Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(15)

His fingers slipped up the ribbons that crossed around her ankle and calf holding the slipper in place. Sharp tingles traveled up her leg and seemed to burst like fireworks when they hit where her leg joined her body. The sensation lingered in that place, her woman’s place. Maybe it was supposed to.

He pressed her sole against his palm, set her foot back on the floor, and then leaned back in his seat. Slouched, really. “Do you like to embroider?”

Fighting off her disappointment that he didn’t join her on her seat, she shrugged diffidently. “It is a proper occupation for a lady.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “What pursuits do you find pleasurable?”

The question stumped her. What difference did it make? Her activities were what they should be, whether she found them pleasurable or not. As the daughter of a marquess, she had an obligation to behave in a manner that was dictated by social customs, history, and duty. “Sir?”

He tilted his head and sat up. “What is it you enjoy doing? What makes you smile?”

“I smile all the time. I take pleasure in good company, in…in dancing…” She didn’t know what to say as he shook his head at her. “What do you mean, no?”

“You don’t smile. You simper.”

She took a deep breath, appalled. She simpered? Why hadn’t her mother told her? She told her everything else Susanah did wrong. She needed to practice more if he thought she was simpering. She put a hand over her mouth afraid that the slight curl she tried to wear on her lips was something different from what she thought it was.

“You don’t smile with your eyes,” he said. “And I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.”

Her thoughts were swirling in confusion. What did he mean she didn’t smile with her eyes? Her eyes were what they were. She whispered, “It isn’t ladylike to laugh.”

“What lunatic told you that?” he demanded.

“My mother.” She stared at him feeling cold and confused. “Do you mean my eyes don’t sparkle? I mean they are as much gray as blue, I think. I wish they were a prettier color.”

He laughed.

She shouldn’t have said that. Envy wasn’t becoming. Although she hadn’t actually named anyone whom she envied their beautiful eyes, she had a long list. All the belles to start with. Even Annabelle with her dark eyes. Susanah coiled tight, sitting straighter if that were possible. But she pretended her spine was an iron rod, unbendable, because what else could she do? She shouldn’t reveal so much about herself because he would be repulsed.

He reached across and almost touched her face, but her flinch must have made him think better. He put his hand on her shoulder instead. “You have lovely eyes, sweetheart. I think they have a touch of lavender.”

“Thank you,” came out almost by rote. One was always supposed to thank a gentleman for a compliment. Although because she half wondered if he were color blind, she added, “You are too kind.” But then because he had tilted closer and she couldn’t think straight when he could be planning on kissing her, she blurted out, “You have remarkable eyes.”

His mouth worked as if he wanted to laugh at her. “The color of the Thames at high tide and low.”

“Changeable,” she said.

“Inconstant,” he teased.

“I suppose that suits you.”

He put a hand to his chest and fell back once again sprawling against the squabs in a careless manner. “You wound me.”

She stiffened. “I’m sorry. I did not mean…”

He grinned and her apology trailed off.

Heat rose in her face and she was thankful the carriage lamps weren’t so bright that it would be obvious.

She stared down at her gloves and wondered if her mother would object if she added a bit of gold scrollwork around the tops. Because it wouldn’t do to try and decipher the word games he was trying to play with her. She often thought about such mundane things to regain her composure when it fled.

“You blush prettily, but you shouldn’t avoid my gaze so much.” His eyes crinkled just a little bit around the edges. “Especially not if you like my eyes.”

She looked up and wished she could see what color they were at the moment, but the carriage drew to a halt throwing her into a fresh confusion.

She wanted to learn how to make a man adore her. And more and more she just wanted to experience Evan’s touch, his kisses, and his passion.

He pulled out the key to her house. “Time to get you home, my lady.”

“We are done?” she cried out. She squeezed her eyes shut ashamed of the plaintive whine in her voice. A lady never expressed her displeasure in such a tone. She shouldn’t express displeasure at all—except possibly to a servant who’d failed to perform as they ought. But not in a whine. When she opened her eyes, Evan was watching her intently, his hand on the door latch.

“We still have to walk around the corner and down the block to your home,” he said gently. “We still have time for you to tell me what you are passionate about, so I might develop a plan for our next outing.”

She almost sagged in relief. “You do plan to teach me about passion, still?”

“Of course,” he said easily. He opened the door and helped her down into the predawn darkness. After they’d walked a few feet from the carriage, he added, “Unless you feel you have learned enough to land a husband.”