Page 47 of Seductive Reprise
“Parliament’s risen. Everyone of consequence has fled the city.” He couldn’t help adding dryly, “Aside from the Marcus Hartleys of the world.”
It was miniscule, the distance she pulled away from him, but he marked it. He glanced her way, catching the disappointment on her face.
“Mrs. Hartley informed me she’s leaving soon. I’ve several months to finish my portrait, unless I fancy delivering it to her family’s estate.”
Yusef sighed. “Hartley is…” He stopped, nearly choking on the word. Why was it so hard to say it? “A friend. Just chaffing him, is all.” Heaven help him if that ever got back to the irritatingly sanctimonious MP. Yusef had a feeling he’d never hear the end of it.
“Oh,” she responded, then began chewing at her bottom lip. Apparently he hadn’t done enough to convince her that he bore no ill will toward Marcus Hartley. But before Yusef could venture anything else, she changed the subject. “And your family? Have they gone as well?”
It took him off guard. She surely noticed it, judging by her anxious sideways glance. He drew in a breath.
“Yes. I saw them not long ago. Before Hartley’s…” He shut his mouth, lest another disparaging remark escape. Finally he allowed, “Hartley’s dinner party,” though it pained him to acknowledge that as well. He could still see the Venables girl, eyes wide as saucers, staring at him from across the table as if he were a sodding deity. “They are at Flixton, in Cheshire. With my uncle, no doubt.”
“Oh. Your uncle. The duke’s heir, that uncle?”
Damn.Nothing got past her.
He swallowed, and halted before the window of an Italian statuary shop, filled with columns of every order. “Yes,” he drawled. “Lord Robert.” He could feel her eyes on him.
“I… Dr. Collier mentioned you had business.” Now she stared at the window, fixated on a pair of stern-looking busts. “I mean to say, well, a sort of…” She took a deep breath, practically wincing. “A sort of trade?” She looked at him now, her lip once more caught between her teeth, that charming gap just barely visible.
“And?” He looked at her, one eyebrow arched.
“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Oh—you’re not cross about that? About being in…trade? Or my mentioning it?”
Yusef sighed, and moved on from the shop. Rose followed alongside him, her hand still firmly on his arm. He found he liked it very much, walking together like this.
“Why would I be cross about something that is simply a fact?”
Rose exhaled, a sputtering sound of incredulity.
“What?” he said, his eyes trained forward. In the distance, a massive sign was painted on a brick wall, in two-foot gold letters against a black background:SEDLEY’S SATIN BLACK BOOT POLISH. Then underneath, in white letters about half the size of the others:SEDLEY’S IS THE BEST. Trade was one thing. Having your name on an advertisement like that? Ghastly.
“I suppose I never thought you’d do anything of the sort.” Rose paid no attention to the sign as they passed, despite its loudness. “I always reckoned you’d breed your horses and just…” Her voice trailed off, and she didn’t speak for a good while, appearing to consider her words carefully. “I thought he’d given you enough.” She glanced at him, sympathy softening her frown.
Yusef forced a laugh at the notion of his father dictating his life, dangling a purse before him in exchange for good behavior.
“He has. But I have no interest in existing solely off of the Duke of Marbury’s charity.”
“So opium, then?” Rose said, and he could hear her grin.
Yusef smiled back. “For a time, yes.”
“I confess I’ve never considered it; I suppose I just expected it pops up in the apothecary shops. Did you grow it then, in Smyrna?”
“Me? A farmer?” Yusef chuckled now in earnest.
Rose shrugged. “I never would’ve thought it, but now you’ve admitted to being in trade, and Dr. Collier mentioned you havefriendswho don’t sound like some poncy marquess or whatnot… why, even Mr. Hartley is a friend, as you just said…” Her voice quieted and she adjusted her hand on his arm. “And you’ve apologized to me. These days I cannot seem to make sense ofyou, Joseph. Perhaps now I would believe you were a farmer, over there.”
“Hmm.”
“Well, either way, it suits you.”
“This Arcadian mantle you would have me wear?”
“No, not that.” She laughed, and gently tugged at his arm, moving them along before she spoke again. “What was it like?”
“How do you mean?”
