Susanah berated herself. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t flinch or pull away, that she would give him every indication she was ready for her lessons in passion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to jerk away. I just wasn’t expecting…”

She wasn’t expecting him to lift her skirt. After the night at the Cyprian’s ball, she should have had a better understanding. She had an idea that passion would involve those private parts of her anatomy. “I thought you would kiss me first.”

Evan growled and leaned across the space tugging at the ribbons of the heavily veiled bonnet.

Of course, he hadn’t kissed her first. He couldn’t with the stupid contraption on her head. He removed it. She expected it to be roughly, but he eased it off her head with an odd gentleness that contrasted with his dark expression. Something warm swirled in her and it unsettled her so much, she grasped for sane thoughts.

Her hair was mussed, but she resisted the urge to straighten it. How effective would that be without a mirror? She should have brought her brush. It was likely her hair would end up disordered. And why was she thinking about her hair if he was about to kiss her?

She leaned forward—because she had to do her one-hundredth part to encourage him.

He leaned back against the squabs so quickly, she nearly tumbled from her seat.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” she asked faintly bewildered. Why had he removed the bonnet if not to kiss her?

“What are you doing?” He folded his arms and glared at her.

Heat rose in her face and her left cheek stung particularly. “I’m trying to indicate that I am ready for you to teach me about passion.”

He sighed.

Stars above, did he not desire her? At all? What else could it be? She couldn’t look at him. She should demand he take her home. Putting her hand over her eyes—yes that would work—she tried to duck. Just because she couldn’t see him, she must be invisible. “Do you not want to kiss me? I was given to understand that men are less particular about these things.”

“Susanah,” he said sharply.

She cringed, half expecting a slap, a punch or worse just a flat statement that he didn’t desire her. That she was undesirable.

His voice gentled. “Look at me.”

She shook her head. Then it was if she couldn’t bear the idea of stifling her thoughts, stifling her words, stifling herself. Something hot and wretched refused to be contained. “I watched those courtesans, and I’ve spent the last week watching how the belles touch their husbands.” When she was allowed out of her cage. “You wanted me to see that. The little touches and looks that happen when they don’t think anyone is watching. The constant seduction. I’m trying. But I’m doing it wrong.”

“Susanah.”

“Don’t. Don’t treat me like a child.” Her voice had risen. She tried to bring it down, but she’d lost control, the last thread of her composure had unraveled. Even as she knew she was exposing the horridness she hid from the world, she couldn’t stop herself. “I thought you would help me. Just, just, take me…”

She didn’t want to say the last word, but she had nowhere else to go to get away but to return to her prison. The last word she whispered, “…home.”

He laughed.

The bastard laughed.

“You’re horrid and cruel,” she hurtled at him. The words startled her and shamed her even more. She wanted to die. She wanted to disappear. Mostly she wanted him to kiss her or at least pretend he wanted to. But he didn’t. He was a rake. The list of women reported to be his lovers was long. He wasn’t that particular in his tastes. Only he didn’t want her.

The next thing she knew he was pulling at her hand, trying to make her look at him. She squeezed her eyes closed and slapped at his arm, trying to get away in the tight confines of a carriage. As much as she wanted away from his cruelty, she wanted away from herself, from her loss of dignity, from her core of ugliness. Her mother was right, no man wanted her—not even a man who should covet her for her inheritance.

If he wanted that—she’d given him every opportunity to cart her off to Gretna Green or ruin her, so she’d have no choice except to marry him. To think this afternoon she’d harbored silly hopes that he might do that. But no, not even her ten thousand pound dowry and the massive estate that would eventually be hers could tempt him. He didn’t want her. She was repulsive, and she was no closer to understanding why.

She didn’t want him to carry her off and marry her. Not really, she told herself. And she was quite lucky he didn’t want to, she tried to convince herself. It was just that she would have wished for any escape after the last few days. Even a heartless rake that didn’t want her seemed a safer haven than her home of late.

He tugged her away from where she’d curled into a ball—a serious lapse in comportment. Turning her face into the corner of the carriage she tried to get as far away from him as she could. She fought, but he pinned her arms against her sides, clamping his arms around her and lifting her from the corner.

His thighs were hard under hers as he settled her onto his lap. He forced her head against his shoulder with his chin. His chin of all things.

“Susanah, sweetheart, don’t fight me.”

The options she had for dealing with an untenable situation raced through her mind. Faint. Although she’d perfected her faint in finishing school, the one time she’d tried it she’d dropped to the floor like a stone. Neither of the men in the room attempted to catch her. Scream. But even if she wanted away from Evan, screaming would only bring attention to them and possibly make everything far worse. Run. But it was the middle of the night and she had no idea where they were or if she’d have to flee past unsavory neighborhoods or characters. It seemed as though they had been driving quite a while. She didn’t have a cloak. Then again curling into him and absorbing his warmth seemed like another option.

How pathetic was it that he didn’t want her, but she wanted nothing more than to stay on his lap?

“What happened to ‘darling’?” she asked. More because she had to say something now that her fit was spent.

He tilted away and looked at her.

She couldn’t bear it, so she pressed her nose into his neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted so. It was unfair. I know you have gone out of your way to help me when you had no reason to. I understand you don’t want me in that way.”

She didn’t, but it wouldn’t help to point that out. She should tuck the tattered remnants of her dignity around her and move to the opposite seat. Of course, his arms were still firmly around her. The only excuse she could come up with for her behavior was that she’d had a horrid week and she was hungry, which was never a good thing for her temperament.

“If you prefer darling to sweetheart, I will oblige, my darling.” He loosened his hold and stroked her back.

He was probably worried she’d bite him like a rabid animal. “It doesn’t matter when you don’t mean it.”

His mouth very near her ear, he whispered, “I do mean it. I do want you in that way.”

“No one could want me after that unseemly display,” she whispered. “You needn’t pretend.”

“I have been trying to bring out your passion. Why would I be repelled by seeing the very thing I sought?”

That was too much. She slid from his lap and moved to the opposite seat. “You wanted me to have a tantrum?”

“I rather hoped you would have raptures over the flowers.” His mouth twisted to the side in a slightly amused look. “Or the waltzing, but passion is passion. This just proves you are capable of it.”

She folded her arms and stared at him. “Everyone is capable of anger.”

And she never should have let it erupt. Anger was to be smothered or choked down. A lady didn’t display rage—at least not to anyone who wasn’t blood-related.

“I wanted to see what you hide beneath layers of propriety and control,” he said leaning toward her.

She shook her head and looked down. “No, you don’t. There is nothing worth seeing there.” Just a boiling mass of constant frustration at her own failure to do the one thing her parents asked of her. She drew in a deep breath. She could see her way out of this. Remind him of why they were here and comport herself with, if not dignity, at least a pretense of it. “And I asked you to teach me about seduction so I could land a husband worthy of me.”

He shook his head. “No. You asked me to teach you what the belles have.”

She knew very well what the belles had. Some sort of attractiveness that made men forget themselves and obviously she didn’t have it. “Well, everyone believes they seduced their husbands—I know it is true in at least one case. So they must have some skill at it, at seduction.”

He continued to shake his head. “Darling, what the belles have is passion, not necessarily sexual skills. You have to understand that if they fell into bed, it was because they were enjoying themselves so much in the moment that they forgot everything. That they were experiencing passion, and they continue to feel passionately toward their men and probably other things in their lives.”

She didn’t understand this hair splitting he was doing. “I don’t know how I am to learn to be passionate if you won’t show me.”

He leaned over and took her uppermost hand in his, unfolding her arms in the process. “You have to find passion within yourself. You have to let down your guard enough to enjoy life, to experience your circumstances with enthusiasm, to find pleasure in what you are doing.”

She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t proper. “I’m trying. But you won’t…” She gestured with her free hand. He wouldn’t kiss her. “Or you stop if I make a mistake. I don’t know how to do these things. I want to learn how. I think we are wasting time when you could just show me how it works. Let me experience passion with you.”

God save her, she was begging now.

He drew in a deep breath and wrapped her hand in both of his. “You are confusing sexual skills with passion. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest and land in his lap. She shook her head. “I don’t. You said a man wants a lady in the drawing room and a woman who is wild and wanton in the bedroom. I will learn to do that if you teach me.”

He stared at her a long time. “What makes you think that you will enjoy intimacies when you never allow yourself to enjoy anything else?”

She didn’t know how to answer. What did her enjoyment have to do with acting wild and wanton—assuming she could forget herself long enough to do that. In a small voice, she asked, “Why must I enjoy it?”

“Because I won’t have you any other way,” he said wearily.

* * *

Evan thought Susanah might finally understand what he was trying to tell her. He could almost hear the creak of cogs as her thoughts churned. He kissed the back of her hand, all the while watching for those subtle signs of arousal; parted lips, dewy eyes, quickened breathing.

Nothing.

He was losing his touch. Or she was incapable of experiencing physical pleasure. Or sexual passion. Or she didn’t find him attractive. No, that couldn’t be it. He’d seen signs in her before. Tiny signs, but he was starting to understand, tiny signs were all she betrayed. She must be too busy thinking to focus on his attentions. Her eyes had a distant look as if she were seeing inward.

Then again he might be putting too fine a point on it. Some men, many men wouldn’t care if her passion was feigned. And she actually had a good idea of how to touch a man to stir his blood—not that he wanted her to know that.

“I have been told all my life that excessive displays of emotion are vulgar,” she finally said.

“Yes, I know, keep a stiff upper lip and all that. But you’ve taken it to an extreme, where you don’t take any joy in anything at all.”

“That is what I need to do?” her voice was tentative.

“Yes, there must be some activity you are passionate about.”

There was a flicker of something like panic in her eyes for a second before she gave a firm nod.

“You do seem more relaxed when we are alone together. Could you just let down the walls of reserve you have built around you for a little while?”

“I will try.”

A few minutes later they were approaching one of the larger old mansions that dotted the edge of the Thames outside of the city. One that was complete with full gardens and a rather large conservatory, which was their destination. They were shown into the house and through room after room until they finally were in the glass-encased room.

The air was hot and humid. Several constantly burning oil stoves kept the temperatures high. Pans of water on them, put steam into the air until it condensed on the multitude of window panes. Evan set down the lantern he carried, pulled his overcoat from her shoulders, and folded it over his arm. She removed the veiled bonnet. He wanted to take off his coat as well, but he hesitated. She took his arm as they made their way along the graveled path. She stopped at an orange tree. “Do you suppose there is any fruit left?” She bounced on her toes and pointed up. “Oh, I see one. Do you think your friend would mind?”

“He wouldn’t begrudge a beautiful woman an orange.” He pushed through the leaves and plucked the orange from the tree, returned, and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She pulled it to her chest as if it were something precious. Which seemed an odd reaction for an orange. Then again he supposed she was trying to show enthusiasm. He’d all but given her a treasure map, and she was determined to follow it.

“There is a table that should be set for us with food if you want to wait.”

“A picnic?” She turned toward him and smiled—really smiled. Her eyes even crinkled. “I am so hungry, how did you know?”

He didn’t know, but somehow he wanted to take credit that he’d pleased her. Yet, this seemed like an incredible leap from her normal platitudes. Or was he fooled by the darkness? He lifted the lantern to shine it on her face. “Would you like to eat first and then explore?”

She nodded. “I would, thank you.”

He hadn’t actually planned a full meal and had just asked for a bottle of wine and some cheeses and wafers.

“Are you fond of food?”

Her hand stiffened for a second where she held his arm. “Not particularly. I mean there are foods I like better than other foods, but I suspect that is true for most people.”

“Let me guess. It wouldn’t be proper to indulge in your favorite foods,” he said.

“I don’t know that propriety is the issue, so much as I shouldn’t want to become plump. Although, I have been told I might be more attractive if I were a little rounder.”

“I don’t think so.” He knew the correct answer, but in Lady’s Susanah’s case, it wasn’t a fib. “Your figure is perfect.”

“Thank you,” she said as if she couldn’t not. After a second, she glanced out of the corner of her eye and said, “I would wager that you say that to all women.”

“Only to ones I desire, but in your case it is true.”

Her hand fluttered on his arm as if he’d surprised her. Or shocked her. But then she’d chosen him to educate her because of his history with women, so his past wasn’t a secret.

“It does smell wonderful in here,” she said.

Were they back to banalities? Or did she just want to change the subject? Her clumsy attempt to avoid talking about male and female relations after her dogged insistence that she was ready to explore such things struck him as endearing. More and more he was battling with an urge to protect her. “Smells green and earthy.”

“Do you think it smells this way in jungles?” she said almost wistfully.

He was almost surprised that she didn’t point out that colors didn’t have scents, but she was trying. “I don’t know. Can’t say that I’ve ever been to a jungle. Just good English forests.”

He almost said that they should visit Sherwood Forest one day, but that would never happen. That gave him pause. Why was he thinking about anything beyond the next few meetings with her? He shouldn’t consider anything after the two extra weeks he’d told his uncle he’d need to wrap up his affairs.

In the center of the conservatory stood a little, wrought iron table and chairs. It was set for two, complete with generous wine goblets. He put the lantern on the table, set his overcoat and her bonnet on an empty chair, and seated Lady Susanah. He reached for the wine bottle and began to work at the cork. Once the cork was free, he poured wine into both their glasses. Then he removed the napkins covering the cheese and wafers. He peeled the wax from the chunks of hard cheeses and then sliced them. There was a small loaf of bread and a jar of preserves, too. She sat her orange on the table next to her small plate.

“This is lovely,” she said and gave him one of her mouth-only smiles.

A pang of regret settled under his breastbone. She was disappointed. He wasn’t certain when he’d started to see the subtle changes in her expression. She took a long draught of her wine and her glass was nearly empty so he refilled it and topped off his.

“If I had known you were hungry, I would have asked for more food.” He should have asked for ham or sliced beef. Perhaps, some salad. “Do eat as much as you want. I had a hearty supper earlier.”

“You couldn’t have known that I have only had bread and water at home. I was hoping for a full supper at the Lievens’ ball the other night, but I only managed to snare one small pastry.” She placed several wafers and slices of the hard cheese on her plate. “And of course the refreshments at Almack’s are rather plain.”

“Bread and water?” he repeated.

She pulled her hands back into her lap and lowered her eyes.

“Susanah?” he prompted.

“I shouldn’t have said anything, but I was rude to Lord Hull when he was questioning me about being at the masquerade.” Her voice was low. “Mother was disappointed in me.” She looked up then. Her forehead was crinkled. “I was so afraid he would expose our rendezvous. I just wanted him to stop talking about seeing shoes so very similar to mine, but I couldn’t explain that to my mother.”

Odd that Hull hadn’t mentioned anything about her being rude. Or even her denials. Or calling on her, before he’d confronted Evan. “So you have been on bread and water since then?”

“At home. Of course, I eat whatever is served if we are out.” Her eyes dipped. “Mother wouldn’t want anyone to know anything is amiss.”

He reached across the table and picked up her orange. Her eyes followed it as he peeled it with his penknife. He didn’t want to make too much of her punishment, but it didn’t seem quite normal. Bread and water instead of supper wasn’t unusual, but a whole week seemed excessive. He kept his tone conversational. “Are you put on bread and water often?”

There was an almost infinitesimal movement of her shoulders. “Not so much anymore.” She looked down and to the side. “Let us speak of other things, or I am not likely to enjoy this night of freedom.”

“Are you jailed, too?” he teased.

But her movements turned wooden as she reached for her wine glass to take a sip.

Bloody hell, she was. “What the devil? Are you jailed?”

“It is just for a week,” she said. “Mostly it is just boring.”

“How are you jailed?”

“I am confined to my room.” She made a small circle with her hand. Her gaze darted to his and then away. “Locked in. And well the bread and water.”

She couldn’t have been that rude, or Hull surely would have noted it when he was asking Evan if she was his companion at the masquerade. Hull was smart enough to add unexpected rudeness from a perfectly behaved Lady Susanah as enough of an aberration to indicate she was there. Still, Evan felt he was on the verge of peeling back a layer of her impenetrable facade. Was she held to some impossible standard? Was this why she behaved more like some automaton that a real person? “Sweetheart, that is not normal.”

She put a hand to her left cheek again and dropped it. “Well, it is preferable to being whipped. I was rude. And really I am doing much worse than being rude by sneaking out with you, so I do deserve punishment.”

What would happen to her if they were found out? He kept his tone gentle and reached over to put sections of the orange on her plate. “How did you get out?”

Her gaze darted around as if someone might overhear. “I discovered the key to the long case clock works in my door if I jiggle it a bit.”

He reached over and put his hand on hers, just to reassure her. Her hand jerked away and went to her cheek again before dropping to her lap. He’d made no progress at all. Or she’d stopped hiding her inclination to pull away, which was progress, even if it didn’t feel like it.

“I shouldn’t be telling you all this.” She flushed. “But I think the wine went to my head.”

“It has a tendency to do that on an empty stomach.” He lifted the lantern and let it shine on the cheek she kept touching. “You may tell me anything, you know.” There, under a layer of powder, was a purple mark. No, three purple marks running parallel to each other as if she’d been slapped so hard the imprint of fingers was left on her cheek.

His gut clenched as if he had been punched. Something black burned within him, but he kept his words measured. “Who struck you?”

She closed her eyes as her color drained making the bruise more evident. “I didn’t think that was noticeable.”

Just barely keeping his teeth unclenched he repeated his question.

“My mother.” Her head bowed. “I am such a disappointment to her. You can hardly blame her.”

“I can. She should not be striking you so.” He tried to keep his words gentle. “I cannot believe that your behavior warrants such blows.”

“I am hardly a perfectly obedient daughter. I am here with you now, am I not?”

She had a point. But her mother didn’t know of their midnight meetings. And there was no reason for her mother to be disappointed in Susanah. He was of half a mind to never take her back, to cart her off to Gretna Green and marry her, but that was impossible. Not to mention a man didn’t generally marry a woman just because he felt sorry for her. Or was it just an urge to protect her?