Every Scandalous Secret (9 page)

“And so you’re all the model since it has to be one of you,” he said slowly.

“Brilliant, I know.”

“It’s a shame I can’t remember who claimed it first.”

“You were a drunkard that night—you even proposed the wager. I’m surprised you remember anything.”

“I was barely inebriated.”

She put her hand to her chest and fluttered her eyelashes. “Another big word! I am so impressed.”

He laughed.

“So now it’s your turn. How did you meet Lord Parkhurst and Peter?”

“Peter?” he echoed curiously. “I knew he grew up near the ducal seat, but you are on such personal terms as to use his Christian name?”

She willed herself not to blush. “Childhood friends usually are. But you were saying . . . ?”

He hesitated, and she steeled herself to lie if necessary. The foolish mistakes of her past were none of his business.

But he only smiled and shook his head. “I can find out your secrets when I want to, so I’ll be fair and answer your questions. I went to school with Julian until his father withdrew him because they hadn’t the money.”

“I remember something of that,” she murmured, frowning. “Lord Parkhurst resurrected the earldom.”

“He did.”

The pride in his voice showed that at least Mr. Wade respected his friends’ accomplishments and didn’t only think about himself.

“But if he was tutored at home, how did you see him?” she continued.

“I invited him for holidays.”

Though his words were simple, Susanna guessed that the young earl must have felt grateful to Mr. Wade to be a part of the world he could no longer afford. She knew most others would ignore such a family. Mr. Wade’s kindness reluctantly impressed her.

“And Peter?” she asked. “I don’t remember you visiting him in Cambridgeshire.”

“No, our friendship is more recent, through Julian. Julian advised Peter on railway investing, and since many of their discussions occurred at our club, I became friends with Peter.”

“What a shame their discussions surely went over your head.”

He grinned at her. “What do I care about investing in railways? I have a man of business who handles everything for me.”

At least he was smart enough to hire someone competent to be in charge. So many younger sons went through their money far too quickly. Or perhaps Lord Wade insisted that Mr. Wade have help.

“You’re lucky they tolerate you,” she said dryly.

“I’m handy to have around. I know all the women.”

She knew she blushed because he laughed at her.

“Respectable women, of course,” he amended. “You surely didn’t think otherwise.”

“You don’t want to know what I think of you, Mr. Wade,” she teased, rising to her feet.

He did the same, and she was disconcerted at how much taller than she he was. His shoulders seemed too wide for an indolent rake, and the distance she wanted to feel for him did not encompass the trembling sensation his nearness evoked.

He looked down at her, his smile lopsided. “But I know what you think of my kiss,” he murmured.

“That I couldn’t escape your advances fast enough?” She tilted her head, studying him.

“You can tell yourself that.”

“Believe what you wish,” she shot back.

Stepping around him, she came to a halt to see Mr. Tyler standing uncertainly in the doorway. She stiffened, dismayed that at last a man had come to the library, only to find her consorting with Mr. Wade.

And had Mr. Tyler heard them discuss the kiss? But he didn’t look outraged or intrigued. Perhaps something could be salvaged. “Good morning, Mr. Tyler,” she said cheerfully.

“Good morning, Miss Leland.” He glanced at Mr. Wade, using his fingers to push back his unruly brown hair. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Mr. Wade was simply lost, and I was giving him directions to the conservatory.”

Mr. Wade paused, then nodded. “Thank you, Miss Leland. I’ll see you both at luncheon.”

He left, and for all she knew, he lingered in the corridor to eavesdrop. She didn’t care.

Mr. Tyler had stepped inside to allow Mr. Wade to pass, but now still seemed to hesitate.

Susanna spread her letters across the desk and sat down. “This is the quietest place to write. Did you come looking for a good book to pass the rainy day? Please don’t let me stop you.”

He nodded and turned to a wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves. She pretended to write as she watched him surreptitiously. He spent long minutes moving slowly from shelf to shelf.

“Looking for something in particular?” she asked. “I’ve already explored the library—one of my favorite places. Perhaps I could help?”

He smiled a bit nervously, showing one slightly crooked tooth that made him look sweet rather than overly amused. She could hardly let herself be so nervous if he was.

“Lord Bramfield said he had quite the collection of books on the naturalists’ study of Hertfordshire,” Mr. Tyler said. “Not very interesting, I know, but—”

“It sounds fascinating to me, but then I’m an artist.” She took a deep breath, embarrassed by how eager she sounded. “I draw everything I can find, and nature has abundant subjects for my work.” She smiled. “You must have enjoyed the antiquities yesterday.”

He walked closer to her desk. “I did, but perhaps not for the reason you might think. I noticed a rare flower nearby, and I had to study it. The Latin classification would bore you, so I won’t bother.”

“I would never be bored by such a topic, Mr. Tyler. Do you conduct research?”

His eyes widened, and she noticed that they were as bright blue as a sunny sky.

“That is not a question a young lady ever asks me.”

“My father is a professor at Cambridge, sir. I know much of research.” But it would not do, at such an early moment in their acquaintance, for her to mention
how
much she knew.

“I had heard that and forgotten,” he said, sitting down where Mr. Wade had just been.

It was refreshing to be treated as an intellectual equal. Mr. Tyler watched her as if he couldn’t wait to hear what she said next.

Pleasure and happiness washed through her, as if the sun had parted the clouds. They discussed his passion for botany, the research he was doing, his laboratory. More and more, Susanna found herself thinking that at last she’d found a man she could respect and admire. Her library strategy had worked!

L
eo stood in the deserted hall and listened with amusement to Susanna’s breathless, eager responses to Tyler’s description of his microscope. He knew she never spoke like that to him, but that was just fine. He wasn’t interested in her mind anyway. If the way she looked at him was any indication, she wasn’t interested in
his
mind either. All the better.

There was much he could do to encourage such carnal interest.

But not that night. He and the other young men rode to the nearby village tavern and enjoyed rousing company that included several young women who flirted shamelessly. Leo didn’t take them up on their unsubtle offers, but more than one of the men did. Leo contented himself with winning at cards, which required only half of his concentration. All the while part of his mind dwelled on his plans for Susanna.

The next afternoon, it took some time for him to find her, for she’d left the main party, and he couldn’t openly ask about her without encouraging the rumors Susanna abhorred. Luckily, a servant knew she’d packed a picnic lunch and gone off by herself to the Roman remains with her watercolors. When he saw her in the distance, she’d set up an easel, had a palette in one hand and a brush in the other. She was wearing yellow and white stripes, with tiny little yellow flowers embroidered down each white stripe. Who was this fashionable woman? he thought with amusement. His amusement faded as he studied her small waist, and the shoulders that so effortlessly moved as she worked her brush across the Bristol board.

Shoulders weren’t usually what he thought about when he admired a woman’s beauty, he reminded himself.

He moved silently through the grass and was able to see much of her painting before she even heard him. Once again, he was surprised to find the emotions her work could evoke in him, a yearning for the past that he knew he didn’t really feel. Though there was no one in sight, she’d put a man in her painting, roughed out yet, but with an indolent posture. Even as he neared, she was working on the details of his blond curls.

“That’s me,” he said aloud, delighted.

She cried out, dropping the brush, and juggling her palette as she spun to face him. “Why would you sneak up on me that way?” she demanded.

“Why would you put me in your painting?”

She lifted her chin. “It is not you.”

“That’s my hair, and I do believe the posture mirrors my own. I had no idea you were studying me so well,” he added, coming even closer and setting his hand on her waist.

She backed away from him. “No touching, Mr. Wade. Leave me be.”

“I don’t think you want me to, Susanna, not if you’re putting me in your watercolors. Perhaps the kiss we shared has given you fanciful notions.”

“Stay away—oh very well, go stand by the remains, then! Make yourself useful, unlike the other men at Bramfield Hall. They emerged from their bedrooms far too late this morn.” She squinted at him. “You don’t look the worse for wear as some of them do.”

Grinning, he made a sweeping bow. “Dissipation is an acquired art.” It wasn’t until he neared the remains that once again, a faint coldness seemed to come over him, as if a dark shadow began a slow climb up his body.

He was being a fool. Taking a deep breath, he faced away from the old wall and concentrated on Susanna. “It is a warm day,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it on a nearby boulder.

She eyed him with faint suspicion.

“I am decently clad in shirt and waistcoat,” he protested. He put a hand on the rough stone wall and looked off into the distance. “Am I doing this correctly?”

“Yes. Be quiet.”

“Then you need to talk to amuse me. Tell me why you posed for the painting.”

She remained behind her easel, invisible as she briefly worked.

When she reappeared to study him, he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

She looked at him over her spectacles, eyes twinkling. “It’s none of your business.”

“Come now, what harm can there be? You keep telling me you’re the model, and you seem to want me to believe it true—though as you’ve already admitted, you’re protecting Rebecca and Elizabeth.”

“I am the model.”

“Then talking about it isn’t concrete proof, correct?”

With a heavy sigh, she said, “Very well,” and disappeared behind her Bristol board again. Her voice was distant as he heard her say, “I had met the artist, of course, and he persuaded me to sit for him.”

“Oh, please, it would take much more than that.” With his forearm, he wiped his perspiring brow.

“Really?” she asked, ducking out from behind her work to stare at him. “And you know me so well?”

He paused, considering her words. “You’re right. Before this party, I only knew what I assumed you would be.”

“Because I’m not your typical young lady.”

“You can call yourself a bluestocking—I won’t mind.”

“Good of you,” she said dryly, and disappeared again.

“I assumed you to be interested in knowledge for its own sake.”

“Which I am.”

“I’d deduced that from your breathless conversation with Tyler.”

When her head reappeared, she was frowning at him. “I knew you’d have the discourtesy to eavesdrop. You’d do anything to win.”

“Not quite anything. I didn’t force a more passionate kiss on you last night. And don’t hide yourself from me. You know it’s true.”

She looked away, her blush bright in the sunlight. He remembered that she’d blushed the same way when she talked about Peter. And if she’d posed nude for Eastfield . . . perhaps he was underestimating the time she spent alone with men. She said she wasn’t a typical lady. Maybe he should believe her capable of much more. And there was that mole on the thigh of the model, high up, almost lost in the shadows. But he’d seen it. Did Susanna Leland have that same mole?

“So
how
did Eastfield persuade you to pose for him? He couldn’t have easily imagined a proper Society miss would agree to remove all of her clothing, risking her own ruin.”

“We were both artists; he assured me the painting would never be made public. I was taking risks—it appealed to me.”

“Were you intimate with him?”

She gasped and stepped out from behind the easel, waving her brush as she spoke. “I would never be so foolish!”

“Perhaps Rebecca would. You said she’d never lived a normal life. Did she want adventure?”

“No, it was me. I was the one captivated by his interest.”

“I don’t think I believe you. After all, you pushed me away last night. I think you’re very concerned with propriety.”