Page 16 of Seductive Reprise
“Mr. Hartley, I suppose, is some toady of yours?”
Yusef chuckled. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to be described as such.”
Swiveling about in her seat, she glared at him. Ah, there it was. That unbridled temper. The ache in his chest surged. Memories hit him like a wave breaking on the shore. He allowed himself to go under.
“Or is he one of your father’s?”
Yusef stared at her. “What doyouthink?”
Rose collapsed with a sigh, catching her forehead with the same hand that held her charcoal pencil, drawing a charmingblack smudge alongside her eye. She didn’t seem to realize. He bit back a grin.
“I think it’s no accident that you’re here, again.”
“And you’d be correct.”
“Why?” She paused to sit back up, staring at the sketch in her lap. “Why, Mr. Palgrave?”
His jaw clenched. Walter turned to gnaw at an itch on his leg with gusto.
“Don’t call me that.” It came out choked, as if he could barely contain his rage.
Rose glanced at him, her expression a bit too smug for his liking, pencil hovering over paper. “It is only proper—”
“We’re not in company.”
“It’s been ten years and I don’t—”
“I won’t have it,” he growled, before adding more softly, “Not from you.” Even though nearly everyone in England called him Palgrave; no one had called him Joseph in ages. There were exceptions—his associates here, Bartle and Collins, called him Ghali. Rickard, his former business partner, called him Yusef. And he would have her call him that as well, but it seemed she couldn’t even bear to call him Joseph anymore.
This wasn’t how he had imagined this going. For years he’d always been in control, the one pulling the strings in any situation. He’d left this hateful country. Gone to Cairo, lived hedonistically in Beirut, built something new for himself in Smyrna. He owned veritable palaces, bought with his own coin. He’d ruthlessly eliminated business competition. He’d entertained pashas, viceroys, and governors.
But none of that mattered now. For she would not have him.
“Fine,” she whispered, her voice shaking with barely contained fury. “Then I shan’t speak to you at all.”
“For what it’s worth, I never initially planned on you being here. Not the other day.”
Rose scoffed. Her hand moved quickly as she worked, her eyes dancing between the dog and her charcoal renditions of it. The page was filled with half-finished drawings of the creature’s head with the same drooling, vacant expression.
“It’s true,” Yusef said. “It was a happy coincidence. I hadn’t thought of ever seeing you again.”
She made no response, but bit her lip. He watched her, the ache in his chest throbbing. Even still, he could not believe his luck, the kismet of encountering her here, after all these years, in Marcus Hartley’s hovel of a townhome. He would not let her slip through his fingers again.
“And now you’ve seen me,” she said. She opened her mouth again, doubtless to add more acerbic words to the end of it, but none came, and she clamped it shut.
“Rose,” he murmured, not daring to move from his position, but clenching his hands around his walking stick to keep himself from reaching for her. “I’m sorry.”
Slowly she set her charcoal down into a small metal box on the table beside her. When she finally met his gaze, it was only for a brief moment, and with a wary, wounded expression, before she quickly turned away.
Walter took this as an indication that his job was done, and he leapt down from the table. He circled the room, sneezing, but neither Rose nor Yusef moved to corral him.
And Yusef knew, in that moment, that if this miserable little mop of a creature didn’t exist to provide companionship and purpose to Mrs. Hartley, then Rose would never remain here in his presence.Sufferinghis presence.
The pain of it sliced right through him.
Her heart beat heavy and unfamiliar in her chest, like a massive piece of machinery fired up after years of indolence. She hadchalked up her feelings for Joseph all those years ago as nothing but mere girlhood fancies, though the torrent of emotions she’d endured since their last encounter in this very morning room suggested otherwise. But perhaps it was merely that no one else raised her hackles quite like him.
Spoiled, puffed-up, cocksurehim.
