Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(26)
“There are some orchids this way,” he said.
When they stopped in front of some purplish flowers, she remembered she was supposed to be finding pleasure in her activity.
Impulsively she put her hand over his on the lantern and guided it so the light was inches from a cluster of blooms with five petals and ruffled trumpets in the middle. “Oh, they are so lovely.”
But she noticed the strength in Evan’s hand more than the foliage. The length of his warm fingers. She pulled her hand away and studied the flowers. For a second she was creating an embroidery pattern in her head, trying to imagine the mix of threads she would need to recreate the blossoms. First, she should capture the unique shape on paper and possibly the shades in watercolor. “I wish I could see them in the daylight, so I could capture all the nuances of the bloom.”
“Do you paint?”
“I used to,” she said. “I do like to paint, but…” Her mother made her destroy most of her paintings because they were not sedate enough, not English enough, not ladylike in the least. She had never protested because try as she might she could never quite capture the image she saw in her mind’s eye. Always perfection seemed just out of reach. “Mostly I concentrate on my embroidery now.”
“Perhaps I should have taken you somewhere to paint to your heart’s content.”
She shook her head. “Painting needs sunlight. I don’t think we will find much of that in the hours I can be with you.”
Reaching out she traced a finger over the delicate bloom, feeling its strength. The petals were not nearly as soft as rose petals, yet it looked fragile and exotic. She could never put this flower into her embroidery because it was a rare thing she never would have seen in the normal course of her existence. She couldn’t risk such a thing revealing her midnight excursions.
She moved down the path a bit looking over plants she had never seen before. But blossoms were rare. It was too early for most flowers to bloom, even exotic ones. Evan told her about his friend collecting plants from all over the world. That he paid a nice bounty for any flowering plant he’d never seen before.
After they had walked a bit, he said, “You’ve grown quiet, my lady.”
“I wish I could come here in the daylight. I wish I could see it when all the flowers are in bloom. I wish I could paint them all.”
Evan set the lantern in the walkway. Her heart tripped.
His palm on her back turned her toward him. He gathered her against him as if he expected her to resist. She fought the urge to stiffen. He tilted up her face and then bent toward her.
Oh, it was finally happening. Everything in her was singing, wanting this…this stolen moment of passion.
Then he paused at the last second. “There is some passion.”
Passion she couldn’t exercise. “Don’t tease.”
He grinned and eased back just a little.
She bounced up on her toes following him. Then his lips were against hers, and he gathered her tight against him. His chest was hard against hers and so wonderful. She wasn’t certain if she had initiated the kiss, but no matter. His mouth was softer than she expected and after a second his lips moved.
It would be over soon and disappointment ran through her in rivers, quelling the quaking that she was doing.
Except it wasn’t over.
*
“Are you supposed to do that?” Susanah asked, her eyes wide.
Evan winced, but he doubted she noticed. When he’d deepened the kiss—after several less invasive kisses—her eyes had flown open and she had ducked away from him. There was shock in her expression before she schooled it.
How in the hell, was she so ignorant of the mechanics of kissing at her age? He managed a mild, “Fairly certain.”
What did she think was happening between couples at the masquerade? That men and women were opening their mouths and breathing into each other? Then again, she might not like fully intimate kisses. Or she only would with someone she cared about. He leaned down and picked up the lantern and started up the path to the table. She didn’t follow him immediately.
“Of course you would know,” she muttered under her breath. Her footsteps skittered after him. “I’m sorry. Could we try again?”
The trouble was, the fiasco of their kiss might not be her fault. He’d been waiting for her to indicate eagerness so long that he might have moved a little fast. The shocking thing was that he wanted to kiss her—just to kiss her. Certainly, he wanted the rest, but he didn’t see kissing as just part of the process of seduction. Not this time. With her, it was something more, something to treasure. An accomplishment of its own. If she enjoyed it.
She was likely repulsed, which left him…confounded. He’d meant to offer the kiss as a reward for finally letting down her guard enough to reveal she was passionate about painting—or embroidery—he wasn’t quite certain which.
That she hadn’t seen it as a reward was obvious. He hadn’t eased her into it, he’d leapt ahead as if she were ready—as ready as her pushing for a kiss would have indicated. He’d taken her words at face value when he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t the same as one of his usual lovers, hinting at wanting to kiss. The fault with always pursuing experienced women was that they knew what was coming. They weren’t surprised or shocked. They were with him because they wanted flirting and physical encounters. He wasn’t offering them anything else. Susanah wanted lessons in how to catch a husband.