Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(14)

Now that was patently unfair. But he had no defense. Because he wasn’t free to marry, he’d never sought permanence. But as if her observation hadn’t scorched him, he said mildly, “Affairs by their very nature are temporary things.”



*

After they returned to the carriage, Susanah watched Evan remove his domino and mask. She felt the strangest urge to reach across and smooth the red mark the edge of the mask had left on his forehead. Earlier when he’d stood holding her in his arms, something had happened. Her instinct to get away had eased and turned into a longing to be held the way he held her forever. There was a gentleness in his embrace, a sort of gentleness that she’d never experienced before. But she had to remind herself that he didn’t mean anything by it. He was a rake. The list of women he’d associated with was long. And by his own admission, his affairs were of short duration.

Not all affairs were short. Everyone knew of Emma Hamilton and Lord Nelson long-running affair of several years. Although as her husband didn’t object, perhaps that made a difference.

Susanah reached up to remove the nun’s wimple.

“Give it another block or two to be certain no one is following to see who you are.” Evan peered out the window as if watching for just such a complication.

Her hands dropped to her lap. When he’d taken the opposite seat she’d feared his sitting apart was a rejection. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d feared he was no longer interested in teaching her about passion. Had he’d taken the opposite seat so he could watch for followers?

More than once she’d thought he seemed impatient with her, and she hadn’t known why. She’d tried very hard to be congenial and go along with his scandalous plans for the evening. Of course, her thoughts about how the night would go weren’t any less scandalous.

Evan continued to look out the window as they swayed in the carriage. Surely he would join her on her side, once he ascertained no one was spying on them.

After a few minutes, he said, “I don’t see anyone following. I think your identity is safe, darling.”

“Thank you, your eminence.” She thought about pointing out that they could use their names. Although since she hadn’t given him leave to drop the Lady from her name, nor had she addressed him as Evan, to do so now seemed awkward. Of course, if he was taking her to his rooms to teach her passion, she should give him leave to address her more intimately—at least while they were private.

Once he kissed her and perhaps touched her as she’d seen some of the other men doing with the demi-reps at the masquerade, they could hardly be on a formal basis. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of the intimacies she’d seen at the ball. That she and Evan might soon be engaged in similar behavior made her breath catch. Evan had tried to block her from seeing the woman who’d thrown her leg over a man’s lap like mounting a horse, but she couldn’t look away from it. The woman had been moving as if riding. And the other woman wearing a completely transparent gown—Susanah’s cheeks fired. Not only that, but more than one woman’s gown had slipped enough to expose her nipples if not an entire breast as if to encourage the men to touch them there. Would Evan fondle her bosom?

Susanah fought the urge to cross her arms and wondered why her breasts were tingling. Then she remembered how dangerously close his thumbs had been to them when he lifted her to tear her gown. Not that her chest was all that impressive.

Trying to ignore the riot of sensation in her body, she removed the veil and then untied the coif.

Just as she was reaching to untie the mask, Evan lifted her foot from the floor, his hand around her ankle.

She jerked her leg back, but Evan’s hold was firm as if he expected her reaction. She’d reacted the same way when he’d touched her arm very near her scar from when she’d broken the bone. He probably hadn’t even realized, but she didn’t like anyone noticing the unsightly dimple and discoloration.

“I can see why Hull remembered your slippers. They are pretty.” He set her foot in his lap. “I’m sorry, but you can’t wear them again.”

“No matter. I have others.” She sat the mask beside her and tried to ignore how awkward having her ankle held was. Did he mean to do some version of what that woman had been doing at the Cyprian’s ball? Her heart was doing its own version of a waltz.

“Are your others similar?” He traced the flowers that ran along her instep and over her toes. Her toes curled and she fought to straighten them.

With his distracting touch, she didn’t think too much before she said, “I embroidered different patterns on different pairs.”

His finger stopped moving and he looked up at her.

Uncomfortable that she’d admitted to doing her own embroidery on her shoes instead of paying someone to do it, she said, “You will get chalk on your…” She gestured toward his unmentionables because a lady didn’t speak about a man’s lower half. But they would be in each other’s arms shortly, she shouldn’t be so missish. “…your breeches.”

“No matter. I have others.” He gave her a lazy grin.

She did her best to return it, but the slippers were bothering her. If Mr. Hull did remember her slippers, she was in trouble. Her mother had insisted they were too garish, the flowers too bold. She should have heeded her mother’s warning, but she’d thought wearing her favorite pair would give her confidence. It wasn’t like she expected anyone other than Evan to see them.