He took a deep breath. “But I have never thought it fair or fitting. Men have physical strength. They make the laws. They hold the pursestrings. They should not give chase.”
She suddenly saw herself running through a forest, screaming with laughter, and him loping after her, his hands reaching for but never quite catching her around the waist. Her breath hitched in her throat.
“They shouldn’t?” Her voice quavered.
“No.” His eyes moved again, went towards the far end of the corridor, and he mumbled, “Not fair.” Then loudly, “Good night, Miss Beasley.”
“Good night, my lord,” she said, feeling lost.
He was waiting for something, so she dipped into a curtsy, and he bowed and was off, away, down thecorridor. She watched him recede until he turned a corner to cross over to the other wing, and then she took her candle and went into her bedchamber and closed the door behind her.
Henry did not believe men should pursue women. He didn’t think it was fair to task men with that when they had so many other responsibilities. Instead, it should fall to women to court men.
But women were far more vulnerable and would be criticized if they dared do something a man would be praised for doing. That was the true unfairness. And now Henry expected women to risk the open rejection of their affections, too?
Tonight was not a night for writing of the concubine and her king.
She had gotten out of her clothes and into her nightdress without paying attention. She washed her hands and face. She unpinned and brushed her wiry tangle and wrestled it into a fat, untidy plait with a bit of string at the end. She snuffed her candle and slipped into bed.
But she didn’t sleep. She couldn’t. She tossed and turned. Something wasn’t right with how she was thinking about what he had said, and she needed to sort it out, or she wouldn’t be able to rest.
Because the Henry Delamere she knew would not shirk a duty. And he wouldn’t relish his vanity being petted. He did not like compliments, even those about his honor.
His honor.
Oh.
He had been saying men had all the advantages.Thatwas the thing that was not fair. And it was not fair for someone to use his advantages—wealth and power and strength,et cetera—in courtship.
Susannah burrowed into her pillow. Yes, she understood him perfectly now, and her understanding matched what she knew about him.
She thought of beautiful women like the late Countess of Ashthorpe coming to Bledsoe Park, all those recruits of the marchioness-aunt pursuing the earl, paying court to him.
She flipped onto her back. Henry needed to tell his potential wives his opinion on the matter, or they wouldn’t know what he expected of them.
She sat bolt upright.
He was her employer, and he would not impose on anyone in his employ. He was a lord. He was rich. He was a man. And this was why he would not touch Susannah, kiss her again, tumble her.
She hadn’t been mistaken about the heat between them. He did have more than curiosity about her. He did feel more than friendship. But he would rather be alone and feel himself honorable.
She scrambled out of bed and into the corridor and across the gallery and found herself outside the door she thought was his. She put her hand on the knob and pushed and stepped into a moonlight-streaked darkness even more full of his scent than his study.
Her bare feet sank into a thick carpet. She took her time moving forward. She didn’t want to jam her toe into a piece of furniture and let out an undignified squawk. She made her way to the side of the bed. He was lying there, still.
His eyes were open and looking at her.
“It’s me,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat but said nothing.
She twisted her hands into the front of her nightdress. “You must give me some indication I understood you correctly. You want me here?”
A hand reached out. A hand attached to a naked arm, naked shoulder, naked chest. So much pale, male skin in the moonlight. The hot, silver hand settled on top of her twisting ones.
“Yes,” he said. “Brave girl.”
His hand fell away, but it was only to fold down the counterpane, to invite her into the bed with him.
