Every Scandalous Secret (16 page)

When he returned, he pulled off his shirt and trousers.

“You can stop right there,” she said.

He arched a brow. “Wear drawers to bed? What a novel concept. I haven’t worn nightclothes since my childhood.”

“Then you can start learning to be civil now.”

She climbed up into bed, sliding to the far side.

“Not going to remove your dressing gown?” he asked.

“No.”

He came up on the bed and was surprised when she didn’t shrink away from him. She flounced onto her side, giving him her back, and pulled the counterpane up to her chin.

He blew out the candle and lay back in bed, arms clasped behind his head. He was not a man to dwell over regrets now that he’d made up his mind to change things for the better. Yes, his wedding night was nothing like he’d ever imagined, but he would never be able to accuse Susanna of being boring. She’d been a challenge from the moment he saw her dressed as a boy, trying to steal that painting. Never had he imagined finding a challenging woman interesting, but from that moment, she’d been all he could think of. He’d told himself it was about the wager, but now he couldn’t help wondering . . .

To his surprise, she fell asleep quickly. He could almost feel the relaxation steal languidly through her. Though he wanted to sleep up against her, it was too soon. He would need to slowly seduce her all over again, her mind and heart, as well as her body. And this time, there was more at stake than a wager. The rest of their life together pivoted on a point, and it could go either way.

She followed him into sleep—or at least the painting did. Her golden curves beckoned him, and he kept expecting it to come to life. Instead, the paint seemed to fade, to dry. Faint cracks began to alter the surface, brittle little spiderwebs that marred its beauty. The paint flaked, the canvas crumbled, and Leo awoke in the night with an even deeper feeling of dread.

Chapter 13

S
usanna slowly emerged from sleep, feeling so very warm, as if she floated in a cocoon that kept out not only the cold, but even the most unpleasant thoughts. She’d been so exhausted that emerging from her deep sleep seemed . . . confusing. She didn’t want to leave the safety, didn’t want to remember—

Her marriage.

Her new husband was flush against her back, his thighs against hers, his hips cradling her backside.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wade,” he murmured against her neck.

The soft press of his lips took her by surprise, as did the very obvious erection against her backside. Her first impulse was to jump up and flee, but that would only either amuse or anger him. Either way, he would feel like he had the upper hand.

And right now, his hand was moving slowly up her rib cage.

She gripped him by the wrist and lifted it away from her. “Excuse me. I thought I might have embarrassed myself by moving toward your warmth in the night, but since I’m still on my side of the bed, I can see what happened.”

She sat up, betraying no urgency, no dismay. Because some deep part of her had responded to his warmth, to his very maleness. She’d wanted to roll over, press against him, and learn everything—
everything
—about him. Even after all he’d done, how he’d trapped her for eternity. He had some kind of control over her body that bewildered her.

Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I do believe it’s time to depart Scotland.”

He sank onto his back and stretched, eyes closed, which allowed her to take in the stubble of his beard, the intimidating width of his chest, the way his spine arched, and how his muscles stretched over bone. Fascinating. She gave a little start, even as her fingers itched for a pencil.

But he was . . . different this morning, his expression one of peace. She could only conclude he was satisfied that he’d gotten everything he wanted from this marriage.

Well, not everything, she reminded herself. And he hadn’t insisted on his husbandly rights. Much as she’d been angry when she’d denied him—she was
still
angry—she was rational enough to realize that he was being patient with her. He’d always been able to have any woman he wanted, and now his own wife had denied him. That could have sent many men into a towering rage. But not Leo.

“We aren’t leaving today, Mrs. Wade,” he said, as his eyes half opened to take in her disheveled state.

“Staying here won’t change anything.”

“But it will rest our coachman, who stayed awake through the night to see us love-struck fools safely married. I think he deserves another day of rest.”

She pressed her lips together, a bit embarrassed that she hadn’t considered the poor man and reluctantly grateful that Leo had. “Of course.”

“No need to amuse yourself. I can give you all the attention you need.”

As he reached his hand toward her hip, she stood up. “Unlike a young debutante you might have married, I need little of your attention. I am used to being on my own.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way, Mrs. Wade.”

She stiffened, wondering if he would find other amusements, feeling another stab of self-pity at what her married life would be like. “Will you please stop calling me that?”

“Mrs. Wade? But it’s your name.”

“I’ve been Susanna to you from the beginning.”

“It was far too familiar for me to use, or so you constantly reminded me. Now you’ve changed your mind?”

She didn’t need to answer as they heard a knock on the door. “It must be the maid. I’ll send her away until we’re dressed.”

Leo sat up and tucked the counterpane around his waist. “No need. I’m starving. Come in!” he called.

The little maid paused on the threshold and couldn’t miss Leo’s display. The girl turned away to hide an obvious grin, then brought in a breakfast tray.

“Ye’ll be stayin’ another day, Mrs. Wade?” she asked.

Susanna nodded, speaking through clenched teeth. “We shall.”

“Let me take the rest of your garments and have them cleaned.”

“Thank you,” she answered. “I don’t think I heard your name.”

“Bess, ma’am.”

She was a ma’am now, Susanna thought despondently.

They busied themselves over the domestic chore, and she would have sent Bess away, but the girl said, “Would not the master want his clothes cleaned?”

Leo, arms folded over his chest, grinned wickedly at the girl. “Mrs. Wade can’t quite think straight this morn, Bess. I’ll have to remind her again that she’s married now.”

Susanna’s face burned as Bess giggled, but she forced herself to open Leo’s trunk and remove several garments. She handed over another coin and saw the girl out.

She stared at the laden tray, her eyes unfocused, fighting melancholy. She didn’t hear Leo approach until he put his big hand on her waist to lean over her shoulder and sniff appreciatively.

“Ah, shall we eat?”

She stepped away from his touch and the very heat of all that naked skin. “It cannot be decent to eat in your underclothes.” Now she sounded like a prude, and she certainly had never considered herself one. But he was wearing so little, and it was affecting her regardless of how angry she was.

“It’s our marriage; we can decide what’s decent.” He sat down and uncovered a plate of boiled eggs and fried fish. “Won’t you join me, Mrs. Wade?”

He knew how irritated she was by her new name, but he would keep using it. She could not continue to let him know how easily he annoyed her. Sitting down, she began to work at her own plate, trying not to look at him and his fascinating nude chest.

“Then we leave tomorrow?” she asked.

“If you wish. Or we could stay as long as you like. It is our honeymoon.”

She gave him a bewildered stare. “A honeymoon?”

He only grinned and lifted an eyebrow suggestively.

“We must return the carriage to Lord Bramfield,” she insisted.

“He has others. I’m in no rush. Do you have somewhere to be?”

“It no longer matters, does it?”

His smile faded. “It does to me. I do not plan to take over your very life, you know.”

“But you already have.”

“I won’t keep you locked up in your room or force you out of London. Oh, that’s right, you prefer the countryside, do you not?”

“Then where will we live?”

He put down his fork. “I admit, I’ve had no time to give it thought. Though you insist on believing otherwise, I had no dark plans to force a marriage between us.”

She didn’t believe him.

He inhaled, then let his breath out slowly. “My brother and his wife will only be too happy to accommodate us until we decide.”

She nodded, wondering what Viscount Wade would think of their quick wedding. Would he be ashamed or appalled, or was he used to his brother’s behavior? Surely Lady Wade would be reluctant to associate with her.

“But we will be taking our time journeying to London,” Leo continued. “I have people in the north I haven’t seen for a long time. I’ll introduce you.”

What could she do but nod? Even if they reached a town with a railway station, she could hardly flee her own husband. She was trapped, she thought bleakly, until the end of her days.

“And I have other reasons to delay our homecoming,” he said in a huskier voice.

She couldn’t help but meet his eyes and found them half-closed, his face a picture of languid indolence. She should be affronted or angry; instead, his regard made her feel both uneasy and nervous.

“I want to learn everything about you, Mrs. Wade,” he murmured, “every place on your body that’s sensitive, every secret those dark eyes are hiding from me.”

She trembled although it wasn’t out of fear or anger. Hoping her voice didn’t betray her, she managed, “Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”

“I have a lifetime.” He gave her a wicked, sensual smile.

A lifetime,
her mind echoed with dismay. She busied herself with the newspaper as he finished breakfast. He didn’t ask for a section, nor did he even glance at the headlines, which made her frown. Was he interested in nothing but his own amusements? But she knew there was an intelligence inside his brain that he kept hidden. Whatever the reason, he didn’t like anyone to know about it, not even her. Would she never have an intellectual conversation again except with friends? If she had any friends after this scandal . . .

When he rose to dress, she averted her gaze. He shaved his beard without the services of a valet, even as she ate her food slowly, wondering how she was supposed to see to her own toilette with him in the room. That feeling of being trapped was creeping up her throat again, as if a hand slowly squeezed. Last night proved he wasn’t the sort of man who would force her to do anything, even dress in front of him. At least she hadn’t been wrong about some of the honor she’d begun to associate with him before this farce. But what did she know of him after all, except every wicked, whispered rumor?

She jumped when he said, “Mrs. Wade? Shouldn’t you be dressing? Or will you remain in the room all day waiting for me?”

“I’ll send for Bess to help me. You may leave and do as you wish. Find a card game or someone to drink with.”

He laughed. “I assure you I do not imbibe so early in the morning. But very well, I will give you time to yourself.”

And then he took himself off, and it was as if the very room deflated with his absence. The silence echoed hollowly, and she couldn’t decide if she should be glad of it or see it as a preview of her life to come. Eventually, she would give in to him and do her marital duty; eventually—quickly?—he would grow bored with her, and stay away longer and longer. She would be alone all of the time.

Unless he gambled away all of her money, leaving them so poor as to remain beholden to his family for a place to stay. Then she’d never have her own home.

She put her face in her hands, but her eyes remained dry. Thankfully, Bess knocked and came in, allowing Susanna to briefly put her troubles aside.

T
he village of Gretna Green had a bookshop, according to their host, Mr. Linton, so Susanna donned her spectacles, gathered her colorbox and sketchbook, and walked down through Gretna Hall. She paused in the entrance hall, certain she could hear Leo’s laughter. Walking quietly, she followed the sound to the parlor. She leaned against the wall and listened in dismay to his smooth voice, and the girlish laughter of a young woman. She told herself she could expect no better, that he was a rake born to flirt, and marriage wouldn’t stop such a man.

She pushed away from the wall and out the door, following Mr. Linton’s directions to the bookshop. It was difficult to keep her thoughts under control when her head buzzed with questions and worries. What was happening with Rebecca and Elizabeth, and were the pursuing men as dangerous to their lives as Leo had turned out to be? Would Susanna’s reckless marriage affect them in some terrible way?

Gripping the handle of her colorbox, she berated herself for her stupidity. She’d foolishly thought to find happiness the same way her brother had, by taking a daunting risk. He’d returned from India, where he’d been thought dead, only to find Emily pretending to be his wife. They’d each taken a risk to learn to trust each other, to fall in love. Susanna should have known that such luck was rare, that her own risk-taking would make her miserable.

She glanced up at the overcast sky, thinking it matched her very mood. She’d tried to change herself, to find a husband who would suit her, and it had exploded in her face. She was tired of changing herself for others, and she wasn’t going to do it anymore. Leo had wanted a conventional wife, so she would show him that he’d made a mistake—she would be the most unconventional wife imaginable, a bluestocking through and through.

She felt as if she could breathe again. She would be herself and let Leo reap his reward for compromising her. She entered the bookshop and took a lungful of musty air. It smelled so good to her! She greeted the hunched proprietor, Mr. Stanfield, who scratched his gray beard and smiled at her. With only a question or two, she discovered that he, too, shared a love of art, and soon they had their heads buried in dusty old shelves as he found her book after book.

When they returned to the front of the store, Mr. Stanfield wrapped the books she’d purchased in paper and tied it with a string. She said a cheery good day and left the store, only to come up short on seeing Leo leaning indolently against the building, his smile slow and knowing. She tossed the stack of books toward him, and he juggled the package against his chest. When he eyed her doubtfully, she felt almost serene as she began to walk away.

“Go on ahead to the hotel,” she said, motioning across the green. “I’m going to paint by the church. I promised Mr. Tyler that I would send him a watercolor anytime I discovered an interesting flower.”

If the thought of her doing something for another man disconcerted him, he didn’t show it.

“I will allow your consideration,” he said lightly.

“Allow?” she answered over her shoulder as she marched. “You misunderstand me. I am not asking for your permission. For the first time in my life, I can do what I want and have no one to please but myself.”