Susanah could scarcely believe she was telling Evan secrets she never told anyone. She shouldn’t have drunk the second glass of wine. Or really all of the first. Then as she looked at the glass, it seemed a rather large glass. A lady didn’t overindulge in wine. But then a lady never had a midnight assignation with a man. She’d had two now.

Evan had pulled his chair around the table and put his arm around the back of her chair. The warmth of it was there, touching her. His fingers traced patterns along her upper arm and shoulder, leaving tingles along her skin.

At some time during their picnic, he’d shed his coat. The conservatory was rather warm—a literal hothouse. Evan sat in his shirtsleeves with his waistcoat unbuttoned. Not that anything untoward had happened. Well, nothing untoward if you didn’t count him feeding her sections of her orange with his fingers. Which only made her flush, and made her wish that his lessons in passion were the kind she thought they’d be.

The heat affected her, too. Almost drowsy, she told him about her drive with Lord Farringate, his sister, and daughter. Not that any of that afternoon brought her any pleasure. But somehow just knowing she could say anything and it didn’t matter, left her feeling as though she might float to the ceiling.

While watching her, he let her natter on for a long time, quieter than he normally was.

“I’m talking too much,” she said.

“Don’t stop. I’m listening.” He squeezed her shoulder, gently. “It is nice to hear you talk more freely than you usually do.”

Now she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She’d been trying to enjoy the conservatory. She had enjoyed the food, although it was gone far too quickly. Evan hadn’t eaten more than one slice of cheese and kept putting them on her plate, as well as refilling her wine glass. Surrounded by the vegetation and the misted windows it was as though they were alone in their own Garden of Eden. And she was enjoying him, his arm around her shoulders, the play of his fingertips on her arm, and the warm indulgent smiles he gave her.

She didn’t normally like to be touched, but his touch…was gentle, warm, and soothing at the same time left her tingling. A hunger that wasn’t in her stomach was growing in her. But the yearning was such a strange sensation she didn’t know what to do with it.

“So what provoked the slap?” he asked startling her.

“I said that if I married Lord Farringate, my children would never have any hope of attaining his title. And I think his lordship wants my father’s estate to give to his second or third son.” She touched the bruise, surprised the skin was tender, yet. They’d had to cancel their plans the last two nights. She hadn’t had a ballroom supper to supplement the slice of bread and quart of water she was allowed per day. “But maybe I would be better off with Lord Farringate.”

He’d probably feed her more. She didn’t think she could take another year at home. Her control was fraying around the edges. She never knew when her mother would take exception to something she said or did.

“You’d be better off encouraging Hull.”

She pushed her lips together. Her sensation of floating came to an abrupt end as though she’d been swinging and someone cut the ropes, dumping her on the ground. Of course, Evan’s purpose was to teach her passion—no, to help her discover her passion because that would attract the right man to her. A titled gentleman, who could take her away from her parents’ house. Unfortunately, a man who wasn’t Evan. Somehow that thought was accompanied by a real pain in her chest.

A childhood memory rushed through her. “I used to enjoy swinging.”

“Did you?” He squeezed her shoulder. “Should I find a swing for our next excursion?”

He didn’t seem to mind her non sequitur. She was horrid, jumping around from thought to thought. It was no wonder, she couldn’t hold a sensible conversation with a man. And the idea of actually being on a swing and the rush in her stomach, the feeling of being out of control made her feel faintly giddy. Or perhaps she’d had too much wine. Or more likely his touch—because more and more it seemed to set off riots of butterflies in her stomach.

“No. I just was remembering something I enjoyed.” Stars, was he right in that she never experienced joy anymore? Pleasure had become incompatible with her existence. “I think I was happy most of the time when I was young.”

When had it changed? The answer came to her in a burst of clarity, which was surprising given the amount of wine she’d drunk.

“What things did you enjoy as a child?” Evan asked.

She answered without thinking too much. “Running about the gardens, picking flowers, riding my pony. The usual things, I suppose.”

Things had changed, after her mother’s bout with childbed fever. Susanah had been supposed to have a sibling. Her mother’s stomach had been big again, but as had happened many times after Susanah’s birth, her mother had miscarried. The baby had been too small to draw a breath. Her mother had been sick abed for weeks, and Susanah had run wild around the estate—well as wild as a nobleman’s daughter was allowed to be. She remembered it as the happiest time in her life—quite possibly because it was the last freedom she’d ever known.

“I don’t suppose my friend would grieve over the loss of a few blooms.”

It took a minute for her to register that he was talking about taking some of the hot house flowers. She shook her head. “I couldn’t take them home. So it wouldn’t make any sense to pluck any.”

“You know, my darling,” he leaned close. “Sometimes you have to do things just because you want to, not whether it makes sense or not.”

“Such as sneaking out of my house for lessons in passion only to find something that is within me?” she answered. Because really what had she learned? That she could enjoy a conversation more when her mother wasn’t watching and listening? That she could find topics other than the weather and asking after the health of her companion or his family? That she could fall into a rage when thwarted? Or perhaps that Evan hadn’t got rid of her at his first opportunity was the only surprising thing she’d learned.

She was being petty, so before he could address her acknowledgment of the futility of his lessons, she said. “I’m not picking any of the blooms here. I would be sad at having to discard them and knowing that I hastened their end.”

He stood and held out his hand. “Well, we should look at the flowers while we still have time.”

She put her hand in his and a frisson ran up her arm. “I don’t want this to ever end.”

“I don’t either,” he answered her softly.

As she stood the room swayed. How much wine had she drunk? Or was she merely tired?

Evan wrapped his arm around her waist and picked up the lantern. She leaned into him grateful for the support.

Her head cleared a bit as he led her down a gravel path.

“There are some orchids this way,” he said.

When they stopped in front of some purplish flowers, she remembered she was supposed to be finding pleasure in her activity.

Impulsively she put her hand over his on the lantern and guided it so the light was inches from a cluster of blooms with five petals and ruffled trumpets in the middle. “Oh, they are so lovely.”

But she noticed the strength in Evan’s hand more than the foliage. The length of his warm fingers. She pulled her hand away and studied the flowers. For a second she was creating an embroidery pattern in her head, trying to imagine the mix of threads she would need to recreate the blossoms. First, she should capture the unique shape on paper and possibly the shades in watercolor. “I wish I could see them in the daylight, so I could capture all the nuances of the bloom.”

“Do you paint?”

“I used to,” she said. “I do like to paint, but…” Her mother made her destroy most of her paintings because they were not sedate enough, not English enough, not ladylike in the least. She had never protested because try as she might she could never quite capture the image she saw in her mind’s eye. Always perfection seemed just out of reach. “Mostly I concentrate on my embroidery now.”

“Perhaps I should have taken you somewhere to paint to your heart’s content.”

She shook her head. “Painting needs sunlight. I don’t think we will find much of that in the hours I can be with you.”

Reaching out she traced a finger over the delicate bloom, feeling its strength. The petals were not nearly as soft as rose petals, yet it looked fragile and exotic. She could never put this flower into her embroidery because it was a rare thing she never would have seen in the normal course of her existence. She couldn’t risk such a thing revealing her midnight excursions.

She moved down the path a bit looking over plants she had never seen before. But blossoms were rare. It was too early for most flowers to bloom, even exotic ones. Evan told her about his friend collecting plants from all over the world. That he paid a nice bounty for any flowering plant he’d never seen before.

After they had walked a bit, he said, “You’ve grown quiet, my lady.”

“I wish I could come here in the daylight. I wish I could see it when all the flowers are in bloom. I wish I could paint them all.”

Evan set the lantern in the walkway. Her heart tripped.

His palm on her back turned her toward him. He gathered her against him as if he expected her to resist. She fought the urge to stiffen. He tilted up her face and then bent toward her.

Oh, it was finally happening. Everything in her was singing, wanting this…this stolen moment of passion.

Then he paused at the last second. “There is some passion.”

Passion she couldn’t exercise. “Don’t tease.”

He grinned and eased back just a little.

She bounced up on her toes following him. Then his lips were against hers, and he gathered her tight against him. His chest was hard against hers and so wonderful. She wasn’t certain if she had initiated the kiss, but no matter. His mouth was softer than she expected and after a second his lips moved.

It would be over soon and disappointment ran through her in rivers, quelling the quaking that she was doing.

Except it wasn’t over.

* * *

“Are you supposed to do that?” Susanah asked, her eyes wide.

Evan winced, but he doubted she noticed. When he’d deepened the kiss—after several less invasive kisses—her eyes had flown open and she had ducked away from him. There was shock in her expression before she schooled it.

How in the hell, was she so ignorant of the mechanics of kissing at her age? He managed a mild, “Fairly certain.”

What did she think was happening between couples at the masquerade? That men and women were opening their mouths and breathing into each other? Then again, she might not like fully intimate kisses. Or she only would with someone she cared about. He leaned down and picked up the lantern and started up the path to the table. She didn’t follow him immediately.

“Of course you would know,” she muttered under her breath. Her footsteps skittered after him. “I’m sorry. Could we try again?”

The trouble was, the fiasco of their kiss might not be her fault. He’d been waiting for her to indicate eagerness so long that he might have moved a little fast. The shocking thing was that he wanted to kiss her—just to kiss her. Certainly, he wanted the rest, but he didn’t see kissing as just part of the process of seduction. Not this time. With her, it was something more, something to treasure. An accomplishment of its own. If she enjoyed it.

She was likely repulsed, which left him…confounded. He’d meant to offer the kiss as a reward for finally letting down her guard enough to reveal she was passionate about painting—or embroidery—he wasn’t quite certain which.

That she hadn’t seen it as a reward was obvious. He hadn’t eased her into it, he’d leapt ahead as if she were ready—as ready as her pushing for a kiss would have indicated. He’d taken her words at face value when he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t the same as one of his usual lovers, hinting at wanting to kiss. The fault with always pursuing experienced women was that they knew what was coming. They weren’t surprised or shocked. They were with him because they wanted flirting and physical encounters. He wasn’t offering them anything else. Susanah wanted lessons in how to catch a husband.

He extended his free hand behind him, and she took it with both of her hands. Almost as if he’d thrown her a line to save her from drowning.

All through him went a sensation of wanting to pull her to him. Of wanting to save her. But she didn’t need saving. She needed an aristocrat for a husband. Her titled gentleman would be the one to rescue her from her family’s treatment.

“I take it you have never been kissed before,” he said, bringing up their clasped hands and kissing her fingers.

“Not on the lips.” She did a half skip to stay beside him.

He slowed his long strides. “Never? Not even by your mother? Not that it is the same thing at all.”

“Not that I remember.” Her fingers tightened on his.

She had been sheltered, protected, damn near cocooned in cotton, and cordoned off from affectionate interaction of any kind. He mused, “How is that possible?”

“When I was engaged, I think my affianced intended to kiss me after I accepted, but I nearly broke the window behind my head. Or so he said. But I don’t think he wanted to kiss me either.”

Evan stopped. What did she mean by either? “You didn’t want to kiss him?”

“I don’t know that I expected it. But I think he was in love with Annabelle even then, even though he thought she’d spurned him. He was only going to marry me because our fathers wanted it. Not because he felt any great affection for me.”

So the rumors had been true. She had been engaged to the Viscount of Ashton. Evan supposed he knew that by her outburst in the alcove when he’d ripped her dress. Not that he’d paid any mind years ago when the rumors were flying. The part that encouraged him was that she’d shied away from Ashton’s kiss, too. But she’d said “either” as if she thought Ashton didn’t want to kiss her, and she suspected Evan also didn’t want to.

“I can assure you, I am not in love with anyone else,” he coaxed.

Her gaze went to his, but it didn’t stay. She looked off into the distance. He didn’t think she was looking at the foliage. He guided her the rest of the way to the table and set down the lantern. Then he leaned his backside against the table to be closer to her eye level.

“Do you want to try again?” he asked.

She nodded but looked down.

“I’m glad of it,” he said waiting for her to look up. “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseated.”

He couldn’t help but bark out an involuntary laugh. “You, my darling girl, are a dagger to my self-assurance.”

Her face rose. “I’m sorry.” She bit her lower lip with her pearly teeth. “I’m shaky, too. So perhaps it is that I drank too much wine. I do feel very strange. But mayhap nauseated was too strong a word, more as if there are swallows flapping about inside me.”

He reached out to run his thumb over her abused lower lip. There was the tiniest of flinches. He went to drop his arm rather than push the issue.

She reached out and caught his wrist holding it near her face. “I will do my one-hundredth part.”

Red bloomed across her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Perhaps her starts and winces were a product of nerves. It had been so long since his first kiss that he’d forgotten the spate of nerves that accompanied it. Then again she was a woman always in control, so perhaps he should cede more to her.

“You could do more than one-hundredth.”

For a second they just stared at each other. Not letting his attention drop to her pink lips, he waited.

Finally, she leaned toward him, and their lips met. He couldn’t have said how much he finished the movement, more than he’d intended, but he wanted to prove he could do better. He could find what she liked. But clear thoughts were lost under the warm softness of her lips. He wanted more, deeper kisses, but he contented himself with lingering, slow, suckling at her lower lip then tantalizingly soft brushes of his mouth over hers.

The world dropped away and everything centered on this woman and her gradual build of confidence and skill. Her tongue tentatively touched his upper lip. Desire slammed him hard. He reciprocated, ever so gently. First, it was just tiny licks, then a game of tongue tag, until it finally evolved into a dance interspersed with lots of sweet kisses. He’d put his hands on her hips, but held her in one place ignoring his need for her to be against his hardness.

Her hands were around his neck and her fingers played in his hair at his nape. Somehow that pleased him even more. His breathing turned ragged, but then hers did, too. He could kiss her like this for hours.

Hours. He started and drew back a little. They had been at this awhile.

Her eyes opened, but they were sleepy looking. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not at all.” He was aware that time had passed, but he had no sense of how much. “You’re lovely, Susanah.” He kissed her on her forehead, her furrowed forehead. “I need to check my watch.”

* * *

Susanah stared out the carriage window at the mist-shrouded lawn. What had she done wrong? She had only been thinking about how her senses were reeling, her knees had turned to jam, and her body tingled all over. Especially in her private place. How could a kiss affect her down there? She’d wanted it to go on and on forever, but he had to check his watch as if he were marking the time until the exercise was over.

Apparently, their allotted time was spent as if their kisses were held to some time limit like afternoon callers. He’d bundled her into the horrendous bonnet, thrown his overcoat around her shoulders, and rushed her through the conservatory to a garden door. He’d told her to go get in the carriage and he’d gone back inside, only to emerge with two oranges in his hand. He sprinted across the lawn to where the carriage waited in the drive.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to go back.

Evan swung into the carriage beside her and shut the door. “Hang on. I told him to go fast.”

A jolt of energy hit her. “Are you that eager to be rid of me?”

“I lost track of time. We should have started back an hour ago. We’ll be lucky if you are back before it is full light.”

She swung to look out the other window and realized she hadn’t needed the lantern to see her way to the carriage. Dawn was already breaking.

The carriage jumped forward and she grabbed Evan to steady herself. He’d already held the strap meant for keeping one steady through a wild ride. They careened toward town and her heart slammed into her throat. What if she were caught?

She reached to lift off the bonnet.

“Leave it on,” Evan said gruffly. “We can’t risk anyone recognizing you. Besides I might forget myself and kiss you more.”

That wouldn’t happen. “It is kind of you to say so.”

“Not at all,” he answered. “I very much like kissing you.”

She wanted to believe that, but he hadn’t lost his head or had he? He hadn’t held her tight or touched her improperly—well if holding her hips did not count as improper. But as she reflected back, he had seemed oddly disciplined. She stared at him through the mesh of her veil trying to decipher his mood. She could see him quite well in the dim predawn.

“The servants will be awake,” she whispered.

“But not your parents.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Would the servants have any reason to tattle on you? What will they gain? Praise or censure?”

“I don’t know.” Her head hurt as she tried to sort that out. Her maid would likely be dismissed for not locking her in properly, even though her mother checked her door at night. The girl had been on the verge of handing her something from her pocket the third day of her confinement. Perhaps food. But her mother had come in her room and the maid had turned white as a sheet and fled soon after.

Evan dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a small purse. He dug out three coins and pressed them into her hand. “If you encounter any of them, give them a gratuity. That will likely buy silence. Most servants are willing to turn a blind eye to things that would upset their employers if you’re kind to them. Most don’t want to be the bearer of bad news.”

The carriage slowed as they entered the streets of Mayfair. Her anxiety continued to gallop. She swallowed.

Outside the window, the street sweepers were already working. Front stoops were being washed. Rugs were being beaten. She had almost no hope of making it inside without the servants observing her.

“When shall I be waiting for you next?” he asked as if she wasn’t in danger of being caught.

“I don’t know. My mother hasn’t shared much of our social calendar with me.” She swallowed again. “That is assuming I survive this morning’s return to the house.”

“You’ll have to get me word, then.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Or I could accompany you inside and let the consequences be damned.”