Page 7 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

S usannah had not so patiently waited the last six weeks to begin packing her trunks.

If only time would move faster. Two weeks still remained between her and the London season, but that did not mean she needed to wait around like a bump on a log.

Time would pass far quicker if she kept herself busy.

Leaning back, she tried to pull the hefty trunk down the hall away from the attic stairs. She’d made it this far; she could do the rest.

“What the devil?” Someone muttered, catching her so off guard that she let go of the handle and fell right onto her backside. Pain ricocheted up from the point of contact and she winced.

Feet pounded and John sunk down next to her. “Are you injured?”

She fought the urge to rub her abused tailbone. “I will be alright.”

“M-my apologies. I’d not meant to startle you. May I?” He extended his hand to help her rise.

Without thought she slipped her hand into his—an action she’d done a thousand times over the course of her lifetime—and allowed him to help her to her feet. Unfortunately the trunk had fallen in such a way to pin her hem. The restraint at her feet pitched her forward with an ominous ripping sound.

John let go of her hand and his arms encircled her as she fell into his chest. A grunt escaped him, but thankfully his footing was secure and he held her upright.

It took a moment for Susannah’s mind to catch up with her position, but when it did, something warm and exciting washed through her limbs.

Her gaze traveled up from John’s snowy white cravat until her brown eyes locked with his soft blue ones. Heat from his breath puffed against the ringlets on her brow, and she realized how quickly his chest rose and fell. Was he alright? Had she hurt him?

Unconsciously her fingers curled in his shirtfront. John shuddered, then abruptly pushed her away from his person, the action almost sending her back to her previous position on the floor. At the last second, his hands steadied her.

“Please forgive me.” He turned to leave.

Susannah was completely confused. He’d saved her multiple times from a tumble and now he asked her forgiveness?

“Jo—Lord Newhurst, wait.”

He stopped, but did not turn.

“Could you assist me?” It was a desperate bid to get him to stay, but it worked.

One glance over his shoulder at the heavy trunk and he retraced his steps. “What are you… that is, w-why not,”—he hefted the trunk up with ease— “your butler could h-have h-helped.”

John had not spoken with such disjointed sentences before his tour of the continent, but since his return it had become his usual form of address. Either that or not respond at all. Oh, he’d always had a bit of a stutter, but it never really bothered her. Today, however, it did.

Why could he not just spit it out? He was questioning her choices. It was evident in his cool demeanor and the way he would not meet her gaze.

He marched toward her bedroom door, not even asking where she meant to take her luggage. What if she’d wanted it somewhere else? She didn’t of course, but how would he know where she wanted it?

Because that is the only logical place to take it .

She was being ridiculous. Taking her rushing thoughts firmly in hand, she scurried in to open the door. Frustration only brought her discontent. John did not mean to hurt her. No need to be so sensitive.

He was being his usual helpful self. It was one of the many things she liked about him.

That, and his attentiveness to her family.

He’d been the only one who had remained a constant support through her mother’s illness and after during their period of mourning.

More than once he’d been a listening ear when she’d had none, even if she talked of nothing but her siblings’ struggles.

“I did not want to be a bother to the staff,” she finally said. “They are overworked as it is, especially since Mrs. Crabtree took her leave two days ago.”

He stopped midway through the door and stared at her. “Mrs. Crabtree left?”

“She did. Said taking care of boys as devious as my brothers was only meant for saints, and she did not pretend to any such delusions of grandeur.”

The corner of John’s mouth tipped up, but he said nothing as he deposited the trunk at the foot of her bed. Retracing his steps, he passed her still holding the sturdy wood door.

“For London?” He tipped his head toward her room.

She followed his line of thought seamlessly, knowing he’d question her need for the trunk. To anyone else, his short two-word sentences would probably seem completely disjointed, but she was used to filling in the blanks.

If only she didn’t have to. If only he’d talk to her like he used to before she left the schoolroom. Then perhaps she could share with him her joy at finally having a season, one her father probably could never have afforded—not after he’d spent so much on doctors for Mama.

Or perhaps they could discuss how torn she was at leaving her siblings when they looked up to her almost as a mother figure.

She tried to convince herself that going to London would help her family, but deep in her heart she worried Michael would never understand.

Already he’d started to fuss when conversation turned to her intended trip, his earlier excitement vanishing when he realized how long she’d be gone.

But what she really wished to discuss with John was the sensations she’d experienced in his embrace. Had he felt them too? He certainly did not seem quite as affected, at least not now. His breath had been unsteady. Was that a good or bad sign?

John rubbed his left hand along his trouser leg. Impatience? Ah yes, she’d forgotten to answer his question.

“I know we will not set out for another three weeks, but it is better to be prepared.”

He nodded. “And you are… excited.”

It was a statement, not a question. Perhaps he understood her as much as she did him.

“I am. Aren’t you?”

His nose scrunched as if the question smelled distasteful. One hand rubbed the back of his neck as he smoothed his expression.

So he did not hold her same enthusiasm.

“I am late for my meeting with your father.”

Embarrassment colored her cheeks. She’d not meant to keep him from his appointment. “My apologies.”

“Do not apologize. I am… that is… it was my p-pleasure to h-help.” A small smile pulled at his lips.

She smiled broadly back.

He cleared his throat and made his way to her father’s study.

As his long legs strode down the hall, she took stock of his fine form. The season lay in front of her; an opportunity to meet and marry the man of her dreams, but over the last two years John had begun to fill the role of long-hoped-for suitor.

As a little girl she’d looked up to him as one did a brother. Their relationship had naturally moved to a friendship of mutual comfort as they spent many of his holidays from Harrow playing as youth did. But the strain between them now pulled at her heart.

It was her fault. If only she could take hold of her attraction to him, but his embrace had sent her dancing onto a ballroom of puffy white clouds, her heart as light as air.

Like a large foot in her way, reality sent her tumbling from her dance floor in the sky. John viewed her like he would a beloved little sister, not a woman full grown approaching her twentieth year.

Besides, he was a viscount, the highest-ranking man of her acquaintance—well, except the Duke of Bedford whom she’d met once last spring. Society expected him to marry well.

And who was she? A nobody. Daughter of a country gentleman who’d married a woman below his station. And while her grandfather had eventually achieved the life of a gentleman, he was new money and looked down on for his lack of education.

Even with Lady Stanford’s sponsorship, Susannah had little more to recommend her than passably pretty looks and a measly dowry.

“What are you staring at?”

Michael’s voice startled her. John had long since entered her father’s study and her eyes were trained on nothing in particular, but she refused to divulge her thoughts to a six-year-old boy.

“I am thinking you should be in the nursery.”

“Why?” he whined. “It’s boring in there, and Mrs. Stone says she’s too busy to play games with us.”

As she should be. The poor housekeeper now had two posts with Mrs. Crabtree’s resignation.

How did she do it? They needed a new nurse, at least for Michael.

Andrew would be headed to Harrow. In truth, he should have already been there, but Mama had insisted they keep him home as long as possible.

Poor Michael would be heartbroken when Andrew left after the day of Epiphany.

She herself would be gone several days before that. The house would be quite empty.

“I’ll tell you what, Michael. If you will go find a book I shall read to you, but first you must find Andrew, and you must agree upon the story, no squabbling.”

That alone would keep him busy for at least a half an hour. Perhaps it would be enough time to wipe out her trunk and begin the tedious task of deciding what to take and what must stay.

Her eyes strayed to her father’s study as Michael happily ran off to find Andrew. If only…

Those two words held so much in their torturous clutches. If only she had more consequence in the world. If only she had a bigger dowry. If only John saw her differently, maybe then she’d not need to go to London at all.

Even so, she was determined to enjoy herself. And if the end of the season came with nothing more than the ability to see the many wonders of the city, then she’d have to be content.

But what if this season John found his match… and it wasn’t her?