Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(22)

“I rather hoped you would have raptures over the flowers.” His mouth twisted to the side in a slightly amused look. “Or the waltzing, but passion is passion. This just proves you are capable of it.”

She folded her arms and stared at him. “Everyone is capable of anger.”

And she never should have let it erupt. Anger was to be smothered or choked down. A lady didn’t display rage—at least not to anyone who wasn’t blood-related.

“I wanted to see what you hide beneath layers of propriety and control,” he said leaning toward her.

She shook her head and looked down. “No, you don’t. There is nothing worth seeing there.” Just a boiling mass of constant frustration at her own failure to do the one thing her parents asked of her. She drew in a deep breath. She could see her way out of this. Remind him of why they were here and comport herself with, if not dignity, at least a pretense of it. “And I asked you to teach me about seduction so I could land a husband worthy of me.”

He shook his head. “No. You asked me to teach you what the belles have.”

She knew very well what the belles had. Some sort of attractiveness that made men forget themselves and obviously she didn’t have it. “Well, everyone believes they seduced their husbands—I know it is true in at least one case. So they must have some skill at it, at seduction.”

He continued to shake his head. “Darling, what the belles have is passion, not necessarily sexual skills. You have to understand that if they fell into bed, it was because they were enjoying themselves so much in the moment that they forgot everything. That they were experiencing passion, and they continue to feel passionately toward their men and probably other things in their lives.”

She didn’t understand this hair splitting he was doing. “I don’t know how I am to learn to be passionate if you won’t show me.”

He leaned over and took her uppermost hand in his, unfolding her arms in the process. “You have to find passion within yourself. You have to let down your guard enough to enjoy life, to experience your circumstances with enthusiasm, to find pleasure in what you are doing.”

She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t proper. “I’m trying. But you won’t…” She gestured with her free hand. He wouldn’t kiss her. “Or you stop if I make a mistake. I don’t know how to do these things. I want to learn how. I think we are wasting time when you could just show me how it works. Let me experience passion with you.”

God save her, she was begging now.

He drew in a deep breath and wrapped her hand in both of his. “You are confusing sexual skills with passion. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest and land in his lap. She shook her head. “I don’t. You said a man wants a lady in the drawing room and a woman who is wild and wanton in the bedroom. I will learn to do that if you teach me.”

He stared at her a long time. “What makes you think that you will enjoy intimacies when you never allow yourself to enjoy anything else?”

She didn’t know how to answer. What did her enjoyment have to do with acting wild and wanton—assuming she could forget herself long enough to do that. In a small voice, she asked, “Why must I enjoy it?”

“Because I won’t have you any other way,” he said wearily.



*

Evan thought Susanah might finally understand what he was trying to tell her. He could almost hear the creak of cogs as her thoughts churned. He kissed the back of her hand, all the while watching for those subtle signs of arousal; parted lips, dewy eyes, quickened breathing.

Nothing.

He was losing his touch. Or she was incapable of experiencing physical pleasure. Or sexual passion. Or she didn’t find him attractive. No, that couldn’t be it. He’d seen signs in her before. Tiny signs, but he was starting to understand, tiny signs were all she betrayed. She must be too busy thinking to focus on his attentions. Her eyes had a distant look as if she were seeing inward.

Then again he might be putting too fine a point on it. Some men, many men wouldn’t care if her passion was feigned. And she actually had a good idea of how to touch a man to stir his blood—not that he wanted her to know that.

“I have been told all my life that excessive displays of emotion are vulgar,” she finally said.

“Yes, I know, keep a stiff upper lip and all that. But you’ve taken it to an extreme, where you don’t take any joy in anything at all.”

“That is what I need to do?” her voice was tentative.

“Yes, there must be some activity you are passionate about.”

There was a flicker of something like panic in her eyes for a second before she gave a firm nod.

“You do seem more relaxed when we are alone together. Could you just let down the walls of reserve you have built around you for a little while?”

“I will try.”

A few minutes later they were approaching one of the larger old mansions that dotted the edge of the Thames outside of the city. One that was complete with full gardens and a rather large conservatory, which was their destination. They were shown into the house and through room after room until they finally were in the glass-encased room.

The air was hot and humid. Several constantly burning oil stoves kept the temperatures high. Pans of water on them, put steam into the air until it condensed on the multitude of window panes. Evan set down the lantern he carried, pulled his overcoat from her shoulders, and folded it over his arm. She removed the veiled bonnet. He wanted to take off his coat as well, but he hesitated. She took his arm as they made their way along the graveled path. She stopped at an orange tree. “Do you suppose there is any fruit left?” She bounced on her toes and pointed up. “Oh, I see one. Do you think your friend would mind?”