Page 26 of Seductive Reprise
Instead he said, “It’s not forever. I should be back.”
When, he couldn’t say. But he also knew he couldn’t come back of his own volition. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong with her—not like this. He wouldn’t upend her life and destroy her reputation like that. For as far as she knew, she was merely the daughter of the proprietor of a coaching inn. He couldn’t take advantage.
Rose sniffled and twisted her body away, wiping at her eyes with the back of one hand. The sight of it gutted him.
“Rose,” he murmured, leaning toward her and sliding one tentative arm about her slim form, pulling her in. She didn’t resist, and lowered her head to his shoulder. Joseph pressed her more firmly against him, his heart thudding. She smelled of the cold winter air, but also the dry grass and that sweet, heady scent of the flower she shared a name with. He leaned into her hair and breathed deep.
Suddenly the image of the kitchens at his grandfather’s house came to mind—hot and bustling with activity, the cook unstopping a small bottle and holding it out for him to smell. Rose water. Cook always used it when makingbasbousa, his favorite sweet.
Everything felt so beautiful and perfect all at once. He let it overtake him. With his free hand, he reached down and hooked a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his.
She stared at him, her hazel eyes wide, her mouth parted.
How he wanted to be with her. To be the man he was with her.
He kissed her.
All at once, the tightly wound knot he’d wrenched himself into trying to fit into his role came apart. His body loosened, a spreading warmth intertwining with a powerful yearning he’d never known was there. A yearning to be known, to be wanted for who he was, not for his proximity to wealth and power. She tasted faintly of the cider they’d finished, clean and sweet. Herslight hand came to rest on his chest, just over his heart. He caught it in his, nearly crushing it. She felt so small even though she stood nearly a hand above him.
Time had stood still. Joseph didn’t know how many times he’d captured her lips or teased them open with his tongue. But finally she slowed her kisses, and he did as well, pulling back ever so slightly before tipping his head forward to rest their foreheads against one another.
Her eyes gazed into his, so full of hope. With a shaky breath, he realized he’d never seen eyes like hers, for they looked upon him with such tenderness. He could scarcely believe it.
“I’ll write,” he choked out, his voice so earnest he could hardly recognize it.
She laughed quietly and pulled back. “I don’t think my father would appreciate that.”
“Hang him. I’ll write.”
She gave him a dubious look before plucking a piece of dead grass from her tangled braid. The spell had broken. Reality came flooding back in. Rose stood and shook out her skirts, brushed off her coat.
“I mean it. I’ll…” Joseph paused and frowned, not used to making concessions to anyone, let alone a skeptical Frenchman who owned a coaching inn. “I can exercise restraint. Once every few months or so would be inconspicuous… don’t you think?” The yearning crept back in as he watched her pack up their ill-advised, half-hearted winter picnic.
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word as if she’d have to consider it, before breaking into a wide smile. “Let’s find out,” she finished, her eyes dancing in that roguish manner.
Something tightened in his chest.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter Nine
“Mmm,” Mrs. Hartley said,leaning so far over in her chair that it seemed she would topple and take Walter, perched lazily in her lap, with her.
Taking the noncommittal sound as a go-ahead, Rose shifted the top drawing to the back of the stack in her hands, and held up the next sketch for her to view.
“Ooh, Idolike that pose. It speaks to his finest qualities.” A desultory hand came to rest upon Walter’s head. The dog took it in stride, closing his eyes as he continued to pant. “His character. Don’t you agree, Miss Verdier?”
Rose smiled despite herself. She’d developed a fondness for the little creature and his merry, drooling countenance. “Of course.” She couldn’t manage anything more encouraging than that, and she silently cursed herself for it. She had to get better at the bowing and scraping or she’d starve.
“Now, did we agree on costumed or not?” Mrs. Hartley looked around the large sketch Rose held up, her voice raising hopefully at the end of her question.
“Er—we hadn’t discussed costumes. But I’m happy to—”
“I think something romantic. Carolingian, perhaps?”
Rose cocked her head, considering the little spaniel. He looked back at Rose, then promptly began hacking.
“It should be quite easy, if that’s what—”
