Gratitude, fatigue, pride in his lady, and impatience dogged Will’s steps as he accompanied Susannah up the walk to her home. He once again carried the purple parasol, though Georgette had elected to remain at Quimbey’s, where the shameless beast cast die-away glances at any who’d toss her a bite of ham—and at Caesar.
Will knew how that felt, to be the one going hungry at the feast.
“I gather Mr. Tresham and Della are in charity with each other?” Susannah asked.
“I haven’t all the details,” Will said. “That appears to be the case.” He and Susannah would discuss what details Will had on some other, less fraught day, if Lady Della didn’t make familial announcements soon.
The door opened, the butler bowed, and Will accompanied Susannah upstairs, though he might have bade her farewell at the door. He’d taken a moment when changing his clothes and washing to tend and bandage the blister on his heel, but that meant his boots chafed in other places.
Susannah hadn’t dismissed him, though, so up the steps he trudged.
“You are so quiet,” Susannah said, wrapping her arms around him at the top of the stairway. “I was furious, Willow, to see Effington holding a gun on an innocent dog. Come with me, please. I cannot part with you just yet.”
Nor did Will want to part with Susannah, ever, and yet the sun was setting and much was still unresolved.
Susannah led him not to the family parlor, but in the other direction, through a quiet house to her sitting room.
“I thought I’d put all that nonsense when I was younger behind me,” Susannah said. “The nasty gossip, the sly tricks, the spilled punch, and the way all that made me feel.”
“You rose above it.” Seven years ago, Will had also had a word with Susannah’s brothers. They’d mustered their friends to fill her dance cards, and made sure she was escorted in the ballrooms at all times.
Guard dogs of the titled variety.
“You lifted me above that pettiness,” Susannah said, closing the door, locking it, and returning to Will’s embrace. “I still carried the memories, and the feelings.”
Desire stirred, despite Will’s fatigue, and despite the fact that Susannah wanted to discuss the past. They hadn’t really. Not yet. They’d referred to it, alluded to it, mentioned it.
But they hadn’t put the pain to rest.
“I’m loyal and protective by nature,” Will said. “I can’t help that. What those girls tried to do to you was unfair. My honor was offended on your behalf.”
He’d been enraged. Debutantes on the verge of marriage were not a litter of puppies, mere weeks old, picking on the runt out of blind instinct. Susannah had been singled out because she threatened those less well-placed—or those less decent.
“I was ready to give up before I’d been presented,” Susannah said. “I hadn’t realized that in addition to the hurt, fear, and bewilderment, I was also furious. You’re right—I was treated unfairly. I think all girls who are treated unfairly should be given purple parasols, and allowed to lay about with them, holding bullies accountable for their cruelty.”
That’s what Will had seen in Susannah’s eyes as she’d crept down the barn aisle. Her gaze had blazed with righteous fury, and even he had felt a frisson of uneasiness. In those moments, clutching her parasol and intent on thwarting Effington, Susannah had been without fear. She’d been pure, incandescent righteousness, and woe to him who had earned her ire.
Nonetheless, she’d restrained herself with Effington. Susannah Haddonfield had a lot of experience with restraining herself.
Her ladyship wasn’t restraining herself now.
“My dear, what are you doing?”
“Unbuttoning your falls. I’m still a mess, while you are all tidied up. I’m in the grip of a compulsion to untidy you. All of the boldness and passion I’ve kept between the pages of my Shakespeare for the past seven years is refusing to come to heel and sit quietly, Willow.”
And Susannah’s hands had gone exploring.
“I’m feeling somewhat bold and passionate myself,” Will said, kissing his beloved. “Somewhere among my treasured possessions is a lecture on dignity and gentlemanly something or other, but Susannah—”
She kissed him, a naughty, tantalizing reproof to lectures of all varieties. “We have an understanding, Willow Dorning. Right now, that entitles me to also have you.”
Will’s conscience wasn’t troubled—he and the woman peeling his clothes away had a very clear understanding—but his heart was burdened. His situation was fundamentally unchanged from when he’d awoken, unless falling more deeply in love with Susannah counted as a change.
As clothes piled up on the floor, Will sensed Susannah turning upon him all the focus she’d previously reserved for her literature, memorizing him with her touch, underlining endearments to his various attributes—his hands, his eyes, and his heart.
In bed, she offered him sonnets of tactile pleasure—caresses and kisses, her breath breezing across his chest, her legs embracing his flanks.