Every Scandalous Secret (7 page)

Just like he smiled at Susanna. But she would not be easily misled. They played a game between them, and she found herself too eager to win.

She turned away and went to the window. The moon was full, a small cloud scudding through the dark sky near its bright surface.

“Susanna?”

She turned to Caroline with a smile.

“You’ve been much in demand,” Caroline said.

Susanna leaned her shoulder against the window frame. “It is an unusual feeling. I tend to prefer being the wallflower.”

“I remember. But not anymore?”

“I promised my brother I would do my best to find a husband,” she said quietly, then took another sip of champagne. “Oh, he is not insisting—he wants my happiness. I do as well, for I was never one to meekly obey my brother.”

Caroline laughed.

Wearing a rueful smile, Susanna said, “It is much harder than I imagined, trying to be what a man might want, especially at my age.”

Caroline nodded. “I think it’s that way for most women.”

“Some days I simply want to retreat into my art and think of nothing but light and shadow and how best to represent what I feel in my soul.”

“Beautifully said,” Caroline murmured, regarding her thoughtfully. Then she glanced over her shoulder at her parents, who were talking to the Randolphs. “What about tonight?”

Susanna straightened. “What do you mean?”

“You spoke to us about capturing a night scene when you sketch or paint—why not tonight?” Caroline hiccuped just as she tried to take a sip of champagne, then covered her mouth on a giggle.

Susanna found herself wanting to giggle, too. “You and I would sneak away?”

“No, no, we’ll wait until everyone is abed, then you and I and the rest of the girls will meet in the . . . where would it be best to sketch at night?”

Susanna felt invigorated at the thought of being daring yet still doing what she loved. “The gallery! There are high windows there to let in the moonlight—although we’ll still have candles, of course—and there are statues that we can draw.”

“As if we’re sketching people,” Caroline breathed. “It always seemed so . . . intrusive to sketch actual people. I can’t imagine how it must feel when an artist has a model—unclothed!” She laughed a bit too loudly, and some of her champagne splattered to the floor.

Susanna took the glass from her hand. “Don’t drink any more, or you might fall asleep before we can meet. How should we tell the other girls?”

I
n the end, their secret was passed from lady to lady during the dance, and by the time the house seemed settled, Susanna’s feelings of reckless daring were still running high. And the look on Marie’s face when she hadn’t wanted her gown unhooked—the maid thought Susanna had an exciting assignation with a man, and she’d regretted having to disabuse the woman of that notion. Marie had been disappointed.

Holding her sketching supplies under one arm and a candle with the other hand, Susanna crept toward the front of the house. She was right in front of Caroline’s door when it opened, and both of them gasped and backed up, their candles flickering wildly. Covering their mouths against giggles, eyes shining in the soft light, they gestured with their heads toward the front of the house. Susanna followed in her friend’s wake, pleasantly surprised at Caroline’s daring. She’d been worried everyone might have second thoughts.

The gallery was above the ground floor, spanning the width of the house, and during the day, held a magnificent view of the countryside. At night, moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting strange shadows among the sculptures and vases on display. Giant paintings were crowded together on almost every wall, but their subjects were vague in the darkness.

To Susanna’s surprise, Miss Norton rushed forward from where she’d been perched on a sofa in the darkness.

Caroline gasped, and her candle went out. As she relit hers from Susanna’s candle, she said, “Aurelia, there’s no need to startle us!”

“You startled me!” her cousin cried, looking furtively over her shoulder. “I knew I should have met you in your bedroom. Mama’s chamber connects with mine!”

“You’re here now,” Susanna said calmly. “Let us find a place to work while we await the others.”

By the time Miss Randolph and Lady May joined them, they’d settled on several sofas grouped together near a statue prominent under moonlight.

“We’ll pretend it is an actual person,” Susanna said, walking about the white marble statue. It was of a young man, garbed in the loose, sleeveless tunic of ancient Rome, his well-muscled arms hanging fluidly at his side, his head turned as if he heard someone in the distance.

Miss Norton giggled. “I used to pretend he was real, Caroline. Did you know that?”

“You always were fanciful,” Caroline said fondly.

Lady May, wearing a plain gown far different from her eveningwear, circled the statue right along with Susanna, then ran her hand down the arm. “If only he
were
real.”

Susanna kept her amusement to herself. She’d spent many years sketching the real thing, but it was not something she could share with proper young ladies. Her own family didn’t even like discussing her work. It wasn’t as if the men were
alive
when she sketched them!

“Ladies, take up your sketchbooks. Let us see if you can make the white of this marble shine against a dark background, yet still with a softness, a paleness that seems to hover in the darkness.”

“You’re a poet, too,” Caroline said.

The other three ladies laughed softly, and Susanna felt strangely included. It was a comfortable feeling, since only her family had ever been able to make her feel that way. She’d attended many house parties, of course, but had always spent her time with her sister or cousin. Perhaps she’d missed out on the chance for women friends not related to her.

Their silence was companionable for long minutes, except for the occasional question directed at Susanna. The darkness seemed to recede, the moonlight brighten, until the statue was the only beacon in the night.

“Ladies?”

The male voice made several of them gasp, and Miss Randolph even dropped her sketchbook with a clatter. Susanna wondered if Mr. Wade had been lingering in the dark watching them. It made her skin tingle just imagining it, and she found herself suddenly eager for the unfolding scene.

“Mr. Wade,” Caroline said, rising as if she greeted him during a morning call. “Did we disturb you?”

He came forward out of the darkness, his hair gilded by the white moonlight. Susanna knew she was not the only one to notice that his cravat was tossed over his shoulder instead of tight about his neck, his collar buttons opened to see the smooth line of his throat, his Adam’s apple, and even the faint depression at the base of his neck. Much more skin than a lady was used to seeing. Though his eyes gleamed, she thought there was a trace of weariness there.

“No, I have not yet retired,” Mr. Wade said, grinning. “We gentlemen are in another wing playing cards and billiards, and wouldn’t have heard you all escaping your rooms for the night.”

“We are not escaping,” Susanna said lightly. “We are sketching a night scene.”

He walked closer until he stood even with the statue. He was taller by half a head, but the curling hair could have been the same.

“So you are sketching this?” he asked, eyeing it, then the ladies.

They clutched their sketchbooks to their chests in shared embarrassment, as if caught doing something indecent.

Lady May gave a drunken giggle. “We have been sketching statues our whole lives. I think we should use a living person as a model.”

Every eye went wide. Susanna stared around her, looking for affront and instead seeing their intrigue. “Ladies, many of us sketch people.”

“But not someone like Mr. Wade,” Lady May continued. “Would you pose for us, sir?”

Susanna opened her mouth, uncertain what her duty was as the eldest—and most sensible—lady present, but Mr. Wade spoke first.

“Only if you truly believe I could help further your education,” he said with sincerity.

Caroline’s gaze collided with Susanna’s. Perhaps she saw the double meaning in Mr. Wade’s words as well.

He rested his forearm on the shoulder of the statue. “I do believe I can hold very still. It will be a lark, will it not?”

Lady May giggled again. “Let us have a new subject to draw, Miss Leland. There is no harm.”

She could have reminded them what might befall them if their parents discovered this night lesson, but lately, she wasn’t the sensible one at every occasion. And she liked the feeling. Their eyes were alive with excitement—and truly, what was the harm?

“Very well,” she said.

Mr. Wade just watched her, that ever-present smile gleaming. She never forgot the wager—he never allowed her to forget, what with his constant presence. His deeper plan was to seduce her secrets from her, or so he’d boldly said. She lifted her chin in answering challenge as she watched him. How this helped him, she didn’t know, but was curious to find out.

Mr. Wade rubbed his hands together. “What should I do?”

All four women stared at Susanna silently.

“Since we already began with the statue standing,” she said, “we’ll keep that for the theme tonight. Stand just at the edge of the window, partially in the light, partially out.”

He did as she instructed. “I just stand here?”

“What a shame we don’t have a book for you to read.”

“There’s a book on a lower shelf just past the fireplace,” Caroline said. “The bookend is an antique. Otherwise, it would be in the library. Shall I fetch it?”

Soon Mr. Wade was holding the open book in one hand. “I’m reading in the moonlight?” he said with faint sarcasm he directed Susanna’s way.

She gave a pleased smile. “It will give the ladies more to draw, especially where your hands and arms are concerned. Shall we begin? Remember, we will not have time for a detailed study—not if we wish to arise before noon.”

Miss Randolph snorted, then covered her mouth with embarrassment.

“This exercise is more about his form in darkness, how the shadows are different at night. Don’t spend all your time on his face or hands; we simply want an impression of the lines of his body.”

Lady May whispered something to Miss Norton, and they both started to giggle.

Susanna took her seat on the long sofa beside Caroline. “Ladies, begin. And no talking, Mr. Wade. I know that is difficult for you, but we need to concentrate.”

There was more smothered laughter, but Mr. Wade genially shrugged, then focused on the book he held in one hand. Susanna didn’t think he’d last long, but when she next glanced at the clock she’d brought from the mantel nearby, three-quarters of an hour had passed.

“Mr. Wade, I have been impressed with your silence,” she said. “Have we made you regret your generous offer?”

“Not at all.”

“We could give the poor man a few minutes’ rest,” Caroline said, smiling at Susanna.

“Excellent idea,” Mr. Wade said quickly, lowering the book. “Ladies, let me see what you’ve done.”

Susanna watched as he seated himself on the floor before the sofa. For the next few minutes, he looked through their sketchbooks, praising and smiling and flirting. Caroline went to fetch him water, which he gratefully sipped.

How was this helping him? Or perhaps he simply enjoyed female adoration.

At last, Susanna said, “Let us do one more session, Mr. Wade, then we will allow you to escape us.”

“I’m not trying to escape, Miss Leland. This has been most informative.”

She called a halt not all that much later, seeing her students hiding the occasional yawn. Mr. Wade looked as if he could stand still, flexing his arm, all night. Looking down his body one last time, she had to admit to herself that he was in superb physical shape.

She helped the women gather up their pencils and sketchbooks, and all took their leave of Mr. Wade as a group. It wasn’t until she reached the corridor of their bedrooms that she realized she hadn’t picked up her own sketchbook.

She returned to the gallery alone, peered in—

And found him sprawled on the sofa, her open sketchbook in his hand. He waved at her as if he’d been waiting patiently.

She walked across the gallery and held out her hand. “My book, please, Mr. Wade.”

He studied the rendition of himself. “You’re talented, Susanna.”

“Thank you,” she said. “My book, please.”

“It must have been easier for Roger Eastfield to paint you,” he said quietly. “He had oils at his command.”

She looked over her shoulder, feeling a surge of uneasiness. “Everything begins with a sketch. Please hand me my book.”

“But his black background looked so nuanced.”

“Because the paint was a mixture of different colors, not just black.” She stepped closer until she stood above him. “Mr. Wade, my book please. Do not make me take it from you.”

His eyes widened with feigned innocence, the green gleaming catlike in the shadows. “Can you? I would be most impressed.”