Page 26 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
“No, I don’t believe it was,” he said smoothly, but she had been around theater people long enough to recognize when someone was acting.
She swiped at the loose lock of hair again. For a brief instant, Kit’s eyes softened, and he looked like he might smile in a pleasant way rather than grin at her like a wolf among sheep.
“Collect your things and your young protector and we shall be on our way.” Kit turned and vanished into the darkness outside the theater.
A moment later, Jude came over to stand by Suzannah. He must have been watching their exchange from somewhere nearby. Perhaps he’d been concerned for her safety. “That man. He’s the one you drew, the one who suffers.”
Suzannah sighed heavily, trying to shuffle the pages in her arms into some semblance of order. “Yes, that’s him.”
Jude stared into darkened theater. “He seems to suffer less when he looks at you,” Jude said.
Suzannah gaped at him. “What?”
“I saw that man enter the theater a minute ago. He watched you, thinking he was unobserved, but I saw him. That mandesiresyou. You’d best take care. You may save him... or he may destroy you. Rage gives a man power for a time, but if he holds on to it for too long, it can destroy him as well.”
Suzannah swallowed hard and then called for Henry.
“Are we to dine with Kit again?” the boy asked in excitement.
“Yes, but you must address him asMr. Kit.” She didn’t dare tell Henry who Kit really was. This battle of wills was between her and Kit alone. She wouldn’t drag anyone else into the path of his storm.
* * *
After dinner,Kit once again removed his waistcoat for Suzannah. Henry was enjoying his glass of sherry in the library with Palmer, who was to distract the boy by teaching him to play chess. That would buy Kit some time alone with Suzannah again. He had to earn her trust and coax out what she knew of her father’s involvement in his trial. That would take time and patience. She still looked ready to protest at Henry being in a different room, but she didn’t speak her protests aloud. Being alone with her had nothing to do with how much he liked to watch her fall into her artistic space and give herself over to her talent. Nor did it have to do at all with stealing kisses again. Kisses and the activities that followed were the farthest things from his mind. Or so he told himself.
“Shall I sit on the settee again?” he asked, nodding toward the piece of furniture.
“Please.” She had set up her easel and was fretfully moving oil lamps about on tables nearby, trying to determine the best light for her to draw him. She then stood in front of him and bit her bottom lip before reaching out one hand to brush her fingers along his forehead. His hair had fallen into his eyes, and she had to adjust its placement. Her face flamed red as he gazed up at her.
“Still uncomfortable with my bare skin?” he asked.
“I’m uncomfortable simply beingcloseto you, clothed or not.” She toyed with his hair a bit more before nodding to herself in satisfaction.
He reached out, curling his fingers into the soft muslin of her dark purple gown before she could pull away. The gown had small flower buds embroidered on the fabric, and a sheer silk layer underneath whispered beneath his fingers. She tried to move away and was forced to halt when she realized he’d captured her with his hand clutching her skirts.
“I fear I lost my modesty in Australia,” he said. “Convicts spend most of their time bare-chested, working in the blazing heat.”
He watched her face, taking in her delicate features. She drew in a deep breath and then let it out. Only then did she turn to face him.
“What caused the scars?” She reached out, daring to touch him again.
Her hands were soft, but he saw strength and dexterity in them in the way she wielded her artistic instruments.
Kit glanced down at a series of claw marks along his left biceps.
“That was from a wild dog called a dingo. One night I was assigned to protect a herd of cattle. It attacked when I put myself between it and its intended meal.”
She touched a light slash across his chest that bisected his right pectoral. “And this?”
“Oh, that one...” He chuckled softly. “A farmer’s daughter was not happy that I wouldn’t share her bed. She had the unfortunate combination of being good with a knife and having a bad temper.”
“Oh...” Suzannah tried to pull her hand away, but he caught her wrist. He had to remind himself to be gentle with her. She was so very tiny.
“Some women want to bed an English lord, even one who’s a convicted criminal,” he replied. “They like the idea of it.”
“Oh, I thought she—” Suzannah halted, swallowing whatever she had been about to say.
“That she what?” Kit slowly pulled her hand toward his lips. He uncurled her fingers and kissed the pad of each one. Her delicate hand fascinated him beyond imagining. Her breath hitched, and he smiled at her.
