Every Scandalous Secret (2 page)

“I assumed no such thing,” she said demurely.

“But of course you left your cousin, Lady Elizabeth, behind.”

“I did not. Her mother was feeling poorly, and she wished to remain in London.”

“So then you
did
encourage her to leave.”

He felt the flexing of her fingers on his forearm, but she did not snatch them away from him. How could she? Conversations were almost absent as they’d become the focus of the evening’s speculation. He saw the way Susanna glanced at their audience, knew she was weighing her options, already guessed that she did not speak without thinking. What a challenge to face such a woman—the boredom and restlessness that had lately crept up on him was already dissipating after mere minutes in her presence.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I cannot defend myself in such a public place.”

He leaned down toward her. “I cannot believe a man ever has you at a disadvantage, Miss Leland.”

Her eyes, which he’d thought of as plain brown, stared up into his, and he glimpsed pinpricks of gold, so unexpected. They regarded each other for a moment, then both stepped back, as if by mutual agreement.

Leo bowed his head and whispered, “Then I’ll find you in a more private place where we can continue our discussion.”

It was a promise—it was a threat.

A
full quarter hour had passed before Susanna felt her excited breathing return to normal. Lady Caroline Norton, daughter of her host, watched her with restrained curiosity as they sat side by side on the sofa. Caroline was very tall for a woman and seemed to prefer remaining seated, where she could look a person in the eyes. She was sympathetic to Susanna’s sister Rebecca, throughout her constant childhood illnesses. Caroline was one of the few friends who didn’t gradually distance herself, and Susanna never forgot such a kindness.

But now she anticipated that Caroline would use the connection to ask about Leo Wade. Susanna wasn’t used to questions about a man’s interest in her, or at least not since the disastrous year of her coming out. Thank goodness that Lady May decided to treat them all to a fast rendition of a sonata by Handel on the pianoforte. Susanna smiled politely and let her mind drift, calming her curiosity and confusion.

But nothing helped her stop thinking about Mr. Wade and the very unusual challenge he presented. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him talking to Lord Swanley, both of them using their hands with animation, drawing in several other gentlemen as they all laughed. But Mr. Wade stood out, with his wavy hair and the sideburns that emphasized his angular cheeks. Though not as tall as Lord Swanley, he had enough height to make him rise above most of the other men. With his lean, compact build, she found herself thinking that his clothing restrained him, hid his true nature. She could easily imagine what lay beneath, the long line of muscle that smoothly intersected with the next, molded over bone, the functionality of the human form capable of its own kind of beauty.

She flushed, then looked down at her fingers, which she’d been twisting together, forcing them to relax before anyone else noticed. Often, she found herself studying the subjects she would draw just like this—but that could never include Leo Wade. She did not want to even attempt to capture those green eyes, full of mischief and laughter. The world was a place he played in—he had no intellectual interests that she’d ever heard of. He cared little for propriety or decency.

And he was chasing
her,
she thought, surprised to feel a touch of exhilaration rather than dread.

Mr. Wade had such a scandalous reputation in Society, that even she, an unmarried woman, had heard some of the rumors. More than once, he’d snuck a member of the demimonde into balls held by the most prominent of peers. He gambled and drank almost every night away. He lured ladies onto shadowed terraces and appeared unmasked at Vauxhall Gardens, only to disappear into the darkness. Susanna knew well enough what sort of assignations happened in such a scandalous place.

But how could she pass judgment? Not six nights ago, she’d tried to steal a painting off the wall in a gentlemen’s club—wearing boy’s clothing to hide her identity. She could have groaned her mortification. But she and her sister and cousin had been desperate, forced into a reckless adventure that had ended with them being caught by Mr. Wade, Lord Parkhurst—and Peter Derby, the man she knew the best of the three, and the last she had wished to see.

The men were foxed, the lot of them, or they’d never have challenged each other to that scandalous wager, that even now she could barely think about let alone discuss aloud. Susanna had been trapped into accepting.

After that, she’d known Mr. Wade might follow her from London—but never guessed he’d so boldly manage an invitation to an exclusive event! Only part of her felt dismayed—another part felt a sense of elation that he would risk censure. Even though he was considered a scoundrel, he’d never done quite enough for people to forget that his brother was Viscount Wade, an influential member of the House of Lords, regardless of his blindness.

When would Mr. Wade use up the passes Society seemed to keep giving him? He won so often at cards that more than once there’d been rumors of cheating, which he’d amiably denied, and proof had never been discovered. No challenges to a duel for Mr. Wade.

And the women—she’d heard that he had mistresses through the years, even more than one at a time! Again, his preference for loose women was not all that unusual in the
ton,
but his openness about it surely was. Although there were highly moral peers who would not invite him to their dinners, others—including industrialists—had no such problem. Mr. Wade didn’t care where he enjoyed himself, as long as he did.

If only she could stop looking at him.

It was the artist in her, she assured herself. There were other men equally as handsome to admire. She had not come to the Bramfield house party simply to evade Mr. Wade. She had promised her brother Matthew that she would give the eligible gentlemen another chance to impress her, and she never went back on a promise. Matthew and his wife Emily had risked much to be together, including a false marriage and a secret elopement no one in the family would ever know about except her. Susanna would have been content with her life, her art, her work for her father, until she saw the special happiness that the two of them shared, imagined all of her family having children but her. The future had suddenly seemed lonely, with her the only one without a partner to share it.

Yet she hadn’t imagined how complicated it would be when she arrived at Bramfield Hall two days before, without a female member of her family to keep her company. It had been difficult to find common subjects of discussion even with the women, let alone the men. Hour after hour in the company of other people was wearing on her, and sometimes she had to escape for a moment’s solitude. Thank goodness she had her art as an excuse, something most people could almost understand.

The men in attendance at the house party were perfect for her beginning foray in husband hunting. She knew Albert Evans, a neighboring landowner near Madingley Court, the ducal palace she’d been raised in. He wasn’t much taller than she was but had an honest country face. He’d never shown a bit of interest in her—not that she’d shown any in him. She could change this. He’d courted her sister-in-law Emily when it seemed her brother Matthew was dead. Obviously, Mr. Evans was looking for a wife.

And then there was Lord Keane; he was a handsome man, with his dark good looks, full lips, and broad physique that spoke of an athletic nature. But there was something about the way he seemed to secretly laugh at everything around him, and not in a pleasant way.

Viscount Swanley, as the heir to a marquisate, could obviously appeal to a titled lady, but Susanna did not consider her own connections exalted enough. Her father was a professor, after all, even if her cousin was a duke.

She’d already discovered Mr. Frobisher’s propensity for chatting, when he wasn’t nervously polishing his spectacles. He was eager and pleasant, and perhaps they’d find something in common to discuss.

As for Mr. Tyler, he was still standing alone by doors open to the torchlit terrace beyond. He’d been there before dinner as well. It was early summer, not exactly hot enough to need the breeze of an open door. He had wavy brown hair that fell haphazardly across his forehead and an absent stare, as if he were thinking of something else. Perhaps he didn’t like house parties either; they might have that in common.

Mr. Frobisher and Mr. Tyler were country squires seldom in London. But that did not bother her in the least; she preferred the countryside, with its gorgeous scenery just waiting to be captured by her pencil or brush.

Here in Hertfordshire, she would be able to paint new landscapes and bring back memories—and sketches—to fuel her art for some time to come.

She hoped to bring back a fiancé, too.

When Caroline began to clap, Susanna did the same, realizing that Lady May had finished playing the pianoforte without Susanna’s hearing a note.

Then Caroline turned to face Susanna, their knees brushing. Her bright blue eyes settled inquisitively on her face.

“So . . .” Caroline said, tilting her head.

Susanna smiled. “So?”

“Mr. Wade?”

Susanna willed herself not to blush but felt the warmth in her cheeks. It was . . . strange to imagine discussing something personal with a woman not her sister or cousin. “I know him no better than you do, Caroline.”

“That was a long conversation for someone you do not know well.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Perhaps he admires you.”

Susanna restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “He gave me no indication of that. He knows my brother and wishes to meet my cousin Madingley. He probably wants to challenge him to a card game, just to say he defeated a duke.”

“It could be about business or politics.”

Susanna shook her head. “Mr. Wade? Never.”

Caroline stopped asking questions but still glanced at Susanna occasionally with a curiosity she didn’t bother to hide. Susanna would hold her secrets close. She could never tell another soul about the scandalous wager and what had led up to it. Too many lives could be ruined.

Chapter 2

A
s was her custom, Susanna was up at dawn, and she felt a bit guilty ringing for Caroline’s maid so early after a late night. Marie had blond curls that fell from confinement across her neck or down her cheek. Yawning, she tucked the hair back behind her ear and looked into the wardrobe where Susanna’s clothes hung on display.

“Miss Leland, tell me ye brought more than this.”

Susanna blinked in surprise at her forthright speech, even though Caroline had laughingly warned her in advance. “Is something wrong, Marie?”

“O’ course not, miss, but ye’ve not purchased new gowns in some time, I see.”

“They are serviceable and flatter me well, or so I’m told,” Susanna answered in confusion.

“Yes, miss, that makes perfect sense.”

And she said nothing else, only laid out the gown Susanna chose. Once or twice while she worked on Susanna’s hair, she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Susanna did not question her again. She wouldn’t force the girl. Too many people treated servants as if they only existed in service.

The breakfast room was deserted at first, and Susanna ate contentedly as she read the
Times.
When she heard male voices in the corridor, she tensed, then questioned her own reaction. Eating the last of her toast with deliberation, she reminded herself that Mr. Wade would not give up easily. Perhaps she didn’t want him to, she realized, never having played such a game with a man before. Of course, she needed to be concerned that others might discover their connection.

Would he risk the censure of her brother or her male cousins? She didn’t know.

Several young men entered the breakfast room, and all greeted her politely. Mr. Evans gave her a special smile of familiarity, but then he’d probably bestowed that on every female member of her family, with their long history in Cambridgeshire. Mr. Wade came in at the end of this group and attempted to conceal a yawn. His eyes look shadowed, as if he didn’t relish the morning, but this did not surprise her, with his well-known preference for an evening’s entertainments. Lord Keane and Lord Swanley went to the buffet, while talkative Mr. Frobisher approached her directly.

“Miss Leland, my, you are awake early.”

“Country hours, sir,” she said, nodding briskly. “Others would do well to arise. Much can be accomplished—not that I am accusing anyone of being lazy,” she added quickly, realizing she sounded too bossy and opinionated, as her sister would be quick to point out.

But Rebecca wasn’t there. Mr. Wade was the one who rolled his eyes and smiled as he turned away.

Thankfully, Mr. Frobisher himself beamed at her. “Yes, yes, at home I am usually out inspecting the fields. A good brisk walk invigorates the blood.”

“I like to walk as well. I am off to explore the park as soon as I’m finished here.”

But if he heard the invitation in her voice, he ignored it.

“We’ll be walking the fields as we shoot,” Mr. Frobisher said.

“Hunting? What good exercise,” she said, feeling foolish.

“Not so good for the birds.” Mr. Wade brought a loaded plate to sit down beside her.

She stood up. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it, then.”

“And what are your plans for the day, Miss Leland?” Mr. Wade asked.

She glanced uneasily toward the Lords Swanley and Keane, who debated the merits of kippers versus ham but did not notice Mr. Wade’s bold curiosity.

“Nothing that would concern you, sir,” she said, smiling. “I do believe a brisk walk is in order.”

“Wait, and I shall accompany you.”

Without hesitating, she called, “Lord Swanley, Mr. Wade just told me that he wishes to accompany you on your hunting trip.”

“He’s changed his mind, then?” Lord Swanley said happily.

Mr. Frobisher cleared his throat and studied her with bemusement through his newly polished spectacles.

Mr. Wade smiled. “Miss Leland insists I go. I do believe she thinks my solicitude to her is unnecessary.”

Lord Keane eyed her as he whispered something to Lord Swanley. How long would it be before Mr. Wade’s attention to her made every other man who might be at all interested, back away—or worse, inspired gossip?

Yet something deep inside her reminded her that she was changing her life, taking risks, living on the edge, rather than at home in safety. She met Mr. Wade’s knowing eyes, allowed him to see just a hint of triumph in her own, then nodded to them all and left the breakfast room.

The walk was everything that invigorated her. The park itself was beautifully maintained across rolling fields, full of elaborate gardens and even a maze. A summerhouse stood empty beside a small lake, and several rotundas dotted the grounds, each designed to look like Roman temples. Susanna mentally filed away several perfect locations for sketching and painting, knowing just where she would bring the other young ladies.

She left the manicured park itself and walked up a long hill through tall grass that whipped about her skirts with each stride. She passed Mr. and Mrs. Randolph heading down, and waved to them, realizing that they must have arisen even earlier than she—and they had a daughter to look after late into the evening.

At the top of the hill, she shielded her eyes and turned all about, admiring the countryside, from Bramfield Hall, with its mellow stone and tall windows reflecting the light, to the distant woodland past the river. She heard muffled gunfire, and knew the hunting party would be bringing home game for the kitchens. She almost saluted in their direction, feeling a jaunty satisfaction that she’d eluded Mr. Wade.

But it was only the second day of their quiet battle, and she wouldn’t get too overconfident.

At last she returned to the hall and instructed the servants to set up a half dozen easels on the terrace. As she was standing in the shade, sharpening her pencils with a penknife, Lord Bramfield approached with his sister-in-law, Mrs. Norton, a quiet woman who seemed always in his shadow, especially since her husband’s death a few years before. Susanna had heard more than once that she didn’t allow her daughter to do anything without Lord Bramfield’s approval, no matter how long she had to wait to secure it.

Susanna found herself smiling easily at Lord Bramfield. He had always been a friend to her family, so fascinated by her father’s anatomy research that he often patronized Cambridge University just to have discussions with the professor. When he’d joined a biology society, she’d thought him the most wonderful man to give her father someone to converse with among the
ton.
She’d always treated him as a doting uncle, and now he looked at the various easels she’d set out and beamed at her.

“Painting, Susanna?” he asked.

“Your daughter very kindly requested that I give art lessons while I was here.”

Lord Bramfield tsked and shook his head. “You are here as a guest, my dear. You should not be put to work.”

“I so enjoy it, my lord. Lady Caroline knows me too well, knows what I like to do most in all the world.”

Mrs. Norton covered her smiling mouth, a shy gesture. “And you are quite talented, Miss Leland. Isn’t she, my lord?”

Lord Bramfield grinned. “It seems many people have heard of her artistic abilities.”

“Not so many,” Susanna said. “Your family dotes upon me, it’s true, but as for the rest of Society, I concentrate too much on my art for a lady.”

Mrs. Norton nervously looked up at her brother-in-law as if awaiting his reaction.

“I imagine it only matters if your parents approve or not,” he said.

“ ‘Approve’ might be too strong a word,” she said ruefully. “ ‘Tolerate’ is more accurate.”

“Nonsense. A gift like yours comes about rarely.” He lowered his voice. “And look how beneficial it has been to your father.”

Mrs. Norton stared quizzically from one to the other, but when Lord Bramfield didn’t elaborate, Susanna chose not to either. What was the point of dwelling on another of her bluestocking preoccupations, especially when there were young men about? As an assistant in her father’s laboratory, she’d put her artistic skills to good use, sketching his dissections, which helped when he was lecturing his students. She’d temporarily withdrawn from her father’s service at her brother’s request since young men would hardly understand her devotion. But when she found the perfect husband, she would convince him that her life’s work was too important to give up.

Mrs. Norton suddenly stiffened. “Oh, dear, Lord Bramfield, that . . . young man is approaching.”

Susanna knew whom she meant before she even looked. Mr. Wade was coming across the gravel paths of the park, his gun tucked under one arm, a full leather bag in the other. She felt another frisson of excitement, ready to match wits with him. He took the broad marble stairs up to the terrace two at a time, looking so confident in himself. She would make him lose some of that confidence.

“Mr. Wade,” Lord Bramfield said, gesturing with his head toward the bulging bag, “I see you’re helping our cook.”

“Yes, sir, your park is well stocked. I could hardly miss my aim, there were so many birds.”

Lord Bramfield nodded, then glanced at Susanna. “The two of you spoke together at length last night.”

Susanna opened her mouth to remark on their passing acquaintance, but Mr. Wade beat her to it.

“I could not waste such an opportunity, my lord. I had no idea that Miss Leland was here—and to think I only came to Bramfield Hall by chance!” He smiled down at her, dimples winking in his cheeks.

“Really, Mr. Wade,” Susanna said, raising both hands. “Do not tease Lord Bramfield so.”

“Then you are an admirer of hers?” Lord Bramfield asked.

“I am,” Mr. Wade said sincerely. “I’ve seen beneath her façade to the woman she hides.”

Susanna knew what he referred to and had to admire his wordplay.

Lord Bramfield glanced at her. If he was surprised at Mr. Wade’s response, he only said, “Then, Mrs. Norton, I suggested we leave the two young people to talk.” He waved and strolled away, his sister-in-law clinging with devotion to his arm.

Susanna went to the balustrade and watched the two walk down into the garden.

“We are hardly alone,” Mr. Wade said softly as he came up behind her.

“But they think we want to be,” Susanna mused. “Well done on your part.”

He laughed softly, even as she went back to sorting her pencils.

“Surely you must head to the kitchens with your bounty,” she said.

Mr. Wade whistled for the attention of a footman at the drawing-room doors. The man in his powdered wig and knee breeches gingerly took the bag between his two fingers and began to walk away.

“I wouldn’t go through the house, my good man,” Mr. Wade called. “Dripping blood, you know.”

The footman grimaced even as he bowed and continued down the terrace.

“You could have gone yourself,” Susanna continued. “I will be too busy in a moment to play our little game.”

“So that’s why you put me into the hunting party this morn.”

“You cannot blame me—you pleased our host, whom you’re imposing upon.”

“He doesn’t think I’m imposing.”

“He doesn’t want you for a son-in-law either.”

If her words pricked him, he didn’t show it, only tilted his head as if awaiting her next salvo.

“And that’s what this party is about,” she continued, lifting her chin. “Respectable men treating women . . . respectfully.”

“Ah, I see.”

He took a step closer to her, and she gripped the balustrade to keep from backing away, then pretended to look out at the park. Though the sun was high in the sky on this lovely English day, something in her felt uneasy, being so close to him. She wasn’t frightened of him—perhaps she was concerned about what could happen if she weren’t careful. She was walking a very delicate course, where one mistake on her part could bring her utter ruin. And not just her—her sister and cousin, too.

But she’d never played such a game with a handsome man before. The lure of it was surprisingly strong.

“I’m not respectable,” Mr. Wade said.

He was speaking so close to her she could feel the faintest touch of his breath upon her lips.

“I make merry too late into the night, I part fools from their money, and I enjoy myself with ladies.”

“Ladies?” she echoed dryly. “Surely not a description of
all
the women you consort with.”

“Every woman wants to be treated as such,” he said gently. His gaze swept her face. “Don’t you, Susanna?”

She licked her lips, feeling the faintest bit light-headed. “Don’t I what?”

“Want to be treated as a lady?”

He slid his hand until it just touched hers on the balustrade. She gave a little jerk, surprised at her reaction.

“I
am
a lady, and I hardly need your confirmation.”

“I’m not certain a lady would do what you and your fellow conspirators were doing in a gentlemen’s club not six nights past.”

She stiffened. “We were desperate. The painting wasn’t supposed to be there.”