvers to get the red cloak around his broad shoulders in the enclosed space. “I’m a cardinal. You may address me as ‘your eminence’, and I’ll call you”—he tilted his head as if considering.

“Sister,” she said for him. “I do get the point of a masquerade is to not reveal who you are.”

“No. You’re not my sister.” He grinned. “I’ll call you darling…darling.”

In spite of her annoyance that they seem to be playing a childish game, something stirred deep in her at the sight of his lips curling. Or perhaps at the term of endearment. She fought the feeling. “My mother says masquerades are disgraceful affairs.”

“They are.” He settled back into the seat, his costume, such as it was, in place. “I doubt that stopped her from attending one or two in her youth. Although this one might be especially so. But we will ignore everyone else. The goal is to dance with abandon, to find joy in the music, to enjoy yourself to the fullest.”

She stared at him, wondering if he was teasing her. But then she’d lost her nerve to ask about what would happen after the ball when he’d teach her about passion. Or at least that was when she assumed he would begin his lessons. Perhaps he liked to dance or used it to seduce. “How long shall we stay?”

“Do not worry. I’ll have you home well before dawn.”

He hadn’t really answered her question, but in a way, she was glad of the reprieve. Earlier when she thought he would only kiss her and well a good deal more, she’d been quaking in her embroidered slippers.

The carriage drew to a halt in front of assembly rooms she had attended before. When a hostess didn’t have a ballroom or wanted to throw a grand party she often let these rooms. Susanah had never realized that people other than the nobility might be allowed to rent the venues, too. “I’ve been here before.”

“I’m not surprised.” He handed her down from the carriage.

She cast a glance at the coachman wondering why he hadn’t opened the door for them.

Mr. Cooper leaned close to her ear and whispered, “He’s pretending to not see you.”

“I thought good servants weren’t supposed to be seen, not the other way around.” It was her best effort at a witticism.

Mr. Cooper gave her a slight smile, as he guided her forward.

She supposed she wasn’t very witty or entertaining. The knack for making a jest had eluded her most of her life. Half the time she didn’t understand them either—or at least not until well after everyone else. There was something distinctly awkward about laughing long after everyone else had moved on. So generally she just didn’t laugh.

She cast another glance at the coachman wondering if there was censure in his rigid looking away from her. Not that she should worry about the opinions of a servant.

The strains of a waltz drifted out as they neared the entrance.

She stopped walking.

Mr. Cooper looked down on her. “What?”

“They’re playing a waltz,” she whispered.

“I imagine they are dancing to it, too.”

Something icy was freezing her blood, and she felt like she was turning into an ice sculpture. Waltzing was scandalous. “I can’t waltz.”

“Darling, you can do anything you want. No one will know it is you.”

Her mother would have killed any dancing master that attempted to teach her the steps. It wasn’t proper. A lady didn’t waltz. Not under any circumstances. It encouraged bad things. She had to turn to fully look at Mr. Cooper. Between the wimple and the mask, she couldn’t see anything to either side.

Perhaps he needed more encouragement. But she didn’t know the first thing about waltzing. Even if they were doing it on the continent, she’d never been there. “I don’t know how.”

He chucked her under the chin. “I’ll teach you. It’s fairly simple.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t dance a dance she’d never practiced, not in front of people. People who wouldn’t know it was her. Her chest grew tight. “Mr. Cooper, I don’t think I could.”

“Evan or your eminence.” His mouth flattened. “You’ll give yourself away if you call me Mr. Cooper all night.”

She swallowed and nodded. Evan. She knew his Christian name, but to use it seemed so intimate. But then she had asked him to teach her about passion and what could be more intimate than that? He’d gone to some trouble to arrange for costumes and then she remembered the feel of his hands on her head as he arranged the coif and pinned the veil to it. “I suppose I could try.”

He put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm and squeezed. “There you go, darling.”

Somehow when he called her “darling” she wished it wasn’t playacting. Not that anything could come of it. Nothing would come of it, she told herself firmly. Mr. Cooper—Evan—was a philanderer. He went from lover to lover. She wouldn’t envy the girl he eventually married because a leopard wasn’t likely to change his spots. Or maybe she’d envy her just a little. But anything more than a little just wouldn’t be the thing.