Every Scandalous Secret (20 page)

Babies who looked like him, she hoped. Babies to love, when at last she had to settle for the understanding that her husband would never love her.

But perhaps they’d have respect, and that would be something important upon which to base parenthood.

She had to wonder—did he respect himself? His favorite pastimes were seducing women and gambling. If he found more meaningful hobbies, he would take himself a bit more seriously. He could start by reading more. Young Patience Wyndham had brought several readers with her to pass the hour. Now Susanna tossed one into Leo’s lap.

He looked up at her in surprise, and when he smiled his curiosity, she felt again that strange, melting feeling of soft helplessness. Oh heavens, she was falling for him, regardless of his faults and sins and knowing her uncertain future with him.

He could hurt her more than the scandal of a forced marriage ever would.

Swallowing, she managed a smile. “I think you need a new hobby. Perhaps reading? It would broaden your mind.”

“I think far too much already,” he answered, his eyes merry. He returned to a discussion on knights and sword fighting.

There had to be a more mature way for him to spend his time, so she would keep trying. But today she was going to drag him to another museum. Maybe that would eventually take.

The museum in Newark was small by London or even York standards, just two rooms, but there were collections of paintings by British artists, and artifacts unearthed in the area. To her surprise, Marcus found the paintings fascinating, and she ended up discussing technique, even as she knew most fathers wouldn’t allow their sons art lessons.

Leo seemed as bored as the little twins, and the three of them wandered away. She approached them later, and to her surprise, he’d found several Roman pottery shards and was studying them while the girls played with their dolls on the floor beside him. She thought of the curious boy he’d been, and now the man who didn’t even read the signs describing the pottery, or the newspaper, or books or—

And then a new realization made the blood drain from her head so fast she put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder to steady herself.

Could Leo read?

No, no, how could such a foolish thought occur to her? She’d seen him sign his name and place of residence on their marriage certificate.

But he had to know how to do that, simply to get by. His man of business would only have to point, and Leo could sign. But she’d never seen him read anything else. And he’d openly admitted his brother helped him with his homework, that the teachers thought him incorrigible.

And she’d just flung a child’s reader in his lap! Embarrassment brought a new wave of heat into her face, and she sat down heavily on a bench, giving Marcus permission with a wave to join his sisters.

This possibility changed so many things she thought she’d known about Leo, who’d once been curious and intelligent, but now went out of his way to show the exact opposite. A man who felt inferior about something would want to be the focus of the party, to make everyone like him, so no one would question the secrets he was hiding.

How could she bring it up to him? Would she anger and embarrass him so much that their relationship might never recover? She could help him, perhaps tutor him, if he’d allow it. But he didn’t trust her, didn’t love her; he’d never permit such a thing.

Was this why he expected so little of himself?

Chapter 17

“L
eo, why don’t you read the newspaper?” Susanna asked.

Leo glanced to where she was sitting at the dressing table, tucking in falling strands of her hair. They were changing for dinner, after a day spent with rambunctious children who actually seemed to enjoy the museum, to his surprise.

He tore his gaze away from her hair and deliberately frowned as he buttoned his waistcoat. “I like hearing news directly from the source. I talk to people. You should try it,” he teased, “instead of staying so solitary with all your
hobbies.
”

He didn’t understand her mood today. He’d enjoyed watching her with the Wyndham children. Considering she’d at one time meant to remain a spinster, he’d been worried she’d be the sort of mother who’d allow the governess and nurse full control over the children. She’d seemed to find shaping their young minds fascinating. He had seen the tender way she’d looked at the boy Marcus when he asked her questions about art.

But on the way home, when the children slumbered in their respective corners, and Leo could have used the nap, he’d had to tolerate her probing stare. Surely he hadn’t given her any reason to doubt him as a father. He
liked
children, probably more than most of his contemporaries.

With exasperation, he wondered why she simply couldn’t be the sort of woman who was glad for his name and position and the opportunity to shop. But then she wouldn’t be so uniquely . . . Susanna.

The thought of an evening with the Wyndhams, and their loaded silences and Susanna’s questions, all seemed like more than he wanted to bear that night.

“Let’s have dinner in private,” he said suddenly.

At the dressing table, she turned to face him, nose wrinkled quizzically. “But the Wyndhams—”

“They understand we’re newly married. They won’t mind not having to entertain us.”

“But—”

“Afraid to be alone with me?” He unbuttoned the waistcoat he’d just donned.

“Of course not.”

“We’ll spend another day with them tomorrow.”

“We aren’t leaving?”

“I know you’re anxious to be home and face your parents, but another day won’t matter. Didn’t you mention another artist lived nearby?”

He’d overplayed his hand, for now her eyes widened briefly before narrowing.

“Yes,” she said slowly.

He gave her his most devilish smile. “Then tonight I think you should sketch me.”

“It is training for me, of course, but how does that help your cause?”

“I’m going to be nude.”

After he pulled his shirt over his head, he saw the way her eyes studied his chest with contemplation—and eagerness, he realized with relief. With her feet yet bare, he noticed her toes curl and thought it far too erotic a sight.

“Surely you’ve never sketched a naked man before,” he said.

She smiled and tilted her head, leaning back in her chair with a languidness that surprised him.

“You’d be wrong,” she said. “Perhaps we should call for a servant to relay our news?” She stood up and reached for the bellpull.

He stopped with his hands on the front flap of his trousers. “You’ve sketched a naked man?”

Spreading her hands wide, she said, “Wouldn’t you like to know the details? You should hide behind the changing screen before you shock the maid.”

By the time Susanna sent the maid off with a message, Leo emerged with a towel around his waist. She was already sharpening her pencils and watching him with her artist’s eye, as if he were simply her subject and not her husband.

“Did you reciprocate and draw Eastfield naked?” Leo demanded.

She met his gaze with wide eyes, then she started to laugh. He enjoyed the sight, the twinkle in her deep brown eyes, the glitter of golden pinpricks teasing him from just beneath the surface.

“Roger? No, I did not draw him. It was no one you would know. Now have you changed your mind?”

She was looking down his body with an appreciation that he wished were about him rather than her art.

“I won’t find this drawing hanging in a lady’s tea room, will I?”

She smiled. “No, our marital secrets are our own. And I’m very good at keeping secrets,” she added slyly.

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Frustrated, are you?” she asked, coming to her feet and walking toward him.

Then she put both hands on his chest and guided him toward the bed. For a moment, he harbored the insane hope that she meant to do more with him than use his body as her subject.

She briskly pointed to the pillows. “Lie on your side, prop your head on your bent arm, and look at me.”

Susanna almost laughed aloud at the disappointment that flashed across Leo’s face. Yes, she found him desirable—too desirable. More and more the dark world of passion he inspired was luring her in.

But there was so much more to him, or there could be, if he would admit he wanted something out of life. But how to make him see that?

“Pose me, sweetheart,” he murmured, smiling up at her.

Sweetheart.
An endearment that went beyond
Mrs. Wade,
and he’d used it twice now. Though she knew he could have used it with many women, there was something about the way he formed the word, the softness of his speech, that made her feel a little tremor of longing.

But she was still so very competitive, so she removed his towel, pretended she didn’t see how very aroused he was by their game, touched his flank to bring him up onto his side, bent his arm so his head was propped on his hand, then stepped back and admired the figure he made.

“Impressive, yes?” he said.

She grinned. “If only you knew.”

And then she stepped away from him, took up her sketchbook, pulled up a comfortable chair, and began to draw.

He didn’t say anything at first, and she worked with sure purpose, her thoughts not quite focused. She was thinking about the man himself, his reading problem, and her desperate need to help him. But trust was involved, and she knew neither of them trusted the other—yet.

But they were closer. Could they have that kind of marriage, the trust she saw between her brother and his wife, even between her parents, who spent so many years separated from each other in every way that counted? If her own parents couldn’t trust for so long, why would she think Leo could? And he’d certainly never given a hint that she could trust him, not with his past, his reputation.

But reputation wasn’t always the truth. She’d been discovering more and more the truths that Leo kept hidden.

She wanted a real marriage, one built on trust—and respect.

And then she realized she was drawing his face, that dimpled smile, the eyes that promised secrets and delights and wickedness. Could she trust that face? Could she believe that he could desire
her,
when she was nothing like the beauties who normally graced his arm?

She heard her thoughts as if for the first time, her doubt in her own desirability, when he’d seemed attracted to her from the beginning. Her own convictions were part of the problem, ruining her confidence about herself and about the marriage they could have. She must somehow unlearn her self-doubts and find a way to trust in him and the future.

Perhaps that foolish wager was part of the problem. It put them on opposite sides, and if it were simply about her, she would abandon it and tell him everything. But it was about her sister Rebecca and cousin Elizabeth, too, two women younger than she, whom she’d guided as they grew up, nurtured, and looked out for. How could she stop now until she knew they were safe and their secrets protected?

“So how do I look?”

Susanna lifted her head, startled. And he was watching her closely, not quite smiling, as if he were serious, as if he cared what she thought.

It made her feel so warm inside.

She turned the sketchbook toward him.

“You didn’t even get to my lower body,” he grumbled. And then he paused. “But my face . . .”

“You do have one.”

His smile grew slowly, those dimples flashing, setting her heart racing so badly she could have flung herself at him. But no, not yet . . .

“I’m a handsome rascal.”

She laughed again.

W
hile they ate dinner, alone with each other as they’d been so many other meals, tonight felt . . . different. Leo wore only trousers, to keep Susanna at ease, but they also hid his constant erection. And she still wore only her undergarments beneath that dressing gown, and the neckline kept sagging whenever she forgot it, revealing the faint valley of her cleavage. Desire simmered within him, and every brush of her hand, every soft smile, set him aflame. Nothing else seemed to matter except being with her, winning her over, and that was about more than her body.

Although that body was magnificent even if she didn’t think so.

His thoughts also dwelled on the sketch she’d done of him. He’d suggested it as another way to make her think about sleeping with him, but it had turned into something else. She’d drawn his face—he felt almost ridiculous dwelling on that, but it seemed somehow important, another step toward a comfortable marriage.

As if sensing his thoughts, she set her fork aside and smiled at him. “We have played quite a game together these past few weeks.”

“That makes it sound so temporary, when you’re with me for life.”

“But you love the game—you’re a gambler after all.”

His smile faded, and something in him seemed to go still as he looked at her face, so alive with possibilities and the challenge of their marriage. Words he hadn’t meant to say tumbled from his lips. “You’re a gambler, too, sweetheart. Gamble on me.”

Her face took on a peculiar stillness as she studied him. He couldn’t decipher her expression, whether she was pleased or wary. And when she stood up, he thought he’d miscalculated.

She walked around the small table toward him. He pushed back his chair, uncertain what she wanted—and then she sat in his lap and draped her arms about his shoulders.

“Make love to me, Leo,” she whispered against his mouth, then kissed him.

The desire for her that never went away now flared to impossible heights. He dropped her back in his arms so that she was sprawled across his thighs, and kissed her with greedy possession. The time for sweet seduction, slow tenderness, was past, and all he wanted to do was devour her.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “I don’t want to rush, I want to savor this, give you all the pleasure—”

She cupped his face in both hands. “But I’ve waited so long, Leo.”

With a shared groan, they kissed wildly again. Before he knew it, she was straddling his thighs, her arms wrapped about his shoulders. Their tongues mated and danced, and when she flung back her head, he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the lemon scent of her hair. He suckled her earlobe and the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. When he parted the dressing gown further, she shrugged it to the floor. But as he touched her corset lacings at her stomach, her hands covered his.

“No,” she whispered.

He froze, staring at her. She would stop him
now?
She got to her feet and his arms dropped away.

“But—”

With a wicked smile, she bent to give him a swift, eager kiss. “Leave it on. I like our games.”

With a groan of relief, he tried to embrace her again, but she held him off and watched him closely as she said, “But I don’t think I’ll need my drawers.”

When she would have turned away, he caught her hands, spread them wide. “Allow me.”

Closing her eyes, she bit her lip endearingly as she nodded. He slowly reached down, and when his fingers brushed the tops of her bare feet, she noticeably quivered. He would make her shake uncontrollably before the night was through.

He explored her calves with delicate touches, slid beneath the hemline at her knee until she caught his shoulders as if she could no longer stand. Her chemise and dressing gown pooled in his arms the higher his hands moved beneath. The scent of her enveloped him, and he almost wanted to bury his face in the fabric that was so intimately close to her.

At her waist, he loosened the laces, then slid his fingers inside, embracing her hips with his palms and sliding downward. The drawers fell in his wake. He watched her face as he cupped her ass, kneading her, pulling her closer, spreading her thighs until she stood, straddling him. Eyes closed, lips parted and trembling, she gave every indication of a woman enthralled by his touch, by the possibilities of lovemaking.

The fact that she’d once thought to remain a spinster briefly crossed his mind, then he put it away for good. Her body was made to be worshipped, and he would show her that.

He let his hands come forward, sliding them down her stomach until his thumbs could part her curls and explore the moist depths. She gasped and shuddered as he rolled her clitoris between the pads of his thumbs.

“Oh, Leo,” she breathed unsteadily. She opened her eyes and leaned into him. “I want to be with you, to experience everything . . . with you.”