Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(20)

“Are we going to your apartments?” she asked as if the matter was finished.

It might be for her. Or was she now entertaining the idea that Hull might make her an acceptable husband? Evan fought a stupid thought to call the man out as if that wouldn’t confirm his suspicion.

“No. A friend’s house.” He disengaged his hand and opened his valise on the opposite seat.

“Is that a good idea?” she asked. “I can’t have anyone learning about these…lessons.”

“No one will be there except the servants,” he answered. Fishing out a veiled bonnet, he handed it to her. “And they won’t bother us.”

“Then I don’t need this.” She held out the hat almost as if it disgusted her.

“I’d rather not risk the servants recognizing you as we are let inside.” He put the hat on her bare head in spite of her puff of protest. “Don’t worry, the hat is new. I bought it yesterday.”

This time she had arrived without her cloak or anything over her head. She must have fled so quickly she couldn’t retrieve her outer garments. He put an arm around her shoulders. She was trembling slightly, but he didn’t know what to make of it.

“I should have brought you a cloak, too. Are you cold?”

“The night is not so bad. Will I need a cloak?”

“You won’t.” He’d put his greatcoat about her to help hide her identity from the servants who would admit them to a house owned by a botanist friend of his.

“Is it very far?” she asked and leaned closer to him.

His pulse quickened.

Too far and not far enough. “Near the river,” he answered. “I thought you might like to see my friend’s flowers.”

“Flowers?” she asked as if she expected there to be a hidden meaning to the word.

“He has orchids from Africa and tulips from Holland. Although I don’t know what will be in bloom.” Evan had some scribbled notes in his pocket, but he could barely make heads or tails of them in strong light.

Her fingers touched his thigh, lightly, hesitantly, just the tips, but his blood went racing wildly into the neighborhood of her touch. Did she know what she was doing?

“Will I have to wear this bonnet and veil the whole time?”

“Only until we are alone in the conservatory,” he answered with a burr to his voice.

Her fingers lifted and she wiggled closer on the seat. “Thank goodness. It was bad enough wearing that mask last time. How will I ever learn about passion if you cannot kiss me?”

Evan’s blood was rushing through him. He could hardly contain himself. Her hip against his, the lean of her lithe body into his, and her overt encouragement had him wanting to tear off the bonnet and kiss her senseless. Or drop to his knees on the carriage floor, lift her skirts, and show her pleasure. But the last time they had been alone, she had flinched when he touched her. She had not given him one indication that she was physically receptive, nor had she understood what he was trying to teach her.

He reached for her hem to see what reaction he provoked.

She gave a squeak of alarm and shifted her tightly locked knees away from his touch.

He heaved a deep sigh. In her reaction was, no doubt, some maidenly reticence and just plain innocence, but her shock was thick and heavy between them. He removed his arm from her shoulders and moved to the opposite bench, roughly shoving the valise out of the way. “You don’t understand that there is a difference between sexual relations and passion.”





Chapter 6





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.”