Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(11)

“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.





Chapter 4





Evan wondered how much progress he’d made in evoking passion in Lady Susanah. He’d taught her to waltz, but her touches seemed tentative. Yet her steps grew more and more precise, the same way they were at any society ball. He had his suspicions that she was counting under her breath. And he was slowly going mad. Because in spite of himself, the freedom to have his arm around her in places had him noticing the litheness of her form. Knowing he could take her away and have his way—mostly have his way—with her had his blood heating. Except she was resuming the mantle of her usual restraint. Or maybe it wasn’t restraint, but that she didn’t enjoy dancing, the music, or his touch. Maybe she was too proper to enjoy anything.

“Are you enjoying the waltzing…darling?”

She wasn’t looking his way and seemed to have to peel her gaze away from something. “It is a very pleasant dance,” she said without an ounce of enthusiasm. She paused as if giving him an encouraging smile, but her eyes didn’t crinkle.

The damn mask hid her lips from him and he didn’t like that her eyes never smiled. He didn’t know if he’d realized how infrequently she actually truly smiled before now. He supposed, like many, he was half fooled by the perpetual tilt of her lips.

“Should we dance together so long? It doesn’t seem right,” she said.

Maddening chit. “Would you like to rest?”

Her gaze darted to his. “I’m fine if you want to continue dancing.” Her gaze slid away to other couples on the floor. “I was just remarking that I could never be with one partner so long ordinarily.”