Page 46 of Seductive Reprise
Likely eviscerate the man with a look, at first. Then bide his time. And finally, when Silas had nearly forgotten the rebuke, strike hard, razing the man to ashes with no more than a few devastatingly choice words.
She smiled to herself. What she wouldn’t give to see that.
Unfortunately, Silas assumed he was entitled to her warmth, just as he always had.
“Is that it? You’ll come, then?”
Rose pressed her lips together. Picking up her crayon, she set back to work. The model’s back leg was beginning to tremble; she’d likely end the pose soon, and Rose wanted to finish.
“Why? Why should I come?” Rose murmured, as loud as she dared. Miss Sykes was watching her from across the room, a sour look on her face.
Silas cleared his throat, thinking. “Out of…” He dragged out the words, as if he wasn’t sure of the answer himself. “Friendship?”
Rose arched an eyebrow, but managed to resist meeting his farcical reply with a caustic rejoinder. Instead, she repressed her rage, biting back a frown.
“Fine,” she finally said.
“Oh, wonderful! Thank you, Rose. I think you’ll enjoy it, truly I do. I’ve finished that triptych I was telling you about, and I’d love to hear your take on it.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. How it grated.
To that she offered only a noncommittal “Hmm,” staring intently at her sketch until she felt him retreat back to his own easel.
Perhaps it had been a mistake, allowing him to think he’d so easily earned her forgiveness. Because he hadn’t, and she wouldn’t give it. That is, not until she’d had a chance to even the score, even just the tiniest smidge.
Putting that thought aside for the time being, Rose set back to work.
Chapter Sixteen
It nettled him, notbeing allowed to escort her. The yearning washed over him again, as he recalled the feel of her astride him in his lap, the crush of their lips, the silky locks of her gorgeous hair slipping through his fingers. What would it take for her to accept him, and his affection, his ardor, his assistance? It had pained him days ago when he’d dropped her off a few streets away from her rooms, which in his estimation were but a scant step above a doss house.
And it pained him now, as he waited in the Pantheon on Regent Street, staring into the window of a bird stuffer’s shop. The shop was ablaze with an exotic tableau of hummingbirds, parrots, and peacocks, all arrested in eternal poses, their glass eyes pinning Yusef even from behind the modern and pristine plate glass. He recalled that Rickard’s friend, the doctor who’d been so keen for Rose to paint his portrait, had once expressed an interest in such decor.
Yusef found it tasteless and macabre, but even still, he waited there, rather than stroll further down the gallery to survey the other small shops boasting a variety of luxury goods andamusing trinkets. Something about the birds struck him; the proprietors had been careful to select only avians with the grandest displays of plumage. Even the foreign but miniscule hummingbird had an entrancing iridescence to its feathers, though it was easy to overlook amid the scarlet macaws. It reminded him of a species of bird from his youth—small sunbirds with long, curved bills and glossy green plumage, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by an urgent desire to go back to Egypt and take Rose with him. And then when they returned to England, she might see the bird stuffer’s window and remark upon its similarities to the sunbird. His chest tightened.
It was all he’d ever wanted. Her, with him. Ever since that day when intense curiosity had compelled him to visit her father’s coaching inn for the first time. He meant what he’d told the Duke of Marbury. He would marry her. She was made for him, and he for her. Of course, his father was in no position to resist; Yusef was not his heir, and he was a grown man besides. With his own properties and income. So when his father had coughed out a weak “I see” in response to Yusef’s declaration, he had not been deterred. And whether the duke even wanted to deter him, leverage or not, was a mystery best left to the cold, emotionless halls of Marbury House.
Rather, Yusef dared to dream, something he’d never permitted himself before. Too maudlin, too pointless. He had ruined it all once, making her hate him with his cold selfishness. And he’d never known that perhaps he could fix it all, if only he knew how to apologize, how to make things right. If he could, then perhaps this time, Rose Verdier would cleave herself to him, just as she’d pressed herself desperately against him in the carriage, admitting her loneliness in her low, seductive purr.
He saw her approach in the window’s reflection before hearing that same enchanting voice again.
“They won’t move, you know. No matter how long you wait.”
Yusef turned.
Rose stood before him with a wry smile, handsomely turned out in a neat navy walking dress embellished with white silk buttons and just a touch of embroidery. Her hair was done up, with nary a curl escaping. She looked elegant and strong, with an almost breezy expression. His throat felt thick, seeing her like this, as she ought to be. Just as she had displayed a hint of the other night in her green silk gown, except considerably more so. As if her clothes weren’t bought from the rag market, as if she’d a lady’s maid to tend to her.
“Is that a new dress?” he said, when he finally trusted himself to speak.
She laughed. “Not quite, but it’s certainly new to me.”
He must’ve looked like some miserable fool, slavering over her like this, but he could barely think.
Rose flushed prettily, adding, “It’s my… friend’s. I had thought myself far too tall for her garments, but, well, this one had quite a bit of ease and…” She petered off, noticing that he’d offered her his arm.
She took it.
“I thought it would be busier,” she said, almost to herself. “I worried I might not be able to find you, but, well, it’s quite empty.” The Pantheon was nowhere near as choked with bustling shoppers and rambling loiterers as usual.
