by CJ Archer
"Your cloak," Susanna said, opening the door to her private parlor. She'd hurriedly dressed in her gardening clothes to confront Orlando. Some things shouldn't be done while naked. "It's different. Your other one was a darker gray and had a hood."
The blue of his eyes flared briefly before flattening again. "I have two."
He couldn't have two. His pack wasn't big enough and men like him—men who traveled and earned little—didn't own two cloaks. They owned one. One pair of boots, one pair of gloves, one cloak.
So where had he got it? More importantly, whom did he meet? He must have switched cloaks with someone.
"Why are you lying to me?" Her voice sounded small, but she might as well have shouted, it had such a visible impact on him. He stepped back and his mouth fell open but he quickly gathered himself.
He came to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. He dipped his head lower and caught her gaze with his own. She couldn't look away. "Susanna..." His gaze faltered for the smallest of beats, then connected again. "Susanna, my goddess." He leaned in and kissed her mouth, light as air but full of promise and desire.
She pushed him away. "Do not avoid the question."
"I'm not avoiding it."
She cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms. He would not distract her with his kisses and wide, blue eyes. "Answer me then. You're lying to me about the cloak and I want to know why. Whose cloak is that?"
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It belongs to my friend. The stranger you saw yesterday in Sutton Grange."
"The gentleman?"
"His servant." He took her hand and gazed down at it as he circled his thumb over the knuckles. "We are old friends and haven't seen each other in years. I ran into him yesterday in the village, quite by coincidence. We didn't know the other was here. His master never lets him out of his sight, so we decided to meet up in the woods last night. We wanted to talk, exchange news, that sort of thing. He used to have an affection for my sister."
"He wanted to speak to you in the cold and damp of night?"
He shrugged. "It was the only way. His master would not have let him go otherwise."
"Why is his master in Sutton Grange at all?"
"My friend didn't know."
She removed her hand and he finally glanced up at her. Desire still smoldered in the depths of his eyes. And something else—a raw, plaintive plea to be believed. If he was feeding her falsehoods, he was an extremely good liar.
"It began to rain while we were talking," he said, his gaze now locked with hers. "His cloak didn’t have a hood and because he had to walk back to the village and I only needed to return to the house, we swapped." He dipped his head but still looked at her. Impish. "There. Happy now?"
She nodded. Yet doubt lingered. He sounded honest enough, but the coincidence of meeting his friend in Sutton Grange was great, and the notion that someone would come to the wood near Stoneleigh on a late November night just to exchange news seemed equally unlikely.
A knock at the door banished any further questions. "Come in," she said. Orlando stepped back to the mattress but still his gaze remained on her.
The door opened on Hendricks. He stepped aside to let Bessie through, carrying a tray. She set it down on the table.
Hendricks pointed at Orlando. "Breakfast is in the kitchen for you, not here." He bowed at Susanna. "Good morning, m'lady. Did you sleep well?"
Susanna hoped her face didn't give her away. "Yes, thank you. Is Father awake?"
"Aye. I just took in his breakfast now."
"I'll go and say good morning." She left without looking back but could hear Hendricks ordering Orlando to return the mattress and bedcovers to the guest bedchamber.
Orlando responded with a good-natured, "Aye, sir. I had a good night's sleep too, if you were wondering. Best one since I arrived here."
Susanna hoped Hendricks and Bessie didn't detect the note of satisfaction in his voice.
