Page 42 of Seductive Reprise
“And actually, I’d appreciate it if you’d put me down a bit further away. A couple streets over, at least.”
At that, just as the footman had extinguished the lamps in the Hartleys’ drawing room, all emotion left Joseph’s face, the bright intensity in his eyes dimming in a moment. In its place was Joseph Palgrave, the cold, disinterested, aristocratic bastard. Ready to return to his palaces of undue wealth and opulence. She grasped at the thought, trying to conceive of the myriad treasures and bank accounts that separated them.
He said nothing in response; he simply reached forward and delivered three hard raps to the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick. When the little window at the front opened, he passed her request to the driver on the other side. The window slid closed.
It seemed as though the short remainder of their journey would pass in silence, but just before the carriage came to a stop, he spoke.
“Did you not bring a cloak?”
“No,” she said, hoping he would not pry further. For she did not own a cloak—only a shabby jacket that would not have done for the occasion. She’d decided to suffer in the name of vanity this evening. Rose felt her cheeks burn, and worried about how mottled they must look. Surely this was another mark againsther and all the choices she’d made. She looked at her hands in her lap, waiting for his jibe.
It didn’t come. Instead she heard a soft rustling, and she looked up. He was removing his own coat.
“Oh…” she started, but then stopped. It was too late to refuse, for he’d already slung it over her shoulders.
It was such a tender gesture, and one she wished he had not made. For she had wandered too close to the edge of the cliff, longing for that feeling of awe and the beauty of the vista, and now she was dangerously close to slipping. She looked away, fingering the edge of the fine wool, trying not to think about how cool its silk lining felt against her bare arms. To his credit, Joseph let her be, alone in her thoughts.
When they stopped, an overwhelming sorrow overtook her. Her heart kicked up again, excitement and worry skipping across her body.
“Joseph,” she murmured, knowing full well this was a terrible idea.
He looked at her, but before he could answer she reached for him, her fingers tight on his lapels, bringing his face to hers.
She kissed him, deeply.
He relaxed into her without hesitation, pulling her closer, his arms so solid, his mouth so hot and welcoming. And then, just as quickly, she pushed him away, hearing the footfalls of his servant outside. Neither of them had recovered when the carriage door opened, still trapped in one another’s gaze, their lips wet and glistening and their breath harried.
Joseph stared at her with the look of a man determined. Slowly he rubbed the back of his hand along his lower lip.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and rough.
“Goodnight.”
It was too much to bear. She took the footman’s proffered hand, stepping out of the carriage and returning to the wet, filthystreet. Even at this late hour there were still people about; it was London, after all. Before she backed away from the carriage, ready to fade once more into tedious anonymity, the footman handed her the cylindrical leather case containing the most flattering depiction of Walter the spaniel that anyone had ever created.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling awkward. The footman was too professional to respond beyond a nod.
The carriage pulled away, and Rose stood watching, wondering just what she’d done. She looked ridiculous in her green silk dinner gown with his frock coat slung about her shoulders. With one hand she held it tighter against her, a lump forming in her throat.
She’d thought herself made of sterner stuff than to be awed by pretty manners and fine garments. But was it truly just the trappings, like the coat that was now draped over her, that had clouded her mind and seduced her senses? With a frown she turned on her heel, doing her best to step around the muck as she slumped toward her building.
Everything felt so confusing, so twisted. Joseph was beautiful. Warm. And God, but she wanted him. Wanted him like she’d never had him before—nude and on his back, his hands firm on her waist, rocking her against him.
But what of his carelessness, his selfishness? The callous way he’d destroyed her world, burning down everything dear to her with a few choice words, delivered in his smooth, perfectly accented voice? It may have been ten years ago, but it still mattered to her.
So caught up in her thoughts was she, Rose didn’t even notice the pair of men who’d sidled up alongside her until it was too late to avoid them.
“Evenin’, love,” the one to her right purred. He was taller than her, but just as slim, with a pasty complexion.
Before she’d fully taken stock of the first slimy nuisance, the other one piped up. “Love your togs. Looks like you’ve been out with a fancy man, eh?” He jerked his chin toward her, indicating the tailcoat.
Anger flashed through her, and she held Joseph’s coat tighter around her, for all the scant protection it offered. After giving the nastiest glare she could manage, she picked up her pace, moving ahead of the men in the space of a few strides.
Unfortunately, they caught up to her within a few short moments. The shorter, stockier one spoke first this time. “Not a friendly one, are you? Or is it only because we’re not toffs?”
“Nah, you saw. Got out of that carriage, she did,” the taller one joined in, pausing to whistle mockingly. “Too rich for our blood. Probably yours as well.” They both chortled.
“Shove off,” Rose said, flat and curt. She kept her eyes looking forward, her back straight. It was only a block more now. She’d dealt with drunks and ne’er-do-wells before, but not while dressed in a fine dinner gown and carrying such precious cargo. One hand tightened on the leather strap of the case containing Walter’s portrait.
