Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(24)

He reached across the table and picked up her orange. Her eyes followed it as he peeled it with his penknife. He didn’t want to make too much of her punishment, but it didn’t seem quite normal. Bread and water instead of supper wasn’t unusual, but a whole week seemed excessive. He kept his tone conversational. “Are you put on bread and water often?”

There was an almost infinitesimal movement of her shoulders. “Not so much anymore.” She looked down and to the side. “Let us speak of other things, or I am not likely to enjoy this night of freedom.”

“Are you jailed, too?” he teased.

But her movements turned wooden as she reached for her wine glass to take a sip.

Bloody hell, she was. “What the devil? Are you jailed?”

“It is just for a week,” she said. “Mostly it is just boring.”

“How are you jailed?”

“I am confined to my room.” She made a small circle with her hand. Her gaze darted to his and then away. “Locked in. And well the bread and water.”

She couldn’t have been that rude, or Hull surely would have noted it when he was asking Evan if she was his companion at the masquerade. Hull was smart enough to add unexpected rudeness from a perfectly behaved Lady Susanah as enough of an aberration to indicate she was there. Still, Evan felt he was on the verge of peeling back a layer of her impenetrable facade. Was she held to some impossible standard? Was this why she behaved more like some automaton that a real person? “Sweetheart, that is not normal.”

She put a hand to her left cheek again and dropped it. “Well, it is preferable to being whipped. I was rude. And really I am doing much worse than being rude by sneaking out with you, so I do deserve punishment.”

What would happen to her if they were found out? He kept his tone gentle and reached over to put sections of the orange on her plate. “How did you get out?”

Her gaze darted around as if someone might overhear. “I discovered the key to the long case clock works in my door if I jiggle it a bit.”

He reached over and put his hand on hers, just to reassure her. Her hand jerked away and went to her cheek again before dropping to her lap. He’d made no progress at all. Or she’d stopped hiding her inclination to pull away, which was progress, even if it didn’t feel like it.

“I shouldn’t be telling you all this.” She flushed. “But I think the wine went to my head.”

“It has a tendency to do that on an empty stomach.” He lifted the lantern and let it shine on the cheek she kept touching. “You may tell me anything, you know.” There, under a layer of powder, was a purple mark. No, three purple marks running parallel to each other as if she’d been slapped so hard the imprint of fingers was left on her cheek.

His gut clenched as if he had been punched. Something black burned within him, but he kept his words measured. “Who struck you?”

She closed her eyes as her color drained making the bruise more evident. “I didn’t think that was noticeable.”

Just barely keeping his teeth unclenched he repeated his question.

“My mother.” Her head bowed. “I am such a disappointment to her. You can hardly blame her.”

“I can. She should not be striking you so.” He tried to keep his words gentle. “I cannot believe that your behavior warrants such blows.”

“I am hardly a perfectly obedient daughter. I am here with you now, am I not?”

She had a point. But her mother didn’t know of their midnight meetings. And there was no reason for her mother to be disappointed in Susanah. He was of half a mind to never take her back, to cart her off to Gretna Green and marry her, but that was impossible. Not to mention a man didn’t generally marry a woman just because he felt sorry for her. Or was it just an urge to protect her?





Chapter 7





Susanah could scarcely believe she was telling Evan secrets she never told anyone. She shouldn’t have drunk the second glass of wine. Or really all of the first. Then as she looked at the glass, it seemed a rather large glass. A lady didn’t overindulge in wine. But then a lady never had a midnight assignation with a man. She’d had two now.

Evan had pulled his chair around the table and put his arm around the back of her chair. The warmth of it was there, touching her. His fingers traced patterns along her upper arm and shoulder, leaving tingles along her skin.

At some time during their picnic, he’d shed his coat. The conservatory was rather warm—a literal hothouse. Evan sat in his shirtsleeves with his waistcoat unbuttoned. Not that anything untoward had happened. Well, nothing untoward if you didn’t count him feeding her sections of her orange with his fingers. Which only made her flush, and made her wish that his lessons in passion were the kind she thought they’d be.

The heat affected her, too. Almost drowsy, she told him about her drive with Lord Farringate, his sister, and daughter. Not that any of that afternoon brought her any pleasure. But somehow just knowing she could say anything and it didn’t matter, left her feeling as though she might float to the ceiling.

While watching her, he let her natter on for a long time, quieter than he normally was.

“I’m talking too much,” she said.

“Don’t stop. I’m listening.” He squeezed her shoulder, gently. “It is nice to hear you talk more freely than you usually do.”