Page 24 of Seductive Reprise
The gruff innkeeper cleared his throat, and Rose immediately colored.
“Mr. Palgrave and I met… you recall when the earl engaged me for several sketches that one summer?” Her tone lifted, sounding a bit more girlish.
“That’s right.” Joseph stepped forward with confidence and retrieved his horse’s reins from Mr. Verdier without sparing the man a glance. “You promised to show me some vistas. For landscapes.”
“Oh,” she gasped, then colored again. Blinking several times, she finally came to her senses and nodded eagerly. “Landscapes, of course. There’re several pretty views not far from here.”
It took a bit more back and forth, including assurances on Rose’s part and mentions of the Duke of Marbury on Joseph’s, but eventually the proprietor threw up his hands and stormed away, muttering a string of exasperated French. Rose retreated upstairs while Joseph saw to it that his horse was watered. He watched a procession of stray chickens as they pecked their way across the yard, his whole body feeling as tense as a bowstring. He hoped the sensation would dissipate once he could be alone with her and speak plainly. Just like before.
When she returned, she’d traded her apron for a homely brown coat and hat, wearing knubby red woolen mittens on her hands. A soft, cylindrical travel bag in green linen was slung over one shoulder.
“Running away?” he asked.
“We’re sketching. Remember?” She sighed and glanced back at the inn.
With a start, he realized he preferred his suggestion. What if they just… absconded? Boarded a ship and set off for… well,where exactly? Where did he truly wish to be? He couldn’t say, so he followed her wordlessly back to his horse, then out of the yard and to the south.
When they were well out of sight of The Bit and Bridle, he pulled up alongside her. She confidently rode sidesaddle on a solid gray draught horse, something that raised her even further in his esteem.
She glanced at him with a shy, closed-mouth smile. “Sometimes I wondered if you were ever real.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“But you are.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, disturbing the stray locks of brownish-orange hair falling in her face. “And you’re here.” She dipped her head and turned her gaze on him, an intensity smoldering in her eyes.
Warmth surged in his chest, as if he could physically feel her regard. He turned away and looked straight ahead, forcing an aloofness upon himself, even as he couldn’t quite fathom why he was reacting in such a manner. Perhaps he feared saying something foolish. But nearly a minute had passed, and to respond in kind now seemed even more foolish. So he instead pivoted the conversation neatly toward something closer to his interests.
“Have you not visited the house since then?”
“You mean Icknield Court? No, not at all.”
He could hear the relief in her voice. His estimation rose even further, and he looked back to her again.
“But the earl passes through every so often,” she said blandly as she stared ahead. Then, as an afterthought, “He’s very kind. Always asks about my drawing.”
So she still didn’t know. That truly surprised him. She was nearly grown; surely her family ought to set things straight.
“Really? How often?”
He didn’t even bother masking his incredulity, and she eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m not exactly certain… maybe every other month, something like that.”
“Meets with your mother, does he?” Joseph couldn’t help curling his lips into a sneer.
“My mother’s been unwell. Two years now.” Her voice hitched halfway through. “She keeps to herself upstairs, mostly.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling the back of his neck heat with shame for prodding. She hadn’t even thought to take offense at the implication. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
They rode in silence after that, ascending and clearing a gentle hill. The scent of winter was in the air, even if it didn’t quite look it without a patch of snow to be found anywhere, not even in the shade of a scraggly, bare stand of trees, though a flock of winter thrushes dotted the skeletal branches. They took to the sky as Joseph and Rose rode past, cutting through the silence with a commotion of flapping and chuckling calls.
“Fieldfares,” Rose said, halting her horse so she might watch them.
Joseph didn’t speak, but pulled up a couple horse lengths behind her, his eyes trained on Rose rather than the birds.
Some might call her plain.Florence certainly would, he thought in irritation. There was her complexion, pasty and blotchy in the cold temperature. A sort of frowziness hung about her—her hair was a mess, her clothing wrinkled and poorly selected. Her face boasted nothing but a full set of lips, and behind them, a gap-toothed smile.
But he could not tear his eyes away. His mind worked at a thought that had been taking form ever since she’d stormed out the door of the coaching inn. Was she truly plain? For all he could see was a strong, determined woman with a sensual voice and wet, kissable lips. And to him, that was a thing of beauty.
