Every Scandalous Secret (17 page)

She saw his arched brow but pretended she didn’t.

“If you think to stop me,” she continued, “I’ll make certain your family knows exactly how our marriage began—and what you did.”

“You make it sound as if such things can be kept secret,” he mused.

She only shrugged. “So you don’t mind that your brother learns of
another
poor decision on your part?”

“There are so many. What is one more?”

Fine, then she didn’t have anything to threaten him with. Short of locking her up, he couldn’t stop her—and even then, she would scream enough to wake the dead. And
she
ought to know how impossible that was!

To her surprise, he returned from depositing her books at the hotel with a blanket to sit on. No, not sit, lounge. While she sat on the church stairs, trying to concentrate on the light pencil sketch she was making before using her watercolors, he rested his head back on his bent arms and closed his eyes. Concentration was difficult with such an . . . improper man.

Her husband.

Glancing at him again, she spoke with disapproval. “It’s only midmorning. Are you tired already?”

“It was difficult to sleep. You insisted on being in my arms all night, arousing me and leaving me frustrated.”

She flushed with embarrassment, looking quickly around, but no one was near them. She opened her mouth to retort, but now he was watching her, and for a brief moment, she saw something unreadable flash in his eyes.

Was he lying? She didn’t know the signs, after all, since every word he uttered was so smoothly spoken.

“Nothing to say?” he countered, his voice laced with amusement.

She leaned to examine the veins in the leaves. “You brought your travails on yourself,” she said, then determined to ignore him.

T
hat night, Susanna stared at the bathing tub that had been placed in their room while they had dinner in the public parlor. Steam rose from it, and she watched it longingly.

“Excellent service,” Leo said from behind her.

She gave a little start, not having realized how close he was to her. He shut the door.

“You might as well bathe, Mrs. Wade. I watched you do so last evening, after all.”

She whirled to face him. “But you were asleep!”

His grin reminded her of a pirate.

“You
weren’t
asleep—or drunk?” she said.

“No. I am simply your husband, and I knew how much you desperately longed for a bath after our journey.”

As words failed her, he gave a hearty sigh.

“You have no need to worry. I could only see your back.”

All of her back—and below, she realized, swallowing. And yet he still hadn’t pressed for his marital rights. One thing to admire, and perhaps she should hold on to that. Unless he’d only pretended to be attracted to her. But she could not believe so of him.

“It’s sad when one can’t trust one’s own husband,” she said. “But I cannot say I wasn’t warned. I did hear the rumors. There was another young lady you nearly ruined.”

His lips seemed to tighten though the smile remained. “So now you believe all gossip to be fact?”

“Isn’t most of it?”

When he said nothing, she had her answer. But she refused to ask for all the details if that’s what he wanted. Gossip was salacious—and when it was about one’s own husband? Even worse.

The two of them had added even more gossip to London’s seething stew. What must Society be saying? She didn’t want to think about their pity—or their ugly curiosity.

Leo shrugged off his coat. “I can keep my back turned.”

“What?”

“If you need that condition in order to bathe.”

When she was silent, he added, “Must I put a vow into words?”

“No, I accept your offer.”

“Do you need my assistance with the hooks of your gown?”

She shook her head, knowing she only had a few gowns that fastened up the front. Soon enough she’d have to don another, and then he’d be regularly volunteering to help.

But as she began to disrobe, Leo lazily undid the buttons of his waistcoat, watching her. There was almost a darkness in his eyes that still seemed heated, as if even his thoughts were burning. Certainly, his regard made her skin flame in response, confusing her. If he was putting on a pretense, her body was falling for it. She could not refuse him for long; she was his wife, after all. She well remembered the way he made her feel, stretched out beneath him on the drawing-room floor at Bramfield Hall. Eager and desperate and uncertain all at the same time. She closed her eyes, for she no longer knew what was real and what wasn’t.

“Then please turn around,” she said.

He dragged a chair to the window.

“You could read one of the books I purchased.”

“No, thank you,” he said dryly.

He hadn’t even looked at the titles, she thought. Probably the last book he read had been at university—had he even attended? Though after his conversation about Darwin’s specimens, she’d debated if he had. She would have given her life to attend Cambridge. But women weren’t permitted.

Her clothing seemed loud as it slithered down her body, silk against silk. Glancing at him, she saw him turning her sketching pencil in little circles on the table.

She froze for a moment, naked, knowing he could insist she climb into their bed. What would she do then? Not scream even though she was still angry enough. Someone would send for the constable, and what would she say:
Constable, I don’t wish to sleep with my new husband.
She bit her lip, surprised to find even a spark of amusement in the whole situation.

She stepped into the water and quickly sat, deciding that she needed to distract him. “Much as we are now married, I haven’t forgotten the wager.”

“Believe me, neither have I. One would think a wife would help her husband win.”

Her snort was far from ladylike. “Not if it harms the wife’s position. Besides, I have even more reason for not wanting you to win.”

“Revenge?” he said over his shoulder. “Not difficult to figure out.”

She tried to make as little noise as possible as she rinsed the facecloth and soaped her arms. But the sound of dripping water seemed loud in the small bedchamber. He continued to twirl her pencil, as if he couldn’t sit still and had to do something with his hands. The hands that had touched her through her clothing, had felt so sinfully good that she lost all her sense, allowing him to do—

“We need to write to our parents,” she said, wincing at the breathless sound of her voice. She quickly scrubbed her legs.

“Why? They’ll hear our news soon enough.”

“You cannot keep me a secret forever, much as you might wish to do so.”

“And why would I want to keep my lovely bride a secret?”

“True. Your family will rejoice that you have your own money now.”

“Sleep in peace, Mrs. Wade. My brother does not take care of me. And I’m not keeping any secrets from him. But as for my mother, we don’t often correspond.”

She paused, lifting her damp face from the cloth. “That is truly sad.”

“Have you met my mother?”

“No.”

“Believe me, you needn’t be in a hurry.”

“So you don’t get along,” she said, feeling a twinge of sympathy.

He laughed. “Far from it. I can do no wrong in my mother’s eyes.”

She frowned. “Then I don’t understand.”

“It was uncomfortable to watch how my mother fawned over my brother and me, while practically ignoring our sister Georgiana.” He half turned his head so that she could almost see his profile. “You and my sister will be the best of friends.”

“Much as your mother’s behavior toward your sister is poor, it could not be bad that she loved you,” she said.

“Love? Was it love when Simon went blind, and my mother couldn’t be with him because he made her too uncomfortable? He was no longer capable of being the darling of Society, so she left as soon as she convinced herself he was healthy enough.”

She winced. “That is . . . sad.” So their mother paid attention to her sons when they were popular among the
ton.
It was as if another crack in the wall of his childhood secrets was revealed to her, giving her a glimpse of some of the reasons he’d made choices in his life.

“Luckily, he had my grandmother.”

“And you and Georgiana?”

“Yes, although I briefly felt helpless myself. What does one say to a brother newly blind—everything will be all right?” His hand came down hard on the pencil, stopping its spinning.“And now it’s all about me,” he continued with faint sarcasm. “I’ve become my mother’s golden child. And if one of my sins reaches her ears, she defends me as if I’ve graced her by floating to the earth wearing angel’s wings.”

Though she didn’t laugh, there was a deep part of her that saw humor in that. Until she began to wonder how his mother would accept a daughter-in-law not blissfully in love with her son, one long past the blush of innocent youth.

She hoped they wouldn’t have to live with Lady Wade.

“Do not worry about your parents,” he said. “We’ll visit them first. Are they in London?”

“They were going to Cambridgeshire, I believe.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go. Will you still write a letter with our momentous announcement?”

She hesitated. “No. The news would be best delivered in person.”

She dried off and quickly dressed in her nightgown, watching Leo the whole time. He cocked his head just as she was donning her dressing gown, then turned about before she could even offer permission. She didn’t want to know how he so perfectly timed it, or if his hearing was that sensitive.

Leo slowly rose to his feet, his smile fading as he continued to undress. She wanted to look away, but his gaze seemed to challenge her, and the spell was only broken when he lifted his shirt over his head. She went to study the flower she’d painted and left to dry near the window.

“I won’t be ready to leave tomorrow,” she found herself saying, testing his insistence that he wouldn’t be a tyrant.

“Very well.”

“You don’t even want to know why?”

“I assume there are more flowers Tyler needs to see?”

Drat. It was hardly as if he would care about another man. As her husband, he had no competition.

Maybe she could make him think she’d be unfaithful . . . but no, she could not be that sort of person, or even pretend to be. She wouldn’t be like Leo.

Chapter 14

A
fter a sleep-tossed night, where Leo alternated between lusty wakefulness and dreams of rats in the dark, he sat alone in their chambers. He was only too glad to let Susanna have her rebellion of painting pictures for Tyler. She needed to understand by more than his words that he wanted her to feel the freedom to enjoy her life.

She still slept peacefully. As the sun came up, he’d found himself watching her. Several locks of auburn hair had escaped her braid to spread over the pillow and even cup her cheek. With the warmer summer night, she’d tossed off the counterpane, and he could see her bare feet.

He must be crazed to think her feet captivating, but they were, especially since they were parted, implying the same of her thighs. His heart had stuttered momentarily. When she lay on her back, he could see the slope of her breasts, not so rounded as some, but an easy mouthful.

But she’d ignored or been blissfully unaware of his unrequited passion, and had taken her painting supplies and left their chamber. Now he sipped his coffee and considered what else had kept him awake. Surely his mind was muddled at her nearness. Rats in the dark? He’d never had such dreams before. And the more he considered it, the easier it was to go find something else to amuse him.

But what was there to do in this Scottish village?

I
n the carriage two days later, as they crossed the border back into England, Susanna stared out the window, feeling the tension in her neck like a band.

“Should I explain myself to you?” Leo asked mildly.

She heard something fall and turned her head to see a pile of her recently acquired books topple into his lap. As the dust rose, he sneezed.

“You don’t need to,” she said.

“They were boxing matches, Mrs. Wade. A tournament.”

Once again, she winced the slightest bit at her new title. “It is a barbaric sport—no, it cannot even be called a sport.”

“Of course it’s a sport.”

“It’s an ugly amusement for bored men who only want to see blood.”

“It is a competition of strategy with an element of risk involved. Scots are known for their hardiness. I wanted to see it in action. And remember, my new bride did not wish to spend her honeymoon with me.”

She picked up a book that had fallen to the floor. “This was recommended by the proprietor. It’s a biography of Giles Cobbett, a famous Yorkshire artist. I would like to visit his home when we’re in York.”

“Then you’d like York to be a stop on our journey.” He leaned back in the corner of the carriage, eyes at half-mast.

“You don’t need to accompany me to his studio.”

He closed his eyes all the way and didn’t answer.

But if he did accompany her, she would make certain he heard every detail of her new fascination.

“Is that a smile on my wife’s pretty lips?” Leo suddenly asked.

With a start, she glanced at him. “Excuse me?”

“I have not seen your real smile since . . .” His words trailed off as he continued to watch her with speculation.

She picked up a book and opened it. Dust rose in a cloud. He sneezed again, and she pressed her lips together to hide a real smile.

By late afternoon, they arrived at a lovely estate nestled in the valley between two high ranges in Westmorland. The Edgecumbes were an older couple with a son away at Oxford, and three grown daughters at home, including one, a widow, who’d newly emerged from mourning. They all greeted Leo with easy familiarity, no hesitation in anyone’s manner. Leo had already told Susanna he had first met them through his brother, but still, they didn’t seem to care about his reputation at all, even around their daughters.

What they didn’t hide was their shock when he introduced her as his wife. Lady Edgecumbe, dimpled and plump beneath her lace cap, glanced briefly at her daughters in dismay, as if she’d harbored hopes that Leo would make one of them his bride. Susanna wondered if they were surprised he actually married or at his choice in wife. The two of them must look so very odd: Leo so handsome, and she, so plain. To outsiders, it must seem either a love match or a need for wealth.

The clothing the family wore to dinner that night was of the smartest styles. Perhaps they looked at Susanna as if
she
were the country maiden, with her several-year-old gowns.

At dinner, Leo was seated between Susanna and Lady Edgecumbe, who gushed, “I still cannot believe you are here, dear Leo.”

Christian names, yet, Susanna mused. She smiled at the sisters, who all studied her without making it obvious.

“You’ve always told me to call, my lady,” Leo said, taking up her hand to kiss it.

She giggled and batted him away playfully. One thing about Leo—he flirted with young and old alike, and all seemed to appreciate it. Leo briefly told them about Simon’s marriage and Georgiana’s engagement, which seemed to lead right into—

“And how did you meet your lovely wife?” Lord Edgecumbe asked. He was tall and thin to his wife’s short and plump, with thinning blond hair that was going white.

Susanna realized they’d never discussed in advance how they would explain their marriage to the world. She donned her spectacles and peered at him, daring him to explain his bluestocking wife.

Leo smiled at her with all the infatuation of a new bridegroom. “My wife moved in the same London circles, and I knew her brother. We share an interest in art that brought us together.”

Art? She thought, amused. Her art? Or that painting in his club she’d tried to steal? But at least this story was tame and skirted the truth. She could not help being grateful at his tact, even as she realized she already trusted his discretion. But then Leo suddenly leaned forward, as if he were about to impart a great secret, and Susanna felt the knots in her stomach begin to tighten once again.

“At a house party at Bramfield Hall, we realized at last that we were experiencing the same love and longing.”

The two younger daughters, both with blond ringlets, looked at each other and giggled. Their older sister, calmer with the experience of widowhood, only narrowed her eyes with consideration.

“I convinced Susanna that we need not wait to be happy,” Leo continued, “that we were both old enough to know our own minds.”

Every female pair of eyes landed on Susanna, and she knew her advanced age had not gone unnoticed. But she could only stare at Leo as she realized how honest he was about to be.

“So we drove to Gretna Green and were married,” he said, grinning with open delight.

There was a brief moment of silence, during which Susanna smiled at him with indulgence. She could never deliberately embarrass her husband.

Lady Edgecumbe clapped her hands together. “So this is your wedding journey,” she cried. “We feel so fortunate.”

Mrs. Appleby, the widowed daughter, didn’t look as if she shared her mother’s sentiments. She stared at Leo, blinking eyes full of questions and doubts. Leo had to know most people would think there was much more to their elopement.

They all retired to the drawing room together, where Leo took over the conversation, as if to set everyone at ease and make his story of a happy marriage even more plausible.

When Lady Edgecumbe offered Susanna an embroidery sampler, she declined, patiently watching Leo question his lordship about his crops. She wouldn’t have thought he was interested in farming, but he gave that very impression. Much as it was gibberish to her, Lord Edgecumbe listened and nodded to everything Leo said.

Leo seemed to relax as the center of entertainment, questioning the younger daughters about their legions of suitors, even though he knew one girl was still in the schoolroom and the other freshly out. He made them giggle and blush, and Lady Edgecumbe watched the display with a touch of regret, as if he could have been her son-in-law.

Susanna adjusted her spectacles, picked up the book she’d brought, and pretended to read it. She was an unconventional wife, after all.

But somewhere during the evening, Leo seemed to forget his new status. Susanna listened with growing dismay as he actually seemed to flirt, behaving as a roguish bachelor rather than a newly married man. Had he forgotten about her already? The lovely Widow Appleby had begun to blossom under his attention, and soon was even persuaded to sing.

Susanna anticipated how it would be in London, under the
ton’s
piercing regard. If they weren’t careful, there would be no respect between them, perhaps even no cordiality after a while. She’d seen more than one husband and wife flee to separate sides of the ballroom the moment they arrived, as if they couldn’t wait to be apart.

She didn’t want her life to be like that. Leo wasn’t the only one to blame for this marriage, for he hadn’t forced her response to his seduction. They would be together for the rest of their lives, and somehow they had to find a way to suit, to make the best of their marriage.

But she was a bluestocking, and she couldn’t let her husband think she would change her very nature for him. She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, turned to Lady Edgecumbe, and began a long conversation about the famous artists of England, and the names of some she’d like to visit as they traveled south. She didn’t look at Leo as he leafed through sheet music with Mrs. Appleby though she did give him a nod of soft approval when he danced with each of the young daughters. His answering smile was almost tender, and it made her feel flustered.

Susanna retired for the evening before any of the household. She had her own room in their little suite, but Leo never tried her door. She didn’t even know what time he came to bed. Her thoughts veered back quickly into worry and dismay. Was he with Mrs. Appleby? Would Susanna’s life now be an endless parade of widows and mistresses sympathetic to Leo’s plight?

She could not wonder and worry every night; somehow she had to find peace, to become a wife Leo wouldn’t want to ignore.

T
he next morning, Leo didn’t even hesitate as he entered his wife’s room. He knew she’d already be awake, for he guessed she was an early riser. He did not usually see the dawn unless it was just as he was going to bed, but he’d made certain not to stay up too late. He needed a clear head to match wits with Susanna. He used to prefer women with typical feminine interests, like shopping and gossiping, and witty wordplay was his contribution. But with Susanna, he constantly had to think, to come up with the right challenging phrase. He was still surprised at how much he looked forward to it.

He paused on the threshold, knowing she hadn’t seen him yet. She was bent over a table, studying her latest drawing for Tyler—damn, it was getting harder and harder to hide his irritation, but hide it he must, lest she misunderstand his motives. He wasn’t concerned about the man himself; Susanna would have grown bored with him if she’d spent any more time with him. Peaceful companionship? What was that next to desire and the delights of being in bed together? But of course, she didn’t know that yet, and he was impatient to show her.

He imagined backing her toward their bed, leaning over her when she tumbled into the pillows, knowing she wouldn’t resist for long.

But what kind of seduction was that? He wanted to see her weak with anticipation, unable to form even words of pleading, so suffused with desire would she be.

Patience, he said again, mastering himself. She would come to know him, would see that she could trust him. Trust came from knowing each other well, and he thought he was on the way to understanding her. Though she believed otherwise, she was not a woman to retire placidly to the country, with nothing to spark her curiosity but more pastoral scenes and a husband who put his scientific experiments above her. She hadn’t ventured far into life, didn’t know what he knew—that she was a woman of passion, and not just for the physical.

Since she still hadn’t seen him, he called, “Good morning, Mrs. Wade.”

Rather than give a start, she calmly turned her head to face him. He’d never met a woman with such control of her emotions. He knew she might very well be furious with his behavior last night—even he was surprised and chagrined at how easy it was to slip back into old habits, to flirt with every lady in the room, young and old.

And Susanna had responded with her own arsenal of tricks, becoming the bluestocking as she bored them to tears with her artistic obsessions. He’d almost applauded the show.

He approached her to look over her shoulder at the watercolors, murmuring, “Such talents you have, Mrs. Wade.”

“But not of the singing variety, I fear,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t disturb you that you can’t put me on display before your friends.”

“Who says I can’t?” he asked brightly. “We have another two days before we continue our journey. There’s an archery competition this morn, neighborhood guests for luncheon, and horseback riding into the foothills. There might even be flowers to paint.”

She studied him, her expression serene, unlike the disappointment and sadness that had suffused her the last few days. He felt relieved, even though he couldn’t know if it would last.

“You heard the schedule at breakfast?” she asked.

“Lady Edgecumbe was making plans last night. I would never go down to breakfast without asking if you wished to accompany me.” He held out his elbow. “Allow me to escort you, Mrs. Wade, so I can boast about your artistic talents. I’m sure the ladies will enjoy seeing what you’re working on.”