Page 28 of Seductive Reprise
She decided she ought to be more polite, not only to preserve this momentary truce between them, but also to prevent Mr. and Mrs. Hartley from speculating anything further about them.
“Of course,” she said, glancing up. “Mr. Palgrave.”
He tilted his head and adjusted his grip on the walking stick, stretching out his fingers in a gesture of practiced listlessness.
“Last time we met, you said I could barely tolerate owning one-half of my sire’s name.”
She didn’t respond, but she felt herself blush at the memory. It was cruel, but true. For all he bandied about the name Palgrave, she knew just how much he despised being a bastard. Forced into a stunted role. Not an heir, forever an outsider. And to him, his resentment seemed justification for taking all he could from the world and giving nothing in return. He’d told her as much, one winter day long ago.
“Why does it bother you so?”
Her stomach clenched. She looked straight at him, anger flashing in her eyes.
“You know why,” she hissed. “You sought to dictate my life; turnabout is fair play, is it not? You seek all the privileges of belonging to the duke but bear none of the responsibility.” Strengthened by her ire, she glared at him.
Joseph said nothing, and eventually looked away, a muscle flexing in his jaw.
It felt good, that. Rose wished it hadn’t; she wished she could be aloof and bear no feeling toward him. But by George, knocking him down a peg felt glorious.
Perhaps that was why, when Mrs. Hartley returned soon after, and Joseph offered once more to escort her home, sheconsidered it, this time eager for the chance to upbraid him further.
In the end it was no matter anyway, for nothing Rose could have said would have deterred either the elder lady’s excitement or Joseph’s insistence. Even Mr. Hartley had seemed intrigued, perched on the arm of a chair with arms crossed, barely concealed amusement playing about his eyes. Confusion muddled her perception, and before she knew it, she and Joseph were ushered out of the house and onto the pavement together, perambulating in silence, with her valise annoyingly in his hand. The roads in this neighborhood were not nearly as busy as she was accustomed to, and with a few deep breaths amid the relative calm, Rose finally steadied her mind.
“Why,” she groaned, shaking her head, “must you follow me home?”
“I’m accompanying you. There’s a difference.”
“You needn’t worry. I’m perfectly—”
“You’re the daughter of an earl. Have a care for your person,” he said brusquely.
Anger reawakened inside her. She stopped and turned to him, her face set. “Mr. Palgrave—”
“No,” he cut her off, holding one hand up.
Rose stared at him, waiting, but he was looking off in the distance, working something out behind those thick, dark lashes. In time he looked back at her, his eyes burning so that she felt her heart skip.
His brows lowered, his eyes darkened. He drew in a breath and reached for her, clasping her hand in his. Her whole body sparked to life, even though they both wore gloves. It had been months since she’d felt another human’s touch, back before Silas had ended things between them. With a dry mouth and fire in her veins, Rose suddenly realized how lonely she had been.
“May we start again?” His voice was somewhere between a growl and a caress.
Rose stared at her hand in his, the warmth between her legs spreading across her body, and she realized with horror that part of her wanted to say yes. Every inch of her body begged for his, for her to acquiesce. She did not trust herself to speak. This could not be. Not when he’d hurt her so.
Suddenly his voice grew hard. “Is it…” He pulled her closer, his hand now on her forearm, just below her elbow. “Don’t tell me you’re… entangled with someone,” he sputtered. When she looked into his eyes, his face was dark. “I can’t bear it. I won’t.”
“What in the blazes…” she breathed, but his hold only tightened, pulling her closer, her skirts now brushing his legs. Rose gasped. She didn’t want to admit it, but something about the danger in his face appealed to her. She felt almost ready to give up, to forget her rage, to forget her pain, and allow him to carry her off right there on the spot.
But then she recovered.
“Joseph,” she ventured—though with a stern voice—and his features softened. “There’s no one. I’m…” She swallowed, trying to ignore that obnoxiously delicious feeling building just below her stomach. “I’m currently… unattached.” And she had no plans to correct that. Marriage was not exactly conducive to her chosen path.
He released her, one eyebrow arched. “Currently?”
“Leave it,” she groaned. “Please.”
With a glance about them, he adjusted his collar. They began walking once more.
“I meant it, you know.”
